"Oh, he just went up to his cabin and kicked it over the hedge as you might an old can, and then he strolled off to another corner of the world, Neal Carlin did, whistling 'The Lanty Girl.'"
Tom Toole's friend spoke to Peter Mullane. "Did ye say it was in the Galtee Mountains that the young fellow met the lady?"
"In the Galtee Mountains," said Peter.
"To the Galtee Mountains let us be going, Tom Toole," cried the little old man, "Come on now, there'll be tidings in it!"
So off they drove, and when they had driven a day and slept a couple of nights they were there, and they came to a place where the rivers do be rushing, and there was a rowan tree, but no lady on it.
"What will we do now, Tom Toole," says the old man.
"We'll not stint it," says he, and they searched by night and by day looking for a person who would give them their youth again. They sold the chaise for some guineas and the pony for a few more, and they were walking among the hills for a thousand days, but never a dust of fortune did they discover. Whenever they asked a person to guide them they would be swearing at them or they would jeer.
"Well, may a good saint stretch your silly old skins for ye!" said one.
"Thinking of your graves and travelling to the priest ye should be!" said one.
"The nails of your boots will be rusty and rotten searching for the like of that," said one.