"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' old 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 trade, King O'Toole; I've a
better trade than a tinker," says he--"what would you say," says he,
"If I made your old goose as good as new?"
My dear, at the word of making his goose as good as new, you'd think
the poor old King's eyes were ready to jump out of his head. With that
the King whistled, and down came the poor goose, just like a hound,
waddling up to the poor cripple, her master, and as like him as two
peas. 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, I'll say you're the
cleverest fellow in the seven 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 old goose for
nothing; what'll you gi' me if I do the job for you?--that's the
chat," says Saint Kavin.
"I'll give you whatever you ask," 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,
after I make her as good as new?"
"I will," says the King.
"You won't go back o' your word?" says Saint Kavin.
"Honor bright!" says King O'Toole, holding out his fist.
"Honor bright!" says Saint Kavin, back again, "it's a bargain. Come
here!" says he to the poor old goose--"come here, you unfortunate ould
cripple, and it's I that'll make you the sporting bird." With that,
my dear, he took up the goose by the two wings--"Criss o' my cross an
you," says he, markin' her to grace with the blessed sign at the same
minute--and throwing her up in the air, "whew," says he, jist givin'
her a blast to help her; and with that, my jewel, she took to her
heels, flyin' like one o' the eagles themselves, and cutting as many
capers as a swallow before a shower of rain.
Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the King standing with
his mouth open, looking at his poor old goose flying as light as a
lark, and better than ever she was; and when she lit at his feet,
patted her on the head, and "_Mavourneen_," says he, "but you are the
_darlint_ o' the world."
"And what do you say to me," says Saint Kavin, "for making her the
like?"
"By Jabers," says the King, "I say nothing beats the art o' man,
barring the bees."
"And do you say no more nor that?" says Saint Kavin.
"And that I'm beholden to you," says the King.
"But will you gi' me all the ground the goose flew over?" says Saint
Kavin.
"I will," says King O'Toole, "and you're welcome to it," says he,
"though it's the last acre I have to give."
"But you'll keep your word true," says the saint.
"As true 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 divil the bit o' your goose
would ever fly agin."
When the King was as good as his word, Saint Kavin was pleased with
him, and then it was that he made himself known to the King. "And,"
says he, "King O'Toole, you're a dacent man, for I only came here to
try you. You don't know me," says he, "because I'm disguised."
"Musha! then," says the King, "who are you?"
"I'm Saint Kavin," said the saint, blessing himself.
"Oh, queen of heaven!" says the King, making the sign of the cross
between his eyes, and falling down on his knees before the saint; "is
it the great Saint Kavin," says he, "that I've been discoursing all
this time without knowing it," says he, "all as one as if he was a
lump of a _gossoon_?--and so you're a saint?" says the King.
"I am," says Saint Kavin.
"By Jabers, I thought I was only talking to a dacent boy," says the
King.
"Well, you know the difference 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 divert him as long as
he lived; and the saint supported him after he came into his property,
as I told you, until the day of his death--and that was soon after;
for the poor goose thought he was catching a trout one Friday; but,
my jewel, it was a mistake he made--and instead of a trout, it was a
thieving horse-eel; and instead of the goose killing a trout 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, because he darn't ate what Saint
Kavin had laid his blessed hands on.
* * * * *