now but to go and see whether I could buy some leather, and go and stick to the business I understand best. If they are strong-smelling shoes, the people who wear them don't find any fault with them. It is a bad thing for a man not to be satisfied with his own, though little it be. If I had my three shillings now, they would do my business as well as all the hundreds. But all right. It is better not to be talking about it for a story. I shall go to Dermott Liah, and perhaps he would lend me some leather until the money for the shoes would come in. He gave me credit on another occasion, and I paid him exactly and honestly.”
By the time he had that much reflection made, he was making straight way for Dermott's door. Dermott himself was standing between the two posts of the door.
“Aroo, Seadhna, is that you?” said Dermott. “It is, indeed,” said Seadhna. “Are you very strong, Dermott?”
“We have the health, praise to God on account of it! But what is this that has happened to you lately? You are in every person’s mouth, and not like each other are any two stories or any two accounts of you. One person says that you saw a ghost. Another person says that the house fell on you. Another person says that a flash of lightning killed you. The fourth person says that you got stray money. And so on of the rest—every person—and he having his own conclusion about you. What did you do? Or what have you going on? Or what is the cause of all this work?”
“I don't know in the world, Dermott. But it is my opinion that there is one matter plain enough. That is, that I did not get any stray money. I dare say if I did, I would not be coming here now, expecting to get some leather on credit as I got before.”
“Wisha, upon my own word you will. How much do you require?”
If I had as much as would make shoes for two, I would not think it too little this time, and when they should be sold, and I should have the money, I would pay you and take more.” “You may as well carry the more with you now at one carrying. Take a pound’s worth.”
Gob. See, was it not that the money turned into little slate flags, as the money of Michael Redmond did.
Peg. That is not what you said before, Gobnet, but that Michael made money out of the little slate flags.
Gob. And so he did, too; but even so, the money turned into little slate flags again.
Nora. Do ye hear! Do not our ears remember you to say that he brought the money in to the woman, and that she looked at it, and that she considered it was genuine money, and, by the same token, that she gave the hat to him
Gob. But she did consider so, and she did give it, but it was afterwards that the money turned again into little slate flags.
Nora. And how could it turn back again into little slate flags, unless Michael himself would take the witchcraft off it?
Kate. And how do you know but he did?
Nora. She said he went away home when he got the hat.
Gob. But, then, he was in Millstreet again a week afterwards, himself and Thade of the Eggs, and they went into the same house, and Michael called the woman aside. “I owe you two and eight pence,” said he. “Here it is for you.” “You do not owe me any two and eight pence,” said she. “I do honestly,” said he. “Here it is for you.” “But I say you do not,” said she. “Don't you remember,” said she, “that I was keeping your hat, and that you provided the money in some place, and that you gave it to me?” “What did you do with it?” said Michael. “I did not do anything with it,” said she. “I have it here in the box yet.” “I should like to see it,” said Michael. “It is there,” said she; “a shilling and two sixpences and two fourpences. Come hither,” said she, “so that you yourself may see them again.” They went over to the box, and she opened it, and when she looked into it and saw the little slate flags, she turned upon Michael and looked at him as she would look at a mad dog. “Here,” said Michael, reaching the money to her. “Keep it!” said she, “and leave my house! The Son of Malediction is in it and in you as well! Off!!” I promise you they both went off in all haste.
Peadar Ua Laoġaire
(To be continued.)
NOTES.
I ḃfeiġil a gnóṫa féin: minding his own business
claoiḋ, sticking to. claoiḋfead lem ġnó, I’ll stick to my business.” Claoiḋfead seal lem’ ṁáṫairín,” in Spailpín fánaċ.—G. J., No. 52.
Ní fearr ḃeiṫ ag caint, there is no use talking.
idir đá líġ an doruis, at the door, in the doorway.
Is mé ċeana: ċeana, verily, in good sooth.
ag braṫ air go ⁊c.: the prep. air should not be omitted; ag braṫ, judging, spying into; ag braṫ ar, expecting or writing for.
do ḋein licíniḋe slinne de, it became little slate flags. ḋein is used for became or turned into. ḋein muc de, he became a pig; déanfaiḋ cloċ de, it will turn into stone. The following ought also to be carefully noted: déanfad gaḃar de, I will make a goat of him; ḋéanfar gaḃar de, he will be made a goat of; déanfaiḋ gaḃar de, he will become a goat. Again, ḋein se fíon de’n uisge, he made wine of the water; ḋeineaḋ fíon de’n uisge, wine was made of the water; ḋein fíon de’n uisge, the water became wine.
’gcloisti, this exclamation is a contracted form of an gcloistí? “Do you hear?” or “Listen to this.”
ḋá ċoṁarṫa san féin, by the same token.
Ná gur, but that.
Air is used when the call is addressed to the person, not when the call is merely a proclamation of the man’s name: glaoḋaḋ ort, you were called; glaoḋaḋ ṫu, your name was publicly called out.
Caoine.
I.
A ṗlúir ’s a sgoiṫ na Féinne,
Buḋ tú an t-úġdar ceart ar Ḃeurla,
Buḋ tú an buinneán breáġ gan aon loċd
Ó’n ngréin go dtí an bárr;
’S é mo ḃrón mar d’eug tú
Ṡiar i ḃfad i n-Éirinn,
A’s gan aon-neaċ dod’ ġaoltaiḃ
Led’ ċaoine ós cionn an ċláir.
Is iomḋa marcaċ spéireaṁail
A’s cúlóg ḋaṫaṁail ġleusta
Do ṫiocfaḋ fód’ ḋéin
A’s tú ḃeiṫ déiḋeanaċ, a ḃáis!
