And with that he towld the housekeeper to scour out the small iron pot for him, "for," says he, "it will make an iligant helmet." And when it was done he put it an his head, and says she, "Is it puttin' a great heavy iron pot an your head you are by way iv a hat?"

"Sartinly," says he, "for a knight arriant should always have a woight an his brain."

"But," says she, "there's a hole in it, and it can't keep out the weather."

"It will be the cooler," says he, puttin' it an him; "besides, if I don't like it, it is aisy to stop it with a wisp o' sthraw, or the like o' that."

"The three legs of it looks mighty quare stickin' up," says she.

"Every helmet has a spike stickin' out o' the top of it," says the waiver, "and if mine has three, it's only the grandher it is."

"Well," says the housekeeper, getting bitther at last, "all I can say is, it isn't the first sheep's head was dhress'd in it."

"Your sarvint, ma'am," says he; and off he set.

Well, he was in want of a horse, and so he wint to a field hard by where the miller's horse was grazin' that used to carry the ground corn round the counthry.

"This is the idintical horse for me," says the waiver. "He is used to carryin' flour and male; and what am I but the flower o' shovelry in a coat o' mail; so that the horse won't be put out iv his way in the laste."

But as he was ridin' him out o' the field, who should see him but the miller. "Is it stalin' my horse you are, honest man?" says the miller.

"No," says the waiver; "I'm only goin' to axercise him," says he, "in the cool o' the evenin'; it will be good for his health."

"Thank you kindly," says the miller, "but lave him where he is, and you'll obleege me."

"I can't afford it," says the waiver, runnin' the horse at the ditch.

"Bad luck to your impidence," says the miller; "you've as much tin about you as a thravellin' tinker, but you've more bra.s.s. Come back here, you vagabone," says he.

But he was too late--away galloped the waiver, and took the road to Dublin, for he thought the best thing he could do was to go to the King o' Dublin (for Dublin was a grate place thin, and had a king iv its own), and he thought maybe the King o' Dublin would give him work. Well, he was four days goin' to Dublin, for the baste was not the best, and the roads worse, not all as one as now; but there was no turnpikes then, glory be to G.o.d! Whin he got to Dublin he wint sthrait to the palace, and whin he got into the coortyard he let his horse go and graze about the place, for the gra.s.s was growin' out betune the stones; everything was flourishin' thin in Dublin, you see. Well, the King was lookin' out of his dhrawin'-room windy for divarshin, whin the waiver kem in; but the waiver pretended not to see him, and he wint over to a stone sate undher the windy--for, you see, there was stone sates all around about the place for the accommodation o' the people--for the King was a dacent, obleegin' man. Well, as I said, the waiver wint over and lay down an one o' the sates, just undher the King's windy, and purtended to go asleep; but he took care to turn out the front of his shield that had the letthers an it. Well, my dear, with that the King calls out to one of the lords of his coort that was standin' behind him howldin' up the skirt of his coat, according to rayson, and says he, "Look here," says he, "what do you think of a vagabone like that comin' undher my very nose to go sleep? It is thrue I'm a good King," says he, "and I 'commodate the people by havin' sates for them to sit down and enjoy the raycreation and contimplation of seein' me here lookin' out o' my dhrawin'-room windy for divarshin; but that is no rayson they are to make a hotel o' the place and come and sleep here. Who is it at all?"

says the King.

"Not a one o' me knows, plaze your majesty."

"I think he must be a furriner," says the King, "bekase his dhress is outlandish."

"And doesn't know manners, more betoken," says the lord.

"I'll go down and circ.u.mspect him myself," says the King. "Folly me,"

says he to the lord, wavin' his hand at the same time in the most dignacious manner.

Down he wint accordingly, followed by the lord; and whin he wint over to where the waiver was lying, sure, the first thing he seen was his shield with the big letthers an it, and with that, says he to the lord, "By dad," says he, "this is the very man I want."

"For what, plaze your majesty?" says the lord.

"To kill that vagabone dhraggin, to be sure," says the King.

"Sure, do you think he could kill him," says the lord, "whin all the stoutest knights in the land wasn't aiquil to it, but never kem back, and was ate up alive by the cruel desaiver."

"Sure, don't you see there," says the King, pointin' at the shield, "that he killed three score and tin at one blow; and the man that done that, I think, is a match for anything."

So, with that, he wint over to the waiver and shuck him by the shouldher for to wake him, and the waiver rubbed his eyes as if just wakened, and the King says to him, "G.o.d save you!" said he.

"G.o.d save you kindly!" says the waiver, purtendin' he was quite onknowst who he was spakin' to.

"Do you know who I am," says the King, "that you make so free, good man?"

"No, indeed," says the waiver; "you have the advantage o' me."

"To be sure I have," says the King, moighty high; "sure, ain't I the King o' Dublin?" says he.

The waiver dhropped down on his two knees forninst the King, and says he, "I beg G.o.d's pardon and yours for the liberty I tuk; plaze your holiness, I hope you'll excuse it."

"No offince," says the King; "get up, good man. And what brings you here?" says he.

"I'm in want o' work, plaze your riverence," says the waiver.

"Well, suppose I give you work?" says the King.

"I'll be proud to sarve you, my lord," says the waiver.

"Very well," says the King. "You killed three score and tin at one blow, I understan'," says the King.

"Yis," says the waiver; "that was the last thrifle o' work I done, and I'm afeared my hand 'ill go out o' practice if I don't get some job to do at wanst."

"You shall have a job immediantly," says the King. "It is not three score and tin, or any fine thing like that; it is only a blaguard dhraggin that is disturbin' the counthry and ruinatin' my tinanthry wid aitin' their powlthry, and I'm lost for want of eggs," says the King.

"Throth, thin, plaze your worship," says the waiver, "you look as yellow as if you swallowed twelve yolks this minit."

"Well, I want this dhraggin to be killed," says the King. "It will be no throuble in life to you; and I'm only sorry that it isn't betther worth your while, for he isn't worth fearin' at all; only I must tell you that he lives in the county Galway, in the middle of a bog, and he has an advantage in that."

"Oh, I don't value it in the laste," says the waiver; "for the last three score and tin I killed was in a soft place."

"When will you undhertake the job then?" says the King.

"Let me at him at wanst," says the waiver.

"That's what I like," says the King; "you're the very man for my money,"

says he.

"Talkin' of money," says the waiver, "by the same token, I'll want a thrifle o' change from you for my thravellin' charges."

"As much as you plaze," says the King; and with the word he brought him into his closet, where there was an owld stockin' in an oak chest burstin' wid goolden guineas.

"Take as many as you plaze," says the King; and sure enough, my dear, the little waiver stuffed his tin clothes as full as they could howld with them.

"Now, I'm ready for the road," says the waiver.