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Page 29
"I don't know," and the cobbler pulled his thinking-lock. "What might
it be?"
"Sure, it might be a faery penny," and Bridget eyed him anxiously.
The cobbler slapped his apron and laughed again. "To be sure it
might--and I came near forgetting it."
He reached, over and pulled up a tuft of sod at his side; for all one
could have told, it might have been growing there, neighbor to all the
other sods. Underneath was a dark little hole in the ground; and out
of this he brought a brown earthen crock.
"The crock o' gold!" everybody whispered, awesomely.
"Aye, the crock o' gold," agreed the cobbler. "But I keep it hidden,
for there is naught that can make more throuble--sometimes." He raised
the lid and took out a single shining piece. "Will one do ye?"
Nine heads nodded eloquently, while nine hands were stretched out
eagerly to take it.
"Bide a bit. Ye can't all be carrying it at the one time. I think ye
had best choose a treasurer."
Bridget was elected unanimously. She took the penny and deposited it
in the heel of her faery shoe.
"Mind," said the leprechaun as they were turning to go, "ye mind a
faery penny will buy but the one thing. See to it that ye are all
agreed on the same thing."
The children chorused an assent and skipped merrily away. And here is
where Peter's patch joins Pancho's.
They had not gone far over the silvery-green meadow--three
shadow-lengths, perhaps--when they saw something coming toward them.
It was coming as fast as half-legs could carry it; and it was wagging a
_long_, stand-up tail. Everybody guessed in an instant that it was
Peter's "black dorg wiv yeller spots."
"Who der thunk it? Who der thunk it?" shouted Peter, jumping up and
down; and then he knelt on the grass, his arms flung wide open, while
he called: "Toby, Toby! Here's me!"
Of course Toby knew Peter--that goes without saying. He barked and
wagged his tail and licked Peter's face; in fact, he did every
dog-thing Peter had longed for since Peter's mind had first fashioned
him.
"Well," and Bridget put both arms akimbo and smiled a smile of complete
satisfaction, "what was I a-tellin' ye, anyways? Faith, don't it beat
all how things come thrue--when ye think 'em pleasant an' hard enough?"
Peter remembered the wonderful way their feet skimmed over the
ground--"'most like flyin'." Not a blade of grass bent under their
weight, not a grain of sand was dislodged; and--more marvelous than
all--there was no tiredness, no aching of joint or muscle. All of
which was bound to happen when feet were shod with faery shoes.
"See me walk!" cried some one.
"See me run!" cried some one else.
"See me hop and jump!"
And Bridget added, "Faith, 'tis as easy as lyin' in bed."
They were no longer alone; hosts of Little People passed them, going in
the same direction. Peter said most of them rode "straddle-legs" on
night birds or moths, while some flew along on a funny thing that was
horse before and weeds behind. I judge this must have been the
buchailin buidhe or benweed, which the faeries bewitch and ride the
same as a witch mounts her broomstick.
And everybody who passed always called out in the friendliest way,
"Hello, Peter!" or "Hello, Bridget!" or "The luck rise with ye!" which
is the most common of all greetings in Tir-na-n'Og.
"Gee!" was Peter's habitual comment after the telling, "maybe it wasn't
swell havin' 'em know us--names an' all. Betcher life we wasn't cases
to them--no, siree!"
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