Part 2

The other had a great satisfaction on him, he having no dread of a man was rotting in the clay, where rich and poor are alike and the strong have no mastery above the weak. But in a short while a warning came to the lad in a dream, the way he walked the world in fear from that out:--

He seen a field where he was standing by his lone to confront a black bull was charging down. The eyes of the beast were glowing red as burning fire, and it was no right thing surely. There was such a fluttering of dread on the boy that he could not endeavour for to run, but he stood like a growing rush does be waving with the breeze. Three times the likeness of the great black bull came down against him, wounding him with the curved and lengthy horns were upon it; with that he awoke.

"The devil will be gifting the spirit of the dead with the form of a living beast, the way he'll get bringing me the dark destruction he promised, and I looking fearful at the flames are burning in his eyes," thinks the lad.

Sure enough, in a month's time, he was in a field, and the appearance of the black bull came against him. Three times it struck him, the way he was tormented with the agony of the goring horns. With that the likeness of the living beast faded from the place leaving the young lad sore and sorry but alive.

He had peace for a short space only to be thinking on his escape. Didn't a second warning come in the night to restore the cold fear to his heart:--

He seen a black goat come at him in standing leps, and the eyes of it were glowing like a turf in the heart of a strong fire.

"It is less power the devil be's giving him this time," thinks the lad. "All the while 'tis an ill hour stands before me: the like of yon beast will be middling weighty and it striking me in a standing lep with no one of its four feet upon the ground."

All came about as it was put on his eyes in the vision. Not a many days went by before the likeness of the great black goat threw its strength against him in the field. Three sore batterings he be to endure, the way he was left lying on the grass with every bone of him tormented in pain and a cold fear at his soul.

When the wounds were healed on his body and the passing of time restored his mind to a better peace, didn't he behold a third dream of the night:--

He stood in the lane between his house and the field, and the appearance of a great turkey cock flew down upon him from the sky.

At that he let a hearty laugh, and he roused up in his bed.

"Sure the devil has little wit to be thinking I'll take my death from the like," says he. "And how would it be possible a fine, stout-hearted lad could be scared by the fowls of the sky!"

He laughed that night, and he laughed at the noon of day when the bird flew against him in the lane. But the appearance of the turkey cock opened the joining of his skull with one blow of the beak like a sharpened knife was upon it. The second stroke and the third dashed the brains from his head and scattered them grey on the brown and dusty path.

And that is the how he came to a bad death as his companion promised him, and the dark oath was accomplished no spite of the power of the grave.

We that are yet in this world know well where we are, but ignorance is on us of where we be to repair. Sure the passing of the spirit is the strangest and awfullest thing was ever devised or heard tell of. It was said in the ancient times and is well known to this present that the soul quits the body by the joining of the skull. The eyes have seen evil, the ears have heard it, and the mouth has made laughter and speech of the same: how then would they be a right and a fitting doorway for the feet of the spirit to pass! Moreover, I have heard tell that the skull of man and the skull of woman are different one from another--and it is the soul of herself has the sorest departure from the flesh.

V

FAIRY GOLD

It happened one time that a poor man dreamt three nights after other of a sack of fairy gold was buried in under the roots of a lone bush and it growing in a field convenient to his house.

"It may be there is nothing in it," says he to himself. "But I will be digging in that place and if I find a treasure it will be a big reward for the labour."

He never let on a word of his intentions to any person, nor did he evenly pass any remark on the strange dreams were after coming to him. At the fall of the day he took a loy in his hand and set out for the lone bush. He was not a great while at work before the steel blade struck against a substance that had no feel of clay, and the man was full sure it was not a stone he was after striking against. He wraught hard to bring whatever was in it to light--and what had he only a powerful fine sack of pure gold and splendid jewels.

He raised it up on his shoulders and set out for home, staggering under the load. It was maybe a hundredweight of treasure he had with him, and he went along planning out the uses of that wealth. Sure the burden was a rejoicement to him and no hardship at all evenly if it had him bent double like an aged and crippled man.

When he came to his own place he went to the byre, and it was there he put down the sack in front of three cows were standing in the bails. For he was not wishful to be making a display of that splendour before the neighbours all, and it was likely he would find some person within making their cailee. Sure enough when he went in on the door of the house he seen two men sitting by the fire and they in no haste to depart. Now the strangers had the English only, and the people of the house spoke Irish with one another.

Says himself, using the Gaelic, "I have a beautiful treasure without--bars of fine gold are in it, and jewels would be the delight of a queen of the world."

"Oh, bring it into the house," says she. "Sure it will rise my heart to be looking on the like; the hunger of it is put on my eyes by your words speaking."

"I have better wit than to make display of my fortune to every person is living in the land," says he. "Let you content yourself until the two men have departed, and then we'll fetch the sack in from the byre where I left it in front of the cows."

When the man and woman of the house were shut of the company they went out to the yard, and they fair wild with delight. Himself told the story of the three dreams and the finding of the gold in under the roots of the lone bush.

"Did you spit on it?" she inquires.

"I did not," says he.

With that she allowed he was after making a big mistake.

"How would that be?" he asks.

"My father had great knowledge of the like," says herself. "I often heard him tell of how those treasures do be enchanted, and power is on them for to melt away. But if a man was to spit on fairy gold he'd get keeping it surely."

"Amn't I after bringing it this far," says he, "and the weight of it destroying my shoulders with bruises and pains. Not the least sign of melting was on yon article and it a warrant to bring down the scales at a hundred and more."

With that they went into the byre, and they seen the three cows were striving to break out of the bails.

"They are in dread of what's lying there in front," says herself. "The cattle of the world have good wisdom surely, and they do be looking on more nor the eye of man gets leave to behold."

"Quit raving about the cows," says he. "Look at my lovely sack and it bulging full."

When the two went up to the head of the bails the woman let a great cry out of her.

"What are you after bringing to this place from among the roots of the lone bush? It has the movement of life in it--and how could the like be treasure at all!"

"Hold your whisht, woman," says the husband, and he middling vexed at her words.

"Will you look at the bag is turning over on the ground?" says she.

He seen there was truth in her words, but all the while he would not give in to be scared.

"It is likely a rat is after creeping in," he allows, "and he is having his own times striving to win out."

"Let you open the sack, and I will be praying aloud for protection on us--for it is no right thing is in it at all," says herself.

With that he went over and he turned the hundredweight of treasure until he had it propped up against the bails. When he began for to open the bag the cows went fair wild, striving and roaring and stamping to get away from the place entirely.

The head of a great eel looked out from under the man's hand where he was groping for the treasure. The eyes of it were the colour of flame and as blinding to the sight as the naked sun at noon of a summer's day.

The man gave one lep that carried him to the door and there the paralysis of dread held him down. Herself let a scream could be heard in the next townland, but she never asked to stir from where she was standing.

The appearance of the eel twisted itself out of the sack and travelled along the ground, putting the six feet of its length into the awfullest loops and knots were ever seen. Then it reared up its head and neck to stand swaying for a while, a full half of it in the air. The man and woman were convenient to the door but the both were too scared to go out on it; they watched the eel and they seen it twist up round a bail until the head of it was touching the roof. Didn't it break away out through the thatch, and whether it melted off the face of the earth or travelled to other parts was never heard tell. But the likeness of that beast was the whole and only treasure came out of the sack the poor man dug from under the roots of the lone bush where the fairy gold was hid.

VI

M'CARTHY OF CONNACHT

I

There was a fine young gentleman the name of M'Carthy, he had a most beautiful countenance and for strength and prowess there was none to equal him in the baronies of Connacht. But he began to dwine away, and no person knew what ailed him. He used no food at all and he became greatly reduced, the way he was not able to rise from his bed and he letting horrid groans and lamentations out of him. His father sent for three skilled doctors to come and find out what sort of disease it might be, and a big reward was promised for the cure.

Three noted doctors came on the one day and they searched every vein in young M'Carthy's body, but they could put no name on the sickness nor think of a remedy to relieve it. They came down from the room and reported that the disease had them baffled entirely.

"Am I to be at the loss of a son is the finest boy in all Ireland?" says the father.

Now one of the doctors had a man with him was a very soft-spoken person, and he up and says:

"Maybe your honours would be giving me permission to visit the young gentleman. I have a tongue on me is that sweet I do be drawing the secrets of the world out of men and women and little children."

Well they brought him up to the room and they left him alone with M'Carthy. He sat down by the side of the bed and began for to flatter him, the like of such conversation was never heard before.

At long last he says, "Let your Lordship's honour be telling me--What is it ails you at all?"

"You will never let on to a living soul?" asks M'Carthy.

"Is it that I'd be lodging an information against a noble person like yourself?" says the man.

With that the young gentleman began telling the secrets of his heart.

"It is no disease is on me," says he, "but a terrible misfortune."

"'Tis heart scalded I am that you have either a sorrow or a sickness, and you grand to look on and better to listen to," says the other.

"It is in love I am," says M'Carthy.

"And how would that be a misfortune to a fine lad like yourself?" asks the man.

"Let you never let on!" says M'Carthy. "The way of it is this: I am lamenting for no lady is walking the world, nor for one is dead that I could be following to the grave. I have a little statue has the most beautiful countenance on it was ever seen, and it is destroyed with grief I am that it will never be speaking to me at all."

With that he brought the image out from under his pillow, and the loveliness of it made the man lep off the chair.

"I'd be stealing the wee statue from your honour if I stopped in this place," says he. "But let you take valour into your heart, for that is the likeness of a lady is living in the world, you will be finding her surely."

With that he went down to the three doctors and the old man were waiting below. For all his promises to young M'Carthy he told the lot of them all he was after hearing. The doctors allowed that if the gentleman's life was to be saved he must be got out of his bed and sent away on his travels.

"For a time he will be hopeful of finding her," says the oldest doctor. "Then the whole notion will pass off him, and he seeing strange lands and great wonders to divert him."

The father was that anxious for the son's recovery that he agreed to sell the place and give him a big handful of money for the journey.

"It is little I'll be needing for myself from this out, and I am old man near ripe for the grave," says he.

So they all went up to the room and told young M'Carthy to rise from his bed and eat a good dinner, for the grandest arrangements out were made for his future and he'd surely meet the lady. When he seen that no person was mocking him he got into the best of humour, and he came down and feasted with them.

Not a long afterwards he took the big handful of money and set out on his travels, bringing the statue with him. He went over the provinces of Ireland, then he took sea to England and wandered it entirely, away to France with him next and from that to every art and part of the world. He had the strangest adventures, and he seen more wonders than could ever be told or remembered. At the latter end he came back to the old country again, with no more nor a coin or two left of the whole great fortune of money. The whole time he never seen a lady was the least like the wee statue; and the words of the old doctor were only a deceit for he didn't quit thinking of her at all. M'Carthy was a handsome young gentleman, and if it was small heed he had for any person he met it was great notice was taken of him. Sure it was a Queen, no less, and five or six princesses were thinking long thoughts on himself.

The hope was near dead in his heart and the sickness of grief was on him again when he came home to Ireland. Soon after he landed from the ship he chanced to come on a gentleman's place, and it a fine big house he never had seen before. He went up and inquired of the servants if he would get leave to rest there. He was given a most honourable reception, and the master of the house was well pleased to be entertaining such an agreeable guest. Now himself happened to be a Jew, and that is the why he did not ask M'Carthy to eat at his table, but had his dinner set out for him in a separate room. The servants remarked on the small share of food he was using, it was scarcely what would keep the life in a young child; but he asked them not to make any observation of the sort. At first they obeyed him, yet when he used no meat at all on the third day, didn't they speak with their master.

"What is the cause of it at all?" he says to M'Carthy. "Is the food in this place not to your liking? Let you name any dish you have a craving for, and the cook will prepare it."

"There was never better refreshment set before an emperor," says M'Carthy.

"It is civility makes you that flattering," answers the Jew. "How would you be satisfied with the meat is set before you when you are not able to use any portion of it at all?"

"I doubt I have a sickness on me will be the means of my death," says M'Carthy. "I had best be moving on from this place, the way I'll not be rewarding your kindness with the botheration of a corpse."

With that the master of the house began for to speak in praise of a doctor was in those parts.

"I see I must be telling you what is in it," says M'Carthy. "Doctors have no relief for the sort of tribulation is destroying me."

He brought out the statue, and he went over the whole story from start to finish. How he set off on his travels and was hopeful for awhile; and how despair got hold of him again.

"Let you be rejoicing now," says the Jew, "for it is near that lady you are this day. She comes down to a stream is convenient to this place, and six waiting maids along with her, bringing a rod and line for to fish. And it is always at the one hour she is in it."

Well, M'Carthy was lepping wild with delight to hear tell of the lady.

"Let you do all I'm saying," the Jew advises him. "I'll provide you with the best of fishing tackle, and do you go down to the stream for to fish in it too. Whatever comes to your line let you give to the lady. But say nothing might scare her at all and don't follow after her if she turns to go home."

The next day M'Carthy went out for to fish, not a long was he at the stream before the lady came down and the six waiting maids along with her. Sure enough she was the picture of the statue, and she had the loveliest golden hair was ever seen.

M'Carthy had the luck to catch a noble trout, and he took it off the hook, rolled it in leaves and brought it to the lady, according to the advice of the Jew. She was pleased to accept the gift of it, but didn't she turn home at once and the six waiting maids along with her. When she went into her own house she took the fish to her father.

"There was a noble person at the stream this day," she says, "and he made me a present of the trout."

Next morning M'Carthy went to fish again, and he seen the lady coming and her six waiting maids walking behind her. He caught a splendid fine trout and brought it over to her; with that she turned home at once.

"Father," says she, when she went in, "the gentleman is after giving me a fish is bigger and better nor the one I brought back yesterday. If the like happens at the next time I go to the stream I will be inviting the noble person to partake of refreshment in this place."

"Let you do as best pleases yourself," says her father.

Well, sure enough, M'Carthy got the biggest trout of all the third time. The lady was in the height of humour, and she asked would he go up to the house with her that day. She walked with M'Carthy beside her, and the six waiting maids behind them. They conversed very pleasantly together, and at last he found courage for to tell her of how he travelled the world to seek no person less than herself.

"I'm fearing you'll need to set out on a second journey, the way you will be coming in with some other one," says she. "I have an old father is after refusing two score of suitors were asking me off him. I do be thinking I'll not get joining the world at all, unless a king would be persuading himself of the advancement is in having a son-in-law wearing a golden crown upon his head. The whole time it is great freedom I have, and I walking where it pleases me with six waiting maids along with me. The old man has a notion they'd inform him if I was up to any diversion, but that is not the way of it at all."

"It is funning you are, surely," says M'Carthy. "If himself is that uneasy about you how would it be possible you'd bring me to the house to be speaking with him?"

"He is a kindly man and reasonable," says she, "and it is a good reception you'll be getting. Only let you not be speaking of marriage with me, for he cannot endure to hear tell of the like."

Well, the old man made M'Carthy welcome, and he had no suspicion the two were in notion of other. But didn't they arrange all unbeknownst to him, and plan out an elopement.

M'Carthy went back to the Jew, and he told him all. "But," says he, "I am after spending my whole great fortune of money travelling the territory of the world. I must be finding a good situation the way I'll make suitable provision for herself."

"Don't be in the least distress," says the Jew. "I did not befriend you this far to be leaving you in a bad case at the latter end. I'll oblige you with the loan of what money will start you in a fine place. You will be making repayment at the end of three years when you have made your profit on the business."

The young gentleman accepted the offer, and he fair wild with delight. Moreover, the Jew gave himself and the lady grand assistance at the elopement, the way they got safe out of it and escaped from her father was raging in pursuit.

M'Carthy was rejoicing surely, and he married to a wife was the picture of the statue. Herself was in the best of humour too, for it was small delight she had in her own place, roaming the fields or stopping within and six waiting maids along with her. A fine, handsome husband was the right company for her like. They bought a lovely house and farm of land with the money was lent by the Jew; and they fixed all the grandest ever was seen. After a while M'Carthy got a good commission to be an officer, the way nothing more in the world was needful to their happiness.

II

M'Carthy and his lady had a fine life of it, they lacking for no comfort or splendour at all. The officer's commission he had, brought himself over to England from time to time, and the lady M'Carthy would mind all until he was home. He saved up what money was superfluous, and all was gathered to repay the loan to the Jew only for a few pounds.

Well it happened that M'Carthy went to England, and there he fell in with a droll sort of a man was the best of company. They played cards together and they drank a great power of wine. In the latter end a dispute came about between them, for the both claimed to have the best woman.

"I have a lady beyond in Ireland," says M'Carthy, "and she is an ornament to the roads when she is passing along. But no person gets seeing her these times and that is a big misfortune to the world."

"What's the cause?" asks the Englishman.

"I'd have a grief on me to think another man might be looking on her and I not standing by," says M'Carthy. "So she gives me that satisfaction on her promised word: all the time I do be away she never quits the house, and no man body is allowed within."

The Englishman let a great laugh out of him at the words.

"You are simple enough!" says he. "Don't you know rightly when you are not in it herself will be feasting and entertaining and going on with every diversion?"

M'Carthy was raging at the impertinence of him, and he offered for to fight.

"What would that be proving?" says the Englishman. "Let you make a powerful big bet with myself that I will not be able for to bring you a token from your lady and a full description of her appearance."

"I'll be winning the money off you, surely!" says M'Carthy.

"Not at all," says the Englishman. "I'm not in the least uneasy about it, for I'm full sure it's the truth I'm after speaking of how she does be playing herself in your absence."

"You'll find me in this place and you coming back," says M'Carthy. "Let you be prepared with the money to have along with you."

The Englishman took ship to Ireland, and he came to the house of the lady M'Carthy. Herself was in the kitchen making a cake, and she seen the man walking up to the door. Away she run to the parlour, and in the hurry she forgot the lovely pearl ring she took off her finger when she began at the cooking. Well, he found the door standing open, and he seen the ring on the kitchen table. It was easy knowing it was no common article would be in the possession of any one but the mistress of the house. What did the lad do, only slip in and put it in his pocket. With that the waiting maid came and asked his business, the lady M'Carthy was after sending her down.

"Oh, no business at all," says he. "But I am weary travelling and I thought I might rest in this place."