She parted the boughs, and entered the deep wood, where she was to gather faggots for her mother. Holding up her blue apron carefully, the little girl stepped lightly here and there, picking up the dry brown sticks, and talking to herself all the while,—to keep herself company, as she thought.

"Thin I makes a low curchy," she was saying, "loike that wan Mother made to the lord's lady yistherday, and the Green Man he gi'es me a nod, and—

"'What's yer name, me dear?' says he.

"'Eileen Macarthy, yer Honor's Riverence!' says I.—No! I mustn't say 'Riverence,' bekase he's not a priest, ava'. 'Yer Honor's Grace' wud do better.

"'And what wud ye loike for a prisint, Eily?' says he.

"And thin I'd say—lit me see! what wud I have first? Oh, I know! I'd ask him— Och! what's that? A big green grasshopper, caught be his leg in a spider's wib. Wait a bit, poor crathur, oi'll lit ye free agin."

Full of pity for the poor grasshopper, Eily stooped to lift it carefully out of the treacherous net into which it had fallen. But what was her amazement on perceiving that the creature was not a grasshopper, but a tiny man, clad from head to foot in light green, and with a scarlet cap on his head. The little fellow was hopelessly entangled in the net, from which he made desperate efforts to free himself, but the silken strands were quite strong enough to hold him prisoner.

For a moment Eileen stood petrified with amazement, murmuring to herself, "Howly Saint Bridget! what will I do now at all? Sure, I niver thought I'd find wan really in loife!" but the next moment her kindness of heart triumphed over her fear, and stooping once more she very gently took the little man up between her thumb and finger, pulled away the clinging web, and set him respectfully on the top of a large toadstool which stood conveniently near.

The little Green Man shook himself, dusted his jacket with his red cap, and then looked up at Eileen with twinkling eyes.

"Thank ye, my maiden!" he said kindly. "Ye have saved my life, and ye shall not be the worse for it, if ye did take me for a grasshopper."

Eily was rather abashed at this, but the little man looked very kind; so she plucked up her courage, and when he asked, "What is yer name, my dear?" ("jist for all the wurrld the way I thought of," she said to herself) answered bravely, with a low courtesy, "Eileen Macarthy, yer Honor's Riverence—Grace, I mane!" and then she added, "They calls me Eily, most times, at home."

"Well, Eily," said the Green Man, "I suppose ye know who I am?"

"A fairy, plaze yer Honor's Grace!" said Eily, with another courtesy. "Sure, I've aften heerd av yer Honor's people, but I niver thought I'd see wan of yez. It's rale plazed I am, sure enough. Manny's the time Docthor O'Shaughnessy's tell't me there was no sich thing as yez; but I niver belaved him, yer Honor!"

"That's right!" said the Green Man, heartily, "that's very right. Never believe a word he says! And now, Eily, alanna, I'm going to do ye a fairy's turn before I go. Ye shall have yer wish of whatever ye like in the world. Take a minute to think about it, and then make up yer mind."

Eily fairly gasped for breath. Her dreams had then come true; she was to have a fairy wish! Could it possibly be true? And what should she wish for? The magic carpet? The goose that laid eggs of gold? The invisible cloak? Eily had all the old fairy-stories at her tongue's end, for her mother told her one every night as she sat at her spinning. Jack and the Beanstalk, the Sleeping Beauty, the Seven Swans, the Elves that stole Barney Maguire, the Brown Witch, and the Widdy Malone's Pig,—she knew them all, and scores of others besides. Her mother always began the stories with, "Wanst upon a time, and a very good time it was;" or, "Long, long ago, whin King O'Toole was young, and the praties grew all ready biled in the ground;" or, "Wan fine time, whin the fairies danced, and not a poor man lived in Ireland." In this way, the fairies seemed always to be thrown far back into a remote past, which had nothing in common with the real work-a-day world in which Eily lived. But now—oh, wonder of wonders!—now, here was a real fairy, alive and active, with as full power of blessing or banning as if the days of King O'Toole had come again,—and what was more, with good-will to grant to Eileen Macarthy whatever in the wide world she might wish for! The child stood quite still, with her hands clasped, thinking harder than she had ever thought in all her life before; and the Green Man sat on the toadstool and watched her, with eyes which twinkled with some amusement, but no malice.

"Take yer time, my dear," he said, "take yer time! Ye'll not meet a Green Man every day, so make the best o' your chance!"

Suddenly Eily's face lighted up with a sudden inspiration. "Och!" she cried, "sure I have it, yer Riverence's Grace—Honor, I shud say! I have it! it's the di'monds and pearrls I'll have, iv ye plaze!"

"Diamonds and pearls?" repeated the fairy, "what diamonds and pearls? There are a great many in the world. You don't want them all, surely?"

"Och, no, yer Honor!" said Eily. "Only wan of aich to dhrop out o' me mouth ivery time I shpake, loike the girrl in the sthory, ye know. Whiniver she opened her lips to shpake, a di'mond an' a pearrl o' the richest beauty dhropped from her mouth. That's what I mane, plaze yer Honor's Grace. Och! wudn't it be beautiful, entirely?"

"Humph!" said the fairy, looking rather grave. "Are ye quite sure that this is what you wish for most, Eileen? Don't decide hastily, or ye may be sorry for it."

"Sorry!" cried Eileen, "what for wud I be sorry? Sure I'd be richer than the Countess o' Kilmoggen hersilf, let alone the Queen, be the time I'd talked for an hour. An' I loove to talk!" she added softly, half to herself.

The Green Man laughed outright at this. "Well, Eily," he said, "ye shall have yer own way. Stoop down to me here!"

Eileen bent down, and he touched her lips three times with the scarlet tassel of his cap. "Slanegher Banegher!" he said. "The charm is worked. Now go home, Eileen Macarthy, and the good wishes of the Green Men go with ye. Ye will have yer own wish fulfilled as soon as ye cross the threshold of yer home. But hark ye now!" he added, impressively. "A day may come when ye will wish with all yer heart to have the charm taken away. If that ever happens, come to this same place with a sprig of holly in yer hand. Strike this toadstool three times, and say, 'Slanegher Banegher, Skeen na Lane!' And now good-by to ye!" and clapping his scarlet cap on his head, the little man leaped from the toadstool, and instantly disappeared from sight among the ferns and mosses.

Eileen stood still for some time, lost in a dream of wonder and delight. Finally rousing herself, she gave a long, happy sigh, and hastily filling her apron with sticks, turned her steps homeward.

The sun was sinking low when she came in sight of the little cabin, at the door of which her mother was standing, looking anxiously in every direction.

"Is it yersilf, Eily?" cried the good woman in a tone of relief, as she saw the child approaching. "And where have ye been at all? It's a wild colleen y'are, to be sprankin' about o' this way, and it nearly sundown. Where have ye been, I'm askin' ye?"

Eily held up her apronful of sticks with a beaming smile, but answered never a word till she stood on the threshold of the cottage. ("Sure I might lose some," she had been saying to herself, "and that 'ud niver do.") But as soon as she had entered the little room which was kitchen, hall, dining-room, and drawing-room for the Macarthy family, she dropped her bundle of faggots, and clasping her hands together, cried, "Och, mother! what do ye think? Sure ye'll niver belave me whin I till ye—"

Here she suddenly stopped, for hop! pop! two round shining things dropped from her mouth, and rolled away over the floor of the cabin.

"Howly Michael be me guide!" cried Mrs. Macarthy; "phwhat's that?"

"It's marvels! [marbles]" shouted little Phelim, jumping up from his seat by the fire and running to pick up the shining objects. "Eily's got her mouf full o' marvels! Hurroo!"

"They aren't marvels!" said Eily, indignantly. "Wait till I till ye, mother asthore! I wint to the forest as ye bade me, to gather shticks, an'—" hop! pop! out flew two more shining things from her mouth and rolled away after the others.

Mrs. Macarthy uttered a piercing shriek, and clapped her hand over Eileen's mouth. "She's bewitched!" she cried. "Me choild's bewitched, an' shpakin' buttons! Och, wirra! wirra! what'll I do at all? Run, Phelim," she added, "an' call yer father. He's in the praty-patch, loikely. An' ye kape shtill!" she said to Eily, who was struggling vainly to free herself from her mother's powerful grasp. "Kape shtill, I'm tillin' ye, an' don't open yer lips! It's savin' yer body an' sowl I may be this minute. Saint Bridget, Saint Michael, an' blissid Saint Patrick!" she ejaculated piously, "save me choild, an' I'll serve ye on me knees the rist o' me days."

Poor Eily! This was a sad beginning of all her glory. She tried desperately to open her mouth, sure that in a moment she could make her mother understand the whole matter. But Honor Macarthy was a stalwart woman, and Eily's slender fingers could not stir the massive hand which was pressed firmly upon her lips.

At this moment her father entered hastily, with Phelim panting behind him.

"Phwhat's the matther, woman?" he asked anxiously. "Here's Phelim clane out o' his head, an' shcramin' about Eily, an' marvels an' buttons, an' I dunno what all. Phwhat ails the choild?" he added in a tone of great alarm, as he saw Eileen in her mother's arms, flushed and disordered, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Och, Dinnis!" cried Honor, "it's bewitched she is,—clane bewitched out o' her sinses, an shpakes buttons out av her mouth wid ivery worrd she siz. Och, me choild! me poor, misfortunate choild! Who wud do ye sich an ill turn as this, whin ye niver harmed annybody since the day ye were born?"

"Buttons!" said Dennis Macarthy; "what do ye mane by buttons? How can she shpake buttons, I'm askin' ye? Sure, ye're foolish yersilf, Honor, woman! Lit the colleen go, an' she'll till me phwhat 'tis all about."

"Och, av ye don't belave me!" cried Honor. "Show thim to yer father, Phelim! Look at two av thim there in the corner,—the dirrty things!"

Phelim took up the two shining objects cautiously in the corner of his pinafore and carried them to his father, who examined them long and carefully. Finally he spoke, but in an altered voice.

"Lit the choild go, Honor," he said. "I want to shpake till her. Do as I bid ye!" he added sternly; and very reluctantly his wife released poor Eily, who stood pale and trembling, eager to explain, and yet afraid to speak for fear of being again forcibly silenced.

"Eileen," said her father, "'tis plain to be seen that these things are not buttons, but jew'ls."

"Jew'ls!" exclaimed Honor, aghast.

"Ay!" said Dennis; "jew'ls, or gims, whichiver ye plaze to call thim. Now, phwhat I want to know is, where did ye get thim?"

"Oh, Father!" cried Eily; "don't look at me that a-way! Sure, I've done no harrum! I only—" hop! pop! another splendid diamond and another white, glistening pearl fell from her lips; but she hurried on, speaking as quickly as she could: "I wint to the forest to gather shticks, and there I saw a little Grane Man, all the same loike a hoppergrass, caught be his lig in a spidher's wib; and whin I lit him free he gi' me a wish, to have whativer I loiked bist in the wurrld; an' so I wished, an' I sid—" but by this time the pearls and diamonds were hopping like hail-stones all over the cabin-floor; and with a look of deep anger and sorrow Dennis Macarthy motioned to his wife to close Eileen's mouth again, which she eagerly did.

"To think," he said, "as iver a child o' mine shud shtale the Countess's jew'ls, an' thin till me a pack o' lies about thim! Honor, thim is the beads o' the Countess's nickluss that I was tillin' ye about, that I saw on her nick at the ball, whin I carried the washin' oop to the Castle. An' this misfortunate colleen has shwallied 'em."

"Shwallied 'em!" echoed Honor, incredulously. "How wud she shwally 'em, an' have 'em in her mouth all the toime? An' how wud she get thim to shwally, an' the Countess in Dublin these three weeks, an' her jew'ls wid her? Shame an ye, Dinnis Macarthy! to suspict yer poor, diminted choild of shtalin'! It's bewitched she is, I till ye! Look at the face av her this minute!"

Just at that moment the sound of wheels was heard; and Phelim, who was standing at the open door, exclaimed,—

"Father! here's Docthor O'Shaughnessy dhrivin' past. Will I shtop him? Maybe he wud know."

"Ay, shtop him! shtop him, lad!" cried both mother and father in a breath.

Phelim darted out, and soon returned, followed by the doctor,—a tall, thin man with a great hooked nose, on which was perched a pair of green spectacles.

Eileen had never liked Dr. O'Shaughnessy; and now a cold shiver passed over her as he fixed his spectacled eyes on her and listened in silence to the confused accounts which her father and mother poured into his ear.

"Humph!" he said at last. "Bewitched? 'tis very loikely. I've known many so of late. Let me see the jew'ls, as ye call thim."

The pearls and diamonds were brought,—a whole handful of them,—and poured into the doctor's hand, which closed suddenly over them, while his dull black eyes shot out a quick gleam under the shading spectacles. The next moment, however, he laughed good-humoredly and turned them carelessly over one by one.

"Why, Dinnis," he said, "'tis aisy to see that ye've not had mich expeerunce o' jew'ls, me bye, or ye'd not mistake these bits o' glass an' sich fer thim. No! no! there's no jew'ls here, wheriver the Countess's are. An' these bits o' trash dhrop out o' the choild's mouth, ye till me, ivery toime she shpakes?"

"Ivery toime, yer Anner!" said Honor. "Out they dhrops, an' goes hoppin' an' leppin' about the room, loike they were aloive."

"I see!" said the doctor. "I understand. This is a very sirrious case, Misther Macarthy,—a very sirrious case indade, sirr; an' I'll be free to till ye that I know but wan way av curin' it."

"Och, whirrasthru!" cried Mrs. Macarthy. "What is it at all, Docthor alanna? Is it a witch has overlooked her, or what is it? Och, me choild! me poor, diminted choild! will I lose ye this-a-way? Ochone! ochone!" and in her grief she loosed her hold of Eileen and clapped her hands to her own face, sobbing aloud. But before the child could open her lips to speak, she found herself seized in another and no less powerful grasp, while another hand covered her mouth,—not warm and firm like her mother's, but cold, bony, and frog-like. Holding her as in a vice, Dr. O'Shaughnessy spoke once more to her parents.

"I'll save her loife," said he, "and mebbe her wits as well, av the thing's poassible. But it's not here I can do ut at all. I'll take the choild home wid me to me house, and Misthress O'Shaughnessy will tind her as if she wuz her own; and thin I will try th' ixpirimint which is the ownly thing on airth can save her."

"Spirimint?" said Honor. "Sure, there's two, three kinds o' mint growin' here in oor own door-yard, but I dunno av there's anny o' that kind. Will ye make a tay av it, Docthor, or is it a poultuss ye'll be puttin' an her, to dhraw out the witchcraft, loike?"

"Whisht, whisht, woman!" said Dennis, impatiently. "Howld yer prate, can't ye, an' the docthor waitin'? Is there no way ye cud cure her, an' lave her at home thin, Docthor? Faith, I'd be loth to lave her go away from uz loike this, let alone the throuble she'll be to yez!"

"No throuble at all!" said the doctor, briskly. "At laste," he added more gravely, "naw moor thin I'd gladly take for ye an' yer good woman, Dinnis! Come, help me wid the colleen, now. Aisy does it! Now, thin, oop wid ye, Eily!"

And the next moment Eileen found herself in the doctor's narrow gig, wedged tightly between him and the side of the vehicle.

"Ye can sind her bits o' clothes over by Phelim," said Dr. O'Shaughnessy, as he gathered up the reins, apparently in great haste. "I'll not shtop now. Good-day t' ye, Dinnis! My respicts to ye, Misthress Macarthy. Ye'll hear av the choild in a day or two!" And whistling to his old pony, they started off at as brisk a trot as the latter could produce on such short notice.

Poor Eileen! Was this the result of the fairy's gift? She sat still, half-paralyzed with grief and terror, for she made no doubt that the hated doctor was going to do something very, very dreadful to her.

Seeing that she made no effort to free herself, or to speak, her captor removed his hand from her mouth; but not until they were well out of sight and hearing of her parents.

"Now, Eileen," he said, not unkindly, "av ye'll be a good colleen, and not shpake a wurrd, I'll lave yer mouth free. But av ye shpake, so much as to say, 'Bliss ye!' I'll tie up yer jaw wid me pock'-handkercher, so as ye can't open ut at all. D' ye hear me, now?"

Eileen nodded silently. She had not the slightest desire to say "Bliss ye!" to Dr. O'Shaughnessy; nor did she care to fill his rusty old gig, or to sprinkle the high road, with diamonds and pearls.

"That's roight!" said the Doctor, "that's a sinsible gyurrl as ye are. See, now, what a foine bit o' sweet-cake Misthress O'Shaughnessy 'ull be givin' ye, whin we git home."

The poor child burst into tears, for the word 'home' made her realize more fully that she was going every moment farther and farther away from her own home,—from her kind father, her anxious and loving mother, and dear little Phelim. What would Phelim do at night, without her shoulder to curl up on and go to sleep, in the trundle-bed which they had shared ever since he was a tiny baby? Who would light her father's pipe, and sing him the little song he always liked to hear while he smoked it after supper? These, and many other such thoughts, filled Eileen's mind as she sat weeping silently beside the green-spectacled doctor, who cared nothing about her crying, so long as she did not try to speak.

After a drive of some miles, they reached a tall, dark, gloomy-looking house, which was not unlike the doctor himself, with its small greenish window-panes and its gaunt chimneys. Here the pony stopped, and the doctor, lifting Eileen out of the gig, carried her into the house. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and stared in amazement at the burden in her husband's arms.

"Honor Macarthy's Eily!" she exclaimed. "The Saints protict uz! Is she kilt, or what's the matther?"

"Open the door o' the best room!" said the doctor, briefly. "Open it, woman, I'm tillin' ye!" and entering a large bare room, he set Eileen down hastily on a stool, and then drew a long breath and wiped his brow. "I've got ye!" he said. "Safe and sound I've got ye now, glory for ut! And ye'll not lave this room until ye've made me King av Ireland!"

Eileen stared at the man, thinking he had gone mad; for his face was red, and his eyes, from which he had snatched the green spectacles, glittered with a strange light. The same idea flashed into his wife's mind, and she crossed herself devoutly, exclaiming,—

"Howly St. Pathrick, he's clane diminted. 'King,' indade! will ye hear um?"

The doctor turned on her sharply. "Diminted?" he said; "ye'll soon see av I'm diminted. I till ye I'll be King av Ireland before the month's oot. Shpake, now, Eileen! Open yer mouth, alanna, and make yer manners to Misthress O'Shaughnessy."

Thus adjured, Eileen dropped a courtesy, and said, timidly, "Good day t' ye, Ma'm! I houp ye're well!"

Hop! pop! down dropped a pearl and a diamond, and the doctor, pouncing on them, held them up in triumph before the eyes of his astonished wife.

"Div ye see that?" he cried. "That's a dimind! There's no sich in Queen Victory's crownd this day. And look a' that! That's a pearrl, an' as big as a marrowfat pay. The loike of ut's not in Ireland, I till ye. Woman, there's a fortin' in ivery wurrd this colleen shpakes! And she's goin' to shpake," he added, grimly, "and to kape an shpakin', till Michael O'Shaughnessy is rich enough to buy all Ireland,—ay, and England too, av he'd a mind to!"

"But—but," cried Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, utterly bewildered by her husband's wild talk, and by the sight of the jewels, "what does it all mane? Has the choild swallied 'em? And won't she die av 'em, av it's that manny in her stumick?"

"Whisht wid yer foolery!" said her husband, contemptuously. "Swallied 'em, indade! The gyurrl has met a Grane Man, that's the truth of ut; and he's gi'n her a wish, and she's got ut,—and now I've got her." And he chuckled, and rubbed his bony hands together, while his eyes twinkled with greed.

"A Grane Man! The saints be good to uz!" cried Mrs. O'Shaughnessy. "Sure, ye always till't me there was no sich thing ava'."

"I lied, thin!" shouted the doctor. "I lied, an' that's all there is to say about ut. Do ye think I'm obleeged to shpake the thruth ivery day in the week to an ignor'nt crathur like yersilf? It's worn out I'd be, body and sowl, at that rate. Now, Eileen Macarthy," he continued, turning to his unhappy little prisoner, "ye are to do as I till ye, an' no harrum'll coom to ye, an' maybe good. Ye are to sit in this room and talk; and ye'll kape an talkin' till the room is full-up! d'ye hear me, now?"

"Full-up?" exclaimed Eileen, faintly.

"Full-up!" repeated the doctor. "No less'll satisfy me, and it's the laste ye can do for all the throuble I've taken forr ye. Misthress O'Shaughnessy an' mesilf 'ull take turns sittin' wid ye, so 'at ye'll have some wan to talk to. Ye'll have plinty to ate an' to dhrink, an' that's more than manny people have in Ireland this day. So lit me hear no complainin'."

With this, the worthy man proceeded to give strict injunctions to his wife to keep the child talking, and not to leave her alone for an instant; and finally he departed, shutting the door behind him, and leaving the captive and her jailer alone together.

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy immediately poured forth a flood of questions, to which Eileen replied by telling the whole pitiful story from beginning to end. It was a relief to be able to speak at last, and to rehearse the whole matter to understanding, if not sympathetic, ears. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy listened and looked, looked and listened, with open mouth and staring eyes. With her eyes shut, she would not have believed her ears; but the double evidence was too much for her.

The diamonds and pearls kept on falling, falling, fast and faster. They filled Eileen's lap, they skipped away over the floor, while the doctor's wife pursued them with frantic eagerness. Each diamond was clear and radiant as a drop of dew, each pearl lustrous and perfect; but they gave no pleasure now to the fairy-gifted child. She could only think of the task that lay before her,—to FILL this great, empty room; of the millions and millions, and yet again millions of gems that must fall from her lips before the floor would be covered even a few inches deep; of the weeks and months,—perhaps the years,—that must elapse before she would see her parents and Phelim again. She remembered the words of the fairy: "A day may come when you will wish with all your heart to have the charm removed." And then, like a flash, came the recollection of those other words: "When that day comes, come here to this spot," and do so and so.

In fancy, Eileen was transported again to the pleasant green forest; was looking at the Green Man as he sat on the toadstool, and begging him to take away this fatal gift, which had already, in one day, brought her so much misery. Harshly on her reverie broke in the voice of Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, asking,—

"And has yer father sold his pigs yit?"

She started, and came back to the doleful world of reality. But even as she answered the woman's question, she made in her heart a firm resolve,—somehow or other, somehow, she would escape; she would get out of this hateful house, away from these greedy, grasping people; she would manage somehow to find her way to the wood, and then—then for freedom again! Cheered by her own resolution, she answered the woman composedly, and went into a detailed account of the birth, rearing, and selling of the pigs, which so fascinated her auditor that she was surprised, when the recital was over, to find that it was nearly supper-time.

The doctor now entered, and taking his wife's place, began to ply Eily with questions, each one artfully calculated to bring forth the longest possible reply:—

"How is it yer mother is related to the Countess's auld housekeeper, avick; and why is it, that wid sich grand relations she niver got into the castle at all?"

"Phwhat was that I h'ard the other day about the looky bargain yer father—honest man!—made wid the one-eyed peddler from beyant Inniskeen?" and—

"Is it thrue that yer mother makes all her butther out av skim-milk just by making the sign of the cross—God bless it!—over the churn?"

Although she did not like the doctor, Eily did, as she had said to the Green Man, "loove to talk;" so she chattered away, explaining and disclaiming, while the diamonds and pearls flew like hail-stones from her lips, and her host and jailer sat watching them with looks of greedy rapture.

Eily paused, fairly out of breath, just as Mrs. O'Shaughnessy entered, bringing her rather scanty supper. There was quite a pile of jewels in her lap and about her feet, while a good many had rolled to a distance; but her heart sank within her as she compared the result of three hours' steady talking with the end to which the rapacious doctor aspired.

She was allowed to eat her supper in peace, but no sooner was it finished than the questioning began again, and it was not until ten o'clock had struck that the exhausted child was allowed to lay her head down on the rude bed which Mrs. O'Shaughnessy had hastily made up for her.

The next day was a weary one for poor Eily. From morning till night she was obliged to talk incessantly, with only a brief space allowed for her meals. The doctor and his wife mounted guard by turns, each asking questions, until to the child's fancy they seemed like nothing but living interrogation points. All day long, no matter what she was talking about,—the potato-crop, or the black hen that the fox stole, or Phelim's measles,—her mind was fixed on one idea, that of escaping from her prison. If only some fortunate chance would call them both out of the room at once! But, alas! that never happened. There was always a pair of greedy eyes fixed on her, and on the now hated jewels which dropped in an endless stream from her lips; always a harsh voice in her ears, rousing her, if she paused for an instant, by new questions as stupid as they were long.

Once, indeed, the child stopped short, and declared that she could not and would not talk any more; but she was speedily shown the end of a birch rod, with the hint that the doctor "would be loth to use the likes av it on Dinnis Macarthy's choild; but her parints had given him charge to dhrive out the witchcraft be hook or be crook; and av a birch rod wasn't first cousin to a crook, what was it at all?" and Eily was forced to find her powers of speech again.

By nightfall of this day the room was ankle-deep in pearls and diamonds. A wonderful sight it was, when the moon looked in at the window, and shone on the lustrous and glittering heaps which Mrs. O'Shaughnessy piled up with her broom. The woman was fairly frightened at the sight of so much treasure, and she crossed herself many times as she lay down on the mat beside Eileen's truckle-bed, muttering to herself, "Michael knows bist, I suppose; but sorrow o' me if I can feel as if there was a blissing an it, ava'!"

The third day came, and was already half over, when an urgent summons came for Doctor O'Shaughnessy. One of his richest patrons had fallen from his horse and broken his leg, and the doctor must come on the instant. The doctor grumbled and swore, but there was no help for it; so he departed, after making his wife vow by all the saints in turn, that she would not leave Eileen's side for an instant until he returned.

When Eily heard the rattle of the gig and the sound of the pony's feet, and knew that the most formidable of her jailers was actually gone, her heart beat so loud for joy that she feared its throbbing would be heard. Now, at last, a loop-hole seemed to open for her. She had a plan already in her head, and now there was a chance for her to carry it out. But an Irish girl of ten has shrewdness beyond her years, and no gleam of expression appeared in Eileen's face as she spoke to Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, who had been standing by the window to watch her husband's departure, and who now returned to her seat.

"We'll be missin' the docthor this day, ma'm, won't we?" she said. "He's so agrayable, ain't he, now?"

"He is that!" replied Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, with something of a sigh. "He's rale agrayable, Michael is—whin he wants to be," she added. "Yis, I'll miss um more nor common to-day, for 'tis worn out I am intirely wid shlapin so little these two nights past. Sure, I can't shlape, wid thim things a-shparklin' an' a-glowerin' at me the way they do; and now I'll not get me nap at all this afthernoon, bein' I must shtay here and kape ye talkin' till the docthor cooms back. Me hid aches, too, mortial bad!"

"Do it, now?" said Eily, soothingly. "Arrah, it's too bad, intirely! Will I till ye a little shtory that me grandmother hed for the hidache?"

"A shtory for the hidache?" said Mrs. O'Shaughnessy. "What do ye mane by that, I'm askin' ye?"

"I dunno roightly how ut is," replied Eily, innocently, "but Granny used to call this shtory a cure for the hidache, and mebbe ye'd find ut so. An' annyhow it 'ud kape me talkin'," she added meekly, "for 'tis mortial long."

"Go an wid it, thin!" said Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, settling herself more comfortably in her chair. "I loove a long shtory, to be sure. Go an, avick!"

And Eily began as follows, speaking in a clear, low monotone:—

"Wanst upon a toime there lived an owld, owld woman, an' her name was Moira Magoyle; an' she lived in an owld, owld house, in an owld, owld lane that lid through an owld, owld wood be the side of an owld, owld shthrame that flowed through an owld, owld shthrate av an owld, owld town in an owld, owld county. An' this owld, owld woman, sure enough, she had an owld, owld cat wid a white nose; an' she had an owld, owld dog wid a black tail, an' she had an owld, owld hin wid wan eye, an' she had an owld, owld cock wid wan leg, an' she had—"

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy yawned, and stirred uneasily on her seat. "Seems to me there's moighty little goin' an in this shtory!" she said, taking up her knitting, which she had dropped in her lap. "I'd loike somethin' a bit more loively, I'm thinkin', av I had me ch'ice."

"Jist wait, ma'm!" said Eily, with quiet confidence, "ownly wait till I coom to the parrt about the two robbers an' the keg o' gunpowdther, an' its loively enough ye'll foind ut. But I must till ut the same way 'at Granny did, else it 'ull do no good, ava. Well, thin, I was sayin' to ye, ma'm, this owld woman (Saint Bridget be good to her!) she had an owld, owld cow, an' she had an owld, owld shape, an' she had an owld, owld kitchen wid an owld, owld cheer an' an owld, owld table, an' an owld, owld panthry wid an owld, owld churn, an' an owld, owld sauce-pan, an' an owld, owld gridiron, an' an owld, owld—"

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy's knitting dropped again, and her head fell forward on her breast. Eileen's voice grew lower and softer, but still she went on,—rising at the same time, and moving quietly, stealthily, towards the door,—

"An' she had an owld, owld kittle, an' she had an owld, owld pot wid an owld, owld kiver; an' she had an owld, owld jug, an' an owld, owld platther, an' an owld, owld tay-pot—"

Eily's hand was on the door, her eyes were fixed on the motionless form of her jailer; her voice went on and on, its soft monotone now accompanied by another sound,—that of a heavy, regular breathing which was fast deepening into a snore.

"An' she had an owld, owld shpoon, an' an owld, owld fork, an' an owld, owld knife, an' an owld, owld cup, an' an owld, owld bowl, an' an owld, owld, owld—"

The door is open! The story is done! Two little feet go speeding down the long passage, across the empty kitchen, out at the back door, and away, away! Wake, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy! wake! the story is done and the bird is flown!

Surely it was the next thing to flying, the way in which Eily sped across the meadows, far from the hated scene of her imprisonment. The bare brown feet seemed scarcely to touch the ground; the brown locks streamed out on the wind; the little blue apron fluttered wildly, like a banner of victory. On! on! on! with panting bosom, with parted lips, with many a backward glance to see if any one were following; on went the little maid, over field and fell, through moss and through mire, till at last—oh, happy, blessed sight!—the dark forest rose before her, and she knew that she was saved.

Quite at the other end of the wood lay the spot she was seeking; but she knew the way well, and on she went, but more carefully now,—parting the branches so that she broke no living twig, and treading cautiously lest she should crush the lady fern, which the Green Men love. How beautiful the ferns were, uncurling their silver-green fronds and spreading their slender arms abroad! How sweetly the birds were singing! How pleasant, how kind, how friendly was everything in the sweet green wood!

And here at last was the oak-tree, and at the foot of it there stood the yellow toadstool, looking as if it did not care about anything or anybody, which in truth it did not: Breathless with haste and eagerness, Eileen tapped the toadstool three times with a bit of holly, saying softly, "Slanegher Banegher! Skeen na lane!" And, lo! and, behold! there sat the Green Man, just as if he had been there all the time, fanning himself with his scarlet cap, and looking at her with a comical twinkle in his sharp little eyes.

"Well, Eily," he said, "is it back so soon ye are? Well, well, I'm not surprised! And how do ye like yer gift?"

"Oh, yer Honor's Riverence—Grace, I mane!" cried poor Eily, bursting into tears, "av ye'll plaze to take it away! Sure it's nearly kilt I am along av it, an' no plazure or coomfort in ut at all at all! Take it away, yer Honor, take it away, and I'll bliss ye all me days!" and, with many sobs, she related the experiences of the past three days. As she spoke, diamonds and pearls still fell in showers from her lips, and half-unconsciously she held up her apron to catch them as they fell, so that by the time she had finished her story she had more than a quart of splendid gems, each as big as the biggest kind of pea.

The Green Man smiled, but not unkindly, at the recital of Eileen's woes. "Faith, it's a hard time ye've had, my maiden, and no mistake! But now 'tis all over. Hold fast the jewels ye have there, for they're the last ye'll get." He touched her lips with his cap, and said, "Cabbala ku! the charm is off."

Eily drew a long breath of relief, and the fairy added,—

"The truth is, Eily, the times are past for fairy gifts of this kind. Few people believe in the Green Men now at all, and fewer still ever see them. Why, ye are the first mortal child I've spoken to for a matter of two hundred years, and I think ye'll be the last I ever speak to. Fairy gifts are very pretty things in a story, but they're not convenient at the present time, as ye see for yourself. There's one thing I'd like to say to ye, however," he added more seriously; "an' ye'll take it as a little lesson-like, me dear, before we part. Ye asked me for diamonds and pearls, and I gave them to ye; and now ye've seen the worth of that kind for yourself. But there's jewels and jewels in the world, and if ye choose, Eily, ye can still speak pearls and diamonds, and no harm to yourself or anybody."

"How was yer Honor maning?" asked Eily, wondering. "Sure, I don't undershtand yer Honor at all."

"Likely not," said the little man, "but it's now I'm telling ye. Every gentle and loving word ye speak, child, is a pearl; and every kind deed done to them as needs kindness, is a diamond brighter than all those shining stones in your apron. Ye'll grow up a rich woman, Eily, with the treasure ye have there; but it might all as well be frogs and toads, if with it ye have not the loving heart and the helping hand that will make a good woman of ye, and happy folk of yer neighbors. And now good-by, mavourneen, and the blessing of the Green Men go with ye and stay with ye, yer life long!"

"Good-by, yer Honor," cried Eily, gratefully. "The saints reward yer Honor's Grace for all yer kindness to a poor silly colleen like me! But, oh, wan minute, yer Honor!" she cried, as she saw the little man about to put on his cap. "Will Docthor O'Shaughnessy be King av Ireland? Sure it's the wicked king he'd make, intirely. Don't let him, plaze, yer Honor!"

Green Jacket laughed long and heartily. "Ho! ho! ho!" he cried. "King, is it? Nothing less would suit him, sure enough! Have no fears, Eily, alanna! Dr. O'Shaughnessy has come into his kingdom by this time, and I wish him joy of it."

With these words he clapped his scarlet cap on his head, and vanished like the snuff of a candle.

Now, just about this time Dr. Michael O'Shaughnessy was dismounting from his gig at his own back door, after a long and weary drive. He thought little, however, about his bodily fatigue, for his heart was full of joy and triumph, his mind absorbed in dreams of glory. He could not even contain his thoughts, but broke out into words, as he unharnessed the rusty old pony.

"An' whin I coom to the palace, I'll knock three times wid the knocker; or maybe there'll be a bell, loike the sheriff's house (bad luck to um!) at Kilmagore. And the gossoon'll open the dure, and—

"'Phwhat's yer arrind?' says he.

"'It's Queen Victory I'm wantin',' says I. 'An' ye'll till her King Michael av Ireland is askin' for her,' I says.

"Thin whin Victory hears that, she'll coom roonnin' down hersilf, to bid me welkim; an' she'll take me oop to the best room, an'—

"'Sit down an the throne, King Michael,' says she. 'The other cheers isn't good enough for the loikes of ye,' says she.

"'Afther ye, ma'm,' says I, moinding me manners.

"'An' is there annythin' I can du for ye, to-day, King Michael?' says she, whin we've sat down an the throne.

"An' I says, loight and aisy loike, all as if I didn't care, 'Nothin' in loife, ma'm, I'm obleeged to ye, widout ye'd lind me the loan o' yer Sunday crownd,' says I, 'be way av a patthern,' says I.

"An' says she—"

But at this moment the royal meditations were rudely broken in upon by a wild shriek which resounded from the house. The door was flung violently open, and Mrs. O'Shaughnessy rushed out like a mad woman.

"She's gone!" she cried wildly. "The colleen's gone, an' me niver shtirrin' from her side! Och, wirra, wirra! what'll I do? It must be the witches has taken her clane up chimley."

Dr. O'Shaughnessy stood for a moment transfixed, glaring with speechless rage at the unhappy woman; then rushing suddenly at her, he seized and shook her till her teeth chattered together.

"Ye've been ashlape!" he yelled, beside himself with rage and disappointment. "Ye've fell ashlape, an' laved her shlip out! Sorrow seize ye, ye're always the black bean in me porridge!" Then flinging her from him, he cried, "I don't care! I'll be it! I'll be king wid what's in there now!" and dashed into the house.

He paused before the door of the best room, lately poor Eily's prison, to draw breath and to collect his thoughts. The door was closed, and from within—hark! what was that sound? Something was stirring, surely. Oh, joy! was his wife mistaken? Waking suddenly from her nap, had she failed to see the girl, who had perhaps been sleeping, too? At all events the jewels were there, in shining heaps on the floor, as he had last seen them, with thousands more covering the floor in every direction,—a king's ransom in half a handful of them. He would be king yet, even if the girl were gone. Cautiously he opened the door and looked in, his eyes glistening, his mouth fairly watering at the thought of all the splendor which would meet his glance.

What did Dr. O'Shaughnessy see? Oh, horror! Oh, dismay, terror, anguish! What did he see? Captive was there none, yet the room was not empty. Jewels were there none, yet the floor was covered; covered with living creatures,—toads, snakes, newts, all hideous and unclean reptiles that hop or creep or wriggle. And as the wretched man stared, with open mouth and glaring eye-balls, oh, horror! they were all hopping, creeping, wriggling towards the open door,—towards him! With a yell beside which his wife's had been a whisper, O'Shaughnessy turned and fled; but after him—through the door, down the passage and out of the house—came hopping, creeping, wriggling his myriad pursuers.

Fly, King Michael! stretch your long legs, and run like a hunted hare over hill and dale, over moss and moor. They are close behind you; they are catching at your heels; they come from every side, surrounding you! Fly, King O'Shaughnessy! but you cannot escape. The Green Men are hunting you, if you could but know it, in sport and in revenge; and three times they will chase you round County Kerry, for thrice three days, till at last they suffer you to drop exhausted in a bog, and vanish from your sight.

And Eily? Eily went home with her apron full of pearls and diamonds, to tell her story again, and this time to be believed. And she grew up a good woman and a rich woman; and she married the young Count of Kilmoggan, and spoke diamonds and pearls all her life long,—at least her husband said she did, and he ought to know.