a bad repitation, think how many years you have to live it down in. Be sinsible, King!” he says.
“But I do mind, and I must mind!” bawled the little fairy-man, every hair and whusker bristling, “for this minute Father Cassidy is putting the bridle and saddle on his black hunter, Terror; he has a prayer-book in his pocket, and he’s coming to read prayers over me and to banish me into the say. Hark! listen to that,” he says.
As he spoke, a shrill little voice broke into singing outside the window.
Sure, what’ll you do but fill it agin;
Ah, what’ll you do if you marry a sojer,
But pack up your clothes and go marchin’ with him.”
“That’s the signal!” says the King, all excited; “he’s coming and I’ll face him here at this hearth, but sorrow foot he’ll put over that threshol’ till I give him lave. Then we’ll have it out face to face like men ferninst this fire!”
Whin Darby heard those words great fright struck him.
“If a hair of his Riverence’s head be harmed,” he says, “’tis not you but me and my generation’ll be
