“Why not, Michael? I could never refuse you any thing; and you will want the cake and the hen badly enough. And, Mihal, a vick asthore! if you should ever meet one of the good people, or any thing you may think isn’t right, pass it by, and say not a word.”
It was evening when he began his expedition, nor did he stop on the road till daylight returned, when he found himself in the centre of a wood, and very faint and hungry. Seeing a convenient-looking rock near a place where he thought it most probable he should find water, he seated himself, with the intention of satisfying his hunger and thirst.
He had not been many moments engaged in eating some of his bread, and had just commenced an attack on the hen, by taking off one of her wings, when there came up to him a poor greyhound, which looked the very picture of starvation. Greyhounds are proverbially thin, but this was thinner than the thinnest, and, it was easy to see, had doubtlessly left at home a numerous young family.
Mihal More was so very intent on eating that he heeded not the imploring look of the poor greyhound, and it was not till, wonderful to say, she addressed him in intelligible Irish, that he deigned to notice her. But when the first word came from her mouth, he was sure she must be one of those against any communication with whom his mother had so emphatically warned him, and accordingly determined to apply her maxim strictly to the occurrence.
“You are a traveller, I see,” said the greyhound, “and were doubtless weary and fainting with hunger when you took your seat here. I am the mother of a numerous and helpless family, who are even now clamorous for subsistence; this I am unable to afford them, unless I am myself supported. You have now the means. Afford it to me, then, if only in the shape of a few of the hen’s small bones; I will be for ever grateful, and may perhaps be the means of serving you in turn when you may most want and least expect it.”
But Mihal continued sedulously picking the bones, and when he had finished, he put them all back into his wallet, still resolving to have nothing whatever to do with this fairy, represented, as he imagined, by the greyhound.
“Well!” said she, piteously, “since you give me nothing, follow me. You are perhaps in search of service; my master, who knows not my faculty of speech, lives near; he may assist you. And see,” continued she, as he followed, “behold that well. Had you relieved me, it was in my power to have changed its contents, which are of blood, to the finest virgin honey; but the honey is beneath the blood, neither can it now be changed! However, try your fortune, and if you are a reasonably sensible fellow, I may yet relent, and be reconciled to you.”
Mihal still answered not a word, but followed the greyhound, until she came to the gate of a comfortable farmer’s residence. She entered the door, and Mihal saw her occupy her place at the side of the fire, and that she was quickly besieged by a number of clamorous postulants, whose wants she seemed but poorly adequate to supply.
At a glance he perceived that the house contained a master and a mistress; but an old lady in the chimney corner, having by her a pair of crutches, made him quail, by the sinister expression of her countenance. Still, nothing daunted, he asked the master of the house at once for employment.
“Plenty of employment have I, friend, and good wages,” answered he, “but I am a man of a thousand: and I may also say, not one man of a thousand will stop with me in this house.”