Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

"Such was the vision I beheld, and a voice sounded into my ears. 'Go now, thither, MacConglinney, for you have no power of eating in you.' 'What must I do,' said I, for the sight of that had made me greedy. Then the voice bade me go to the hermitage of the Wizard Doctor, and there I should find appetite for all kinds of savoury tender sweet food, acceptable to the body.

"There in the harbour of the lake before me I saw a juicy little coracle of beef; its thwarts were of curds, its prow of lard; its stern of butter; its oars were flitches of venison. Then I rowed across the wide expanse of the New Milk Lake, through seas of broth, past river mouths of meat, over swelling boisterous waves of butter milk, by perpetual pools of savoury lard, by islands of cheese, by headlands of old curds, until I reached the firm level land between Butter Mount and Milk Lake, in the land of O'Early-eating, in front of the hermitage of the Wizard Doctor.

"Marvellous, indeed, was the hermitage. Around it were seven-score hundred smooth stakes of old bacon, and instead of thorns above the top of every stake was fixed juicy lard. There was a gate of cream, whereon was a bolt of sausage. And there I saw the doorkeeper, Bacon Lad, son of Butterkins, son of Lardipole, with his smooth sandals of old bacon, his legging of pot-meat round his shins, his tunic of corned beef, his girdle of salmon skin round him, his hood of flummery about him, his steed of bacon under him, with its four legs of custard, its four hoofs of oaten bread, its ears of curds, its two eyes of honey in its head; in his hand a whip, the cords whereof were four-and-twenty fair white puddings, and every juicy drop that fell from each of these puddings would have made a meal for an ordinary man.

"On going in I beheld the Wizard Doctor with his two gloves of rump steak on his hands, setting in order the house, which was hung all round with tripe, from roof to floor.

"I went into the kitchen, and there I saw the Wizard Doctor's son, with his fishing hook of lard in his hand, and the line was made of marrow, and he was angling in a lake of whey. Now he would bring up a flitch of ham, and now a fillet of corned beef. And as he was angling, he fell in, and was drowned.

"As I set my foot across the threshold into the house, I saw a pure white bed of butter, on which I sat down, but I sank down into it up to the tips of my hair. Hard work had the eight strongest men in the house to pull me out by the top of the crown of my head.

"Then I was taken in to the Wizard Doctor. 'What aileth thee?' said he.

"My wish would be, that all the many wonderful viands of the world were before me, that I might eat my fill and satisfy my greed. But alas! great is the misfortune to me, who cannot obtain any of these.

"'On my word,' said the Doctor, 'the disease is grievous. But thou shall take home with thee a medicine to cure thy disease, and shalt be for ever healed therefrom.'

"'What is that?' asked I.

"'When thou goest home to-night, warm thyself before a glowing red fire of oak, made up on a dry hearth, so that its embers may warm thee, its blaze may not burn thee, its smoke may not touch thee. And make for thyself thrice nine morsels, and every morsel as big as an heath fowl's egg, and in each morsel eight kinds of grain, wheat and barley, oats and rye, and therewith eight condiments, and to every condiment eight sauces. And when thou hast prepared thy food, take a drop of drink, a tiny drop, only as much as twenty men will drink, and let it be of thick milk, of yellow bubbling milk, of milk that will gurgle as it rushes down thy throat.'

"'And when thou hast done this, whatever disease thou hast, shall be removed. Go now,' said he, 'in the name of cheese, and may the smooth juicy bacon protect thee, may yellow curdy cream protect, may the cauldron full of pottage protect thee.'"

Now, as MacConglinney recited his vision, what with the pleasure of the recital and the recounting of these many pleasant viands, and the sweet savour of the honeyed morsels roasting on the spits, the lawless beast that dwelt within the king, came forth until it was licking its lips outside its head.

Then MacConglinney bent his hand with the two spits of food, and put them to the lips of the king, who longed to swallow them, wood, food, and all. So he took them an arm's length away from the king, and the lawless beast jumped from the throat of Cathal onto the spit. MacConglinney put the spit into the embers, and upset the cauldron of the royal house over the spit. The house was emptied, so that not the value of a cockchafer's leg was left in it, and four huge fires were kindled here and there in it. When the house was a tower of red flame and a huge blaze, the lawless beast sprang to the rooftree of the palace, and from thence he vanished, and was seen no more.

As for the king, a bed was prepared for him on a downy quilt, and musicians and singers entertained him going from noon till twilight. And when he awoke, this is what he bestowed upon the scholar--a cow from every farm, and a sheep from every house in Munster. Moreover, that so long as he lived, he should carve the king's food, and sit at his right hand.

Thus was Cathal, King of Munster, cured of his craving, and MacConglinney honoured.

Dream of Owen O'Mulready

There was a man long ago living near Ballaghadereen named Owen O'Mulready, who was a workman for the gentleman of the place, and was a prosperous, quiet, contented man. There was no one but himself and his wife Margaret, and they had a nice little house and enough potatoes in the year, in addition to their share of wages, from their master. There wasn't a want or anxiety on Owen, except one desire, and that was to have a dream--for he had never had one.

One day when he was digging potatoes, his master--James Taafe--came out to his ridge, and they began talking, as was the custom with them. The talk fell on dreams, and said Owen that he would like better than anything if he could only have one.

"You'll have one to-night," says his master, "if you do as I tell you."

"Musha, I'll do it, and welcome," says Owen.

"Now," says his master, "when you go home to-night, draw the fire from the hearth, put it out, make your bed in its place and sleep there to-night, and you'll get your enough of dreaming before the morning."

Owen promised to do this. When, however, he began to draw the fire out, Margaret thought that he had lost his senses, so he explained everything James Taafe had said to him, had his own way, and they went to lie down together on the hearth.

Not long was Owen asleep when there came a knock at the door.

"Get up, Owen O'Mulready, and go with a letter from the master to America."

Owen got up, and put his feet into his boots, saying to himself, "It's late you come, messenger."

He took the letter, and he went forward and never tarried till he came to the foot of Sliabh Charn, where he met a cow-boy, and he herding cows.

"The blessing of God be with you, Owen O'Mulready," says the boy.

"The blessing of God and Mary be with you, my boy," says Owen. "Every one knows me, and I don't know any one at all."

"Where are you going this time of night?" says the boy.

"I'm going to America, with a letter from the master; is this the right road?" says Owen.

"It is; keep straight to the west; but how are you going to get over the water?" says the boy.

"Time enough to think of that when I get to it," replied Owen.

He went on the road again, till he came to the brink of the sea; there he saw a crane standing on one foot on the shore.

"The blessing of God be with you, Owen O'Mulready," says the crane.

"The blessing of God and Mary be with you, Mrs. Crane," says Owen. "Everybody knows me, and I don't know any one."

"What are you doing here?"

Owen told her his business, and that he didn't know how he'd get over the water.

"Leave your two feet on my two wings, and sit on my back, and I'll take you to the other side," says the crane.

"What would I do if tiredness should come on you before we got over?" says Owen.

"Don't be afraid, I won't be tired or wearied till I fly over."

Then Owen went on the back of the crane, and she arose over the sea and went forward, but she hadn't flown more than half-way, when she cried out:

"Owen O'Mulready get off me; I'm tired."

"That you may be seven times worse this day twelvemonths, you rogue of a crane," says Owen; "I can't get off you now, so don't ask me."

"I don't care," replied the crane, "if you'll rise off me a while till I'll take a rest."

With that they saw threshers over their heads, and Owen shouted:

"Och! thresher, thresher, leave down your flail at me, that I may give the crane a rest!"

The thresher left down the flail, but when Owen took a hold with his two hands, the crane went from him laughing and mocking.

"My share of misfortunes go with you!" said Owen, "It's you've left me in a fix hanging between the heavens and the water in the middle of the great sea."

It wasn't long till the thresher shouted to him to leave go the flail.

"I won't let it go," said Owen; "shan't I be drowned?"

"If you don't let it go, I'll cut the whang."

"I don't care," says Owen; "I have the flail"; and with that he looked away from him, and what should he see but a boat a long way off.

"O sailor dear, sailor, come, come; perhaps you'll take my lot of bones," said Owen.

"Are we under you now?" says the sailor.

"Not yet, not yet," says Owen.

"Fling down one of your shoes, till we see the way it falls," says the captain.

Owen shook one foot, and down fell the shoe.

"Uill, uill, puil, uil liu--who is killing me?" came a scream from Margaret in the bed. "Where are you, Owen?"

"I didn't know whether 'twas you were in it, Margaret."

"Indeed, then it is," says she, "who else would it be?"

She got up and lit the candle. She found Owen half-way up the chimney, climbing by the hands on the crook, and he black with soot! He had one shoe on, but the point of the other struck Margaret, and 'twas that which awoke her.

Owen came down off the crook and washed himself, and from that out there was no envy on him ever to have a dream again.

Morraha

Morraha rose in the morning and washed his hands and face, and said his prayers, and ate his food; and he asked God to prosper the day for him. So he went down to the brink of the sea, and he saw a currach, short and green, coming towards him; and in it there was but one youthful champion, and he was playing hurly from prow to stern of the currach. He had a hurl of gold and a ball of silver; and he stopped not till the currach was in on the shore; and he drew her up on the green grass, and put fastenings on her for a year and a day, whether he should be there all that time or should only be on land for an hour by the clock. And Morraha saluted the young man courteously; and the other saluted him in the same fashion, and asked him would he play a game of cards with him; and Morraha said that he had not the wherewithal; and the other answered that he was never without a candle or the making of it; and he put his hand in his pocket and drew out a table and two chairs and a pack of cards, and they sat down on the chairs and went to card-playing. The first game Morraha won, and the Slender Red Champion bade him make his claim; and he asked that the land above him should be filled with stock of sheep in the morning. It was well; and he played no second game, but home he went.

The next day Morraha went to the brink of the sea, and the young man came in the currach and asked him would he play cards; they played, and Morraha won. The young man bade him make his claim; and he asked that the land above should be filled with cattle in the morning. It was well; and he played no other game, but went home.

On the third morning Morraha went to the brink of the sea, and he saw the young man coming. He drew up his boat on the shore and asked him would he play cards. They played, and Morraha won the game; and the young man bade him give his claim. And he said he would have a castle and a wife, the finest and fairest in the world; and they were his. It was well; and the Red Champion went away.

On the fourth day his wife asked him how he had found her. And he told her. "And I am going out," said he, "to play again to-day."

"I forbid you to go again to him. If you have won so much, you will lose more; have no more to do with him."

But he went against her will, and he saw the currach coming; and the Red Champion was driving his balls from end to end of the currach; he had balls of silver and a hurl of gold, and he stopped not till he drew his boat on the shore, and made her fast for a year and a day. Morraha and he saluted each other; and he asked Morraha if he would play a game of cards, and they played, and he won. Morraha said to him, "Give your claim now."

Said he, "You will hear it too soon. I lay on you bonds of the art of the Druid, not to sleep two nights in one house, nor finish a second meal at the one table, till you bring me the sword of light and news of the death of Anshgayliacht."

He went home to his wife and sat down in a chair, and gave a groan, and the chair broke in pieces.

"That is the groan of the son of a king under spells," said his wife; "and you had better have taken my counsel than that the spells should be on you."

He told her he had to bring news of the death of Anshgayliacht and the sword of light to the Slender Red Champion.

"Go out," said she, "in the morning of the morrow, and take the bridle in the window, and shake it; and whatever beast, handsome or ugly, puts its head in it, take that one with you. Do not speak a word to her till she speaks to you; and take with you three pint bottles of ale and three sixpenny loaves, and do the thing she tells you; and when she runs to my father's land, on a height above the castle, she will shake herself, and the bells will ring, and my father will say, 'Brown Allree is in the land. And if the son of a king or queen is there, bring him to me on your shoulders; but if it is the son of a poor man, let him come no further.'"

He rose in the morning, and took the bridle that was in the window, and went out and shook it; and Brown Allree came and put her head in it. He took the three loaves and three bottles of ale, and went riding; and when he was riding she bent her head down to take hold of her feet with her mouth, in hopes he would speak in ignorance; but he spoke not a word during the time, and the mare at last spoke to him, and told him to dismount and give her her dinner. He gave her the sixpenny loaf toasted, and a bottle of ale to drink.

"Sit up now riding, and take good heed of yourself: there are three miles of fire I have to clear at a leap."

She cleared the three miles of fire at a leap, and asked if he were still riding, and he said he was. Then they went on, and she told him to dismount and give her a meal; and he did so, and gave her a sixpenny loaf and a bottle; she consumed them and said to him there were before them three miles of hill covered with steel thistles, and that she must clear it. She cleared the hill with a leap, and she asked him if he were still riding, and he said he was. They went on, and she went not far before she told him to give her a meal, and he gave her the bread and the bottleful. She went over three miles of sea with a leap, and she came then to the land of the King of France; she went up on a height above the castle, and she shook herself and neighed, and the bells rang; and the king said that it was Brown Allree was in the land.

"Go out," said he; "and if it is the son of a king or queen, carry him in on your shoulders; if it is not, leave him there."

They went out; and the stars of the son of a king were on his breast; they lifted him high on their shoulders and bore him in to the king. They passed the night cheerfully, playing and drinking, with sport and with diversion, till the whiteness of the day came upon the morrow morning.

Then the young king told the cause of his journey, and he asked the queen to give him counsel and good luck, and she told him everything he was to do.

"Go now," said she, "and take with you the best mare in the stable, and go to the door of Rough Niall of the Speckled Rock, and knock, and call on him to give you news of the death of Anshgayliacht and the sword of light: and let the horse's back be to the door, and apply the spurs, and away with you."

In the morning he did so, and he took the best horse from the stable and rode to the door of Niall, and turned the horse's back to the door, and demanded news of the death of Anshgayliacht and the sword of light; then he applied the spurs, and away with him. Niall followed him hard, and, as he was passing the gate, cut the horse in two. His wife was there with a dish of puddings and flesh, and she threw it in his eyes and blinded him, and said, "Fool! whatever kind of man it is that's mocking you, isn't that a fine condition you have got your father's horse into?"

On the morning of the next day Morraha rose, and took another horse from the stable, and went again to the door of Niall, and knocked and demanded news of the death of Anshgayliacht and the sword of light, and applied the spurs to the horse and away with him. Niall followed, and as Morraha was passing, the gate cut the horse in two and took half the saddle with him; but his wife met him and threw flesh in his eyes and blinded him.

On the third day, Morraha went again to the door of Niall; and Niall followed him, and as he was passing the gate, cut away the saddle from under him and the clothes from his back. Then his wife said to Niall:

"The fool that's mocking you, is out yonder in the little currach, going home; and take good heed to yourself, and don't sleep one wink for three days."

For three days the little currach kept in sight, but then Niall's wife came to him and said:

"Sleep as much as you want now. He is gone."

He went to sleep, and there was heavy sleep on him, and Morraha went in and took hold of the sword that was on the bed at his head. And the sword thought to draw itself out of the hand of Morraha; but it failed. Then it gave a cry, and it wakened Niall, and Niall said it was a rude and rough thing to come into his house like that; and said Morraha to him:

"Leave your much talking, or I will cut the head off you. Tell me the news of the death of Anshgayliacht."

"Oh, you can have my head."

"But your head is no good to me; tell me the story."

"Oh," said Niall's wife, "you must get the story."

"Well," said Niall, "let us sit down together till I tell the story. I thought no one would ever get it; but now it will be heard by all."

THE STORY.

When I was growing up, my mother taught me the language of the
birds; and when I got married, I used to be listening to their
conversation; and I would be laughing; and my wife would be asking
me what was the reason of my laughing, but I did not like to tell
her, as women are always asking questions. We went out walking
one fine morning, and the birds were arguing with one another. One
of them said to another:

"Why should you be comparing yourself with me, when there is not a
king nor knight that does not come to look at my tree?"

"What advantage has your tree over mine, on which there are three
rods of magic mastery growing?"

When I heard them arguing, and knew that the rods were there, I
began to laugh.

"Oh," asked my wife, "why are you always laughing? I believe it is
at myself you are jesting, and I'll walk with you no more."

"Oh, it is not about you I am laughing. It is because I understand
the language of the birds."

Then I had to tell her what the birds were saying to one another;
and she was greatly delighted, and she asked me to go home, and
she gave orders to the cook to have breakfast ready at six o'clock
in the morning. I did not know why she was going out early, and
breakfast was ready in the morning at the hour she appointed. She
asked me to go out walking. I went with her. She went to the tree,
and asked me to cut a rod for her.

"Oh, I will not cut it. Are we not better without it?"

"I will not leave this until I get the rod, to see if there is any
good in it."

I cut the rod and gave it to her. She turned from me and struck a
blow on a stone, and changed it; and she struck a second blow on
me, and made of me a black raven, and she went home and left me
after her. I thought she would come back; she did not come, and I
had to go into a tree till morning. In the morning, at six
o'clock, there was a bellman out, proclaiming that every one who
killed a raven would get a fourpenny-bit. At last you could not
find man or boy without a gun, nor, if you were to walk three
miles, a raven that was not killed. I had to make a nest in the
top of the parlour chimney, and hide myself all day till night
came, and go out to pick up a bit to support me, till I spent a
month. Here she is herself to say if it is a lie I am telling.

"It is not," said she.

Then I saw her out walking. I went up to her, and I thought she
would turn me back to my own shape, and she struck me with the rod
and made of me an old white horse, and she ordered me to be put to
a cart with a man, to draw stones from morning till night. I was
worse off then. She spread abroad a report that I had died
suddenly in my bed, and prepared a coffin, and waked and buried
me. Then she had no trouble. But when I got tired I began to kill
every one who came near me, and I used to go into the haggard
every night and destroy the stacks of corn; and when a man came
near me in the morning I would follow him till I broke his bones.
Every one got afraid of me. When she saw I was doing mischief she
came to meet me, and I thought she would change me. And she did
change me, and made a fox of me. When I saw she was doing me every
sort of damage I went away from her. I knew there was a badger's
hole in the garden, and I went there till night came, and I made
great slaughter among the geese and ducks. There she is herself to
say if I am telling a lie.

"Oh! you are telling nothing but the truth, only less than the
truth."

When she had enough of my killing the fowl she came out into the
garden, for she knew I was in the badger's hole. She came to me
and made me a wolf. I had to be off, and go to an island, where no
one at all would see me, and now and then I used to be killing
sheep, for there were not many of them, and I was afraid of being
seen and hunted; and so I passed a year, till a shepherd saw me
among the sheep and a pursuit was made after me. And when the dogs
came near me there was no place for me to escape to from them; but
I recognised the sign of the king among the men, and I made for
him, and the king cried out to stop the hounds. I took a leap upon
the front of the king's saddle, and the woman behind cried out,
"My king and my lord, kill him, or he will kill you!"

"Oh! he will not kill me. He knew me; he must be pardoned."

The king took me home with him, and gave orders I should be well
cared for. I was so wise, when I got food, I would not eat one
morsel until I got a knife and fork. The man told the king, and
the king came to see if it was true, and I got a knife and fork,
and I took the knife in one paw and the fork in the other, and I
bowed to the king. The king gave orders to bring him drink, and it
came; and the king filled a glass of wine and gave it to me.

I took hold of it in my paw and drank it, and thanked the king.

"On my honour," said he, "it is some king or other has lost him,
when he came on the island; and I will keep him, as he is trained;
and perhaps he will serve us yet."

And this is the sort of king he was,--a king who had not a child
living. Eight sons were born to him and three daughters, and they
were stolen the same night they were born. No matter what guard
was placed over them, the child would be gone in the morning. A
twelfth child now came to the queen, and the king took me with him
to watch the baby. The women were not satisfied with me.

"Oh," said the king, "what was all your watching ever good for?
One that was born to me I have not; I will leave this one in the
dog's care, and he will not let it go."

A coupling was put between me and the cradle, and when every one
went to sleep I was watching till the person woke who attended in
the daytime; but I was there only two nights; when it was near the
day, I saw a hand coming down through the chimney, and the hand
was so big that it took round the child altogether, and thought to
take him away. I caught hold of the hand above the wrist, and as I
was fastened to the cradle, I did not let go my hold till I cut
the hand from the wrist, and there was a howl from the person
without. I laid the hand in the cradle with the child, and as I
was tired I fell asleep; and when I awoke, I had neither child nor
hand; and I began to howl, and the king heard me, and he cried out
that something was wrong with me, and he sent servants to see what
was the matter with me, and when the messenger came he saw me
covered with blood, and he could not see the child; and he went to
the king and told him the child was not to be got. The king came
and saw the cradle coloured with the blood, and he cried out
"where was the child gone?" and every one said it was the dog had
eaten it.

The king said: "It is not: loose him, and he will get the pursuit
himself."

When I was loosed, I found the scent of the blood till I came to a
door of the room in which the child was. I went back to the king
and took hold of him, and went back again and began to tear at the
door. The king followed me and asked for the key. The servant said
it was in the room of the stranger woman. The king caused search
to be made for her, and she was not to be found. "I will break the
door," said the king, "as I can't get the key." The king broke
the door, and I went in, and went to the trunk, and the king asked
for a key to unlock it. He got no key, and he broke the lock. When
he opened the trunk, the child and the hand were stretched side by
side, and the child was asleep. The king took the hand and ordered
a woman to come for the child, and he showed the hand to every one
in the house. But the stranger woman was gone, and she did not see
the king;--and here she is herself to say if I am telling lies of
her.

"Oh, it's nothing but the truth you have!"

The king did not allow me to be tied any more. He said there was
nothing so much to wonder at as that I cut the hand off, as I was
tied.

The child was growing till he was a year old. He was beginning to
walk, and no one cared for him more than I did. He was growing
till he was three, and he was running out every minute; so the
king ordered a silver chain to be put between me and the child,
that he might not go away from me. I was out with him in the
garden every day, and the king was as proud as the world of the
child. He would be watching him everywhere we went, till the child
grew so wise that he would loose the chain and get off. But one
day that he loosed it I failed to find him; and I ran into the
house and searched the house, but there was no getting him for me.
The king cried to go out and find the child, that had got loose
from the dog. They went searching for him, but could not find him.
When they failed altogether to find him, there remained no more
favour with the king towards me, and every one disliked me, and I
grew weak, for I did not get a morsel to eat half the time. When
summer came, I said I would try and go home to my own country. I
went away one fine morning, and I went swimming, and God helped me
till I came home. I went into the garden, for I knew there was a
place in the garden where I could hide myself, for fear my wife
should see me. In the morning I saw her out walking, and the child
with her, held by the hand. I pushed out to see the child, and as
he was looking about him everywhere, he saw me and called out, "I
see my shaggy papa. Oh!" said he; "oh, my heart's love, my shaggy
papa, come here till I see you!"

I was afraid the woman would see me, as she was asking the child
where he saw me, and he said I was up in a tree; and the more the
child called me, the more I hid myself. The woman took the child
home with her, but I knew he would be up early in the morning.

I went to the parlour-window, and the child was within, and he
playing. When he saw me he cried out, "Oh! my heart's love, come
here till I see you, shaggy papa." I broke the window and went in,
and he began to kiss me. I saw the rod in front of the chimney,
and I jumped up at the rod and knocked it down. "Oh! my heart's
love, no one would give me the pretty rod," said he. I hoped he
would strike me with the rod, but he did not. When I saw the time
was short I raised my paw, and I gave him a scratch below the
knee. "Oh! you naughty, dirty, shaggy papa, you have hurt me so
much, I'll give you a blow of the rod." He struck me a light blow,
and so I came back to my own shape again. When he saw a man
standing before him he gave a cry, and I took him up in my arms.
The servants heard the child. A maid came in to see what was the
matter with him. When she saw me she gave a cry out of her, and
she said, "Oh, if the master isn't come to life again!"

Another came in, and said it was he really. When the mistress
heard of it, she came to see with her own eyes, for she would not
believe I was there; and when she saw me she said she'd drown
herself. But I said to her, "If you yourself will keep the secret,
no living man will ever get the story from me until I lose my
head." Here she is herself to say if I am telling the truth. "Oh,
it's nothing but truth you are telling."

When I saw I was in a man's shape, I said I would take the child
back to his father and mother, as I knew the grief they were in
after him. I got a ship, and took the child with me; and as I
journeyed I came to land on an island, and I saw not a living soul
on it, only a castle dark and gloomy. I went in to see was there
any one in it. There was no one but an old hag, tall and
frightful, and she asked me, "What sort of person are you?" I
heard some one groaning in another room, and I said I was a
doctor, and I asked her what ailed the person who was groaning.

"Oh," said she, "it is my son, whose hand has been bitten from his
wrist by a dog."

I knew then that it was he who had taken the child from me, and I
said I would cure him if I got a good reward.

"I have nothing; but there are eight young lads and three young
women, as handsome as any one ever laid eyes on, and if you cure
him I will give you them."

"Tell me first in what place his hand was cut from him?"

"Oh, it was out in another country, twelve years ago."

"Show me the way, that I may see him."

She brought me into a room, so that I saw him, and his arm was
swelled up to the shoulder. He asked me if I would cure him; and I
said I would cure him if he would give me the reward his mother
promised.

"Oh, I will give it; but cure me."

"Well, bring them out to me."

The hag brought them out of the room. I said I should burn the
flesh that was on his arm. When I looked on him he was howling
with pain. I said that I would not leave him in pain long. The
wretch had only one eye in his forehead. I took a bar of iron, and
put it in the fire till it was red, and I said to the hag, "He
will be howling at first, but will fall asleep presently, and do
not wake him till he has slept as much as he wants. I will close
the door when I am going out." I took the bar with me, and I stood
over him, and I turned it across through his eye as far as I
could. He began to bellow, and tried to catch me, but I was out
and away, having closed the door. The hag asked me, "Why is he
bellowing?"

"Oh, he will be quiet presently, and will sleep for a good while,
and I'll come again to have a look at him; but bring me out the
young men and the young women."

I took them with me, and I said to her, "Tell me where you got
them."

"My son brought them with him, and they are all the children of
one king."

I was well satisfied, and I had no wish for delay to get myself
free from the hag, so I took them on board the ship, and the child
I had myself. I thought the king might leave me the child I nursed
myself; but when I came to land, and all those young people with
me, the king and queen were out walking. The king was very aged,
and the queen aged likewise. When I came to converse with them,
and the twelve with me, the king and queen began to cry. I asked,
"Why are you crying?"

"It is for good cause I am crying. As many children as these I
should have, and now I am withered, grey, at the end of my life,
and I have not one at all."

I told him all I went through, and I gave him the child in his
hand, and "These are your other children who were stolen from you,
whom I am giving to you safe. They are gently reared."

When the king heard who they were he smothered them with kisses
and drowned them with tears, and dried them with fine cloths
silken and the hair of his own head, and so also did their mother,
and great was his welcome for me, as it was I who found them all.
The king said to me, "I will give you the last child, as it is you
who have earned him best; but you must come to my court every
year, and the child with you, and I will share with you my
possessions."

"I have enough of my own, and after my death I will leave it to
the child."

I spent a time, till my visit was over, and I told the king all
the troubles I went through, only I said nothing about my wife.
And now you have the story.

* * * * *

And now when you go home, and the Slender Red Champion asks you for news of the death of Anshgayliacht and for the sword of light, tell him the way in which his brother was killed, and say you have the sword; and he will ask the sword from you. Say you to him, "If I promised to bring it to you, I did not promise to bring it for you"; and then throw the sword into the air and it will come back to me.

* * * * *

He went home, and he told the story of the death of Anshgayliacht to the Slender Red Champion, "And here," said he, "is the sword." The Slender Red Champion asked for the sword; but he said: "If I promised to bring it to you, I did not promise to bring it for you"; and he threw it into the air and it returned to Blue Niall.

The Story of the McAndrew Family

A long time ago, in the County Mayo, there lived a rich man of the name of McAndrew. He owned cows and horses without number, not to mention ducks and geese and pigs; and his land extended as far as the eye could reach on the four sides of you.

McAndrew was a lucky man, the neighbours all said; but as for himself, when he looked on his seven big sons growing up like weeds and with scarcely any more sense, he felt sore enough, for of all the stupid omadhauns the seven McAndrew brothers were the stupidest.

When the youngest grew to be a man, the father built a house for each of them, and gave every one a piece of land and a few cows, hoping to make men of them before he died, for, as the old man said:

"While God spares my life, I'll be able to have an eye to them, and maybe they will learn from experience."

The seven young McAndrews were happy enough. Their fields were green, their cows were fat and sleek, and they thought they would never see a poor day.

All went well for a time, and the day of the Fair of Killalla was as fine a day as ever shone in Ireland, when the whole seven got ready to be off, bright and early, in the morning.

Each one of them drove before him three fine cows, and a finer herd, when they were all together, was never seen in the country far or near.

Now, there was a smart farmer, named O'Toole, whose fields were nearing on the McAndrews', and he had many a time set his heart on the fine cattle belonging to his easy-going neighbours; so when he saw them passing with their twenty-one cows he went out and hailed them.

"Where are ye going to, this fine morning?"

"It's to the Fair of Killalla we're going, to sell these fine cows our father gave us," they all answered together.

"And are ye going to sell cows that the Evil Eye has long been set on? Oh, Con and Shamus, I would never belave it of ye, even if that spalpeen of a Pat would do such a thing; any one would think that the spirit of the good mother that bore ye would stretch out a hand and kape ye from committing such a mortal sin."

This O'Toole said to the three eldest, who stood trembling, while the four younger ones stuck their knuckles into their eyes and began to cry.

"Oh, indade, Mr. O'Toole, we never knew that the cows were under the Evil Eye. How did ye find it out? Oh, sorra the day when such a fine lot of cattle should go to the bad," answered Con.

"Indade ye may well ask it, whin it's meself that was always a good neighbour and kept watch on auld Judy, the witch, when she used to stand over there laughing at the ravens flying over the cows. Do ye mind the time yer father spoke ugly to her down by the cross-roads? She never forgot it, and now yer twenty-one fine cows will never be worth the hides on their backs."

"Worra, worra, worra," roared the seven McAndrews, so loud that pretty Katie O'Toole bobbed her head out of the window, and the hindermost cows began to caper like mad.

"The spell has come upon them!" cried Shamus. "Oh! what'll we do? What'll we do?"

"Hould yer whist, man alive," said O'Toole. "I'm a good neighbour, as I said before, so to give ye a lift in the world I'll take the risk on meself and buy the cows from ye for the price of their hides. Sure no harm can be done to the hides for making leather, so I'll give ye a shilling apiece, and that's better than nothing. Twenty-one bright shillings going to the fair may make yer fortune."

It seemed neck or nothing with the McAndrews, and they accepted the offer, thanking O'Toole for his generosity, and helped him drive the cows into his field. Then they set off for the fair.

They had never been in a fair before, and when they saw the fine sights they forgot all about the cows, and only remembered that they had each a shilling to spend.

Every one knew the McAndrews, and soon a crowd gathered round them, praising their fine looks and telling them what a fine father they had to give them so much money, so that the seven omadhauns lost their heads entirely, and treated right and left until there wasn't a farthing left of the twenty-one shillings. Then they staggered home a little the worse for the fine whisky they drank with the boys.

It was a sorry day for old McAndrew when his seven sons came home without a penny of the price of their twenty-one fine cows, and he vowed he'd never give them any more.

So one day passed with another, and the seven young McAndrews were as happy as could be until the fine old father fell sick and died.

The eldest son came in for all the father had, so he felt like a lord. To see him strut and swagger was a sight to make a grum growdy laugh.

One day, to show how fine he could be, he dressed in his best, and with a purse filled with gold pieces started off for the market town.

When he got there, in he walked to a public-house, and called for the best of everything, and to make a fine fellow of himself he tripled the price of everything to the landlord. As soon as he got through his eye suddenly caught sight of a little keg, all gilded over to look like gold, that hung outside the door for a sign. Con had never heeded it before, and he asked the landlord what it was.

Now the landlord, like many another, had it in mind that he might as well get all he could out of a McAndrew, and he answered quickly:

"You stupid omadhaun, don't you know what that is? It's a mare's egg."

"And will a foal come out of it?"

"Of course; what a question to ask a dacent man!"

"I niver saw one before," said the amazed McAndrew.

"Well, ye see one now, Con, and take a good look at it."

"Will ye sell it?"

"Och, Con McAndrew, do ye think I want to sell that fine egg afther kaping it so long hung up there before the sun--when it is ready to hatch out a foal that will be worth twenty good guineas to me?"

"I'll give ye twenty guineas for it," answered Con.

"Thin it's a bargain," said the landlord; and he took down the keg and handed it to Con, who handed out the twenty guineas, all the money he had.

"Be careful of it, and carry it as aisy as ye can, and when ye get home hang it up in the sun."

Con promised, and set off home with his prize.

Near the rise of a hill he met his brothers.

"What have ye, Con?"

"The most wonderful thing in the world--a mare's egg."

"Faith, what is it like?" asked Pat, taking it from Con.

"Go aisy, can't ye? It's very careful ye have to be."

But the brothers took no heed to Con, and before one could say, "whist," away rolled the keg down the hill, while all seven ran after it; but before any one could catch it, it rolled into a clump of bushes, and in an instant out hopped a hare.

"Bedad, there's the foal," cried Con, and all seven gave chase; but there was no use trying to catch a hare.

"That's the foinest foal that ever was, if he was five year old the devil himself could not catch him," Con said; and with that the seven omadhauns gave up the chase and went quietly home.

As I said before, every one had it in mind to get all he could get out of the McAndrews.

Every one said, "One man might as well have it as another, for they're bound to spend every penny they have."

So their money dwindled away; then a fine horse would go for a few bits of glass they took for precious stones, and by-and-by a couple of pigs or a pair of fine geese for a bit of ribbon to tie on a hat; and at last their land began to go.

One day Shamus was sitting by his fireplace warming himself, and to make a good fire he threw on a big heap of turf so that by-and-by it got roaring hot, and instead of feeling chilly as he had before, Shamus got as hot as a spare-rib on a spit. Just then in came his youngest brother.

"That's a great fire ye have here, Shamus."

"It is, indade, and too near it is to me; run like a good boy to Giblin, the mason, and see if he can't move the chimney to the other side of the room."

The youngest McAndrew did as he was bid, and soon in came Giblin, the mason.

"Ye're in a sad plight, Shamus, roasting alive; what can I do for ye?"

"Can ye move the chimney over beyant?"

"Faith, I can, but ye will have to move a bit; just go out for a walk with yer brother, and the job will be done when ye come back."

Shamus did as he was bid, and Giblin took the chair the omadhaun was sitting on and moved it away from the fire, and then sat down for a quiet laugh for himself and to consider on the price he'd charge for the job.

When Shamus came back, Giblin led him to the chair, saying:

"Now, isn't that a great deal better?"

"Ye're a fine man, Giblin, and ye did it without making a bit of dirt; what'll I give ye for so fine a job?"

"If ye wouldn't mind, I'd like the meadow field nearing on mine. It's little enough for a job like that."

"It's yours and welcome, Giblin"; and without another word the deed was drawn.

That was the finest of the McAndrew fields, and the only pasture land left to Shamus.

It was not long before it came about that first one and then another lost the house he lived in, until all had to live together in the father's old place.

O'Toole and Giblin had encroached field by field, and there was nothing left but the old house and a strip of garden that none of them knew how to till.

It was hard times for the seven McAndrews, but they were happy and contented as long as they had enough to eat, and that they had surely, for the wives of the men who got away all their fine lands and cattle, had sore hearts when they saw their men enriched at the expense of the omadhauns, and every day, unbeknown to their husbands, they carried them meat and drink.

O'Toole and Giblin now had their avaricious eyes set on the house and garden, and they were on the watch for a chance to clutch them, when luck, or something worse, threw the chance in the way of O'Toole.

He was returning from town one day just in the cool of the afternoon, when he spied the seven brothers by the roadside, sitting in a circle facing each other.

"What may ye be doing here instead of earning yer salt, ye seven big sturks?"