her attention on one only of these torments she might
have succeeded in afflicting her husband according to her
wish, but she was not able to do that.

"Finality is death. Perfection is finality. Nothing is
perfect. There are lumps in it," said the Philosopher.

CHAPTER V

WHEN the Leprecaun came through the pine wood on
the following day he met two children at a little distance
from the house. He raised his open right hand above
his head (this is both the fairy and the Gaelic form of
salutation), and would have passed on but that a thought
brought him to a halt. Sitting down before the two
children he stared at them for a long time, and they
stared back at him. At last he said to the boy:

"What is your name, a vic vig O?"

"Seumas Beg, sir," the boy replied.

"It's a little name," said the Leprecaun.

"It's what my mother calls me, sir," returned the boy.

"What does your father call you," was the next ques-
tion.

"Seumas Eoghan Maelduin O'Carbhail Mac an