“Let you slip off to Shan Alec and bid him come up—for it’s maybe an honourable reception is waiting him here.”
XIII
THE TILLAGE IN THE FORT
There was a man in these parts, and he thought it hard to see a square inch of ground go to loss. He had a small wee farm on the top of a windy hill, and there was a fort on the sweetest of the fields. He couldn’t pass by but he’d think of how much potatoes might be grown within in the circle. Well with the dint of consideration didn’t he finally decide for to plant it.
He never let on to his wife, but away out with the loy, and he made great work before the fall of night. When he came in he carried a lengthy thorn root in his hand.
“What are you holding?” asks herself.
“An old thorn I hoked out of the ground,” says he. “I brought it in for the fire.”
“Is it making gaps in the quick hedges you are?” she asks.