r a blast to help her; and with that, my jewel, she tuk to her
heels, flyin' like one o' the aigles themselves, and cuttin' as many
capers as a swallow before a shower of rain. Away she wint down there,
right forninst you, along the side o' the clift, and flew over Saint
Kavin's bed (that is, where Saint Kavin's bed is _now_, but was not
_thin_, by raison it wasn't made, but was conthrived afther by Saint
Kavin himself, that the women might lave him alone), and on with her
undher Lugduff, and round the ind av the lake there, far beyant where
you see the watherfall--and on with her thin right over the lead mines
o' Luganure (that is, where the lead mines is _now_, but was not _thin_,
by raison they worn't discovered, _but was all goold in Saint Kavin's
time_). Well, over the ind o' Luganure she flew, stout and studdy, and
round the other ind av the _little_ lake, by the Churches (that is, _av
coorse_, where the Churches is _now_, but was not _thin_, by raison they
wor not built, but aftherwards by Saint Kavin), and over the big hill
here over your head, where you see the big clift--(and that clift in the
mountain was made by _Finn Ma Cool_, where he cut it acrass with a big
swoord that he got made a purpose by a blacksmith out o' Rathdrum, a
cousin av his own, for to fight a joyant (giant) that darr'd him an' the
Curragh o' Kildare; and he thried the swoord first an the mountain, and
cut it down into a gap, as is plain to this day; and faith, sure enough,
it's the same sauce he sarv'd the joyant, soon and suddint, and chopped
him in two like a pratie, for the glory of his sowl and ould
Ireland)--well, down she flew over the clift, and fluttherin' over the
wood there at Poulanass. Well--as I said--afther fluttherin' over the
wood a little bit, to _plaze_ herself, the goose flew down, and bit at
the fut o' the King, as fresh as a daisy, afther flyin' roun' his
dominions, jist as if she hadn't flew three perch.

"Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the King standin' with
his mouth open, lookin' at his poor ould goose flyin' as light as a
lark, and betther nor ever she was; and when she lit at his fut he
patted her an the head, and '_ma vourneen_,' says he, 'but you are the
_darlint_ o' the world.'

"'And what do you say to me,' says Saint Kavin, 'for makin' her the
like?'

"'By gor,' says the King, 'I say nothin' bates the art o' men, 'barrin'
the bees.'

"'And do you say no more nor that?' says Saint Kavin.