“Don’t be so very sure of that,” says Taig, says he.
“Why,” says the Judge, says he, “surely, Taig, you can’t be as clever as either of them. How clever are you, Taig?”
“Well,” says Taig, says he, “if I was a judge, and too stupid to decide a case that came up before me, I’d be that clever that I’d look wise and give some decision.”
“Taig,” says the Judge, says he, “I’ve gone into this case and deliberated upon it, and by all the laws of right and justice, I find and decide that you get the field.”
Manis the Miller
THERE was a man from the mountain, named Donal, once married the daughter of a stingy old couple who lived on the lowlands. He used to stay and work on his own wee patch of land all the week round, till it came to Saturday evening, and on Saturday evening he went to his wife’s father’s to spend Sunday with him.
Coming and going he always passed the mill of Manis, the miller, and Manis, who used to be watching him passing, always noticed, and thought it strange, that while he jumped the mill-race going to his wife’s father’s on a Saturday evening, he had always to wade through it coming back. And at last he stopped Donal one Monday morning, and asked him the meaning of it.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” says Donal, says he. “It’s this: My old father-in-law is such a very small eater, that he says grace and blesses himself when I’ve only got a few pieces out of my meals; so I’m always weak coming back on Monday morning.”
Manis, he thought over this to himself for a whuile, and then says he: “Would you mind letting me go with you next Saturday evening? If you do, I promise you that you’ll leap the mill-race coming back.”
“I’ll be glad to have you,” says Donal.