“Shure I’m an Irishman,” cried the little fellow, at the same time springing to the ground. “A rale paddy, an’ I may tell you that there isn’t a fay or a gnome in South Australia that I can’t leap or swim wid; do’s thee hear that, ’avic?”
He was such a dwarfed miniature of a man, [[118]]and appeared such an impudent swaggerer—with his chimney-pot hat on one side of his head, and his saucy turned-up nose—that Charlie felt inclined to pick him up and cuff him soundly.
“What is your name?” asked the boy, making a sudden dive at the creature.
“McKombo,” answered the sprite, dodging under Charlie’s legs. “My name is McKombo; but be aisy wid ye now, an’ don’t be after trying to take a mane advantage of me.”
“I’d scorn to do it,” said Charlie, unconsciously clenching his fists. “Who are you; what are you; and what do you want?”
“Be aisy, Charlie. Arrah’, don’t be botherin’ me wid too many questions,” said McKombo. “I’ve tould ye I’m an Irishman. Captain Brophy imported me to the colony in a hat-box twenty years ago.”
“Why, you’re a fairy,” suggested the lad, eyeing his strange companion askance.
“Of course I am,” replied McKombo, “and I may tell you I’ve been waiting all this blessed day to see you.”
“To see me?”
“Thrue for ye, Charlie. I am very well acquainted wid all the bother an’ trouble that’s going on at the farm, an’ I mane to help your mother clane out of it.” [[119]]