With that the widow set a mug of milk before him, and it the last drop was in the countryside. He drank it down, middling speedy, and he held out the cup to be filled again.
“’Tis a heart scald surely,” says herself, “that I be to refuse the request of a man is weary walking the territory of Ireland, since the rising sun brought light on his path. There is a king in these parts, stranger, and he has the cattle destroyed on the poor of the world, the way he will have a lasting mortar to his house.”
“Isn’t yourself after giving me the loveliest mug of sweet milk?” says he, like one was doubtful of the honesty of her words.
“The last drop was in this townland, stranger, and it is heart glad I am that it refreshed you. I had but the one cow only, the grandest milker in the land, and she was driven from me this day—up yonder to the masons are working with their shovels dripping red.”
“I am thinking it is four strong walls in the pit of Hell are building for that chieftain’s soul. Maybe it’s red hot they’ll be, and he imprisoned within them for a thousand years and more,” says the traveller.
“Let there be what masonry there will in the next world, the wealth of the people cements his castle there beyond. For the cow and the milk and the butter are the gold of the dwellers on the land,” says the widow. “But let you be resting a while in this place: what haste is on you to depart?” For she seen he was rising to be gone.
He raised his hand in benediction, and the voice of him speaking was that sweet it charmed the birds off the bushes, the way they flew round him in the darkening night. “May the blessing of the King of Heaven be upon you. May He send you a cow will never run dry, and you milking her at all seasons of the year to the day of your departure from the world.”
With that the place was bare of his presence. He was gone the like of a spirit has power to travel the land unseen.
At the morning of the day following the poor woman stood at her cottage door, facing out to the mountains are a long journey from that place. Didn’t she see a great wonder:—A piece fell clean from the hillside and from it came a cow, white as the driven snow, she travelling faster nor the wind. The widow seen all as clear as we do be regarding the rising of the sun in the Eastern sky. Whatever power was laid on her eyes the distance was no obstruction to her vision that day. But it was not until the creature came and stood by herself that she bethought her of the benediction of the traveller, and the cow would never run dry.
That was the beast had the great renown on her: people came from every art and part to be looking on her. The milk she gave was richer nor the best of cream, and the butter off it was the best in Ireland.