good hint. Ye can do as ye
plase."

"It's glad I'ld be," said the Queen, "if we could be rid of the
Sullivans and Naggeneen both at once, but I dunno what we'll do at all
if the O'Briens go away."

"I'm not over-fond of Naggeneen meself," said the King, "but it's a
sharp bit of a boy he is, and I'm thinkin' he may not be far from
right this time. It might be that a new counthry would be as good for
us as for the O'Briens or the Sullivans, and, anyway, we'ld still be
near to them."

"Do ye mean," the Queen said, "that ye think we might all go to the
States along wid the O'Briens and the Sullivans and Naggeneen?"

"If Naggeneen goes," the King replied, "he'll go along wid us; we'll
not go wid him; but it was just that same that I was thinkin'. And yet
we couldn't do a thing like that widout the lave of the King of All
Ireland."

When the King spoke of the King of All Ireland, of course he meant the
King of all the fairies in Ireland. He was himself only the King of
this rath. Of course you know that the people of Ireland have no kings
of their own any more.

"Naggeneen, me boy," said the King, "just take your fut in your hand
and go to the King of All Ireland. Give him me compliments and ask him
would he think there was anything against the whole of us goin' to the
States."

"Is it me that would be runnin' arrants to the King of All Ireland,"
Naggeneen answered: "me, that don't belong to your thribe at all, and
forty lazy spalpeens around here wearin' their legs off wid dancin' or
rustin' them off wid doin' nothin' at all?"

"It's thrue you don't belong to me thribe," said the King, "and glad I
am of that same. But while ye stay in me rath ye'll do what I bid ye.
Why would I kape a dog and bark meself? Go on, now, and do what I tell
ye, or ye know what I'll do to ye. Be off now!"

Naggeneen was off.

Now, while Naggeneen is gone with his message to the King of All
Ireland, I will just take a minute to say something that I have felt
like saying for quite a little while. He will not be gone much more
than a minute. What I have to say is this: Nearly all the people in
this story, mortals and fairies, too, had the way of speaking that
most Irish people have, which we call a brogue. Mrs. O'Brien had only
a little of it--just the bit of a soft brogue that comes from Dublin,
where she had lived for a long time. The most of the others had a good
deal more. But as I go on with the story from here, I see no use in
tr