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.
"Maybe you would like a little bit of this, Master Pooka," said the huntsman's wife, as she offered him a barley cake.
"I never tasted anything sweeter in my life," said the Pooka, crunching it between his teeth, "and now if you can give me a sup of milk, I'll want for nothing."
The huntsman's wife brought him a peggin of milk. When he had drunk it, "Now," says the Pooka, "go back to your beds, and I'll curl myself up by the fire and sleep like a top till morning."
And soon everybody in the hut was fast asleep.