At that minute Terry, the cock, flapped his wings and crowed. In a flash there sprang into full view the crowd of Good People—dukes, earls, princes, quality and commoners, with their ladies—jammed thick together about the house; every one of them with his head trun back bawling and crying, and tears as big as pigeon-eggs rouling down their cheeks.
A few feet away, on a straw-pile in the barnyard, stood the King, his goold crown tilted on the side of his head, his long green cloak about him and his rod in his hand, but thremblin’ all over.
In the middle of the crowd, but towering high above them all, stood Maureen McGibney in her cloak of green an’ goold, her purty brown hair fallin’ down her chowlders, an’ she—the crafty villain—cryin’ an’ bawlin’ an’ abusin’ Darby with the best of them.
“What’ll you have an’ let them go?” says the King.
“First an’ foremost,” says Darby, “take yer spell off that slip of a girl there, an’ send her into the house.”
In a second Maureen was standing inside the door, her both arms about Bob’s neck and her head on his collar-bone.
