’And it was in this country they settled down; and some of their descendants are living in it yet.’

‘What is their name?’

’Well, I think they, are the Persses of Roxborough; or maybe they are the Gregorys of Coole.’

* * * * *

A red-faced, farmer-like man says:  ’There was a poor man one time—­Jack Murphy his name was; and rent day came, and he hadn’t enough to pay his rent.  And he went to the landlord, and asked would he give him time.  And the landlord asked when would he pay him; and he said he didn’t know that.  And the landlord said:  “Well, if you can answer three questions I’ll put to you, I’ll let you off the rent altogether.  But if you don’t answer them, you will have to pay it at once, or to leave your farm.  And the three questions are these:—­How much does the moon weigh?  How many stars are there in the sky?  What is it I am thinking?” And he said he would give him till the next day to think of the answers.

’And Jack was walking along, very downhearted; and he met with a friend of his, one Tim Daly; and he asked what was on him; and he told him how he must answer the landlord’s three questions on to-morrow, or to lose his farm.  “And I see no use in going to him to-morrow,” says he; “for I’m sure I will not be able to answer his questions right.”  “Let me go in your place,” says Tim Daly; “for the landlord will not know one of us from the other; and I’m a good hand at answering questions, and I’ll engage I’ll get you through.”

’So he agreed to that; and the next day Tim Daly went in to the landlord, and says he:  “I’m come now to answer your three questions.”

’Well, the first question the landlord put was:  “What does the moon weigh?” And Tim Daly says:  “It weighs four quarters.”

’Then the landlord asked:  “How many stars are in the sky?” “Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine,” says Tim.  “How do you know that?” says the landlord.  “Well,” says Tim, “if you don’t believe me, go out yourself to-night and count them.”

’Then the landlord asked him the third question:  “What am I thinking now?” “You are thinking it’s to Jack Murphy you’re talking, and it is not, but to Tim Daly.”

’So the landlord gave in then; and Jack had the farm free from that out.’

There was great laughter and applause at this story.

* * * * *

Then someone told this version of the Taming of the Shrew.  I heard it told in Irish afterwards by an Aran girl at the Galway Feis: 

’There was a farmer one time had three daughters; and two of them were very nice and civil, but the third had a very hot temper.  And the two civil ones were married first; and then a gentleman came and asked for the third.  So after the wedding they started for home; and the farmer said to his son-in-law:  “God speed you—­yourself and your Fireball.”

’Well, on the way home, a hare started up; and the gentleman had a white hound, and it followed the hare; and he called to it to leave following it, but it would not till it had it killed.  And it came back then, and the gentleman took out his pistol and shot the hound dead.  “I did that because it would not obey me,” he said.