re was no sound in the cave but the shuffle of his own foot, and
the stillness and the sight that he saw made him afraid. His hand
trembled, and a bridle that he had fell upon the floor. The noise
echoed and echoed through the cave, and the warrior who sat nearest to
the poor man raised his head. 'Is it time?' the warrior said.

"'Not yet, but soon will be,' the man answered, and the warrior's head
sank again upon the table. The man went out of the cave as quickly as
he could, and he never could find the door of it again.

"They say that Earl Gerald's horse has silver shoes. They were half an
inch thick when the Earl's sleep began. When they are worn as thin as
a cat's ear it will be time. Then a miller's son, who will have six
fingers on each hand, will blow a trumpet, and Earl Gerald and all his
warriors will come out of the cave. They will fight a great battle and
will conquer the enemies of Ireland. Then the country will be peaceful
and prosperous and happy, and Gerald will be its King for forty
years."

Peter's mind could not be set at rest by any such stories as this
to-night. "What's the good of all thim old tales to us?" he asked,
"Can we pay our rint wid the knowledge that Earl Gerald will be King
of Ireland for forty years? They do be all the time fortellin' and
prophesyin' and predictin' this thing and that thing and the other
thing in thim old tales, and nothin' ever comes o' thim. Did you ever
know, now, Mrs. O'Brien--I ask you--will you tell me this--did ye ever
know of any of the prophecies in any of thim old woman's tales comin'
thrue?"

"It's surprised I am," said the old woman, "to hear you, Peter
Sullivan, talking that way--you, that had a decent man for your
father, and that's a decent man yourself, all but knowing
nothing--you, that have heard the stories of your people. Tell me now,
did you ever hear what was foretold of the children of Lir, and did
you ever hear if it came true or not?"

Perhaps Peter had never heard about the children of Lir, or perhaps he
had heard and did not like to say so, because the story would be proof
that a prophecy had come true. At any rate, he said nothing. But the
old woman seemed resolved that if he had never heard about the
children of Lir he should hear about them now.

"Lir was a powerful man in the old days of Ireland," she said, "He had
three sons and one daughter, and their mother was dead. The names of
the sons were Hugh, Fiachra, and Conn, and the nam