160
AN GAOḊAL.
bualtán coill do ḃuailfinn griosaċ as
an d-talṁain & doġéanfainn mionḃrus
den' easair ó luingir an lae ġil go tui¬
tim na neall um ṫráṫnóna." "Atá go
maiṫ," ar an Sgológ, "buail isteaċ ċum
do ċoda & teasḃaċ na teine."
Do ḋruidsead araon rompa go roċ¬
tain an tiġe ḋóiḃ; leagas an buailteoir
a ṡuiste fa ċúl an doruis, agus muna
raiḃ teine & teagair, toġa biḋ & tarr¬
aing ar ḃaine raṁar maille le fáilte
fairsing ag an ḃean an tiġe ṁioċair
ṁúinte, rés an dtaistealaċ, ní lá fós
é. Do ṡuiḋ sé i n-iomlaċán an ċláir &
do ċrom gan spás gan faoṫaṁ léir-
ruaṫar craos-sluige d' imirt ar na
prátaiḋiḃ le neart a oċrais gur líon¬
aḋ a ġoile fa ḋeireaḋ den réim sin.
Annsan aduḃairt bean an tiġe gur
náir lé' a innsin aċt níor ḃféidir lé'
aon ḃluire beag muic-ḟeola do ċur os
a ċoṁair mar naċ raiḃ sí ar n-a bruiṫ¬
neaḋ acu an t-am sin d'oiḋċe.
"Níor ġaḃa ḋuit teaċt tairis a ḃean,"
ar sé, "ḃí lá agam-sa & níor ċleaċtas
ḃeiṫ folaṁ aċt is fad ó do ḟoglamas
deiṁin an sgeul sin, an tí naċ blais¬
eann an ḟeoil gur mór an t-soḋ leis an
t-anḃruiṫ."
Ar g-caiteaṁ a ċoda dón ḃuailueoir
do ṡuiḋ go sáṁ sásta ar suiḋiste ḃí
re h-ais an h-iarta & d'innis sé a sgéul
go ṁuintir an tiġe ó ṫosaċ go deireaḋ
mar atáim ag cur síos annso :
"Is duine mé," ar sé, "do ḃí saiḋḃir,
lán-ġraḋamaċ, tamall dom' ṡaoġal gur
imṫiġ an mioḋáḋ orm alos mioruin m'
intinne féin gur beanaḋ gaċ maoin &
ionnṁas saoġalta ḋíom ṫríd. Agus
giḋ go ḃ-fuilim 'san rioċt so 'n-a ḃ-
faictí mé do láṫair anois, & giḋ go ḃ-
fuilim ag eilioṁ déirce beagnaċ, a ḟios
do gaċ seiṫleaċ triallta an ḃóṫair ma
ḃóḋas-sa na aoinneaċ dom ċineaḋ a¬
riaṁ gann fá 'n mbiaḋ; oir buḋ ġnáṫ¬
aċ gaċ duine boċt d'á d-tiocfaḋ fa
ḋíon an áruis sin aguinne lán a ṁála
d' faġḃail sul d'imṫeoċaḋ. Aċt ní
feirrde ḋuinn anois an sealḃ ḃí againn
anallód ná an ṁeid do ḋáileamar id¬
ir na boċtaiḃ, mar do ċoṁraigsead
morrow morning. But, thresher, tell
me this, what is thy choice of appoint¬
ments for threshing" ? “O," said the
thresher, "if I had a bare floor and a
hazel striking stick I would knock
sparks out of the ground and make bits
of the corn layer from the first showing
of the bright day until the fall of clouds
at eventide." “All is well,” said the far¬
mer, “come in with me to your supper
and the heat of the fire."
They both moved before them (for¬
ward) until they reached the house; the
thresher leaves his flail behind the
door and it is not day yet if the house-
wife of mild deportment, good-natured
had not fire and favour, chioce of food
and churns of thick milk, together with
hearty welcome for the traveller. He
sat down at the middle of the table and
forthwith without delay or abatement
began to inflict gullet swallowing des¬
truction on the potatoes, so great his
hunger, until at length his belly was
filled in that way. Then the house-wife
said she was ashamed to say so but it
was not in her power to lay a single lit¬
tle piece of pork before him because
they had none boiled at such a time of
the night.
“There was no necessity for thee to
mention it woman," said he, “one time
it was not my custom to be empty but
I have learned long since then the truth
of the saying that a person who cannot
get meat is well enough pleased with
the broth."
Having taken his supper the thresher
sat pleased and comfortable on a straw
'boss' beside the hob and told his story
to the people of the house from begin¬
ning to end as I am about to set down
here.
I am one, said he, that had riches and
the esteem of all a part of my life, un¬
til misfortune fell on me on account of
a luckless design of my own that caus¬
ed me to lose my means and store of
wealth. And although I am in this
condition in which you behold me at
present, and although I am, as I may
say, almost seeking alms, still every
wretched one travelling the road knows
