“Pray for yourself—may be you want mercy as well as him,” said the cat.
The preparations were soon completed, and the cat being put into the bag, Larry tied the mouth of it firmly with a piece of cord, and then slung it on his shoulder; and after acquainting his wife with his adventure with the old man on “Moin-more,” he departed, whistling the air of “Thamama Thulla.”
He soon gained the spot where he had parted with the old man, and looking round and perceiving nobody, he sat down on the green fern, still holding the bag which contained his terrible fellow-traveller.
“What stops you Larry?” asked the cat.
Larry, recollecting the old man’s injunction, spoke not, but continued whistling.
“Does anything ail you, Larry?”
“Whoo, hoo, phoo, hoo—Thamemo Chodladh.”
“Is Betty and the childre to the fore?”
“Thamemo Chodladh.”
“Bad luck to you and your ‘Thamemo Chodladh,’” cried the cat.