“With all my heart, it’s getting late, let us be jogging.”
Well, they were going through a village, and a whole army of gossoons were hunting a poor dog with a kettle tied to his tail. He ran up to Jack for protection, and the ass let such a roar out of him, that the little thieves took to their heels as if the ould boy was after them.
“More power to you, Jack,” says the dog.
“I’m much obleeged to you: where is the baste and yourself going?”
“We’re going to seek our fortune till harvest comes in.”
“And wouldn’t I be proud to go with you!” says the dog, “and get rid of them ill conducted boys; purshuin’ to ’em.”
“Well, well, throw your tail over your arm, and come along.”
They got outside the town, and sat down under an old wall, and Jack pulled out his bread and meat, and shared with the dog; and the ass made his dinner on a bunch of thistles. While they were eating and chatting, what should come by but a poor half-starved cat, and the moll-row he gave out of him would make your heart ache.
“You look as if you saw the tops of nine houses since breakfast," says Jack; “here’s a bone and something on it.”
“May your child never know a hungry belly!” says Tom; “it’s myself that’s in need of your kindness. May I be so bold as to ask where yez are all going?”