With that he went down to the three doctors and the old man who were waiting below. For all his promises to young M‘Carthy, he told the lot of them all he was after hearing. The doctors allowed that if the gentleman’s life was to be saved he must be got out of his bed and sent away on his travels.
“For a time he will be hopeful of finding her,” says the oldest doctor. “Then the whole notion will pass off him, and he seeing strange lands and great wonders to divert him.”
The father was that anxious for the son’s recovery that he agreed to sell the place and give him a big handful of money for the journey.
“It is little I’ll be needing for myself from this out, and I an old man near ripe for the grave,” says he.
So they all went up to the room and told young M‘Carthy to rise from his bed and eat a good dinner, for the grandest arrangements out were made for his future and he’d surely meet the lady. When he seen that no person was mocking him he got into the best of humour, and he came down and feasted with them.
Not a long time afterwards he took the big handful of money and set out on his travels, bringing the statue with him. He went over the provinces of Ireland, then he took sea to England, and wandered it entirely, away to France with him next, and from that to every art and part of the world. He had the strangest adventures, and he seen more wonders than could ever be told or remembered. At the latter end he came back to the old country again, with no more nor a coin or two left of the whole great fortune of money. The whole time he never seen a lady who was the least like the wee statue; and the words of the old doctor were only a deceit for he didn’t quit thinking of her at all. M‘Carthy was a handsome young gentleman, and if it was small heed he had for any person he met it was great notice was taken of him. Sure it was a queen, no less, and five or six princesses were thinking long thoughts on himself.
The hope was near dead in his heart, and the sickness of grief was on him again when he came home to Ireland. Soon after he landed from the ship he chanced to come on a gentleman’s place, and it a fine, big house he never had seen before. He went up and inquired of the servants if he would get leave to rest there. He was given a most honourable reception, and the master of the house was well pleased to be entertaining such an agreeable guest. Now himself happened to be a Jew, and that is the why he did not ask M‘Carthy to eat at his table, but had his dinner set out for him in a separate room. The servants remarked on the small share of food he was using, it was scarcely what would keep the life in a young child; but he asked them not to make any observation of the sort. At first they obeyed him, yet when he used no meat at all on the third day, didn’t they speak with their master.
“What is the cause of it at all?” he says to M‘Carthy. “Is the food in this place not to your liking? Let you name any dish you have a craving for, and the cook will prepare it.”
“There was never better refreshment set before an emperor,” says M‘Carthy.
“It is civility makes you that flattering,” answers the Jew. “How would you be satisfied with the meat which is set before you when you are not able to use any portion of it at all?”