Presently it swelled up toward the sky, and, turning round on its left hind leg, whirled till it fell to the ground. Then it started up in the shape of a salmon with a cravat round its neck, and wearing a pair of new top-boots.
“Go on, my jewel!” said Larry. “If you dance, I’ll pipe,” and he struck up.
But the Queen of the Fairies—for of course it was she—turned into this and that and the other; but still Larry played on, as well as he knew how. At last she lost patience, and changed herself into a calf, milk-white as the cream of Cork, and with eyes as mild as those of a loving girl.
She came up gentle and fawning, hoping to throw him off his guard, and then to work him some wrong. But Larry was not so deceived, for when she came near, dropping his pipes, he leaped on her back.
Now, from the top of the hill, as you look westward, you may see the broad river Shannon, full ten miles away. On this night its waters shone beautifully under the moon, and no sooner had Larry leaped on the back of the Fairy Queen than she sprang from the hill-top, and bounded clear at one jump, over the Shannon. It was done in a second; and, when she alighted on the distant bank, she kicked up her heels, and flung Larry on the soft turf.
No sooner was Larry thus planted than he looked her straight in the face, and cried out:—
“By my word, well done! That was not a bad leap, for a calf!”
She gazed at him for a moment, and then, assuming her own shape, said:—
“Larry Hoolahan, you are a bold fellow! Will you go back the way you came?”
“And that’s what I will!” said he, “if you’ll let me!”