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how came ye to know about my goose?’ says the king.

      ‘Oh, no matter; I was given to understand it,’ says St. Kavin.

      After some more talk the king says, ‘What are you?’

      ‘I’m an honest man,’ says St. Kavin.

      ‘Well, honest man,’ says the king, ‘and how is it you make your money so aisy?’

      ‘By makin’ old things as good as new,’ says St. Ka-vin.

      ‘Is it a tinker you are?’ says the king.

      ‘No,’ says the saint; ‘I’m no tinker by trade, King O’Toole; I’ve a better trade than a tinker,’ says he. ‘What would you say,’ says he, ‘if I made your old goose as good as new?’

      My dear, at the word of making his goose as good as new, you’d think the poor old king’s eyes were ready to jump out of his head. With that the king whistled, and down came the poor goose, just like a hound, waddling up to the poor cripple, her master, and as like him as two peas. The minute the saint clapped his eyes on the goose, ‘I’ll do the job for you,’ says he, ‘King O’Toole.’

      ‘By Jaminee?’ says King O’Toole. ‘If you do, I’ll say you’re the cleverest fellow in the seven parishes.’

      ‘Oh, by dad,’ says St. Kavin, ‘you must say more nor that – my horn’s not so soft all out,’ says he, ‘as to repair your old goose for nothing; what’ll you gi’ me if I do the job for you? – that’s the chat,’ says St. Kavin.

      ‘I’ll give you whatever you ask,’ says the king; ‘isn’t that fair?’

      ‘Divil a fairer,’ says the saint; ‘That’s the way to do business. Now,’ says he, ‘this is the bargain I’ll make with you, King O’Toole: will you gi’ me all the ground the goose flies over, the first offer, after I make her as good as new?’

      ‘I will,’ says the king.

      ‘You won’t go back o’ your word?’ says St. Kavin. ‘Honour bright!’ says King O’Toole, holding out his fist.

      ‘Honour bright!’ says St. Kavin, back agin, ‘it’s a bargain. Come here!’ says he to the poor old goose, ‘come here, you unfortunate ould cripple, and it’s I that’ll make you the sporting bird.’ With that, my dear, he took up the goose by the two wings – ‘Criss o’ my cross an you,’ says he, markin’ her to grace with the blessed sign at the same minute – and throwing her up in the air. ‘Whew,’ says he, jist givin’ her a blast to help her; and with that, my jewel, she took to her heels[21], flyin’ like one o’ the eagles themselves, and cutting as many capers as a swallow before a shower of rain.

      Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the king standing with his mouth open, looking at his poor old goose flying as light as a lark, and better than ever she was: and when she lit at his feet, patted her on the head, and ‘Ma vourneen,’ says he, ‘but you are the darlint o’ the world.’

      ‘And what do you say to me,’ says St. Kavin, ‘for making her the like?’

      ‘By Jabers,’ says the king, ‘I say nothing beats the art o’ man, barring the bees.’

      ‘And do you say no more nor that?’ says St. Kavin.

      ‘And that I’m beholden to you,’ says the king.

      ‘But will you gi’e all the ground the goose flew over?’ says St. Kavin.

      ‘I will,’ says King O’Toole, ‘and you’re welcome to it,’ says he. ‘Though it’s the last acre I have to give.’

      ‘But you’ll keep your word true?’ says the saint.

      ‘As true as the sun,’ says the king.

      ‘It’s well for you, King O’Toole, that you said that word,’ says he; ‘for if you didn’t say that word, the devil the bit o’ your goose would ever fly agin.’

      When the king was as good as his word, St. Kavin was pleased with him, and then it was that he made himself known to the king. ‘And,’ says he, ‘King O’Toole, you’re a decent man, for I only came here to try you. You don’t know me,’ says he, ‘because I’m disguised.’

      ‘Musha! Then,’ says the king, ‘Who are you?’

      ‘I’m St. Kavin,’ said the saint, blessing himself.

      ‘Oh, queen of heaven!’ says the king, making the sign of the cross between his eyes, and falling down on his knees before the saint. ‘Is it the great St. Kavin,’ says he, ‘that I’ve been discoursing all this time without knowing it,’ says he, ‘all as one as if he was a lump of a gossoon? – and so you’re a saint?’ says the king.

      ‘I am,’ says St. Kavin.

      ‘By Jabers, I thought I was only talking to a dacent boy,’ says the king.

      ‘Well, you know the difference now,’ says the saint. ‘I’m St. Kavin,’ says he, ‘the greatest of all the saints.’

      And so the king had his goose as good as new, to divert him as long as he lived and the saint supported him after he came into his property, as I told you, until the day of his death – and that was soon after; for the poor goose thought he was catching a trout one Friday; but, my jewel, it was a mistake he made – and instead of a trout, it was a thieving horse-eel; and instead of the goose killing a trout for the king’s supper – by dad, the eel killed the king’s goose – and small blame to him[22]; but he didn’t ate her, because he darn’t ate what St. Kavin had laid his blessed hands on.

      Jack and His Comrades

      Once there was a poor widow, as often there has been, and she had one son. A very scarce summer[23] came, and they didn’t know how they’d live till the new potatoes would be fit for eating. So Jack said to his mother one evening, ‘Mother, bake my cake, and kill my hen, till I go seek my fortune; and if I meet it, never fear but I’ll soon be back to share it with you.’

      So she did as he asked her, and he set out at break of day on his journey. His mother came along with him to the yard gate, and says she, ‘Jack, which would you rather have, half the cake and half the hen with my blessing, or the whole of ’em with my curse?’

      ‘O Musha, mother,’ says Jack, ‘why do you ax me that question? Sure you know I wouldn’t have your curse and Damer’s estate along with it.’

      ‘Well, then, Jack,’ says she, ‘here’s the whole lot of ’em, with my thousand blessings along with them.’ So she stood on the yard fence and blessed him as far as her eyes could see him.

      Well, he went along and along till he was tired, and ne’er a farmer’s house he went into wanted a boy. At last his road led by the side of a bog, and there was a poor ass up to his shoulders near a big bunch of grass he was striving to come at.

      ‘Ah, then, Jack asthore,’ says he, ‘help me out or I’ll be drowned.’

      ‘Never say’t twice[24],’ says Jack, and he pitched in big stones and sods into the slob, till the ass got good ground under him.

      ‘Thank you, Jack,’ says he, when he was out on the hard road; ‘I’ll do as much for you another time. Where are you going?’

      ‘Faith, I’m going to seek my fortune till harvest comes in, God bless it!’

      ‘And if you like,’ says the ass, ‘I’ll go along with you; who knows what luck we may have!’

      ‘With all my heart, it’s getting late, let us be jogging.’

      Well, they were going through a village, and a whole army of gossoons were hunting a poor dog with a kettle tied to his tail. He ran up to Jack for protection, and the ass let such

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