“You’ll not be able to get out, Father acushla,” says Darby, “till you promise fair an’ firm not to read any prayers over the Good People this night, and never to hurt or molest meself on any account. About this last promise the King is very particular entirely.”
“You dundherheaded Booligadhaun!” says Father Cassidy, turning all the blame on Darby; “you mayandherin’ Mayrauder of the Sivin Says!” he says. “You big-headed scorpion of the worruld, with bowlegs!” cried he—an’ things like that.
“Oh, my! Oh, my! Oh, my!” says Darby, purtendin’ to be shocked, “to think that me own pasture should use sich terrible langwidge! That me own dear Father Cassidy could spake blaggard words like thim! Every dhrop of blood in me is biling with scandalation. Let me beg of you and implore your Riverence never agin to make use of talk like that. It breaks my heart to hear you!” says the villian.
For a few minutes afther that Darby was doin’ nothing but dodging handfuls of mud.
While this was going on, a soft red glow, like that which hangs above the lonely raths an’ forts at night when the fairies are dancin’ in thim, came over the fields. So whin Father Cassidy riz in his stirrups the soft glow was resting on the bog, and there he saw two score of little men in green jackets and brown caps waiting about the pond’s edge, and everyone houlding a switch in his hands.
The little lads knew well ’twas too dark for the clergyman to read from his book any banishing prayers, and barring having too much fun, the divil a thing they had to fear!
’Twas fresh anger that came to Father Cassidy afther the first rush of surprise and wondher. He thried now to get at the Good People, to lay his hands on thim. A dozen charges at the bank his Riverence made, and as many times a score of the Little People flew up to meet him and sthruck the poor baste over the soft nose with their wands till the horse was welted back.
Long afther the struggle was proved hopeless it wint on till at last the poor baste, thrembling and disheartened, rayfused to mind the spur.
At that Father Cassidy gave up. “I surrender,” he said, “an’ I promise for the sake of my horse,” said he.
The baste himself undherstood the worruds, for with that he waded ca’m an’ quiet to the dhry land and stood shaking himself there among the pack of fairies.
Mighty few words were passed betwixt Darby and Terror’s rider as the whole party went up to Darby’s stable, the little people follying behind quiet and ordherly.
It was not long till Terror was nibbling comfortably in a stall, Father Cassidy was dhrying himself before the kitchen fire, the King and Darby were sitting by the side of the hearth, and two score of the green-cloaked Little People were scatthered about the kitchen waiting for the great debate which was sure to come betwixt his Riverence and the head man of the Good People, now that the two had met.
So full was the room that some of the Good People sat on the shelves of the dhresser, others lay on the table, their chins in their fists, whilst little Phelim Beg was perching himself on a picture above the hearth. He’d no sooner touched the picture-frame than he let a howl out of him and jumped to the floor. “I’m burned to the bone!” says he.
“No wondher,” says the King, looking up; “ ’twas a picture of St. Patrick you were sitting on.”
Phadrig Oge, swinging his heels, balanced himself on the edge of a churn filled with buttermilk, but everyone of them kept wondhering eyes fastened on the priest.
And to tell the truth, Father Cassidy at first was more scornful and unpolite than he need be.
“I suppose,” says his Riverence, “you do be worrying a good deal about the place you’re going to afther the Day of Judgment?” he says, kind of mocking.
“Arrah, now,” says the King, taking the pipe from his mouth and staring hard at the clargyman, “there’s more than me ought to be studying that question. There’s a parish priest I knew, and he’s not far from here, who ate mate on a fast day, three years ago come next Michaelmas, who should be a good lot intherested in that same place,” says the King.
The laughing and tittering that follyed this hit lasted a minute.
Father Cassidy turned scarlet. “When I ate it I forgot the day!” he cried.
“That’s what you tould,” says the King, smiling sweet, “but that saying don’t help your chanst much. Maybe you failed to say your prayers a year ago last Ayster Monday night for the same rayson?” axed the King, very cool.
At this the laughing broke out agin, uproarious, some of the little men houlding their sides and tears rowling down their cheeks; two lads begun dancing together before the chiny dishes upon the dhresser. But at the height of the merriment there was a cry and a splash, for Phadrig Oge had fallen into the churn.
Before anyone could help him Phadrig had climbed bravely up the churn-dash, hand over hand like a sailor man, and clambered out all white and dripping. “Don’t mind me,” he says; “go on wid the discoorse!” he cried, shaking himself. The Ruler of the Good People looked vexed.
“I marvel at yez, an’ I am ashamed of yez!” he says. “If I’m not able alone for this dayludhered man, yer shoutin’ and your gallivantin’ll do me no good. Besides, fair play’s a jewel, even two agin one ain’t fair,” says the King. “If I hear another word from one of yez, back to Sleive-na-mon he’ll go, an’ lay there on the broad of his back, with his heels in the air,
