When I was going out this morning to walk round the island with Michael, the boy who is teaching me Irish, I met an old man making his way down to the cottage.  He was dressed in miserable black clothes which seemed to have come from the mainland, and was so bent with rheumatism that, at a little distance, he looked more like a spider than a human being.

Michael told me it was Pat Dirane, the story-teller old Mourteen had spoken of on the other island.  I wished to turn back, as he appeared to be on his way to visit me, but Michael would not hear of it.

‘He will be sitting by the fire when we come in,’ he said; ’let you not be afraid, there will be time enough to be talking to him by and by.’

He was right.  As I came down into the kitchen some hours later old Pat was still in the chimney-corner, blinking with the turf smoke.

He spoke English with remarkable aptness and fluency, due, I believe, to the months he spent in the English provinces working at the harvest when he was a young man.

After a few formal compliments he told me how he had been crippled by an attack of the ‘old hin’ (i.e. the influenza), and had been complaining ever since in addition to his rheumatism.

While the old woman was cooking my dinner he asked me if I liked stories, and offered to tell one in English, though he added, it would be much better if I could follow the Gaelic.  Then he began:—­

There were two farmers in County Clare.  One had a son, and the other, a fine rich man, had a daughter.

The young man was wishing to marry the girl, and his father told him to try and get her if he thought well, though a power of gold would be wanting to get the like of her.

‘I will try,’ said the young man.

He put all his gold into a bag.  Then he went over to the other farm, and threw in the gold in front of him.

‘Is that all gold?’ said the father of the girl.

‘All gold,’ said O’Conor (the young man’s name was O’Conor).

‘It will not weigh down my daughter,’ said the father.

‘We’ll see that,’ said O’Conor.

Then they put them in the scales, the daughter in one side and the gold in the other.  The girl went down against the ground, so O’Conor took his bag and went out on the road.

As he was going along he came to where there was a little man, and he standing with his back against the wall.

‘Where are you going with the bag?’ said the little man.  ’Going home,’ said O’Conor.

‘Is it gold you might be wanting?’ said the man.  ‘It is, surely,’ said O’Conor.

‘I’ll give you what you are wanting,’ said the man, ’and we can bargain in this way—­you’ll pay me back in a year the gold I give you, or you’ll pay me with five pounds cut off your own flesh.’

That bargain was made between them.  The man gave a bag of gold to O’Conor, and he went back with it, and was married to the young woman.