Darby O’Gill and the Good People/The Banshee’s Comb/Chapter 4

The Costa Bower
So the green-dhressed little army, all in the sweet, rosy light they made, wint marchin’, to the merry music of the pipes, over the tree-bowered roadway, past the ha’nted brakes up the shivering hills, an’ down into the waiting dales, making the grim night maylodious.
For a long space not a worrud, good, bad, or indifferent, said Darby.
But a sparrow woke her dhrowsy childher to look at the beautiful purcession, an’ a robin called excited to her sleepy neighbours, the linnets an’ the rabbits an’ the hares, an’ hundhreds like them crowded daylighted through the bushes, an’ stood peerin’ through the glistening leaves as their well-known champyions wint by. A dozen wentursome young owls flew from bough to bough, follying along, crackin’ good-natured but friendly jokes at their friends, the fairies. Thin other birds came flying from miles around, twitthering jubilaytion.
​But the stern- jawed, frowny-eyed Little People for once answered back never a worrud, but marched stiff an’ silent, as sojers should. You’d swear ’twas the Enniskillins or ’twas the Eighteenth Hussars that ’twas in it.
“Isn’t that Gineral Julius Sayser at the head?” says one brown owl, flapping an ow

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