Finn and Tim ate so quickly that they had time on their hands. It was best to be away in case the black man came, and with this thought in their heads the boys went towards the cartwright's yard. Tim had become very important in his own estimation. He would go to America, he told Finn, for Ireland did not offer opportunities for a person of his capacity. He would buy two revolvers and become a miner, and Finn would read about him afterwards in the papers as the great Indian fighter. So he talked as they went on.

They came to the yard and found Bartley with the cart made whole again. As the three walked beside the horse Finn told his uncle of Tim's tremendous exploits and Tim showed the big silver pieces in confirmation of the tale. Bartley was so much impressed by the sight of this money that he took the boys into a shop and gave them a treat of cakes and ginger-beer. He told everybody in the shop about Tim's success.

When they came to Mrs. Foley's they were told that there was a man from the circus waiting to see the boys. Bartley, Tim and Finn all thought it was someone come to take back the money. Tim and Finn expected to see the black man. They went inside and saw a little man frisking about. He wore a long overcoat and the chalk was off his face, but the boys recognized him as the clown from the circus.

"So this is the lad that rode our donkey," said he with a grin. "May your winnings do you every good, for you're a fine young fellow. I came to ask you would you join our little circus. We'd treat you well and maybe we'd make an acrobat of you."

"I don't want to be an acrobat," said Tim.

"Now that I look at you," said the clown, "I think that you're more fit for our own profession. Come back with me and I'll train you up for a clown. You can play the tin-whistle, I hear. I'll teach you tricks and patter and in a while you'll be in the ring."

"I want to go to Dublin," said Tim.

"Sure we'll bring you to Dublin with our little circus," said the clown.

"Don't be telling lies to the chap," said a beggarman who was standing before the counter. "What would bring you to Dublin? Your old circus wouldn't be looked at there."

"I promise you it will be looked at," said the clown to Tim, "and if you come with us we'll make you a gallant rider on a big white horse."

"If the young fellow will take my advice," said the beggarman, "he'll go on to Dublin with his friends."

"Yes, I'm going to Dublin," said Tim. He ran out to the yard and came back with the pigeon on his shoulder.

"Fare you well," said the clown. "We're for the road too, and if you come across us, remember that we'll give you a ride on the donkey."

He went off then, and Tim got into the cart with Bartley and Finn and they started off again.

It was the afternoon of a very warm day. The hawthorn was gone from the hedges and in its place were the wide blossoms of the elder. The fields in this part of the country were wider than any Finn had seen. No one worked in them and black cattle moved across them. For a long stretch of the road they saw no one but a road-mender sitting beside his heap of stones. They went through three villages, the houses of which were washed with pink instead of with white. When they came on the empty road again the corncrakes were to be heard from the fields. Before night came down they overtook a man who was leading a lame horse. Bartley and he were glad of each other's company and they kept to each other's pace. The man told the travellers that they would be going by the Hill of Tara next day and that they should see the place where so many kings of Ireland were. He showed the boys a grassy mound covered with trees and told them it was a fort and that the fairies frequented it. He stopped to light his pipe and as he started off again he began:—

"There was a little girl hereabout and her name was Kate Mary Ellen. She was as good a child as ever put a shawl across her head. Her people had only one cow and Kate Mary Ellen used to be minding it along the grassy sides of the road. One Saint Patrick's day she thought she would pluck herself a bunch of the shamrock that grew inside that fort. The people used to say that the shamrock that grew there had a splash of blood on it and Kate Mary Ellen would fain have a bunch that would be so remarkable. So when the cow got into a good piece of grass, Kate Mary Ellen left her and went up to the fort. She had trouble in getting in, for there were sloe bushes and blackthorn bushes round it like a fence. But she got through at last, and there was clear ground with old twisted thorn trees growing round.

"Kate Mary Ellen plucked a piece of shamrock and looked to see if there was anything remarkable on it at all. When she looked round again she saw a little fellow looking at her from behind a hawthorn bush. By the size of him and by the shape of his boots she knew he was a fairy man. And behind every hawthorn bush Kate Mary Ellen saw a couple more. She was that flustered that she stood without moving a limb.

"Then one who had sharp eyes and a very high look said to her, 'Are you an obedient child?'

" 'I am, sir,' said Kate Mary Ellen.

" 'Then,' said he, 'take these shamrocks in your hand and go and stand on the bridge. A coach will be passing and you must contrive to stop it. Inside of it will be a big man, and all you will have to do is to hand him your bunch of shamrocks and say to him, "Daniel O'Connell,   The leader of the movement which led to the abolition of the Penal Laws in 1829, when Catholic Emancipation was granted. The Penal Laws were in force from the surrender of Limerick (1691) to the time of Daniel O'Connell, who was born in 1775; the laws against Catholics were a violation of the treaty of Limerick, the articles of which guaranteed toleration to the Catholics, with security of their estates and the right to enter the professions.") ?> the fairy people of Ireland will not go against you." Will you be able to do that?'

" 'I will, sir,' says Kate Mary Ellen.

" 'Say the words after him,' said another of the fairies, a middling sharp-looking little fellow.

" 'Daniel O'Connell, the fairies of Ireland won't go against you,' says Kate Mary Ellen.

" 'That's it,' says the high-looking fairy man, 'and now let you make your way to the bridge, and I'll send one of my men to look after your cow till you come back.'

"Away went Kate Mary Ellen. She got down the slope that goes down from the fort, and then she came racing back. The fairies were all standing consulting together.

" 'I suppose,' says Kate Mary Ellen, 'that's the bridge on the Old Road that I'm to go to?'

" 'It's the road that the coaches travel that you're to go to,' says the second fairy, very severe.

" 'There's no bridge upon that road,' says Kate Mary Ellen.

" 'Go and stand on the bridge and do the Commander's bidding,' says the second fairy back to her.

" 'Yes, sir,' says Kate Mary Ellen, and with that she made off.

"She never stopped running until she was on the Old Road. The grass was growing nigh to the middle of it, for nothing ever travelled it except a goose or an ass. Kate Mary Ellen stationed herself on the bridge, and waited and waited. All she heard going past was an odd trout that leaped in the stream below. She began to get anxious on account of her cow; there was no sign of a coach high up or low down, and at last she started off running to Martin Murphy's house.

" 'Will there be any coach on the Old Road today?' says she, as soon as she came in the door.

"Martin Murphy was sitting at the fire, and he turned round on that.

" 'A coach,' says he. 'A coach on the Old Road,' says he again. 'What would there be a coach on the Old Road for? Sure it's thirty years since a car itself went travelling that road.'

" 'And will Daniel O'Connell not be coming the way?' says Kate Mary Ellen.

" 'Daniel O'Connell,' says Martin Murphy. 'What do they be teaching you at all in school? Don't you know that it's sixty years since Daniel O'Connell was walking the ground of Ireland?'

"Well, at that Kate Mary Ellen made off. Her heart was twisted with concern for the cow. She made for the fort, and got through the blackthorns and sloe bushes. The fairies were standing there with trailing cloaks on them and little swords in their belts. They were consulting together, and they all looked very anxious.

" 'Well,' says the second fairy, 'and what did he say?'

" 'He's not coming that way at all, and it's long since a coach went over the road.'

" 'Could it be that we're late?' says the Commander.

" 'Not at all,' says the second of them. 'But in case he went early we'll take horse.'

" 'Yes,' says the Commander, 'we'll take horse this minute, and we'll wait for him at Tara. The little girl will have to come with us, for it is appointed to her to hand the shamrock to the Liberator. Show her how to mount the bramble,' says he, 'and let us be off on the minute.'

"They gave Kate Mary Ellen a bramble, and put a dock-leaf on it for a side-saddle; the commander stamped his foot, and they were clear of the fort and were galloping through the air in a moment.

" 'We mustn't come up to the Hill,' says the second of the fairies, 'for the crowds of the world are sure to be on Tara today. We'll get off at the back of the hill and ride over quietly.'

"The wind that was before them they overtook, and the red wind of March that was behind did not overtake them. They rode on and on, and they were soon at Tara.

"They came down on a little field.

" 'And now,' says the second fairy, 'we'll let on that we're huntsmen and gallop up to them. The crowds of the world are sure to be on the Hill, but we'll keep to the outside of them.'

"With that they galloped through fields and over ditches, and they came up to the Hill of Tara. And all that was before them was a wide grassy place with cattle grazing over it. There was no sign of a person on the Hill at all.

" 'We're late for the meeting,' says one of them.

" 'We're a day late for the meeting,' says another of them.

" 'We're a year late for the meeting,' says a third of them.

" 'Ay, and twenty years late for the meeting,' says a fourth one of them.

" 'You're sixty years late for the meeting,' says Kate Mary Ellen, speaking up to them.

"All the fairies shook their heads at the one that was second.

" 'You're to blame for this,' says the commander, looking very severe at him.

"The second of the fairies went down on his knees immediately. 'My lord,' says he, lifting his hands, 'don't blame me. It was only this morning I received notice of the meeting from Clourie Com.'

"The commander looked at them all very severely. 'It's no wonder,' says he, 'that above ground and below ground affairs are in the state they're in. Mount horses and make no stop nor stay until we strike hoofs on our own courtyard.'

"They mounted, and if they came at a run they went back at a race. When they struck hoof on the fort the ground opened and they went down. They took a turning to the right and came to a little forge. In they went, Kate Mary Ellen with them. The like of what she saw there never came to her eyes since or before. It wasn't a face that was looking towards them, but the top of a head that was as bald and as smooth as a goose's egg. The beard that grew down was all round the fellow like an apron. He was a little old fellow sitting on a stool, and his legs were twisted like the stems of the hawthorn tree. His hands were under his head, and Kate Mary Ellen never saw them. Only the top of his bald head was to be seen.

" 'When you took that man into your service did you know what age he was?' says the commander to the second fairy.

" 'I thought I did, my lord,' says he.

" 'Well, whatever age he told you he was, he's a thousand years older than that same,' says the commander. 'It's no wonder our time has all gone wrong, and that we're sixty years slow in our reckoning. Start Clourie Com carving his tombstone, and by the time he has that done he'll be ripe for his burial. And as for you, young girl,' says he, 'I found you serviceable and agreeable. You'll get your cow in the hollow and you can go home or stay on the road, as it pleases yourself. Bring the bunch of shamrock with you. Dip it in the well of the fort, and it will remain everlasting. And on the Saint Patrick's Day that the cherry tree in your grandmother's yard is blown down, stand at the cross roads and give the bunch to a young man you'll see riding by. He'll be on his way to Tara, too, and you'll tell him that the fairies of Ireland will not go against him. We missed Dan O'Connell, but we'll not miss him. And,' says he, 'lest it should be said,' says he, 'that those who help the fairies get nothing for their service, the next time you're at the well in the pasture field lift up the flagstone,' says he, 'and you'll find a little pan of gold.'

"Well, my turning is here. Good-night and a safe journey to you all." Thereupon the man with the horse turned up a crooked laneway.