The man rose out of his bed and he kindled a light. He had the heart to go out to the beasts to see what ailed them at all. There was no loss on the cows nor the ass, and the cry and the shouting were gone.
He went back to the house, but not a long was he in before the very same trouble rose in the byre. Out with him again to make sure what was wrong, and he found not a single heth astray.
He was back in his bed when a third cry passed on the wind. The ass let a roar was more nor horrid lonesome, and the cows were stamping and roaring with dread. All the while there was nothing in it when the master went out.
There was no sound more until hard on the break of day. A laugh that was hateful to hear passed the house, and a hand struck hard on the window.
Himself rose early, and he opened the door. What did he see only the ass lying dead on the street, and the two cows were destroyed in the byre.
“’Twas the fairies, surely,” says he. “And they brought this destruction upon me for hoking a hole in their farm.”
“It’s a powerful great price they’re after charging you for the hire of a small piece of ground,” says herself, coming out. “But the thorn stick is gone off the street where I threw it last night, and if that had remained in the house they’d have murdered ourselves.”