“The crock o’ gold!” everybody whispered, awesomely.

“Aye, the crock o’ gold,” agreed the cobbler.  “But I keep it hidden, for there is naught that can make more throuble—­sometimes.”  He raised the lid and took out a single shining piece.  “Will one do ye?”

Nine heads nodded eloquently, while nine hands were stretched out eagerly to take it.

“Bide a bit.  Ye can’t all be carrying it at the one time.  I think ye had best choose a treasurer.”

Bridget was elected unanimously.  She took the penny and deposited it in the heel of her faery shoe.

“Mind,” said the leprechaun as they were turning to go, “ye mind a faery penny will buy but the one thing.  See to it that ye are all agreed on the same thing.”

The children chorused an assent and skipped merrily away.  And here is where Peter’s patch joins Pancho’s.

They had not gone far over the silvery-green meadow—­three shadow-lengths, perhaps—­when they saw something coming toward them.  It was coming as fast as half-legs could carry it; and it was wagging a long, stand-up tail.  Everybody guessed in an instant that it was Peter’s “black dorg wiv yeller spots.”

“Who der thunk it?  Who der thunk it?” shouted Peter, jumping up and down; and then he knelt on the grass, his arms flung wide open, while he called:  “Toby, Toby!  Here’s me!”

Of course Toby knew Peter—­that goes without saying.  He barked and wagged his tail and licked Peter’s face; in fact, he did every dog-thing Peter had longed for since Peter’s mind had first fashioned him.

“Well,” and Bridget put both arms akimbo and smiled a smile of complete satisfaction, “what was I a-tellin’ ye, anyways?  Faith, don’t it beat all how things come thrue—­when ye think ’em pleasant an’ hard enough?”

Peter remembered the wonderful way their feet skimmed over the ground—­“’most like flyin’.”  Not a blade of grass bent under their weight, not a grain of sand was dislodged; and—­more marvelous than all—­there was no tiredness, no aching of joint or muscle.  All of which was bound to happen when feet were shod with faery shoes.

“See me walk!” cried some one.

“See me run!” cried some one else.

“See me hop and jump!”

And Bridget added, “Faith, ‘tis as easy as lyin’ in bed.”

They were no longer alone; hosts of Little People passed them, going in the same direction.  Peter said most of them rode “straddle-legs” on night birds or moths, while some flew along on a funny thing that was horse before and weeds behind.  I judge this must have been the buchailin buidhe or benweed, which the faeries bewitch and ride the same as a witch mounts her broomstick.

And everybody who passed always called out in the friendliest way, “Hello, Peter!” or “Hello, Bridget!” or “The luck rise with ye!” which is the most common of all greetings in Tir-na-n’Og.