"The O'Donoghue and our Kathleen. Don't you see them? Sure it's the morning for them—only they are in a boat, instead of on horseback. Hark, don't you hear the fairy music? and that's our Kathleen's voice calling!"
"Faith, you are right, for once," replied Michael, running with her down to the shore. Yes, a boat came dancing over the bright waters of the bay; containing a tall young man, quite proud, and happy looking enough for a Prince, though not dressed in silver armor,—and a very beautiful lady, holding a child in her arms. The "fairy music" was made by the bugle of old Stephen Spillane, the Killarney guide.
In a few moments, there leaped to land, not the enchanted Irish chieftain, but a better man, Barry O'Donoghue, who had as good a right to call himself "the O'Donoghue" as any other member of that numerous family. Then he handed out his wife, Kathleen, who three years before he had been obliged to steal away from her unkind and foolish parents,—and little Master Harry O'Donoghue, a handsome, curly-headed little rogue, who jumped at once with a merry laugh, into the arms and into the hearts of his grandparents.
After a great deal of embracing and kissing, Barry said, in reply to a host of wondering exclamations and questions: "We have come back from Australia, where we were getting rich, because Kathleen could not be longer away from home and you. We have brought a little fortune with us, and mean to settle down here in dear old Killarney, if you will be reconciled to us, and take us for neighbors."
"And if you will forgive me, for not coming back to you a great lady," said Kathleen, smiling.
"Don't say any more about that," said Michael More, embracing her for the twentieth time,—"We are glad enough to have you back just your old self, and it's quite content we are with your husband and the boy—and bad luck to all fortune-tellers! say I."
With that, old Stephen blew an applauding farewell note on his bugle, and the Mores and O'Donoghues all went into the cottage, where we will leave them.