would have made any other man than one in Barney Casey’s mind say his prayers and go on his way.
The baby was gone, but in its place was a little ould man with a goold crown on his head, a silver-covered noggin in his hand, and the most vexed expression in the world on his face, and he thrailing a shawl and throtting toward the ditch.
’Twas a hard fall for the Man without Childher, and hard he took it.
When Barney was done with bad langwidge, he says: “A second ago, me ould lad, you were, or you purtended to be, an innocent child. Well, then, you’ll turn back again every hair and every look of you; you’ll be a smiling, harmless, purty baby agin, or I’ll know the rayson why,” he says, gritting his teeth.
With that he crept over and scooped up the King. There was the struggling and wiggling!
“Lave me down! Lave me down! You murthering spalpeen!” shouted the King, kicking vicious at Barney’s chist. “I’m Brian Connors, the King of the Good People, and I’ll make you sup sorrow in taycups for this!” cries he.
Well, Casey, his lips shut tight and his eyes grim and cowld, hildt in his two hands, out at arm’s-length,
