“If I’d a trusty comrade,” said the Man from Kilsheelan, “I’d go seek my rich cousin.”
“ ... stars gaping at you a few spans away, and the things that have life in them, but cannot see or speak, begin to breathe and bend. If ever your hair stood up it is then it would be, though you’ve no more than would thatch a thimble, God help you.”
“Bags of gold he has,” continued the Man, “and his pockets stuffed with the tobacca.”
“Tobacca!”
“They were large pockets and well stuffed.”
“Do you say, now!”
“And the gold! large bags and rich bags.”
“Well, I might do it to-morrow.”
And the next day Tom Tool and the Man from Kilsheelan broke from the asylum and crossed the mountains and went on.
Four little nights and four long days they were walking; slow it was for they were oldish men and lost they were, but the journey was kind and the weather was good weather. On the fourth day Tom Tool said to him: “The Dear knows what way you’d be taking me! Blind it seems, and dazed I am. I could do with a skillet of good soup to steady me and to soothe me.”