“King! King!” says Maureen, running up, “if I brought Sullivan’s goat into Sleive-na-mon, would ye swear to let me out safe agin?”
“Troth, I would indade, I swear be Ould Nick!” (’Tis be him the Good People swear.) “I’ll do that same.”
“Then let the omadhaun go home. Get the Good People’s consent and I’ll bring you the goat,” says Maureen.
The King thrembled all over with anxiety and excitement. “Why didn’t you spake sooner? I’m afeard I haven’t time to go to Sleive-na-mon and back before cock-crow,” he stutthered, “and at cock-crow, if the lad was undher the say or in the stars, that spell’d bring him to us, and then he could never agin come out till the Day of Judgment. Howsumever, I’ll go and thry,” he says, houlding tight on to his crown with both hands; and with thim words he vanished.
Be this and be that, it wasn’t two minutes till he was back and wid not a second to spare, ayther.
“Phadrig Oge wants Mrs. Nancy Clancy’s nanny-goat, too. Will ye bring the both of them, Maureen?” he screamed.
