"I thought we were to go to Blarney Castle."
"Sure. I had forgotten. That's where the Blarney Stone is?"
"Sure," repeated the girl mischievously.
So that afternoon they set out. It was but a short distance by train through an interesting country. Lucy was the guide again.
"Do you have an Irish language?" asked Chester. "I heard some natives talking something I couldn't understand."
"Of course there's an Irish language," explained his fair instructor. "Anciently the Irish spoke the Gaelic, a branch of the Celtic. In this reign of Queen Elizabeth, the Irish language was forbidden. The English is now universal, but many still speak the Gaelic. In recent years there has been an awakening of interest in the old tongue. 'One who knows Irish well,' an Irish historian claims, 'will readily master Latin, French, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian;' and he adds that to the Irish-speaking people, the Irish language is 'rich, elegant, soul-stirring, and expressive.'"
"I can well believe the latter statement when I remember the actions of those using it," said Chester.
"Here we are," announced Lucy, as they alighted and walked to the entrance of the park. "It will cost us six pence to get in."
Chester paid the man at the gate a shilling. The castle loomed high on the side of a hill, its big, square tower being about all that now remains of the ancient structure. A woman was in charge of the castle proper.