King O'Toole And St Kevin

There was wanst a king, called King O'Toole, who was a fine ould king in the ould ancient times, long ago; and it was him that owned the Churches in the airly days.

"Surely," said I, "the Churches were not in King O'Toole's time?"

"Oh, by no manes, your honor--throth, it's yourself that's right enough there; but you know the place is called 'The Churches' bekase they wor built _afther_ by St. Kavin, and wint by the name o' the Churches iver more; and, therefore, av coorse, the place bein' so called, I say that the King owned the Churches--and why not, sir, seein' 'twas his birthright, time out o' mind, beyant the flood? Well, the King (you see) was the right sort--he was the _rale_ boy, and loved sport as he loved his life, and huntin' in partic'lar; and from the risin' o' the sun up he got, and away he wint over the mountains beyant afther the deer: and the fine times them wor; for the deer was as plinty thin, aye throth, far plintyer than the sheep is now; and that's the way it was with the King, from the crow o' the cock to the song o' the redbreast. Well, it was all mighty good as long as the King had his health; but, you see, in coorse o' time, the King grewn ould, by raison he was stiff in his limbs, and when he got sthricken in years, his heart failed him, and he was lost intirely for want o' divarshin, bekase he couldn't go a huntin' no longer; and, by dad, the poor King was obleeged at last for to get a goose to divart him. You see, the goose used for to swim acrass the lake, and go down divin' for throut (and not finer throut in all Ireland than the same throut) and cotch fish on a Friday for the King, and flew every other day round about the lake divartin' the poor King that you'd think he'd break his sides laughin' at the frolicksome tricks av his goose; so, in coorse o' time, the goose was the greatest pet in the counthry, and the biggest rogue, and divarted the King to no end, and the poor King was as happy as the day was long. So that's the way it was; and all wint on mighty well antil, by dad, the goose got sthricken in years, as well as the King, and grew stiff in the limbs, like her masther, and couldn't divart him no longer; and then it was that the poor King was lost complate, and didn't know what in the wide world to do, seein' he was gone out of all divarshin by raison that the goose was no more in the flower of her blume.

"Well, the King was nigh broken-hearted and melancholy intirely, and was walkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate, an' thinkin' o' drownin' himself, that could get no divarshin in life, when all of a suddint, turnin' round the corner beyant, who should he meet but a mighty dacent young man comin' up to him.

"'God save you,' says the King (for the King was a civil-spoken gintleman, by all accounts), 'God save you,' says he to the young man.

"'God save you kindly,' says the young man to him back again; 'God save you, King O'Toole.'

"'Thrue for you,' says the King, 'I am King O'Toole,' says he, 'prince and plennypennytinchery o' these parts,' says he; 'but how kem ye to know that?' says he.

"'Oh, never mind,' says Saint Kavin (for 'twas he that was in it). 'And now, may I make bowld to ax, how is your goose, King O'Toole?' says he.

"'Blur-an-agers, how kem you to know about my goose?' says the King.

"'Oh, no matther; I was given to understand it,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Oh, that's a folly to talk,' says the King, 'bekase myself and my goose is private friends,' says he, 'and no one could tell you,' says he, 'barrin' the fairies.'

"'Oh, thin, it wasn't the fairies,' says Saint Kavin; 'for I'd have you know,' says he, 'that I don't keep the likes o' sich company.'

"'You might do worse, then, my gay fellow,' says the King; 'for it's _they_ could show you a crock o' money as aisy as kiss hand; and that's not to be sneezed at,' says the King, 'by a poor man,' says he.

"'Maybe I've a betther way of making money myself,' says the saint.

"'By gor,' says the King, 'barrin' you're a coiner,' says he, 'that's impossible!'

"'I'd scorn to be the like, my lord!' says Saint Kavin, mighty high, 'I'd scorn to be the like,' says he.

"'Then, what are you?' says the King, 'that makes money so aisy, by your own account.'

"'I'm an honest man,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Well, honest man,' says the King, 'and how is it you make your money so aisy?'

"'By makin' ould things as good as new,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Is it a tinker you are?' says the King.

"'No,' says the saint; 'I'm no tinker by thrade, King O'Toole; I've a betther thrade than a tinker,' says he. 'What would you say,' says he, 'if I made your ould goose as good as new?'

"My dear, at the word o' making his goose as good as new, you'd think the poor ould King's eyes was ready to jump out iv his head, 'and,' says he--'throth, thin, I'd give you more money nor you could count,' says he, 'if you did the like, and I'd be behoulden to you in the bargain.'

"'I scorn your dirty money,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Faith, thin, I'm thinkin' a thrifle o' change would do you no harm,' says the King, lookin' up sly at the ould _caubeen_ that Saint Kavin had on him.

"'I have a vow agin it,' says the saint; 'and I am book sworn,' says he, 'never to have goold, silver, or brass in my company.'

"'Barrin' the thrifle you can't help,' says the King, mighty cute, and looking him straight in the face.

"'You just hot it,' says Saint Kavin; 'but though I can't take money,' says he, 'I could take a few acres o' land, if you'd give them to me.'

"'With all the veins o' my heart,' says the King, 'if you can do what you say.'

"'Thry me!' says Saint Kavin. 'Call down your goose here,' says he, 'and I'll see what I can do for her.'

"With that the King whistled, and down kem the poor goose, all as one as a hound, waddlin' up to the poor ould cripple, her masther, and as like him as two pays. The minute the saint clapt his eyes on the goose, 'I'll do the job for you,' says he, 'King O'Toole!'

"'By _Jaminee_,' says King O'Toole, 'if you do, but I'll say you're the cleverest fellow in the sivin parishes.'

"'Oh, by dad,' says Saint Kavin, 'you must say more nor that--my horn's not so soft all out,' says he, 'as to repair your ould goose for nothin'; what'll you gi' me if I do the job for you?--that's the chat,' says Saint Kavin.

"'I'll give you whatever you ax,' says the King; 'isn't that fair?'

"'Divil a fairer,' says the saint; 'that's the way to do business. Now,' says he, 'this is the bargain I'll make with you, King O'Toole: will you gi' me all the ground the goose flies over, the first offer, afther I make her as good as new?'

"'I will,' says the King.

"'You won't go back o' your word?' says Saint Kavin.

"'Honor bright!' says King O'Toole, howldin' out his fist.

"'Honor bright,' says Saint Kavin back again, 'it's a bargain,' says he. 'Come here!' says he to the poor ould goose--'come here, you unfort'nate ould cripple,' says he, 'and it's I that'll make you the sportin' bird.'

"With that, my dear, he tuk up the goose by the two wings--'criss o' my crass an you,' says he, markin' her to grace with the blessed sign at the same minute--and throwin' her up in the air, 'whew!' says he, jist givin' her a blast to help her; and with that, my jewel, she tuk to her heels, flyin' like one o' the aigles themselves, and cuttin' as many capers as a swallow before a shower of rain. Away she wint down there, right forninst you, along the side o' the clift, and flew over Saint Kavin's bed (that is, where Saint Kavin's bed is _now_, but was not _thin_, by raison it wasn't made, but was conthrived afther by Saint Kavin himself, that the women might lave him alone), and on with her undher Lugduff, and round the ind av the lake there, far beyant where you see the watherfall--and on with her thin right over the lead mines o' Luganure (that is, where the lead mines is _now_, but was not _thin_, by raison they worn't discovered, _but was all goold in Saint Kavin's time_). Well, over the ind o' Luganure she flew, stout and studdy, and round the other ind av the _little_ lake, by the Churches (that is, _av coorse_, where the Churches is _now_, but was not _thin_, by raison they wor not built, but aftherwards by Saint Kavin), and over the big hill here over your head, where you see the big clift--(and that clift in the mountain was made by _Finn Ma Cool_, where he cut it acrass with a big swoord that he got made a purpose by a blacksmith out o' Rathdrum, a cousin av his own, for to fight a joyant (giant) that darr'd him an' the Curragh o' Kildare; and he thried the swoord first an the mountain, and cut it down into a gap, as is plain to this day; and faith, sure enough, it's the same sauce he sarv'd the joyant, soon and suddint, and chopped him in two like a pratie, for the glory of his sowl and ould Ireland)--well, down she flew over the clift, and fluttherin' over the wood there at Poulanass. Well--as I said--afther fluttherin' over the wood a little bit, to _plaze_ herself, the goose flew down, and bit at the fut o' the King, as fresh as a daisy, afther flyin' roun' his dominions, jist as if she hadn't flew three perch.

"Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the King standin' with his mouth open, lookin' at his poor ould goose flyin' as light as a lark, and betther nor ever she was; and when she lit at his fut he patted her an the head, and '_ma vourneen_,' says he, 'but you are the _darlint_ o' the world.'

"'And what do you say to me,' says Saint Kavin, 'for makin' her the like?'

"'By gor,' says the King, 'I say nothin' bates the art o' men, 'barrin' the bees.'

"'And do you say no more nor that?' says Saint Kavin.

"'And that I'm behoulden to you,' says the King.

"'But will you gi' me all the ground the goose flewn over?' says Saint Kavin.

"'I will,' says King O'Toole, 'and you're welkim to it,' says he, 'though it's the last acre I have to give.'

"'But you'll keep your word thrue?' says the saint.

"'As thrue as the sun,' says the King.

"'It's well for you,' says Saint Kavin, mighty sharp--'it's well for you, King O'Toole, that you said that word,' says he; 'for if you didn't say that word, _the divil receave the bit o' your goose id iver fly agin_,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Oh, you needn't laugh,' said old Joe, 'for it's thruth I'm telling you.'

"Well, whin the King was as good as his word, Saint Kavin was _plazed_ with him, and thin it was that he made himself known to the King.

"Well, my dear, that's the way that the place kem, all at wanst, into the hands of Saint Kavin; for the goose flew round every individyial acre o' King O'Toole's property, you see, _bein' let into the saycret_ by Saint Kavin, who was mighty _cute_; and so, when he _done_ the ould King out iv his property for the glory of God, he was _plazed_ with him, and he and the King was the best o' friends iver more afther (for the poor ould King was _doatin'_, you see), and the King had his goose as good as new to divart him as long as he lived; and the saint supported him afther he kem into his property, as I tould you, until the day iv his death--and that was soon afther; for the poor goose thought he was ketchin' a throut one Friday; but, my jewel, it was a mistake he made--and instead of a throut, it was a thievin' horse-eel! and, by gor, instead iv the goose killin' a throut for the King's supper--by dad, the eel killed the King's goose--and small blame to him; but he didn't ate her, bekase he darn't ate what Saint Kavin laid his blessed hands on."