"'Yes,' said my grand-dad.

"When it was finished, they lay down with their feet towards the grateful blaze, and in a moment or two were once more sound asleep.

"When they awoke what a change! All was light and beauty. They were in a cave with a river rolling silently at their feet away out and joining the blue sea. Yonder it was, and the sky, too, and white fleecy clouds, and screaming sea-birds, and the glorious sun itself.

"They understood all now. They had come to the end of the river while the tide was up; it was now ebb, and they were free.

"They rushed out wild with delight, and wandered away along the sea-beach. It was weeks and weeks before they managed to attract the notice of a pa.s.sing vessel, and their adventures on sh.o.r.e were many and strange, but I must not tell them now, for it is time to turn in.

"But I believe you know, and so did my grand-dad, that they had been actually in the home of the great sea-serpent, that he dwells in mysterious subterranean rivers like these, venturing out to sea but seldom, and hardly ever appearing on the surface."

"Are you done?" said one sailor.

"I'm done."

"Well," said Rory O'Reilly, "it's a quare story, a very quare story, deed and indeed. But I can't be after swallowing the big sarpint."

"I can believe the first half of the yarn," quoth Captain Blunt.

"You can, can you?" quoth Rory. "Well, sure, it's all roight after all; you belave the _first_ half, and he belaves the second half himself; what more can you wish? Faith, it's as roight as the rainbow."

"Well, Rory," said the skipper, laughing, "can't you tell us a story yourself every word of which we can all believe?"

Rory scratched his head, with a comical look twinkling in his eyes and puckering his face.

"Deed and indeed," he said, "if it be my turn, I won't be after spoiling the fun."

Book 2--CHAPTER NINE.

RORY O'REILLY'S QUEER STORY.

"Till now we quietly sailed on, Yet never a breeze did blow; Slowly and smoothly went the ship, Moved onward from beneath.

"The upper air burst into life, And a hundred fire-flags sheen, To and fro they were hurried about, And to and fro and in and out The war stars danced between."

Coleridge.

"Deed and indeed," said Rory, "if it be my turn I won't be after spoiling the fun; and sure, boys, thim is the very words my great-grandfather said when he and a dozen more were going to be hanged at Ballyporeen in the troublesome times.

"And is it a story you said?"

"Yes, Rory, a story."

Now Rory's religious feelings and his sense of humour used oftentimes to be strangely at loggerheads. The fact is, he would not tell a wilful falsehood for all he was worth.

"But, sure," he would say, "there can't be a taste of harm in telling a story or two just to amuse the boys." Yet, to make a.s.surance doubly sure, and his conscience as easy as possible, he always prefaced his yarns with a bit of advice such as follows--"Now, boys, believe me, it's lies I'm going to be after telling you entirely. Believe me, there isn't a morsel av truth in any av me stories, from beginning to ind, and there's sorra a lie in that."

On this particular occasion, instead of commencing at once, Rory took his pipe from his mouth, and sat gazing for about a minute into dreamland, as one might say, with smiles playing at hide-and-seek all over his face.

"Thim was the glorious toimes, boys," he said.

"What times, Rory?"

"Did I never tell you, then?" replied Rory, trying to look innocent.

"What! not about the beautiful island, and the mighty mountains, and the goold, and the jewels, and the big turtle and all?"

"No, Rory, never a word."

"Well, then, to begin with, it's ten years ago, and maybe a bit more, so I wasn't so old as I am now. I hadn't been more'n a year or two at sea, and mostly coasting that same would be, though sure enough my great ambition was to sail away beyond the sunrise, or away to the back av the north wind and seek me fortune. It was living at home in ould Oirland I was then, with mother and Molly--the saints be around them this noight!--and a swater, claner, tidier bit av a la.s.s than me sister Molly there doesn't live 'tween here and Tralee, and sure that is the only bit av real truth in the whole av me story."

"We perfectly believe that, Rory."

"Well thin, boys, it was crossing the bog I was one beautiful moonlight night about five o'clock in the morning, and a big wild bog it was, too, with never a house nor a cot in it, and n.o.body at all barrin' the moor-snipes and the kelpies, when all at once, what or who should I see standing right foreninst me, beside a rick av peats, but a gentleman in sailor's clothes, with gold all round his hat, and a bunch av seals dangling in front av him as big as turkey's eggs. And sure it wasn't shy he was at spaking either, boys.

"'The top av the mornin' to ye,' says he.

"'The same to you,' says I, quite bold-like, though my heart felt as big as peat; 'the same to you and a thousand av them.'

"'Is it poor or rich ye are?' says he.

"'As poor as a peat creel,' says I.

"'Then sure,' says he, 'I daresay it isn't sorry to make your fortune you'd be.'

"'I'll do anything short of shootin' a fellow-bein',' says I, 'for that same.'

"'Well,' says he, 'it's lookin' out for nate young fellows like yourself I do be, and if you'll sail with me to a foreign sh.o.r.e, thir you'll see what you'll see.'

"'I'm your man then,' I says.

"'You'll have lashin's o' atin' and drinkin',' says he, 'and lashin's o'

gold for the gatherin', but there is one thing, and that isn't two, which I must tell you; you'll have to fight, Rory lad.'

"'I'm your man again,' says I. 'Sure there isn't a boy in all the parish I can't bate black and blue before ye could sneeze. And I spat in my fist as I spoke.'

"'Ah! but,' says he, 'the cave where all the gold is is guarded by the ugliest old goblin that ever was created. It is him you'll have to help fight, Rory; it's him you'll have to help fight.'

"'Och!' I cries, 'no matter at all, at all; the uglier the better, so long as he's got the goold behind him. Rory will walk through him like daylight through a dishcloth. Hurrah!'

"And I began to jump about, and spar at all the ugly old imaginary goblins I could think of.

"The gintleman laughed.

"'You'll do fust-rate,' he says, says he; 'shake hands on the subject.'

"And he gave me his hand, and truth, boys, it felt as cold and damp as the tail av a fish. And more betoken, I couldn't help noticing that all the time he was speakin' to me, he kept changing his size. At one moment he didn't look a morsel bigger than a pint bottle, and next-- troth, he was tall enough to spit on me hat.

"'But two heads are better than one,' says I to myself; 'next mornin'