AN GAOḊAL.
159
EAĊTRA AN ḂUAILTEORA ḂUIḊE,
Risteard de h-Enebre ro sgríoḃ.
Lá glan-ḟuar, lom-seaca, ġeiṁriġ d'
ar eiriġ amac sgológ macánta, súgaċ
ó n-a ṫeallaċ ṫeiṫ, ḋearg-ṁóna féin
ṫárla gur ċonnairc sé ċuige cleiṫire
mor sgaoilte ar an maiġ. Giḋ nár
ṁeata, faitċiosaċ, an tí Seáġan Sgo¬
lóg níor ṡáṁ ná ṡoċair leis duine don
t-saṁailt sin do ṫuiḋeaċt n-a ḋáil i
meaḋan ṁaċaire gan claoiḋ cluṫṁar
le n-a ais 'n-a luiḋfeaḋ ná diog doiṁ¬
in 'n-a d-tuilfeaḋ ó raḋarc an ḟamaire
ḃí go treun ag gluasaċt 'n- a ċoinne.
Ar ndruidim n-a ċoṁair don faṫaiġ
do ḃreaṫnuiġ an Sgológ ar ġeaḃair a
oirnéise naċ raiḃ ann aċt fear boċt,
macánta & suiste ar a ġualainn bí ag
taisdiol na d-triuċa ag buain lón a
ḃeaṫaḋ amaċ tre neart a láṁ ag buail¬
eaḋ cruiṫneaċta & coirce. Leis an aig¬
ne laġaċ sin ḃeannuiġeas an Sgológ ḋó
& do ḟreagair an buailteoir go mín-
ċneasda, milis, ag iarruiḋ eoluis air
go h-ionad éigin 'n-a ḃ-fuiġḃeaḋ dreas
oibre; "mar ċualas," ar an buailteoir,
"go raiḃ uireasba buailteoiriḋe ar an
áit so & a g-cuid arḃar acu da ḋreóġ¬
aḋ is na h-ioṫlannaiḃ." "Cia tú féin?"
ar an Sgológ, "no cad as duit?" "Mi¬
se," ar sé, "an Buailteoir Buiḋe, ó ḃói¬
ṫrín Rata-Ċoill, atá sealad ar n-am
ṡeolaḋ gan ṁeaṁair gan éirim, de ḋea¬
sga ċaim-ċleas calaoiseaċ Maime man¬
taiġe, stara-ḟiacal, & a dailtín duiḃ¬
siġ, .i a Mac mic an dionadóra."
"Cread do ḃean duit trioṫa súd, a
ḋuine ḃoiċt"? ar an Sgológ. "Atá,"
ar sé, "mo iolṁaoin, i mo ṡláinte, mo
ṁuinntear, mo ṁuirear, mo ḟearann,
& mo ḃán bolg reamhar blaoċtaċ bó, do
ċaill ó iomadaṁlaċt na g-cluiṫċe do h-
imreaḋ orm trés an g-cailliġ sin."
"Ṫoicim," ar an Sgológ, "tar isteaċ
liom gus an d-teine & doḃéar obair rae
ráiṫe ḋuit 'san sgioból air maidin a
máraċ. Aċt ceist agam ort, a ḃuail¬
teoir; creud é do roġa gleus le h-aġaiḋ
ḃuailte"? "O ṁaiseaḋ," ar an buail¬
teoir, "da m-baḋ agam urlár lom &
(Translation)
[A typical Munster story.]
The Adventures of the Yellow Thresher.
One clear-cold bare-frosty day in
Winter that a kind, merry farmer went
out from his own hot hearth of burn¬
ing turf it happened that he saw (com¬
ing) towards him a great able fellow
on the plain. Although this person
John the Farmer, was neither coward¬
ly nor fearful (still) he was not pleas¬
ed or consoled that such a man should
be coming to him in the middle of a
field, where there was no cosy fence
by in which he might lie down nor
deep dyke in which he could fit him-
self away from the sight of the giant
coming so quickly to meet him. On
his coming nearer the farmer judged
from the appearance of his outfit that
he was but a poor, honest, man with a
flail on his shoulder travelling the
country in order to earn his bread with
the strength of his arm threshing oats
and wheat. With that kindly under¬
standing the farmer saluted him and
the thresher answered mildly and po¬
litely (at the same time) asking direc¬
tion to some place where he might get
a job of work, "for I heard" said the
thresher, “that this place was in want
of threshers and that the (peoples')
corn was rotting in the haggards."
"Who art thou,” said the farmer, "and
whence comest?” "I,” said he, "am
the Yellow Thresher from Raehill bor¬
heen who for some time have been
straying without memory or understan¬
ding because of the crooked, deceitful
tricks of Mam of the gapped mouth and
fang-teeth and her diabolical urchin i.e
the Son of the son of the thatcher."
"What happened to thee on their ac¬
count my poor man" ? said the farmer.
"It is,” said he, “that I lost my means
and my health, my kindred, my house-
folk, my land, and full-bellied milky
'bawn' of cows on account of the mul¬
titude of evil games practised upon me
by that hag."
"Well, now,” said the farmer, “come
in with me to the fire and I will give
to thee a quarter's work in the barn to-
