" 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.
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