“First an’ foremost,” says Darby, “I want a home of my ansisthers, an’ it must be a castle like Castle Brophy, with pictures of my kith an’ kin on the wall, and then facing them pictures of my wife Bridget’s kith an’ kin on the other wall.”
“That favour I give you; that wish I grant ye,” says the fairy, making the shape of a castle on the ground with his awl.
“What next?” he grunted.
“I want goold enough for me an’ my generations to enjoy in grandeur the place forever.”
“Always the goold,” sneered the little man, bending to dhraw with his awl on the turf the shape of a purse.
“Now for your third and last wish. Have a care!”
“I want the castle set on this hill—the Divil’s Pillow—where we two stand,” says Darby. Then sweeping with his arm, he says, “I want the land about to be my demesne.”
The Leprechaun struck his awl on the ground. “That wish I give you; that wish I grant you,” he says. With that he straightened himself up, and, grinning most aggravaytin’ the while, he looked Darby over from top to toe. “You’re a foine knowledgeable man, but have a care of the fourth wish,” says he.
Bekase there was more of a challenge than friendly warning in what the small lad said, Darby snapped his fingers at him an’ cried:
“Have no fear, little man! If I got all Ireland ground for making a fourth wish, however small, before midnight, I’d not make it. I’m going home now to fetch Bridget an’ the childher, and the only fear or unaisiness I have is that you’ll not keep your word, so as to have the castle here ready before us when I come back.”
“Oho! I’m not to be thrusted, amn’t I?” screeched the little lad, flaring into a blazing passion. He jumped upon the log that was betwixt them an’ with one fist behind his back, shook the other at Darby.
“You ignorant, auspicious-minded blaggard,” says he. “How dare the likes of you say the likes of that to the likes of me?” cried the cobbler. “I’d have you to know,” he says, “that I had a repitation for truth an’ voracity ayquil, if not shuperior to the best, before you were born,” he shouted. “I’ll take no high talk from a man that’s afraid to give words to his own wife whin she’s in a tantrum,” says the Leprechaun.
“It’s aisy to know you’re not a married man,” says Darby, mighty scornful, “bekase if you—”
The lad stopped short, forgetting what he was going to say in his surprise an’ aggaytation, for the far side of the mountain was waving up an’ down before his eyes like a great green blanket that is being shook by two women; while at the same time high spots of turf on the hillside toppled sidewise to level themselves up with the low places. The enchantment had already begun to make things ready for the castle. A dozen foine threes that stood in a little groove bent their heads quickly together, and thin by some inwisible hand they were plucked up by the roots an’ dhropped aside, much the same as a man might grasp a handful of weeds an’ fling them from his garden.
The ground under the knowledgeable man’s feet began to rumble an’ heave. He waited for no more. With a cry that was half of gladness an’ half of fear, he turned on his heel an’ started on a run down into the walley, leaving the little cobbler standing on the log, shouting abuse after him an’ ballyraggin’ him as he ran.
So excited was Darby that, going up the Pig’s Head, he was nearly run over by a crowd of great brown building stones which were moving down slow an’ ordherly like a flock of driven sheep—but they moved without so much as bruising a blade of grass or bendin’ a twig, as they came.
Only once, and that at the top of the Pig’s Head, he trew a look back.
The Divil’s Pillow was in a great commotion; a whirlwind was sweeping over it—whether of dust or of mist he couldn’t tell.
After this, Darby never looked back agin, or to the right or the left of him, but kept straight on till he found himself, panting and puffing, at his own kitchen door. ’Twas tin minutes before he could spake, but at last, whin he tould Bridget to make ready herself and the childher to go up to the Divil’s Pillow with him, for once in her life that raymarkable woman, without axing, How comes it so? What rayson have you, or Why should I do it, set to work washing the childher’s faces.
Maybe she dabbed a little more soap in their eyes than was needful, for ’twas a habit she had; though this time, if she did, not a whimper broke from the little hayros. For the matther of that, not one word, good, bad, or indifferent, did herself spake till the whole family were trudging down the lane two by two, marching like sojers.
As they came near the first hill, along its sides, the evening twilight turned from purple to brown, and at the top of the Pig’s Head the darkness of a black night swooped suddenly down on them. Darby hurried on a step or two ahead, an’ resting his hand upon the large rock that crowns the hill, looked anxiously over to the Divil’s Pillow. Although he was ready for something foine, yet the greatness of the foineness that met his gaze knocked the breath out of him.
Across the deep walley, and on top of the second mountain, he saw lined against the evening sky the roof of an imminse castle, with towers an’ parrypets an’ battlements. Undher the towers a thousand sullen windows glowed red in the black walls. Castle Brophy couldn’t hould a candle to it.
“Behold!” says Darby, flinging out his arms and turning to
