"Indeed, an' I b'lieve there's no tellin' exactly. Some says this way, an' others that. I've heard say that he was a slave marchint early in life, or a pirate, or something aiqually ginteel an' profitable," replied Terry.
"They lie, all of them," the little fellow went on. "He got it as you did yours, by a fairy gift, and see what it has made of him. In his early days, there was not a finer-hearted fellow to be found anywhere; everybody liked, courted, and loved him."
"That's thrue enough," said Terry, "and now there ain't a dog on his estates will wag a tail at him."
"Well, you may be as rich as he is, if you like, Terry," said the fairy.
"May I?" cried Terry, his eyes flashing fire at the idea.
"He turned his poor old mother out of doors, the other day," observed the leprechaun, quietly.
Terry's bright thoughts vanished in an instant, and indignation took their place; for filial reverence is the first of Irish virtues. "The murdherin' Turk!" he exclaimed, angrily, "if I had a howld of him now, I'd squeeze the sowl out of his vagabone carcass, for disgracin' the counthry that's cursed with such an unnatural reprobate."
"It was the money that made him do it," said the fairy.
"You don't tell me that, sir!"
"Indeed but I do, Terry. When the love of that takes possession of a man's heart, there's no room there for any other thought. The nearest and dearest ties of blood, of friendship, and of kin, are loosed and cast away as worthless things. You have a mother, Terry?"