“You’re dhriving a hard bargain, King,” cried Darby. “Don’t promise him, Maureen.”
“I will!” cried she.
“Then it’s a bargain!” the fairy shouted, jumping to the top of a headstone. “We all consent,” he says, waving the noggin.
He yelled to the omadhaun. “Go home, Roger O’Brien! Go back to your father’s house and live your life out to its natural ind. The curse is lifted from you, the black spell is spint and gone. Pick up the girl, ye spalpeen; don’t ye see she’s fainted?”
When O’Brien looked up and saw the Master of the Fairies he staggered like a man that had been sthruck a powerful blow. Thin he caught up the girl in his arms and ran with her down the gravelled path and over the stile.
At that minute the sorest misfortune that can happen to one of the Good People came to pass. As the lad left the churchyard every cock in the parish crowed, and, tare and ’ounds! there on a tombstone, caught by the cock-crow, stood the poor, frightened little King! His goold crown was far back on his head, and his green cloak was twisted behind his back.
