“And how do you know but there will be much cattle at the fair, and you will get a bad price, or may be you might be robbed when you are coming home? but what need I talk more to you when you are determined to throw away your luck, Mick Purcell?
“Oh! no, I would not throw away my luck, sir,” said Mick; “and if I was sure the bottle was as good as you say, though I never liked an empty bottle, although I had drank what was in it, I’d give you the cow in the name——”
“Never mind names,” said the stranger, “but give me the cow; I would not tell you a lie. Here, take the bottle, and when you go home do what I direct exactly.”
Mick hesitated.
“Well then, good by, I can stay no longer: once more, take it, and be rich; refuse it, and beg for your life, and see your children in poverty, and your wife dying for want: that will happen to you, Mick Purcell!” said the little man with a malicious grin, which made him look ten times more ugly than ever.
“May be ’tis true,” said Mick, still hesitating: he did not know what to do—he could hardly help believing the old man, and at length in a fit of desperation he seized the bottle—“Take the cow,” said he, “and if you are telling a lie, the curse of the poor will be on you.”
“I care neither for your curses nor your blessings, but I have spoken truth, Mick Purcell, and that you will find to-night, if you do what I tell you.”
“And what’s that?” says Mick.
“When you go home, never mind if your wife is angry, but be quiet yourself, and make her sweep the room clean, set the table out right, and spread a clean cloth over it; then put the bottle on the ground, saying these words: ‘Bottle, do your duty,’ and you will see the end of it.”
“And is this all?” says Mick.