wish that day—whiff! they turn to smoke. Take my adwice—nayther make nor moil nor meddle with the fairies.”
“Thrue for ye,” spoke up long Pether McCarthy, siding in with Darby. “Didn’t Barney McBride, on his way to early mass one May morning, catch the fairy cobbler sewing an’ workin’ away under a hedge. ‘Have a pinch of snuff, Barney agra,’ says the Leprechaun, handing up the little snuff-box. But, mind ye, when my poor Barney bint to take a thumb an’ finger full, what did the little villain do but fling the box, snuff and all, into Barney’s face. An’ thin, whilst the poor lad was winkin’ and blinkin’, he Leprechaun gave one leap and was lost in the reeds.
“Thin, again, there was Peggy O’Rourke, who captured him fair an’ square in a hawthorn-bush. In spite of his wiles she wrung from him the favours of the three wishes. Knowing, of course, that if she towld of what had happened to her the spell was broken and the wishes wouldn’t come thrue, she hurried home, aching and longing to in some way find from her husband Andy what wishes she’d make.
“Throwing open her own door, she said, ‘What would ye wish for most in the world, Andy dear? Tell
