'At last we came to the duke's wall, and then my father sat down on the roadside, and cried out that he wouldn't go a step farther, for I was crying away with sore feet at the pace we were going, and asking every moment to be let sit down to rest myself.
'“Look at the child,” said he, “his feet's all bleeding.”
'“Ye have only a little farther to go,” says one of them that had crossed belts on and a green sash about him.
'“The divil resave another step,” says my father.
'“Tell Billy to play us 'The Parmer's Daughter' before he goes,” says one in the crowd.
'“I 'd rather hear 'The Little Bowld Fox,'” says another.
'“No, no, 'Baltiorum! Baltiorum!'” says many more behind.
'“Ye shall have them all,” says my father, “and that'll plaze ye.”
'And so he set to, and played the three tunes as beautiful as ever ye heard; and when he was done, the man with the belts ups and says to him—
'“Ye're a fine hand, Billy, and it's a pity to lose you, and your friends will be sorry for you,” and he said this with a grin; “but take the spade there and dig a hole, for we must be jogging, it's nigh day.”