At length, things got to such a desperate pass, that Tim could endure them no longer, but took the few fairy jewels and guineas that remained, and went with them to the place where he had caught the Clericaune.
There he was again, and he looked up at Tim with a wicked twinkle in his eye, for he knew, the rascal, what trouble unearned riches bring upon one. Tim emptied his pockets of gold and precious stones, and flung them at the little brogue-maker's head—crying out—
"There, take back yer dirty treasure, and bad luck to you, you spalpeen of a fairy, for decaying a Christian!"
He threw with such force, that he flung himself off the stone—and that woke him!
Yes, the capture of the Clericaune, his wealth, his grand castle, and all his trouble were a dream. He got up and looked about him, a little bewildered at first, but soon recollected himself, and set out for home, a wiser and happier man than when he entered the Dargle that afternoon.
It was late and supper was waiting for him. His good wife smiled when he came in, and put by her sewing; his sons and daughters had all come from their work or school, and greeted him affectionately. As he sat down with them to their simple evening meal of bread, milk, and potatoes, they noticed that he said grace with unusual fervor, and then looked round upon them all with tears in his eyes.
His home was as humble as ever—but somehow, it had grown beautiful to him, for the sunshine of contentment was over every thing. His wife was as far from riding in her carriage, and his boys and girls from being gentlemen and ladies, as ever; but he loved them and was proud of them for their goodness and honesty, and he felt that God had done better for them than he could do, with all the riches in the world.