“Blessings be on them who give welcome to a wanderer on a wild night like this,” said the old woman.
“And who wouldn’t give welcome on a night like this?” said the huntsman’s wife, coming forward with a peggin of milk and a barley cake in her hand, “and sorry we are we have not better fare to offer you.” 128
“Enough is as good as a feast,” said the little woman, “and now go back to your beds and leave me to myself.”
“Not till I shake down a bed of rushes for you,” said the huntsman’s wife.
“Don’t mind the rushes,” said the little woman; “go back to your beds. I’ll sleep here by the fire.”
The huntsman’s wife went to bed, and the little old woman, having eaten her supper, lay down by the fire, and was soon fast asleep.
About an hour later another clap of thunder startled Fergus. Again he heard three knocks at the door. He roused his parents, but he did not wait for orders from them. He opened the door, and a flash of lightning showed him outside the threshold a low-sized, shaggy, wild-looking horse. And Fergus knew it was the Pooka, the wild horse of the mountains. Bold as Fergus was, his heart beat quickly as he saw fire issuing from the Pooka’s nostrils. But, banishing fear, he cried out:
“Come in, and welcome.”
“Welcome you are,” said the huntsman, “and sorry we are that we have not better shelter or fare to offer you.”
“I couldn’t wish a better welcome,” said the Pooka, as he came over near the fire and sat down on his haunches.