"By Gor, I thought all the world, far and near, heerd o' King
O'Toole--well, well, but the darkness of mankind is ontellible! Well,
sir, you must know, as you didn't hear it afore, that there was a
king, called King O'Toole, who was a fine ould king in the ould
ancient times, long ago; and it was him that owned the churches in the
early days. The king, you see, was the right sort; he was the rale
boy, and loved sport as he loved his life, and huntin' in partic'lar;
and from the risin' o' the sun, up he got, and away he wint over the
mountains beyant afther the deer; and the fine times them wor.
"Well, it was all mighty good, as long as the king had his health;
but, you see, in coorse of time the king grew ould, by raison he was
stiff in his limbs, and when he got sthriken in years, his heart
failed him, and he was lost intirely for want o' divarshin, bekase he
couldn't go a huntin' no longer; and, by dad, the poor king was
obleeged at last for to get a goose to divart him. Oh, you may laugh,
if you like, but it's truth I'm tellin' you; and the way the goose
divarted him was this-a-way: You see, the goose used for to swim
acrass the lake, and go divin' for throut, and cotch fish on a Friday
for the king, and flew every other day round about the lake, divartin'
the poor king. All went on mighty well, antil, by dad, the goose got
sthriken in years like her master, and couldn't divart him no longer,
and then it was that the poor king was lost complate. The king was
walkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate,
and thinkin' o' drownin' himself, that could get no divarshun in life,
when all of a suddint, turnin' round the corner beyant, who should he
meet but a mighty dacent young man comin' up to him.
"'God save you,' says the king to the young man.
"'God save you kindly, King O'Toole,' says the young man. 'Thrue for
you,' says the king. 'I am King O'Toole,' says he, 'prince and
plennypennytinchery o' these parts,' says he; 'but how kem ye to know
that?' says he. 'Oh, never mind,' says St. Kavin.
"You see it was Saint Kavin, sure enough--the saint himself in
disguise, and nobody else. 'Oh, never mind,' says he, 'I know more
than that. May I make bowld to ax how is your goose, King O'Toole?'
says he. 'Blur-an-agers, how kem ye to know about my goose?' says the
king. 'Oh, no matther; I was given to understand it,' says Saint
Kavin. After some more talk the king says, 'What are you?' 'I'm an
honest man,' says Saint Kavin. 'Well, honest man,' says the king, 'and
how is it you make your money so aisy?' 'By makin' ould things as good
as new,' says Saint Kavin. 'Is it a tinker you are?' says the king.
'No,' says the saint; 'I'm no tinker by thrade, King O'Toole; I've a
betther thrade than a tinker,' says he--'what would you say,' says he,
'if I made your ould goose as good as new?'
"My dear, at the word o' making his goose as good as new, you'd think
the poor ould king's eyes was ready to jump out iv his head. With that
the king whistled, and down kem the poor goose, all as one as a hound,
waddlin' up to the poor cripple, her masther, and as like him as two
pays. The minute the saint clapt his eyes on the goose, 'I'll do the
job for you,' says he, 'King O'Toole.' 'By _Jaminee_!' says King
O'Toole, 'if you do, bud I'll say you're the cleverest fellow in the
sivin parishes.' 'Oh, by dad,' says St. Kavin, 'you must say more nor
that--my horn's not so soft all out,' says he, 'as to repair your ould
goose for nothin'; what'll you gi' me if I do the job for you?--that's
the chat,' says St. Kavin. 'I'll give you whatever you ax,' says the
king; 'isn't that fair?' 'Divil a fairer,' says the saint; 'that's the
way to do business. Now,' says he, 'this is the bargain I'll make with
you, King O'Toole: will you gi' me all the ground the goose flies
over, the first offer, afther I make her as good as new?' 'I will,'
says the king. 'You won't go back o' your word?' says St. Kavin.
'Honor bright!' says King O'Toole, howldin' out his fist. 'Honor
bright!' says St. Kavin, back agin, 'it's a bargain. Come here!' says
he to the poor ould goose--'come here, you unfort'nate ould cripple,
and it's I that'll make you the sportin' bird.' With that, my dear, he
took up the goose by the two wings--'Criss o' my crass an you,' says
he, markin' her to grace with the blessed sign at the same minute--and
throwin' her up in the air, 'whew,' says he, jist givin' her a blast
to help her; and with that, my jewel, she tuk to her heels, flyin'
like one o' the aigles themselves, and cuttin' as many capers as a
swallow before a shower of rain.
"Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the king standin' with
his mouth open, lookin' at his poor ould goose flyin' as light as a
lark, and betther nor ever she was: and when she lit at his fut,
patted her an the head, and, '_Ma vourneen_,' says he, 'but you are
the _darlint_ o' the world.' 'And what do you say to me,' says Saint
Kavin, 'for makin' her the like?' 'By gor,' says the king, 'I say
nothin' bates the art o' man, barrin' the bees.' 'And do you say no
more nor that?' says Saint Kavin. 'And that I'm behoulden to you,'
says the king. 'But will you gi'e me all the ground the goose flew
over?' says Saint Kavin. 'I will,' says King O'Toole, 'and you're
welkim to it,' says he, 'though it's the last acre I have to give.'
'But you'll keep your word thrue?' says the saint. 'As thrue as the
sun,' says the king. 'It's well for you, King O'Toole, that you said
that word,' says he; 'for if you didn't say that word, _the devil
receave the bit o' your goose id ever fly agin_.' Whin the king was as
good as his word, Saint Kavin was _plazed_ with him, and thin it was
that he made himself known to the king. 'And,' says he, 'King O'Toole,
you're a decent man, for I only kem here to _thry you_. You don't know
me," says he, "bekase I'm disguised.' 'Musha! thin,' says the king,
'who are you?' 'I'm Saint Kavin,' said the saint, blessin' himself.
'Oh, queen iv heaven!' says the king, makin' the sign 'o the crass
betune his eyes, and fallin' down on his knees before the saint; 'is
it the great Saint Kavin,' says he, 'that I've been discoorsin' all
this time without knowin' it,' says he, 'all as one as if he was a
lump iv a _gossoon_?--and so you're a saint?' says the king. 'I am,'
says Saint Kavin. 'By gor, I thought I was only talking to a dacent
boy,' says the king. 'Well, you know the differ now,' says the saint.
'I'm Saint Kavin,' says he, 'the greatest of all the saints.' And so
the king had his goose as good as new, to divart him as long as he
lived: and the saint supported him afther he kem into his property, as
I tould you, until the day iv his death--and that was soon afther;
for the poor goose thought he was ketchin' a throut one Friday; but,
my jewel, it was a mistake he made--and instead of a throut, it was a
thievin' horse-eel; and by gor, instead iv the goose killin' a throut
for the king's supper,--by dad, the eel killed the king's goose--and
small blame to him; but he didn't ate her, bekase he darn't ate what
Saint Kavin laid his blessed hands on."