likes of thim—who has been lost from some thravelling show or carawan, or was stole by ould Peggy Collins this morning from some place—I don’t rightly know which. Sind the childher looking for him and use him kind. I’m going up the road spreading the news. Ignorant people might misthrate him,” says his riverence, moving off.
“You’ll find no ignorant person up this road,” called Tom, in a broken woice, “but Felix O’Shaughnessy, and he’s not so bad, only he don’t belave in ghosts,” cried Mulligan.
Even as the ballad-maker turned to go in the door the sun, shooting one red, angry look at the world, dhropped below the western mountains. The King jumped from the bed.
“The charms have come back to me. I feel in my four bones the power, for ’tis sunset. I’m a greater man now than any king on his trone,” says he. “Do you sind word to Barney and Judy Casey that if they don’t bring little Patsy and my green velvet cloak and the silver-topped noggin and stand ferninst me on this floor within half an hour, I’ll have the both of thim presners in Sleive-na-mon before midnight, to walk on all-fours the rest of their lives. As for
