"O Lord!" said Oonah, in surprise, "did you ever hear the like o' that?—how he knows my name!"
"To be sure he does," said Darby, "and why nat? sure he's a fairy, you know."
"I'm no fairy, Mrs. Kelleher. I'm a doctor,—Doctor Mac Finn."
"Don't b'lieve him, darlin'," said Darby. "Make haste and open the chest."
"Darby Kelleher," said the doctor, "let me go, and I'll cure you whenever you want my assistance."
"Well, I want your assistance now," said Darby, "for I'm very bad this minit wid poverty; and if you cure me o' that, I'll let you go."
"What will become of me?" said the doctor in despair, as Darby carried him towards the big chest which Oonah had opened.
"I'll tell you what'll become o' you," said Darby, seizing a hatchet that lay within his reach; "by the seven blessed candles, if you don't consint before night to fill that big chest full o' goold, I'll chop you as small as aribs (herbs) for the pot." And Darby crammed him into the box.
"O Mrs. Kelleher, be merciful to me," said the doctor, "and whenever you're sick I'll attend you."
"God forbid!" said Oonah; "it's not the likes o' you I want when I'm sick;—attind me, indeed! bad luck to you, you little imp, maybe you'd run away with my babby, or it's a Banshee you'd turn yourself into, and sing for my death. Shut him up, Darby; it's not looky to be howldin' discoorse wid the likes iv him."