“If you have not flesh, you have an Irish person,” said the serpent, “and don’t be telling your lies to me any longer. I knew from the beginning that you had an Irish person in the ship, and unless you throw her out to me, and quickly, I will eat yourself and your men.”
Margaret came up, and no sooner did the serpent see her than she opened her mouth, and put on an appearance as if she were going to swallow the ship.
“I will not be guilty of the death of you all,” said Margaret; “get me a boat, and if I go far safe it is better; and if I do not go, I had rather I perished than the whole of us.”
“What shall we do to save you?” said Simon.
“You can do nothing better than put me in the boat,” said she, “and lower me on the sea, and leave me to the will of God.”
As soon as she got on the sea, no sooner did the serpent see her than she desired to swallow her, but before she reached as far as her, a billow of the sea rose between them, and left herself and the boat on dry land. She saw not a house in sight she could go to. “Now,” said she, “I am as unfortunate as ever I was. There is no place at all for me to get that I know of, and this is no place for me to be.” She arose and she began to walk, and after a long while she saw a house a good way from her. “I am not as unfortunate as I thought,” said she. “Perhaps I shall get lodging in that house to-night.” She went in, and there was no one in it but an old woman, who was getting her supper ready. “I am asking for lodging till morning.”
“I will give you no lodging,” said the old woman.
“Before I go farther, there is a boat there below, and it is better for you to take it into your hands.”
“Come in,” said the old woman, “and I will give you lodging for the night.”