which it came, and she shut the box again firmly and locked it up. She had plenty of other rings.
The evening was coming, and the people who had been asked to the wedding were coming also. John Kittach and his daughter came. The Maid of the Liss and her people came. Nora of the Causeway and her two brothers came, the two best dancers in the country. Nora herself was the best girl dancer in the country. The man of the colt came, and when someone asked him "where was the rest of his beard?"—"She pulled a beard that was better than my beard," said he; "and it is well for you and me that she did. If she hadn't done it, things would be in a bad way with us. I should be without my colt, and you would be without your money. You got more money by the beard Sive pulled than you would get for your horse if you had him now."
"Ach, I did not," said the other man. "There was no better horse than he at the fair that day."
"I would say you were right in that, if I were to hear the buyers saying it. But anyhow, his goodness would be little good to you, but for the act Sive did."
"You may say so!" said the other man.
The big tinker came to the wedding, and he was very sunny and smiling and gracious and bright-eyed, ready and quick-witted and well-spoken. The company was in no danger of finding the conversation lag into silence or dulness while he was present. He was never without something to say that would stir people up, and make them laugh, and set them talking, without their dreaming that it was anyone but themselves that had started the conversation. But when he had had one or two good drinks of the King's Spanish wine there were no bounds to him.
