Mick was in despair. The rent had long been due, and he addressed his wife, saying, “Molly, what shall we do?”
“My dear,” said she, “what can you do but take the cow to the fair at Cork and sell her? Saturday is fair day, and this is Thursday. You must start tomorrow, that the poor beast may have a night’s rest there and be at her best when you show her at the fair.”
“And what will we do when she’s gone?” asked Mick sorrowfully.
“Never a know I know, Mick,” she replied; “but sure I am that we will be taken care of. You remember how it was when little Billy was sick, and we had no medicine for him to take—that good doctor gentleman at Ballyshin came riding and asking for a drink of milk; and he gave us two shillings and sent things for Billy, and he gave me my breakfast when I went to his house to ask a question—so he did. He came to see Billy again and again, and never left off his goodness till the boy was quite well.”
“Oh! you are always that way, Molly,” said Mick; “and I believe you are right, after all. So I won’t be sorry for selling the cow, and I’ll take her to Cork tomorrow. But before I go you must put a needle and thread through my coat, for you know ’tis ripped under the arm.”
Molly told him he should have everything right; and about twelve o’clock next day he started, while Molly stood in the doorway of their cabin and called after him not to sell the cow except at the highest price. Mick promised to do as she bid, and went his way along the road. As he drove his cow through the little stream that crosses the highway and runs on beside the old walls of Mourne Abbey he glanced toward the ruinous towers.
“I’ve often heard there is great treasure buried under you,” said he. “Oh! if I only had that money, it isn’t driving this cow I’d be now. What a pity such a treasure should be there covered over with earth, and many a one wanting it besides me! Well, if it be God’s will I’ll have some money myself when I am coming back.”
So saying, he moved on after his beast. It was a fine day, and the sun shone brightly on the walls of the old abbey, and all the country around looked green and pleasant. Six miles farther on he came to the top of a high hill, and just there a man overtook him and greeted him with a “Good morrow.”
“Good morrow kindly,” said Mick, looking at the stranger, who was such a little man that he might almost be called a dwarf. He had a wrinkled, yellow face, and a sharp nose, red eyes, and white hair; and he was muffled up in a big overcoat that came down to his heels. His eyes were never quiet, but looked at everything, and they made Mick feel quite cold when he met their glance. In truth, he did not much like the little man’s company, and he drove his cow on faster, but the stranger kept up with him. It seemed to Mick that his fellow-traveler did not walk like other men, and that instead of putting one foot before the other he glided over the rough road like a shadow, without noise and without effort. Mick’s heart trembled within him, and he said a prayer to himself, wishing he had not come that day, or that he did not have the cow to take care of, so he might run away from the mysterious stranger. In the midst of his fears he was again addressed by his companion, who asked him where he was going with his cow.
“To the fair at Cork,” replied Mick, trembling at the shrill and piercing tones of the stranger’s voice.