But the words weren’t out of her mouth before a blast of loud music was heard. Himself ran in on the door, and he seen the gosoon sitting up playing tunes.
“Let you be off out of this,” says he, “or I’ll throw you at the back of the fire, for you are no right thing at all.”
With that the little fellow made a powerful great lep out of the cradle, across the floor and away with him out over the fields.
But he left his fiddle behind, and the master of the house threw it down on the burning turf. And that was no true fiddle at all, only a piece of an old bog stick was rotten with age.
XI
THE CUTTING OF THE TREE
There was a wild sort of a lad the name of Francis Pat, and he was a great warrant to be entertaining the people with his airy talk. He was the whole go in every spree and join was held in the countryside; and the neighbours all had a fine welcome when he’d come to make his cailee.
He joined the world when he was about thirty years of age, and he got a fine sensible woman with a nice little handful of money. Herself didn’t care to be rambling at all, and she’d sit with her stitching or knitting when he went out after dark.