Those that had anything to give gave it in return.  It might be a bit of music played on a harp or a pipe, or it might be a dance or a song; but more often it was a wish, just, for good luck and safekeeping.

Teig was so taken up with the watching that he never heard the fairies when they wished themselves on; moreover, he never saw the wee girl that was fed, and went laughing away.  But he heard a bit of her song as she passed through the door: 

“Feed ye the hungry an’ rest ye the weary, This ye must do for the sake of Our Mary.”

Then the anger had Teig.  “I’ll stop your pestherin’ tongue, once an’ for all time!” and, catching the cap from his head, he threw it after her.  No sooner was the cap gone than every soul in the hall saw him.  The next moment they were about him, catching at his coat and crying: 

“Where is he from, what does he here?  Bring him before the King!” And Teig was dragged along by a hundred hands to the throne where the King sat.

“He was stealing food,” cried one.

“He was robbing the King’s jewels,” cried another.

“He looks evil,” cried a third.  “Kill him!”

And in a moment all the voices took it up and the hall rang with:  “Aye, kill him, kill him!”

Teig’s legs took to trembling, and fear put the leash on his tongue; but after a long silence he managed to whisper: 

“I have done evil to no one—­no one!”

“Maybe,” said the King; “but have ye done good?  Come, tell us, have ye given aught to any one this night?  If ye have, we will pardon ye.”

Not a word could Teig say—­fear tightened the leash—­for he was knowing full well there was no good to him that night.

“Then ye must die,” said the King.  “Will ye try hanging or beheading?”

“Hanging, please, your Majesty,” said Teig.

The guards came rushing up and carried him off.

But as he was crossing the threshold of the hall a thought sprang at him and held him.

“Your Majesty,” he called after him, “will ye grant me a last request?”

“I will,” said the King.

“Thank ye.  There’s a wee red cap that I’m mortal fond of, and I lost it a while ago; if I could be hung with it on, I would hang a deal more comfortable.”

The cap was found and brought to Teig.

“Clip, clap, clip, clap, for my wee red cap, I wish I was home,” he sang.

Up and over the heads of the dumfounded guard he flew, and—­whist—­and away out of sight.  When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting dose by his own hearth, with the fire burnt low.  The hands of the clock were still, the bolt was fixed firm in the door.  The fairies’ lights were gone, and the only bright thing was the candle burning in old Barney’s cabin across the road.

A running of feet sounded outside, and then the snatch of a song

“’Tis well that ye mind—­ye who sit by the fire-
That the Lord he was born in a dark and cold byre. 
           Mhuire as traugh!”