The doctor and his horse slept and ate profoundly all night, and even the "rosy-fingered morn," as the poets have it, found them in the continuance of their enjoyment. Now it happened that Darby Kelleher was passing along the path that lay by the side of the ditch where the doctor was sleeping, and on perceiving him, Darby made as dead a set as ever pointer did at game.
The doctor, be it remembered, was dressed in red. Moreover, he was a little man, and his gold-laced hat and ponderous shoe-buckles completed the resemblance to the being that Darby took him for. Darby was at last certain that he had discovered a Leprechaun, and amaze so riveted him to the spot, and anxiety made his pulse beat so fast, that he could not move nor breathe for some seconds. At last he recovered himself, and going stealthily to the spot where the doctor slept, every inch of his approach made him more certain of the reality of his prize; and when he found himself within reach of it, he made one furious spring, and flung himself on the unfortunate little man, fastening his tremendous fist on his throat, at the same time exclaiming in triumph, "Hurra!—by the hoky, I have you at last!!"
The poor little doctor, thus rudely and suddenly aroused from his tipsy sleep, looked excessively bewildered when he opened his eyes, and met the glare of ferocious delight that Darby Kelleher cast upon him, and he gurgled out, "What's the matter?" as well as the grip of Darby's hand upon his throat would permit him.
"Goold's the matther," shouted Darby,—"Goold!—Goold!!—Goold!!!"
"What about Goold?" says the doctor.
"Goold!—yallow goold—that's the matther."
"Is it Paddy Goold that's taken ill again?" said the doctor, rubbing his eyes. "Don't choke me, my good man; I'll go immediately," said he, endeavoring to rise.
"By my sowl, you won't," said Darby, tightening his hold.
"For mercy's sake let me go!" said the doctor.
"Let you go indeed!—ow!—ow!"