eyes. There was great excitement among the Good People up on the cupboard shelves.
On the table little Nial, the wise, was thrying to start three cheers for Father Cassidy, when Darby said agin: “Who was the greatest warrior?” he says.
The kitchen grew still as death, aich of the two hayros waiting for the other.
The King spoke first. “Brian Boru,” says he.
“No,” says Father Cassidy, half laughing; “Owen Roe O’Nale.”
Phadrig Oge jumped from the churn. “Owen Roe forever! I always said it!” cries he. “Look at this man, boys,” he says, pinting up to the priest. “There’s the making of the foinest bishop in Ireland!”
“The divil a much differ betwixt Owen Roe an’ Brian Boru! ’Tis one of them two, an’ I don’t care which!” says the King.
The priest and the King sank back in their chairs, eyeing aich other with admayration.
Darby powered something out of a jug into three brown stone noggins, and then turned hot wather from the kittle, on top of that agin.
Says the King to the clargyman, “You’re the
