It came when he least expected it. The smith was in the middle of a wonderful story about a miraculous cure he had once been instrumental in effecting, when suddenly he whipped the bar of iron from the fire, placed it on the anvil, and brought down the sledge upon it with such force and vigour, three times in rapid succession, that showers of sparks—millions of them—flew in all directions through the forge!
Larry was taken completely by surprise. He gave one yell of terror as he suddenly jerked backwards, and the next moment he lay stretched at full length on the floor, the eyes almost starting from his head with fright, and a little stream of blood trickling over his chin from his mouth. The tooth hung from the horn of the anvil, suspended by the strand of flaxen thread. The charm had been successful.
Ned M'Grane laughed long and heartily, as he looked at the prostrate and terror-stricken Larry.
"Gorra, it worked the grandest ever I saw," he said, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes; "'twas the neatest job I ever did, an' you're a powerful brave man, Larry."
Larry could hardly speak he was so frightened.
"Is—is it out, Ned?" he said at last, scarcely knowing whether he ought to be vexed or pleased.
"Out!" cried Ned; "don't you see it, man? Didn't I tell you I'd give you relief? Here, wash out your mouth with this sup o' soft water. An' I don't think your appearance is improved very much by you lyin' there on the floor. Now, is it?"
Larry rose and rinsed his mouth, as he had been bidden.
"Do you know what, Ned," he cried, "you're the finest doctor in Ireland, an' that's the greatest charm I ever heard of in my life. I dunno how you done it, but I must send up Nannie to you to-morrow."
At that moment a young lad thrust his head in at the door.