“I care neither for your curses, nor for your blessings,” retorted the little man. “I have spoken the truth, Mick Purcell, as you will surely know tonight after you reach home, if you do what I tell you.”
“And what’s that?” inquired Mick.
“When you go into the house,” said the little man, “never mind if your wife is angry over the bargain you have made. Be quiet yourself, and get her to sweep the room, and to clear off the table and spread a clean cloth over it. Then put the bottle on the floor, saying these words, ‘Bottle, do your duty,’ and you will see what will happen.”
“Is that all?” asked Mick.
“No more,” was the stranger’s answer. “Farewell, Mick Purcell. You are a rich man.”
“God grant it!” said Mick, as the stranger went off driving the cow.
Mick now started toward home, but he had gone only a few paces when he turned to have one more look at the purchaser of his cow. To his surprise neither the little man nor the cow were to be seen. “The Lord be between us and him!” exclaimed Mick. “That little man can’t belong to this earth;” and Mick continued on his way muttering prayers and holding fast the bottle.
“What would I do if it broke?” thought he; “but I’ll look out for that.”
So he put the bottle into his bosom and hurried on, anxious to prove the virtues of his treasure, and at the same time a good deal troubled over the reception he was likely to meet from his wife. He reached home in the evening, still much perturbed between his doubts and hopes, and surprised his wife sitting beside a turf fire burning in the big fireplace.
“Oh, Mick! are you come back?” she cried. “Sure, you haven’t been all the way to Cork! What has happened to you? Where is the cow? Did you sell her? How much money did you get for her? What is the news?”