The Bunsby papers Part 39

"Why, then, _tear an nounthers_," said Terry. "You haven't been gostherin' me all the time, an' the heart of me fairly burstin' wid the thought of them weeshee gams of yours strikin' out among the pitch that was beyant."

"It was that very feeling of humanity, which I knew yet lingered in your heart, that saved you," replied the leprechaun.

"As how, sir, might I ax?"

"How long is it since you saw me before?"

"Don't mention it," cried Terry, with an abashed look, "a weary life-time a'most has pa.s.sed since then."

"And _what_ a life-time," observed the leprechaun, reproachfully.

"Indeed, an' you may say that," replied the other. "There's no one knows betther nor I do how sinfully that life was wasted, how useless it has been to me an' to every one else, how foolishly I flung away the means that might have comforted those who looked up to me, among heartless, conscienceless vagabones, who laughed at me while I fed their brutish appet.i.tes, and fled from me as though I were infectious when ill-health and poverty fell upon my head."

"Then the fairy gift did not bring you happiness?"

"Happiness!" replied Terry, with a groan, "it changed me from a man into a beast, it brought distress and misery upon those nearest and dearest to me, it made my whole worldly existence one continued reproach, and G.o.d help me, I'm afeared it has shut the gates of heaven against my sowl hereafter."

"Then I suppose you have the grace to be sorry this time that you didn't behave more generously in my case," said the fairy.

"True darlin'; if I wasn't, I wouldn't be here now," replied Terry. "It was to thry and find you out that I took this journey, an' a sore one it is to a man wid the weight of years that's on my back."

"Oh, I forgot that you were such an ould creather intirely," said the little fellow, with a merry whistle, "but what the mischief makes you bend your back into an _apperciand_, and hide your ears on your showlders, as if the cowld was bitin' them."

"Faix, an' it's just because I'm afeered to sthraighten myself out, that murdherin thief rheumatism has screwed the muscles of my back so tight."

"You can't stand up then, eh Terry?"

"Not for this many a long day, sir, more is the pity," replied the other, with a heavy sigh.

"You don't tell me that," said the leprechaun, with a queer expression of sympathy. "There could be no harm thryin', any way."

"If I thought there would be any use in it, it's only too glad that I'd be," said Terry.

"There's no knowin' what a man can do, until he makes the effort."

Encouraged by these words, Terry commenced very gingerly to lift his head from its long sunken position; to his infinite delight he found the movement unaccompanied by the slightest twinge, and so, with a heart brim full of overflowing joy, he drew himself up to his full height without an ache or a pain; tall, muscular, and as straight as a tailor's yard.

The hurroo! that Terry sent forth from his invigorated lungs, when he felt the entire consciousness of his return to youth and its attendant freshness and strength, startled the echoes of the mountain, like the scream of a grey eagle.

"And now, Misther Terry Magra," said the leprechaun, "I may as well tell you the exact period of time that has transpired since I first had the pleasure of a conversation with you; it is now exactly, by my watch," and he pulled out a mite of a time-keeper from his fob--"there's nothing like being particular in matters of chronology--jist fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds, or to be more explicit, in another minute it will be precisely a quarter of an hour."

"Oh, murdher alive, only to think!" cried Terry, gasping for breath.

"An' the wife an' childher, and the drunkenness and misery I scattered around me."

"Served but to show you, as in a vision, the sure consequences which would have resulted had you really been in possession of the coveted gift you merely dreamed that you had obtained; the life of wretchedness which you pa.s.sed through, in so short a s.p.a.ce of time, is but one of many equally unfortunate, some leading even to a more terrible close.

There are a few, however, I am bound to say, on whom earthly joys _appear_ to shed a constant ray; but we, to whom their inmost thoughts are open as the gates of morning to the sun, know that those very thoughts are black as everlasting night."

"What say you now, Terry? Will you generously give up your power over me, and by leading a life of industry and temperance, insure for you and yours contentment, happiness, and comfort, or will you, to the quelling of my fairy existence and its boundless joys, risk the possession of so dangerous though dazzling a gift as I am compelled to bestow upon you, should you insist on my compliance with such a wish?"

It must be confessed that Terry's heart swelled again at the renewed prospect of sudden wealth, and inasmuch as he exhibited, by the puzzled expression of his countenance, the hidden thoughts that swayed, alternately, his good and evil impulses, the leprechaun continued--

"Take time to consider--do nothing rashly; but weigh well the consequences of each line of conduct, before you decide irrevocably and for ever."

"More power to you for givin' me that chance, any way," said Terry. "It wouldn't take me long to make my mind up, if it wasn't for what I've gone through; but, 'the burnt child,' you know, 'keeps away from the fire.' Might I ax, sir, how far you could go in the way of money? for, av I incline that way at all, bedad it won't be a peddlin' shillin'

that I'll be satisfied with."

"Do you know Squire Moriarty?" said the fairy.

"Is it Black Pether? who doesn't know the dirty thief of the world?

Why, ould Bluebeard was a suckin' babby compared to him, in the regard of cruelty."

"How rich is he?"

"Be gorra, an' they say there's no countin' it, it's so thremendous.

Isn't he the gripinest an' most stony-hearted landlord in the barony, as many a poor farmer knows, when rent day's to the fore?" said Terry.

"And how did he get his money?" inquired the leprechaun.

"Indeed, an' I b'lieve there's no tellin' exactly. Some says this way, an' others that. I've heard say that he was a slave marchint early in life, or a pirate, or something aiqually ginteel an' profitable,"

replied Terry.

"They lie, all of them," the little fellow went on. "He got it as you did yours, by a fairy gift, and see what it has made of him. In his early days, there was not a finer-hearted fellow to be found anywhere; everybody liked, courted, and loved him."

"That's thrue enough," said Terry, "and now there ain't a dog on his estates will wag a tail at him."

"Well, you may be as rich as he is, if you like, Terry," said the fairy.

"May I?" cried Terry, his eyes flashing fire at the idea.

"He turned his poor old mother out of doors, the other day," observed the leprechaun, quietly.

Terry's bright thoughts vanished in an instant, and indignation took their place; for filial reverence is the first of Irish virtues. "The murdherin' Turk!" he exclaimed, angrily, "if I had a howld of him now, I'd squeeze the sowl out of his vagabone carca.s.s, for disgracin' the counthry that's cursed with such an unnatural reprobate."

"It was the money that made him do it," said the fairy.

"You don't tell me that, sir!"

"Indeed but I do, Terry. When the love of _that_ takes possession of a man's heart, there's no room there for any other thought. The nearest and dearest ties of blood, of friendship, and of kin, are loosed and cast away as worthless things. You have a mother, Terry?"

"I have, I have; may all good angels guard and keep her out of harm's way," cried Terry, earnestly, while the large tears gushed forth from his eyes. "Don't say another word," he went on, rapidly; "if it was goold mines that you could plant under every step I took, or that you could rain dimonds into my hat, an' there was the smallest chance of my heart's love sthrayin' from her, even the length of a fly's shadow, it's to the divil I'd pitch the whole bilin', soon an' suddent. So you can keep your grand gifts, an' yer fairy liberty, an' take my blessin'

into the bargain, for showin' me the right road."

"You're right, Terry," said the leprechaun, joyously, "an' I'd be proud to shake hands with you if my fist was big enough. You have withstood temptation manfully, and sufficiently proved the kindliness of your disposition. I know that this night's experience will not be lost on you, but that you will henceforth abandon the wild companionship in the midst of which you have hitherto wasted time and energy, forgetful of the great record yet to come, when each misused moment will stand registered against you."

"And now, Terry," he continued, "I'll leave you to take a little rest; after all you have gone through you must sorely need it." So saying, the leprechaun waved a slip of osier across Terry's eyelids, when they instantly closed with a snap, down he dropped all of a heap upon the springy moss, and slept as solid as a toad in a rock.

When Terry awoke, the morning was far advanced, and the sun was shining full in his face, so that the first impression that filled his mind was, that he was gazing upon a world of fire. He soon mastered that thought, however, and then, sitting down upon the famous stone, began to collect his somewhat entangled faculties into an intelligible focus.

Slowly the events of the night pa.s.sed before him; the locality of each phase in his adventures was plainly distinguishable from where he sat.