“Are you going to sell her?” inquired the little man.
“Why, for what else could I be taking her to the fair?” was Mick’s response.
“Will you sell her to me?” said the stranger.
Mick started—he was afraid to have anything to do with the little man; and yet he was more afraid to say, “No.” He hesitated, and then asked, “What will you give for her?”
“I’ll give you this bottle,” answered the little man, pulling a bottle from under his coat.
Mick looked at him and the bottle, and, in spite of his terror, could not help laughing.
“Laugh if you will,” said the little man, “but I tell you this bottle is worth more to you than all the money you can get for your cow in Cork—aye, a thousand times over.”
Mick laughed again. “Why,” said he, “do you think I am such a fool as to give my good cow for a bottle—and an empty one, too? Indeed, I won’t.”
“You had better give me the cow and take the bottle,” said the little man. “You’ll be sorry if you don’t.”
“But what would Molly say?” muttered Mick. “I’d never hear the end of it; and how would I pay the rent, and what would we all do without a penny of money?”