th the empty bag on his shoulder.

"Never mind, my son, we'll try something else to-morrow," said nurse
cheerfully. So next morning she brought him a fishing-rod, and a large
piece of toasted cheese. "Take this to the lough and bait your hook with
it," she said, "and see if the black cat won't come up and take a bite.
All cats like cheese."

Dermot went immediately to the lough, baited his hook, and threw the
line out into the water. After a few minutes his heart gave a great
jump, for he felt a sudden pull at the line. He drew it in softly and
cautiously; but when he got it to the water's edge there was nothing on
his hook but a large flat fish--and the toasted cheese had all broken
away and was gone.

"What a foolish old woman, to give me toasted cheese to put into water!"
he said to himself; then he heaved a sigh, threw the fish into his bag,
and once more went sadly away.

"I dare say the villain of a cat has breakfasted nicely off the toasted
cheese without the trouble of coming for it," he said bitterly, when he
got home.

"Never mind; we'll maybe have better luck to-morrow," replied the nurse.
"I dreamed a dream, and in the dream I thought of something else to do."

So early next morning she brought a fat black pig.

"What in the world am I to do with this?" said Dermot sharply.

"Ah, now, be easy, my dear," said the old woman coaxingly. "Just take it
down to the lough and roast it there, and sure when the cat smells the
fine smell of it he'll come up for a taste."

Now Dermot was getting rather tired of doing all these odd things; and
though he had readily gone to the lough with the mice and the rats and
the toasted cheese, yet he did not at all relish the notion of carrying
a live pig across the country with him for two or three miles. However,
he was very good-natured, and so, although he did not himself think that
any good would come of it, after a little while he let his nurse
persuade him to take the pig. The old woman tied a string about its leg,
and he took it to the lough, and as soon as he got there he collected
some sticks and peat together and, building up a good big pile, set
light to it. Then he killed the pig with his hunting-knife and hung it
up before the fire to roast. Presently a most savory smell began to
fill the air.

Dermot withdrew a little way, sat down behind a jutting piece of rock,
and watched, his eyes never leaving the smooth surface of the lough; but
minute after minute