n’ at last the bird was so engagin’ that Terence would not allow it to be plucked any more, an’ kep it from that time out for love an’ affection—just all as one like one iv his childer.
“But happiness in perfection never lasts long, an’ the neighbours begin’d to suspect the nathur an’ intentions iv the gandher, an’ some iv them said it was the divil, an’ more iv them that it was a fairy.
“Well, Terence could not but hear something of what was sayin’, an’ you may be sure he was not altogether asy in his mind about it, an’ from one day to another he was gettin’ more ancomfortable in himself, until he detarmined to sind for Jer Garvan, the fairy docthor, in Garryowen, an’ it’s he was the illigant hand at the business, an’ divil a sperit id say a crass word to him, no more nor a priest. An’, moreover, he was very great wid ould Terence Mooney—this man’s father that was.
“So without more about it he was sint for, an’, sure enough, the divil a long he was about it, for he kem back that very evenin’ along wid the boy that was sint for him, an’ as soon as he was there, an’ tuck his supper, an’ was done talkin’ for a while, he begin’d, of coorse, to look into the gandher.
“Well, he turned it this away an’ that away, to the right an’ to the left, an’ straight-ways an’ upside-down, an’ when he was tired handlin’ it, says he to Terence Mooney:
“‘Terence,’ says he, ‘you must remove the bird into the next room,’ says he, ‘an’ put a petticoat,’ says he, ‘or anny other convaynience round his head,’ says he.
“‘An’ why so?’ says Terence.
“‘Becase,’ says Jer, says he.
“‘Becase what?’ says Terence.