"Well, _I_ never!" that was all _they_ could say.
"Good evening, Hudden; good evening, Dudden. Ah! you thought you had
played me a fine trick, but you never did me a better turn in all your
lives. When I found poor Daisy dead, I thought to myself: 'Well, her
hide may fetch something'; and it did. Hides are worth their weight in
gold in the market just now."
Hudden nudged Dudden, and Dudden winked at Hudden.
"Good evening, Donald O'Neary."
"Good evening, kind friends."
The next day there wasn't a cow or a calf that belonged to Hudden or
Dudden but her hide was going to the fair in Hudden's biggest cart,
drawn by Dudden's strongest pair of horses.
When they came to the fair, each one took a hide over his arm, and
there they were walking through the fair, bawling out at the top of
their voices, "Hides to sell! hides to sell.'"
Out came the tanner:
"How much for your hides, my good men?"
"Their weight in gold."
"It's early in the day to come out of the tavern." That was all the
tanner said, and back he went to his yard.
"Hides to sell! Fine fresh hides to sell!"
Out came the cobbler:
"How much for your hides, my men?"
"Their weight in gold."
"Is it making game of me you are? Take that for your pains," and the
cobbler dealt Hudden a blow that made him stagger.
Up the people came running from one end of the fair to the other.
"What's the matter? What's the matter?" cried they.
"Here are a couple of vagabonds selling hides at their weight in
gold," said the cobbler.
"Hold 'em fast; hold 'em fast!" bawled the innkeeper, who was the
last to come up, he was so fat. "I'll wager it's one of the rogues who
tricked me out of thirty gold pieces yesterday for a wretched hide."
It was more kicks than halfpence that Hudden and Dudden got before
they were well on their way home again, and they didn't run the slower
because all the dogs of the town were at their heels.
Well, as you may fancy, if they loved Donald little before, they loved
him less now.
"What's the matter, friends?" said he, as he saw them tearing along,
their hats knocked in, and their coats torn off, and their faces black
and blue. "Is it fighting you've been? or mayhap you met the police,
ill luck to them?"
"We'll police you, you vagabond. It's mighty smart you thought
yourself, deluding us with your lying tales."
"Who deluded you? Didn't you see the gold with your own two eyes?"
But it was no use talking. Pay for it he must and should. There was a
meal-sack handy, and into it Hudden and Dudden popped Donald O'Neary,
tied him up tight, ran a pole through the knot, and off they started
for the Brown Lake of the Bog, each with a pole-end on his shoulder,
and Donald O'Neary between.
But the Brown Lake was far, the road was dusty, Hudden and Dudden
were sore and weary, and parched with thirst. There was an inn by the
roadside.
"Let's go in," said Hudden; "I'm dead beat. It's heavy he is for the
little he had to eat."
If Hudden was willing, so was Dudden. As for Donald, you may be sure
his leave wasn't asked, but he was dumped down at the inn door for all
the world as if he had been a sack of potatoes.
"Sit still, you vagabond," said Dudden; "if we don't mind waiting, you
needn't."
Donald held his peace, but after a while he heard the glasses clink,
and Hudden singing away at the top of his voice.
"I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!" said Donald. But
nobody heeded what he said.
"I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!" said Donald; and
this time he said it louder; but nobody heeded what he said.
"I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!" said Donald; and
this time he said it as loud as he could.
"And who won't you have, may I be so bold as to ask?" said a farmer,
who had just come up with a drove of cattle, and was turning in for a
glass.
"It's the King's daughter. They are bothering the life out of me to
marry her."
"You're the lucky fellow. I'd give something to be in your shoes."
"Do you see that, now! Wouldn't it be a fine thing for a farmer to be
marrying a Princess, all dressed in gold and jewels?"
"Jewels, you say? Ah, now, couldn't you take me with you?"
"Well, you're an honest fellow, and as I don't care for the King's
daughter, though she's as beautiful as the day, and is covered with
jewels from top to toe, you shall have her. Just undo the cord and let
me out; they tied me up tight, as they knew I'd run away from her."
Out crawled Donald; in crept the farmer.
"Now lie still, and don't mind the shaking; it's only rumbling
over the palace steps you'll be. And maybe they'll abuse you for a
vagabond, who won't have the King's daughter; but you needn't mind
that. Ah, it's a deal I'm giving up for you, sure as it is that I
don't care for the Princess."
"Take my cattle in exchange," said the farmer; and you may guess it
wasn't long before Donald was at their tails, driving them homeward.
Out came Hudden and Dudden, and the one took one end of the pole, and
the other the other.
"I'm thinking he's heavier," said Hudden.
"Ah, never mind," said Dudden; "it's only a step now to the Brown
Lake."
"I'll have her now! I'll have her now!" bawled the farmer from inside
the sack.
"By my faith and you shall, though," said Hudden, and he laid his
stick across the sack.
"I'll have her! I'll have her!" bawled the farmer, louder than ever.
"Well, here you are," said Dudden, for they were now come to the Brown
Lake, and, unslinging the sack, they pitched it plump into the lake.
"You'll not be playing your tricks on us any longer," said Hudden.
"True for you," said Dudden. "Ah, Donald, my boy, it was an ill day
when you borrowed my scales!"
Off they went, with a light step and an easy heart, but when they were
near home, whom should they see but Donald O'Neary, and all around him
the cows were grazing, and the calves were kicking up their heels and
butting their heads together.
"Is it you, Donald?" said Dudden. "Faith, you've been quicker than we
have."
"True for you, Dudden, and let me thank you kindly; the turn was good,
if the will was ill. You'll have heard, like me, that the Brown Lake
leads to the Land of Promise. I always put it down as lies, but it is
just as true as my word. Look at the cattle."
Hudden stared, and Dudden gaped; but they couldn't get over the
cattle; fine, fat cattle they were, too.
"It's only the worst I could bring up with me," said Donald O'Neary;
"the others were so fat, there was no driving them. Faith, too, it's
little wonder they didn't care to leave, with grass as far as you
could see, and as sweet and juicy as fresh butter."
"Ah now, Donald, we haven't always been friends," said Dudden, "but,
as I was just saying, you were ever a decent lad, and you'll show us
the way, won't you?"
"I don't see that I'm called upon to do that; there is a power more
cattle down there. Why shouldn't I have them all to myself?"
"Faith, they may well say, the richer you get, the harder the heart.
You always were a neighborly lad, Donald. You wouldn't wish to keep
the luck all to yourself?"
"True for you, Hudden, though it's a bad example you set me. But I'll
not be thinking of old times. There is plenty for all there, so come
along with me."
Off they trudged, with a light heart and an eager step. When they came
to the Brown Lake the sky was full of little white clouds, and, if the
sky was full, the lake was as full.
"Ah, now, look! there they are!" cried Donald as he pointed to the
clouds in the lake.
"Where? where?" cried Hudden, and "Don't be greedy!" cried Dudden, as
he jumped his hardest to be up first with the fat cattle. But if he
jumped first, Hudden wasn't long behind.
They never came back. Maybe they got too fat, like the cattle. As for
Donald O'Neary, he had cattle and sheep all his days to his heart's
content.
* * * * *