It was starlight in Tir-na-n’Og—­just as Bridget had said it would be—­only the stars were far bigger and brighter.  The children stood on the white, pebbly beach and shook themselves dry; while Bridget showed them how to pull down their nightshirts to keep them from shrinking, and how to wring out their faery caps to keep the wishes from growing musty or mildewed.  After that they met the faery ferryman, who—­according to Sandy—­“wore a wee kiltie o’ reeds, an’ a tammie made frae a loch-lily pad wi’ a cat-o’-nine-tail tossel, lukin’ sae ilk the brae ye wad niver ken he was a mon glen ye dinna see his legs, walkin’.”  He told them how he ferried over all the “old bodies” who had grown feeble-hearted and were too afraid to swim.

It was Pancho who remembered best about the leprechaun—­how they found him sitting cross-legged under the blackthorn-bush with a leather apron spread over his knees, and how he had called out—­just as Bridget had said he would: 

“Hello, Pancho and Susan and Sandy and all!”

“Have you any shoes got?” Pancho shouted.

The faery cobbler nodded and pointed with his awl to the branches above his head; there hung nine pairs of little green shoes, curled at the toes, with silver buckles, all stitched and soled and ready to wear.

“Will they fit?” asked Pancho, breathlessly.

“Faery shoes always fit.  Now reach them down and hand them round.”

This Pancho did with despatch.  Nine pairs of little white feet were thrust joyously into the green shoes and buckled in tight.  On looking back, Pancho was quite sure that this was the happiest moment of his life.  The children squealed and clapped their hands and cried: 

“They fit fine!”

“Shoes is grand to wear!”

“I feel skippy.”

“I feel dancy.”

Whereupon they all jumped to their feet and with arms wide-spread, hand clasping hand, they ringed about the cobbler and the thorn-bush.  They danced until there was not a scrap of breath left in their bodies; then they tumbled over and rolled about like a nest of young puppies, while the cobbler laughed and laughed until he held his sides with the aching.

It was here that everybody remembered about the faery penny; in fact, that was the one thing remembered by all.  And this is hardly strange; if you or I ever possessed a faery penny—­even in the confines of a primrose ring—­we should never forget it.

It was Bridget, however, who reminded the leprechaun.  “Ye haven’t by any chance forgotten somethin’ ye’d like to be rememberin’, have ye?” she asked, diplomatically.

“I don’t know,” and the cobbler pulled his thinking-lock.  “What might it be?”

“Sure, it might be a faery penny,” and Bridget eyed him anxiously.

The cobbler slapped his apron and laughed again.  “To be sure it might—­and I came near forgetting it.”

He reached, over and pulled up a tuft of sod at his side; for all one could have told, it might have been growing there, neighbor to all the other sods.  Underneath was a dark little hole in the ground; and out of this he brought a brown earthen crock.