AN GAOḊAL.
173
neart a ḃfaoḃair an ḃliaḋain sin.
Maidir liom-sa & mo ṁaoin do ṫuit
donas díoġḃálaċ an easgaine ċeadna
orm. Níor ċian i n-diaiḋ na ḃfear do
ḃeiṫ básuiġṫe aṁail aduḃairt ṫuas an
tan do ṁoṫuiġeamar gaċ aon rud do
ḃeiṫ tre 'n-a ċéile & go h-amallaċ aguinn.
Ní raiḃ toraḋ ná tarḃa in ár ngar¬
aiḋiḃ, ní raiḃ leaċt ná leaṁnaċt ag ár
g-cuid bó, ná bainne ná bláṫaċ ar ċlár
aguinn. Is baileaċ d'éirġeaḋ uaċtar ar
na tubáiniḃ, agus an tan do ċuirimís é
san meadaraċ le h-aġaiḋ coisgin do
ḋéanaṁ is é rud ḃioḋ aguinn do ḃárr
ár saoṫair aċt cuḃar tiuġ brean nó
lastair lán-loḃṫa de ṁeḋg & bainne
reaṁar.
Do ḃámar í d-teannta an da ḟiċid
annsan; an cíos ag glaoḋaċ go dian
orrainn & gan im ná uaċtar ná aon
ġne eile maoine aguinn re 'n-a ḋíol. Is
annsan aduḃairt mo ċéile riom gurab
maiṫ an t-sliġe í ċum, ár míoraṫ do
réiḋeaċaḋ dul d'ionnsaiġe Ṡiaḃarṫa
Ḃaile-an-aitinn, .i. an fear-siḋe ḃuḋ
ċiallṁara doiṁin-leiġeanta i n-dibliḋ¬
eaċt na n-deaṁan d'a raiḃ le fáġail a¬
guinn, do ḟeaċain an ḃ-fuiġḃeaḋ sé
sean ár n-duaḋ & n-doġraing do ṁaol¬
uġaḋ agus ár n-im do ṫaḃairt ar n-ais
duinn arís. D' éirġeas go tráṫaṁail
ar maidin & do ġluasas roṁam go tap¬
aiḋ ag siuḃal tre iomad raon reiḋ &
boiṫríniḋe cuṁang caol go roċtain
Ḃaile-an-aitinn ḋam lá ar n-a ṁáraċ.
Is dearḃ go ḃfuaras ann boṫán beag
fa geall re bráca no tiġ muice, & do
ḃuaileas ag an dorus gur ṗreab sean-
bean ġiobalaċ, ṡuaraċ, ṡalaċ, ag a osg¬
laḋ roṁam. Ar n-dul isteaċ dam do
ḃeannuiġeas dí & a raiḃ ann i n-ainm
Dé. Má rinneas féin is ar a ṁalairt
do freagaireaḋ dam leis an Siaḃarṫa,
'n-a luiġe i g-clíaḃán san ċuinge ag iar¬
faiġe ḋím :— "Cread fáṫ do ṁór-ṡiuḃ¬
alta ċoṁ air maidin, a Ṡeáġain Sgol¬
óig?" Do ḟreagaras ḋó go mioċair,
min-ċneasda ag druidim anonn ċuige
gur ċonnarc go raiḃ 'n-a aḃaicín ċrus¬
ta ṡeirceaċ & a ṡuile iaḋta aige. Do
(Le ḃeiṫ leanta.)
edge that year.
As for me and my possessions the e¬
vil fortunes of the same curse followed
me. Not long after the destruction of
the men, as I have told above, we dis¬
covered that everything was mixed up
and miserably untidy with us. There
was neither produce nor profit in our
tilled fields; our cows gave an unkind¬
ly yield and we had neither milk nor
butter-milk at our table. Scantily used
the cream rise on our tubs and when
we used to put it in the churn to make
butter we found after our labour only
a thick evil-smelling froth or a worth¬
less foetid mixture of whey and skim
milk.
We were completely undone then; a
large amount of rent was owed and we
had neither butter, cream, nor, any o¬
ther sort of produce to pay it. My wife
then told me that the best way to end
our ill luck would be to visit the 'shee¬
vara of Baile-an-aiting, i.e., the most
accomplished and deeply-learned fairy-
man in the sorcery of demons that we
could find, to see if he could allay our
trouble and suffering and bring back
our butter to us again. I arose betimes
in the morning and pushed forward
quickly, travelling many a level road
and narrow borheen until I reached
Baile-an-aiting on the morning of the
following day. To be sure I found there
a little cabin like the wayside bothy of
one plague-stricken, or a pig-sty; and on
my knocking at the door a raggedly-
untidy, contemptible, dirty, old woman
jumpted to her feet to open it for me.
I went in and saluted all there in the
name of God. Even so I received an
answer in a different style from the
'sheevara' lying in his cradle in the
corner who asked “What may be the
cause of thy great journeying so early
in the morning John Farmer?” I an¬
swered mildly and politely (at the same
time) going ever to where he lay when
I perceived that he was a withered,
cross-looking, little dwarf with closed
eyes.
(To be continued)
