FOREWORD

I WANT YOU to imagine a long thatched cottage, perched on a chif-top above a river in Ireland. It is a night in the depth of winter and, one by one, the neighbours push in the half-door and enter the great whitewashed kitchen. The piled-up turf fire is gathering strength: already the edges of the dark sods are outlined against the fierce glow of the fire's core. Before the lamp is lighted, monstrous shadows are born on the white walls. The newcomers take their seats on sugawn or rope chairs with ash frames that creak pleasantly to the body's movement. Men continue to arrive: already there are seven or eight men sitting on the long "form" by the wall — the seat of the "form" is a plank that has been brought down a generation before by a forgotten flood. A boy dodges in to occupy the stool under the cavern of the chimney and immediately the fire begins the task of printing ABCs on his bare shins.

A spatter of rain falls outside. The river wind whines. The woman of the house lights the lamp; she spraddles a hairpin on the glass chimney, then mutes the flame. The kitchen is now the colour of wan gold.

At last, the story-teller arrives. He is the last traditional storyteller in this part of the country. He is a tall, gaunt man, dressed in a faded black suit, the material of which was once as good as gold. When he is not story-telling this man is a figure of fun in the locality; when he is story-telling his dignity throttles mockers. His limbs are as awkward as his tongue is deft. Closing the half-door, his head strikes the bird-cage and spills the water from the porcelain drinker attached to the side of the cage. The man of the house good-humouredly abuses the story-teller. Banter blazes up among the men. The story-teller takes his seat before the fire, ponders for a moment, then spreads his fingers to attract attention.

Silence falls as the man prepares to tell his story. Perhaps it will be "The Little Red Bull," Perhaps it will be "The King of Lonely Island's Daughter." The neighbour's boy has changeling eyes— he hopes it will be "Jack O'Moora and the King of Ireland's Son" which he loves more than all the other tales put together.

The radio came . . . The films came . . . people welcomed them as evidences of civilization. The story-teller fell from favour, and he died obscurely on a day when his fame was no more. Only vestiges of his tales survive in the form of wry, outlawed proverbs.

The boy in the chimney corner thought it a pity that stories that have marched in triumph across the long centuries should wither and die in this our day. So he has set down the tale that follows, in the hope that it may stir other children as it stirred him long ago when he sat as still as a mouse and heard of the adventures of Jack O'Moora and the King of Ireland's Son, and of all their wonderful men.

JACK O'MOORA AND THE KING OF IRELAND'S SON

THE KING OF IRELAND'S SON

Long, long ago, before you and I were born, when the geese walked barefooted, as, indeed, they do to this very day, and when the swallows built their nests in old men's beards, and when the streets were paved with penny loaves, and when forks and knives were deep in bacon sides with the heralds crying out for some one to come and eat them, there lived in Ireland a great and good King who had one son named John. He was a tall, handsome stripling, was John, the King of Ireland's Son, and his father loved him more than anything else in the world.

One morning, in the height of the shining summer, John, the King of Ireland's Son, took a notion to go fowling. So he arose with the first chink of daylight and, with a few companions, trudged all day long on the hills above his home. And yet for all their wandering they sighted neither the proud crest of an eagle nor the white tooth of a boar nor yet the bright tail of a red mountain hare.

Towards evening, as they were returning heme, there fell about them and around them the soundless covering of sum-mer snow. Marvelling at the strangeness of the snowfall, the King of Ireland's Son looked up at the heavens and there, against the grey sky, he spied the dark body of a raven. Raising his gun to his shoulder, he took careful aim and fired. The dark bird fell dead on the snow and its crimson blood soiled the white cloak of the world.

And there and then a strange fancy struck the Youns Prince and, looking down at the dead bird, he fell to musing half in wonder and half in sorrow, saying over and over to himself: "How dark the raven's wing, how ruby-red the spilled blood, how white the unsullied snow!" And on the instant, John, the King of Ireland's Son, took an oath that never would he sleep the second night in the one bed nor break his fast thrice at the one table until he had found a maiden whose hair was as black as the raven's wing, whose cheek was as red as the raven's blood, and whose neck was as white as the unsullied snow.

When the Young Prince told his father of his oath, the old man shook his head sadly, saying: "Son, I am old and lonely, and who knows but that you may never return from your errand?" But, seeing that his son was in dead earnest, he blessed him and gave him leave to go. He gave him the six finest steeds from the stables, together with the carriage that was most shining; he gave him the six most trustworthy servants and a purse crammed with golden sovereigns. And the following morning there wasn't a dry eye in the palace as John? the King of Ireland's Son set out on his great adventure.

Behind them the ring of day widened in the east, and the spokes of the chariot sparkled in the early light and the birds sang sweetly on their left hand, on their right hand, and the clippety-clop of the horses' hooves roused out the drowsy echoes of the valley. On and on they rode, a merry and gay company, and all the while the golden ball of the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky.

Towards noon, as they were drawing near to a village at a cross-roads, the deep dong of a dead bell came from the steeple of a wayside chapel. John, the King of Ireland's Son, being a reverent stripling, called to his coachman, saying, "Draw in the horses on the verge of the road until the funeral has passed by!" So the great horses stood for a long while on the grassy margin, throwing their silver-studded bridles up and down with a great deal of glittering as they strained strongly in their zeal to be off and away. And all the while the bystanders wondered at the splendour of the horseflesh, at the excellence of the servants, and, above all, at the royal appearance of John, the King of Ireland's Son.

They waited and waited. The dead bell kept ringing and ringing, but no funeral passed by. Then the Young Prince noticed a strange thing. Looking through the window of the coach, he saw that the mourners were kneeling with their backs turned to the chapel. A tall, dark-skinned man with sloe-black eyes was standing against a wall nearby. So the Young Prince called out to him, saying: "What is delaying the funeral? Why have the mourners their backs turned towards the chapel.r'" The tall man with the sloe-black eyes walked ov% to the window of the coach and said slowly: "The man who is dead owed a great deal of money. It is the custom in this village that, when a man dies in debt, the body shall not be placed in holy ground until the debts are paid to the last farthing. That is why the body is still in the dead-house, tied by its feet to the rafters, and that, too, is the reason why all the shamed relatives are kneeling with their backs turned to the house of God." Hearing this, the Young Prince was struck with pity and he said: "I will pay the debt." He then left the carriage and walked forward to the chapel. By his side walked the man with the sloe-dark eyes. They saw the body swinging by its feet from the rafters and the debtor standing darkly by.

The Young Prince asked the debtor: "How much are you owed?" And the debtor answered: "The full of this sea-shell of gold." So the King of Ireland's Son poured out the contents of his purse so that the golden sovereigns barely brimmed the sea-shell. Then the body was cut down from the rafters and placed in the coffin. Soon afterwards the coffin moved off for burial in holy ground.

While the King of Ireland's Son was doing this, his servants, standing by the coach, began to grumble one to the other, saying: "How shall this young man pay us our wages?" and "What a foolish waste of fine clean gold?" And the upshot of it was that when the Young Prince and the tall, dark man returned to the carriage, they found it deserted. "Why, Sire," said the tall, dark man, "where are your servants?" "All fled," said the Young Prince, "since there is nothing left to pay them with, and now I am left alone to travel the lonely roads of the world, never sleeping the second night on the same bed nor breaking my fast thrice at the one table, until I have found a maiden whose hair is as dark as the raven's wing, whose cheek is as red as the raven's blood and whose neck is as white as the unsullied snow."

The man with the sloe-dark eyes was silent for a few moments. Then he said, "Sire, will you have me as your servant?" "I would do so with all my heart," replied the Young Prince, "but how can you so lightly offer me your services when you are aware that I lack the gold with which to pay your

"A bargain I will make with you," said the tall man. "I will take loyal service with you for the half of everything you own when our quest is at an end."

"A bargain it is," said the Young Prince. Then he asked: "What is your name?"

"My name is Jack O'Moora," said the man with the sloe-dark eyes.

"And a good name it is," said the King of Ireland's Son, "and I wish you joy of it. Sit into the coach, grasp the long leathers, send your whip whispering over the heads of the horses and let us be on our way."

So Jack O'Moora and the King's Son sat into the coach and off they rolled down the high road of adventure. From above them the noon sun sent down its long lances of purest gold and the spokes of the chariot sparkled in the mid-day-light and the birds sang sweetly on their left hand and on their right hand and the clippety-clop of the horses' hooves roused out the drowsy echoes of the valley.

After a while they came to a place where the glassy tinkling of broken water came to them, so the Young Prince leaned forward in his seat, the better to cool his face with a breath of river-wind. Then, all of a sudden, he stiffened as a most extraordinary sight presented itself to his gaze.

There, on the white gravelled inch of the river, a man was lying. And, nine wonders nine times over, the clear mountain torrent was racing down his gullet. On the sun-brightened stones behind him the stranded salmon were twitching sadly, and the reeds at the river's edge, for lack of water, were bowed down in despair. All the while this wonderful man was sucking away for dear life as if the thirst of three thousand men were upon him.

"Glory be to God!" said the Young Prince.

"Amen to that!" said Jack O'Moora.

"Stop the horses!" ordered the King's Son.

So Jack O'Moora, with a powerful pull on the reins, drew the horses back upon their haunches and amid a cloud of dust the royal coach came to a halt.

As they continued to watch the wonderful drunkard. Jack O'Moora's face grew thoughtful. After a time he said to the King's Son, "This is a man who might be of use to us before our journey is ended." To this the Young Prince readily agreed, so Jack O'Moora leaped from the coach and walked towards the man who was lying on the river's bed. So engrossed was he in his drinking that Jack O'Moora had to tap him thrice on the shoulder before he rose and dried his lips. As the stranger ceased drinking, the dammed-up river roared onwards in one great wave that ran hissing into the white stones. The stranded salmon took life and the river reeds began to sway gaily with the water's movement. Jack O'Moora had to flee before the breaking river: the drinker laughed to see him take to his heels.

When Jack O'Moora reached green ground, he shouted to the other who was now wading out of the shallow water: "Ho, there!" he called. "Follow me up to the coach where my master, the King of Ireland's Son, would have a word with you." Without waiting for a reply, Jack turned to lead the way.

"Who are you and what are you doing?" asked the Young Prince when the thirsty fellow had come up.

"My name, Sire, is Denis the Drought, and I am so thirsty that nothing will quench my thirst except the waters of a great river."

"Denis the Drought," said the Young Prince. "Yours is a splendid name, and I wish you joy of it." Then he said, shyly, "Perhaps you would accompany me on my errand."

"Your errand, Sire?" asked the wonderful drunkard.

"Yes!" said the King of Ireland's Son. "For I have taken a firm oath that never shall I sleep the second night on the same bed nor break bread thrice at the same table until I have found a maiden whose hair is as dark as the raven's wing, whose cheek is as red as the raven's blood and whose neck is as white as the unsullied snow."

When the Prince had ended, Denis the Drought spoke out in manly fashion. "Sire," he said, "I will take service with you, for never shall it be said in days to come that Ireland had bred men who grew wise and old at the mention of high adventure, nor vet shall it be flung between my teeth that I denied the King of Ireland's Son help in keeping his oath."

"Spoken like a fine fellow!" said Jack O'Moora. "Sit into the carriage, and in the name of the King of Angels let us be on our way."

So off they galloped down the high road of adventure, the King of Ireland's Son, Jack O'Moora and Denis the Drought. And to shorten the road they told one another the bright death-less stories of long ago, and, indeed and indeed, if they weren't jolly in that carriage, it will never again be day. Now and again Denis the Drought stopped in the conversation whenever he heard the noise of running water, and the others spoke up loudly so as to drown the coaxing sound. By this time the golden ball of the sun had turned the top of the sky and was sliding heavily down to the horizon. The spokes of the coach began to sparkle gaily and the birds sang on their right hand and on their left hand, and the clippetv-clop of the horses' hooves roused out the drowsy echoes of the valley.

At last they came to a place where the hills were greener than emeralds and the sky above them was a new, strangle blue. The King of Ireland's Son leaned forward in his seat, the better to view the hills and the sky. He suddenly stiffened as a most extraordinary sight presented itself to his gaze.

For there, on the hills, a huge man was walking from hill-top to hill-top. On reaching the peak of a hill, this man suddenly sat down upon it. The hill broke beneath him and he was left sitting on the crumpled ground like a child who has thrown himself backwards on his castle of sand. Immediately he was overcome with laughter and, still seated on the broken earth, he crew and spluttered with joy until all his strength had ebbed away and he was too weak even to rise. When at last the fit of laughing had passed, the man rose and staggered towards the next hill and again threw himself backwards on it. As the hill crumpled beneath him, his laughter shook the world.

"Glory be to God!" said the Young Prince.

"Amen to that!" said Jack O'Moora.

"Stop the horses!" ordered the King's Son.

So Jack O'Moora, with a powerful pull on the reins, drew the horses back upon their haunches and, amid a cloud of road-dust, the royal coach came to a halt.

As they continued to watch the wonderful wrecker. Jack O'Moora's face grew thoughtful. After a time he said to the King's Son: "This is a man who might be of use to us before our journey is ended." To this the King's Son agreed, so Jack O'Moora leaped from the coach and walked towards the breaker of the hills. At first, the stranger paid no heed to Jack's many calls. At last, Jack stood on a rock, cupped his hands about his mouth and gave a mighty halloo, such as herdsmen use to call the cows from the mountain. The man turned and listened.

"Ho, there!" called Jack. "Follow me to the coach where my master, the King of Ireland's Son, would have a word with you." The man, still chuckling, followed Jack to the roadway.

"Who are you, and what are you doing?" asked John, the King of Ireland's Son.

"My name. Sire, is Iron Buttocks, and I am levelling all the hills of Ireland, so that the land shall be a plain from sea to sea."

"Iron Buttocks!" said the Young Prince. "Yours is a splendid name, and I wish you joy of it." Then he said, shyly, "Perhaps you would accompany me on my errand?"

"Your errand?" asked Iron Buttocks.

"Yes!" said John, the King of Ireland's Son. "For I have taken a firm oath that never shall I sleep the second night on the same bed nor yet break bread thrice at the same table until I have found a maiden whose hair is as dark as the raven's wing, whose cheek is as red as the raven's blood and whose neck is as white as the unsullied snow."

When the Young Prince had ended, Iron Buttocks spoke out in manly fashion: "Sire," he said, "I will take service with you, for never shall it be said in days to come that Ireland has bred men who grew wise and old at the mention of high adventure, nor yet shall it be flung between my teeth that I denied the King of Ireland's Son help in keeping his oath."

"Spoken like a fine fellow!" said Jack O'Moora. "Sit into the carriage and, in the name of the King of Angels, let us be on our way."

So off they galloped down the high road of adventure, the King of Ireland's Son, Jack O'Moora, Denis the Drought, and Iron Buttocks. And to shorten the road they told one another the bright, deathless stories of long ago, and, indeed and indeed, if they weren't jolly in that coach it will never again be day. Now and again Denis the Drought ran his tongue over his dry lips, and Iron Buttocks, too, gazed over-long at the spurs of the mountains. And all the time the golden ball of the sun was swinging down from its high perch in the heavens and the spokes of the coach were gleaming like a waterfall of running silver, and the birds sang sweetly on their left hand and on their right hand, and the clippety-clop of the horses' hooves roused out the drowsy echoes of the valley.

After a while they reached a great level field that ran away and away to the very rim of the world. The King's Son leaned forward in his seat, the better to view this great pasture. Suddenly he stiffened as a most extraordinary sight presented itself to his gaze.

For there on the bright grass a small agile man was playing a most unusual game. In his hands he held a swift red mountain hare. He placed the little animal on the ground, released it and shouted "Hulla! Hulla!" at the top of his voice. The hare raced away like something possessed of the devil and, after the animal had had a fair start, the small man raced after it, and, still running at top speed, bent down and picked up the racing hare. Then he chuckled and rubbed the animal with long, loving fingers. When the hare had got back its breath, the man again released it and the strange coursing began all over again, the man never failing to pick up the hare while it was yet in full flight.

After a while, the man did a far stranger thing still. About his waist he was wearing a broad leather belt. He undid the buckle, and strapped his right leg firmly beneath this belt.

Standing on his left leg, he let the hare go, shouted "Hulla! Hulla!" gave the animal a fair start and then, bounding on his left leg, he raced away and picked up the hare in full flight. Once again he began to rub the hare's fur with long, loving fingers.

"Glory be to God!" exclaimed the Young Prince.

"Amen to that!" said Jack O'Moora.

"Stop the horses!" ordered the King of Ireland's Son.

So Jack O'Moora, with a powerful pull on the reins, drew the horses back upon their haunches, and amid a cloud of road-dust the royal coach came to a halt.

As they continued to watch this wonderful runner. Jack O'Moora's face grew thoughtful. After a time he said to the King of Ireland's Son: "This is a man who might be of use to us before our journey is ended." To this the Young Prince agreed, so Jack O'Moora leaped from the coach and, striding freely, approached the wonderful runner. So engrossed was he in his game that he paid little heed to Jack's many calls. Finally, however. Jack took up his position on an ant-hill, cupped his hands and gave a mighty halloo, such as herdsmen use to call the cows from the mountain. Whereupon, the man who by now had again caught the hare, ceased from his coursing and stood to listen.

"Ho, there!" called Jack. "Follow me to the coach where my master. The King of Ireland's Son, would have a word with you."

The small man followed Jack to the roadway. And all the while his long fingers were fondling the red mountain hare.

"Who are you, and what are you doing?" asked John, the King of Ireland's Son.

" My name. Sire, is Leg-Under-The-Belt. and I am the fleetest man that ever trod the soil of Ireland. I find coursing hares poor sport so I tie my leg under my belt to give the brave creatures a fair crack of the whip. But I am sorry that within the borders of Ireland there is no animal speedier than the red mountain hare."

"Leg-Under-The-Belt!" said the King of Ireland's Son. "Yours is a splendid name, and I wish you joy of it." Then he said, shyly, "Perhaps you would accompany me on my errand?"

"Your errand, sire?" asked Leg-Under-The-Belt.

"Yes!" said the King of Ireland's son. "For I have taken a firm oath that never shall I sleep the second night on the same bed nor vet break bread thrice at the same table, until I have found a maiden whose hair is as dark as the raven's wing, whose cheek is as red as the raven's blood, and whose neck is as white as the unsullied snow."

When the Young Prince had ended, Leg-Under-The-Belt spoke out in manly fashion: "Sire," he said "I will take service with you, for never shall it be said in days to come that Ireland has bred men who grew wise and old at the mention of high adventure, nor yet shall it be flung between my teeth that I denied the King of Ireland's Son help in keeping his Oath."

"Spoken like a fine fellow!" said Jack O'Moora. "Sit in and, in the name of the King of Angels, let us be on our way."

Before he sat in, Leg-Under-The-Belt released the hare, shouted "Hulla! Hulla!" and raced his boots but he did not pursue the little animal. After the hare had spurted some distance up the field, it stopped suddenly on finding that it was not being chased. Then it turned right round and wistfully trained its two long ears on the departing coach, for, if the truth be told, the hare was enjoying the game every bit as much as the wonderful courser.

So off they galloped down the high road of adventure; the King of Ireland's Son, Jack O'Moora, Denis the Drought, Iron Buttocks and Leg-Under-The-Belt. And to shorten the road they told one another the bright, deathless stories of long ago, and, indeed and indeed, if they weren't jolly in that coach it will never again be day. Now and again Denis the Drought stopped in the middle of a sentence when he fancied he heard the soft hiss of a waterfall, and Iron Buttocks searched the sky-line for the outline of a hill or even a hillock, and Leg-Under-the-Belt stretched and re-stretched his lively, eager legs. And all the while the sun was creeping nearer and nearer the horizon and the spokes of the coach began to glow with evening gold and the birds sang sweetly, though a little more wearily, on their right hand and on their left hand; and the clippety-clop of the horses' hooves roused out the drowsy echoes of the valley.

At last, on a dry stone wall, they saw a man with a gun pointed at the sky. Lest the horses take fright and run off, the Young Prince called out to Jack O'Moora to stop the coach. So, with a long powerful pull on the reins, Jack drew the horses back on their haunches and amid a cloud of road-dust the royal coach came to a halt.

The travellers searched the sky to see what kind of bird the fowler was aiming at, yet they could see nothing. And, when at last the shot came, they could see no bird falling, yet, strange to say, the fowler seemed wholly delighted and gave every sign that he had killed game. Jack O'Moora's face grew thoughtful and he said to the Young Prince: "This is a man who might be of use to us before our journey is ended." To this the Young Prince agreed and when Jack had brought the strange fowler to the coach, the King of Ireland's son asked him his name and what he was doing.

"My name, sire, is Blind Fowler. I can see only the things that are distant or small. I have just covered and killed a swan flying through a cloud at the other end of the world. I can mark and shoot a single midge dancing among a million midges. There never was a fowler like me since the beginning of the world."

So the Young Prince complimented the fowler on his name and aim. Like the others, he, too, agreed to take service with the King's Son until the end of the journey. The Blind Fowler then took his seat in the coach with the others.

Off they galloped down the high road of adventure; The King of Ireland's Son, Jack O'Moora. Denis the Drought, Iron Buttocks, Leg-Under-the-Belt, and Blind Fowler. And to shorten the road they told one another the bright, deathless stories of long ago, and, indeed and indeed, if they weren't jolly in that coach it will never again be day. Now and again Denis the Drought started from his seat as he fancied he saw in the distance the glimmer of a wide, deep lake, and Iron Buttocks fixed his greedy eyes on the small mounds of the wayside, and Leg-Under-the-Belt ran his fingers over his long lean legs, and Blind Fowler fondled the stock and barrel of his fowling-piece. By now the sun was a big ball of blood balanced on the edge of the world and the spokes of the wheels blazed as with fire in the dying daylight, and the birds chirped sleepily on their left hand and on their right hand and the clippety-clop of the horses' hooves roused out the very last drowsy echoes of the valley. The King's Son leaned forward in his seat, the better to view the wonderful sunset. Suddenly he stiffened as a most extraordinary sight presented itself to his gaze.

A man was lying in a good green meadow. He had one ear pressed close to the grass. He must have been listening to something very interesting for now and again he chuckled deeply and once, indeed, he rose, danced with glee, clapped his hands with delight and crew like a drunken cock. Then, as if suddenly recalling that he was missing a wonderful conversation, he threw himself down and once again placed his ear firmly against the sod. So Jack O'Moora drew the horses back upon their haunches and leaping from the coach went up the meadow and tapped the chuckling man on the shoulder. The listener immediately turned his eyes on Jack O'Moora. Still lying on the ground, he placed his finger to his lips and said "Ssssh!" very fiercely. Once again he began his listening and chuckling, turn and turn about. Jack, although he could hear nothing in the world, stood there in patience until at last the man rose. They both walked down to the coach together.

"Who are you and what are you doing ?" asked the Young Prince.

"My name. Sire, is Listening Ear, and I have just been listening to two hags quarrelling over burned gruel in a cabin at the end of the world. I found it hard to hear their voices above the noise of the grass growing."

After the King of Ireland's Son had complimented this newcomer on his name and gift, Listening Ear agreed to accompany them on their quest.

So off they galloped down the high road of adventure; the King of Ireland's son, Jack O'Moora, Denis the Drought, Iron Buttocks, Leg-Under-the-Belt, Blind Fowler and Listening Ear. And to shorten the road they told one another the bright, deathless stories of long ago, and if they weren't jolly in that coach it will never again be day. And now and again Denis the Drought licked his parched lips, and Iron Buttocks moved carefully on the seat of the coach, lest perhaps a sudden bump should throw him down and make matchwood of the vehicle, and Leg-Under-the-Belt cast a thought on his hare seeking its form in the red heather, and Blind Fowler eyed the first of the bats in the twilight as if he would like to take a potshot at one of them, and Listening Ear listened to everything in the wide world, from a cricket sharpening its shins in the King's chimney to a snipe sending its heart-broken call into the four winds of the land.

And by now the sun had sunk below the horizon and although a broad belt of wan gold still circled the world, the spokes of the coach had lost their grand sparkle and the birds had fallen wholly silent. And then, sudden as a clap of hands, the darkness came.

On and on they journeyed through the black dark. Now they were silent in the coach. After a while a moon came up, a small tawny moon that seemed to be watching them narrowly. Soon they saw a light winking on a hill and, as they drew near, they saw an enormous dark castle with towers and castellations cut, so it seemed, from jet paper and set against the indigo blue of the night sky.

Jack O'Moora drew the horses to a halt.

"A giant lives in that castle," he said. "He has a large ugly head and hair like snakes. He devours men and cows and horses and sheep. He munches and crunches their blue bones. Deep in his cellar he has a wonderful sword, called the Sword of Sharpness. The sword has so keen an edge on it that it would shave a sleeping mouse. I mean to have that sword before the ring of dawn has widened in the east. Wait here for me. When you see the light streaming through the open doorway of the castle, begin to quarrel and fight in loud angry voices. When the light in the window blinks thrice come up at once to the castle door."

So Jack O'Moora walked up to the giant's castle. On the doorpost hung a shield of bronze. Jack picked up a stone and flung it full against the shield. The bronze boss clanged and rang like a great gong.

Out strode the giant. In his hand he held a blazing pine tree. Its smoky light quenched the poor moon. When he saw Jack O'Moora the giant threw back his head and laughed like a dozen thunders. Then he shouted:

"Fee, faw, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Irishman.His liver and lights for my supper to-night,And his blood for my morning dram."

Jack O'Moora did not turn a hair with dread. He put his two shoes squarely on the threshold and placed his arms akimbo.

"That's my thanks!" he said calmly.

"What's your thanks?" asked the giant.

"That's my thanks for coming here to save your life," said Jack O'Moora.

The giant laughed, but not so heartily as before.

"Who, pray, is going to kill me?" he asked.

"The King of Ireland's Son and a band of bloodthirsty warriors who have sworn to cut off your head," said Jack.

"Is it as bad as that?" The giant was trembling.

"Worse!" said Jack O'Moora. "Listen!"

The giant listened. On the night wind was borne the mock quarreling and brawling of the Young Prince and his men.

The giant grew pale. The torch dropped out of his grasp. He threw himself down on his knees before Jack O'Moora. "Save my life, I beseech you!" he cried.

"Where can I hide you?" asked Jack.

"In my cellar," answered the giant.

So they went into the great banqueting hall of the castle. The giant raised a flagstone and went down the stairs into the cellar. "Throw me down a cow," he said, "lest I die of hunger during the night."

So Jack O'Moora threw him down a cow. He replaced the great flagstone and shot the bolt. Then he blinked the light thrice and the Young Prince and his men came in. The King's Son put his ear to the floor and heard the giant munching and crunching the blue bones. Jack ordered the others to unyoke the horses and lead them into the banqueting hall. They all mounted on the horses' backs and rode round and round on the flagged floor, so that the giant would think that there was a vast army over his head.

Soon the Young Prince again put his ear to the floor. He heard the giant snoring.

They feasted until late in the night. Then they all slept soundly in the giant's great bed. Just before the ring of dawn had widened in the east, Jack O'Moora woke the others.

"Yoke the horses," he said. "Drive away and wait for me some distance down the road. There are seven bags of treasure ready in the hallway. Take those with you."

When the others had gone off, Jack raised the flagstone a little way. He peeped down into the cellar.

The giant was awake. "Have they gone?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

"They have!" said Jack.

"Let me up," said the giant. "I'm falling down dead with the hunger."

"Not so fast!" said Jack O'Moora. "First hand me up the Sword of Sharpness."

The giant refused to hand up the sword. He bullied and stormed and threatened.

"Stay there till you rot!" said Jack. With that he slammed down the great flagstone, shot the bolt and sat upon it.

After a while, Jack heard the giant whimpering. He raised the stone a little way. "Please don't ask me for the Sword of Sharpness," said the giant. "It has been in my family since the beginning of the world." He pleaded and cajoled and wept.

"Stay there till you rot!" said Jack O'Moora, slamming down the flagstone once more.

At long last, the giant handed up the Sword of Sharpness. It was a long weapon of dark blue steel. There was a bright wicked glint to the blade's edge. Jack caught the hilt firmly in his two hands. "Come up now!" he said to the giant.

The giant began to come up the cellar steps. The instant the great snake-haired head appeared above the level of the opening, Jack O'Moora cut it off with a mighty swing of the sword.

Then he joined the others who were waiting in the Royal chariot.

On and on they journeyed through the white bird-loud day. After the sun had set, sudden as a clap, the darkness came. They saw a light in a window of a castle that stood up bold and free against the indigo blue of the night sky. Jack O'Moora spoke to his companions.

"A giant lives in that castle. He has two large heads. When one head is laughing, the other is crying; and when the one is crying, the other is laughing. He devours men and cows and horses and sheep. He munches and crunches their blue bones. Deep in his cellar he has a pair of wonderful shoes called the Shoes of Swiftness. The wearer of these shoes can move as swift as thought from one end of the world to the other. I mean to have those shoes before the ring of dawn has widened in the east." Then he told them to do exactly as they had done before.

When Jack O'Moora rang the shield, the giant came thundering out. He had two great heads. One head was laughing while the other was crying. Suddenly the head that was laughing began to cry and the head that was crying began to laugh. He bent down and spied Jack O'Moora by the light of his great torch. Then his two heads began to laugh at one and the same time. The foundations of the castle shuddered in the loud noise.

"I need thongs for my shoes," he roared. "You're too long to make one thong and too short to make two."

But Jack didn't turn a hair with dread. He put his two shoes squarely on the threshold and placed his arms akimbo.

"That's my thanks!" he said calmly.

"What's your thanks?" asked the giant.

"That's my thanks," said Jack O'Moora, "for coming here to save your life." He told the giant to listen to the noise of the men who had come to kill him. When the giant had heard the mock-brawling on the night air, he asked Jack to hide him in his cellar. "Throw me down a pair of horses," he said, "lest I starve during the night."

So Jack locked the giant in his cellar. Then he blinked the light thrice and the Young Prince and his men came in.

The Prince put his ear to the floor and heard the giant munching and crunching the blue bones. They galloped the horses round the floor and after a while they heard the giant snoring. They feasted and when they were weary they slept in the giant's bed. In the morning Jack O'Moora had the giant's treasure ready for them and they yoked the horses and all but Jack rode down the road. When Jack asked the giant for the Shoes of Swiftness, first the giant bullied, then he pleaded, and finally he gave Jack what he wanted. When he put his two terrible heads above the level of the trap door. Jack swept them off with a blow of the Sword of Sharpness. Then he joined the others.

They journeyed all day long and, with the fall of night, they came to a third castle. Jack O'Moora spoke to his companions.

"A giant lives in this castle. He has three dreadful heads — one is black-haired, one is red-haired and one is fair-haired. He devours men and cows and horses and sheep. He munches and crunches their blue bones. Deep in his cellar he has a wonderful cloak called the Cloak of Darkness. Whoever wears the Cloak of Darkness is hidden from the eyes of men. I mean to have that cloak before the ring of dawn widens in the east."

When Jack rang the shield, the giant with the three heads came lumbering out. When he saw Jack he licked his six lips with his three tongues and then he shouted:

"A man! A man! A change of food does a giant good!"

Jack O'Moora again told about the King of Ireland's Son and his warriors. This giant also hid in his cellar. Jack threw him down a whole flock of sheep to keep him from starving during the night. When the others had come in, the Young Prince listened to the giant munching and crunching the blue bones. When the giant had fallen asleep, they feasted till a late hour and then they all slept in the giant's enormous bed. In the morning they rode some distance down the road, taking the giant's treasure with them, and Jack O'Moora got the Cloak of Darkness in the same way as he had received the Sword of Sharpness and the Shoes of Swiftness.

They journeyed on in the daylight and, just as the purple twilight was spreading through the world, they came to the shores of a lake and saw a dark castle beneath the evening star. Jack O'Moora drew the horses to a halt and spoke to the Young Prince in sorrowful tones:

"Here comes the most dangerous part of our journey. In this castle lives a beautiful Princess whose hair is as golden as the autumn corn, whose cheek is as brown as the hazel nut and whose neck is as creamy as the cup of the lily. Many men have come to win her hand in marriage, but she is not easily won, for she has deep dark magic and those who fail to do the tasks she sets them have their heads cut of? and set upon spikes on the Castle gate. There are nine spikes on the gate. Each of the spikes, except one, holds a head. That bare spike awaits your head if you fail to perform the tasks."

The Young Prince reminded Jack O'Moora of his oath: that he had sworn to wed a maiden whose hair was as black as the raven's wing, whose cheek was as red as the raven's blood and whose neck was as white as the unsullied snow. He said he would not ask for the hand of this princess in marriage.

Jack O'Moora drew himself up to his full height and said with dignity: "Sire, I am your servant, and up to now I have proved that I am worthy of the trust you have placed in me. I give you my hand and word that if you follow my advice you shall not break your oath."

So the Young Prince agreed to trust his servant.

They drove up to the door of the dark castle. No light shone in the huge building. By the fitful light of the moon the Young Prince saw the eight heads on the eight spikes. He also saw the spike whereon his own head would be placed if he failed to do the tasks. For a moment or two his courage failed him, but he drew himself up when he remembered that he was the King of Ireland's son.

Jack O'Moora knocked loudly at the great studded door. A slide was drawn, and the face of a cruel soldier appeared in an opening in the door. "Who's out?" growled a harsh voice.

"Open for John, the King of Ireland's Son who has come to seek the hand of the young Princess," said Jack O'Moora in stern tones.

A curious chuckle came from within. The face disappeared and, some time afterwards, loud voices were heard in the castle. Instantly the sleeping building broke into life. Lights appeared in the windows. All was hustle and bustle, rush and crush, hurry flurry and scurry and the pat-pat-patter of shoes on long stone stairs. The mighty door creaked open.

Soldiers carrying torches appeared. Jack O'Moora sent the leathern lash of his whip whispering over the heads of the horses and the coach rolled into the cobbled courtyard of the castle. A press of soldiers and courtiers surrounded the coach. They laughed and chuckled. They pinched one another in their queer glee. "His head!" they said. "Let us see his head!" They peeped into the coach. They saw Jack O'Moora, Denis the Drought, Iron Buttocks, Leg-Under-the-Belt, Blind Fowler and Listening Ear. They saw John, the King of Ireland's Son.

The Princess and her handmaiden appeared. All fell silent. The young Princess had hair as golden as autumn corn, cheeks as brown as the hazel nut and a neck as creamy as the cup of the lily. She was beautiful, but the cruelty of deep dark magic was on her face. She gave the Young Prince a hundred thousand welcomes and bade her courtiers to see him and his servants to their rooms. "When you are ready," she said to the Prince, "a banquet is prepared for you."

Afterwards, they all sat down to table. The Princess sat at the head of the table with the Prince at her right hand, Jack O'Moora at his right hand and the servants of the Prince beyond him again. The courtiers and nobles stretched down the other side of the long table. They feasted royally. When the meal was at an end, Jack O'Moora told the Young Prince to Stand up and ask for the hand of the Princess in marriage.

The King's Son did so. The Princess smiled. All the nobles and courtiers smiled, too.

"I am not easily won," said the Princess. "The man who is to be my husband must perform difficult tasks."

"Say you are ready!" whispered Jack O'Moora.

"I am ready!" said the King of Ireland's Son.

Once again the nobles and courtiers chuckled softly.

The Princess said, "I have a gold ring on my finger. Tonight I will hide it. If you fail to find it before we break our fast in the morning you shall pay for your failure with your life."

The Young Prince was downcast. "Now or never my tune is played," he said. "I dressed a hard bed for myself when I took that oath."

"Be of stout heart!" whispered Jack O'Moora.

When the feast was at an end, the Princess and her handmaiden stole gently along a dark stone corridor in the castle. Jack O'Moora put on the Shoes of Swiftness and the Cloak of Darkness. He followed them. Neither the Princess nor the handmaiden could see him. They came to an old door in the wall. The handmaiden opened this door with a rusty key. Out they went. Jack O'Moora followed hard on their heels. They went down to the shore of the lake. The moonlight made a pathway of beaten gold on the black waters. The Princess took off her ring and flung it far out into the lake. Jack saw it glitter in the moonlight. Quick as wink he sped on the Shoes of Swiftness and caught the ring before it touched the surface of the lake. As his fist tightened on it, he laughed richly.

"I thought I heard some one laughing!" said the young Princess.

"Me, too!" said the handmaiden.

"Devil a doubt in life about it!" said Jack O'Moora.

The following morning they all sat down to breakfast. Before they began to eat, the Princess took up her golden spoon and tinkled it against her golden goblet. The velvet-like chiming of the vessel stilled the chatter at the table.

The Princess turned to the King of Ireland's Son. She was smiling archly. "Have you my ring?" she asked.

"I have not!" said the Young Prince.

"You shall pay for your failure with your life," she said.

The nobles broke into loud, coarse laughter.

The King of Ireland's Son spoke again. "I have not the ring," he said, "but perhaps one of my servants has it. They are excellent servants." Then he turned to Jack O'Moora.

"Have you the ring?" he asked.

Jack stood up. "I have, Sire!" he said. He took the ring out of his pocket and placed it in the Prince's hand. The Prince in turn gave it to the Princess. She examined it carefully. It was her own ring. She was deeply puzzled. "Let us eat!" she said, shortly.

When the breakfast was over, the young Princess turned to the King of Ireland's Son. "I am not easily won," she said."Tomorrow morning, at breakfast time, you and your servants must sit on seven chairs. If you fail to sit on these chairs you shall pay for your failure with your life."

The Young Prince was filled with glee. He thought this an easy task. Jack O'Moora was silent. All the courtiers and nobles were chuckling softly to themselves.

Later, when the two of them were alone, Jack O'Moora said to the King's Son: "This is a difficult task. The chairs we must sit on are iron chairs hammered by Satan on the hob of Hell. Each chair has on its seat a set of sharp poisoned spikes."

The Young Prince was downcast. "Now or never my tune is played," he said. "I dressed a hard bed for myself when I took that oath."

"Be of stout heart!" said Jack O'Moora. "Tomorrow when the Princess tells us take our seats at breakfast time, turn to her and say that in your palace it is a custom that one of the servants softens the seats before Royalty sits down to table."

The following morning they all trooped into the great dining hall. The King's Son and his servants took their stand behind the chairs that had the poisoned spikes on their seats. "Are you ready to sit down?" asked the Princess. She was smiling archly.

"We are ready!" said the Prince. "But it is a custom in my palace for one of the servants to soften all the seats before Royalty sits down to table." Then he added, "I have excellent servants!"

The Princess laughed. Her laughter was like the care-free ringing of a little silver bell.

''By all means," she said. "Have one of your servants soften the seats before Royalty sits down to table. But remember that if he fails, your head goes on the gate."

"Thank you, my good lady!" said the Prince. Then he looked at Jack O'Moora.

Jack O'Moora, in turn, looked at Iron Buttocks.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Am I ready!" roared Iron Buttocks. He laughed so loudly that Satan himself trembled in the house of Hell. Then he said:

"I'm rusty and crusty for something to flatten. And eager and willing for somethimg to clout."

So Iron Buttocks took his stand before the first of the poisoned chairs. He turned his back on it, closed his fists. tightened his mouth and sat backwards so suddenly and so heavily that he drove the iron spikes nine hundred and ninetv-nine miles down into the bosom of the world. There the spikes melted and turned into red eels that wriggled home into the very heart of hell.

Iron Buttocks did the same with each of the other chairs in turn. Then the King of Ireland's Son and his servants took their seats as best they could on the broken chairs. They all ate their breakfast in silence.

Then the meal was at an end. the young Princess said to the King's Son: "I am not easily won. In my cellars are twenty barrels of wine. Tomorrow you shall have ten and I shall have ten. Then we shall start drinking together. If I drain the last of my barrels before you do, your head goes on the spike."

To this the Prince readily agreed for, of all the tasks, this seemed the easiest.

Later, when the two of them were alone. Jack O'Moora said to the Young Prince: "The Princess is possessed of deep, dark magic. If she chooses to use her powers of evil, she can drain a barrel as easily as a thirsty man would drink a thimbleful of water in time of drought. This is indeed a difficult task."

The Young Prince was downcast. "Now or never my tune is played," he complained. "I dressed a hard bed for myself when I took that oath."

"Be of stout heart!" said Jack O'Moora. "Tomorrow, when she asks you to begin drinking, say that it is a custom in your palace that one of your servants tastes all the wines lest, indeed, a poor drink should trouble the Royal gullet."

So the following morning they all trooped down into the cellar. The Princess took her stand before ten barrels of wine and bade the Prince take his stand before the other ten. "Are you readv?" she asked.

"I am ready, my lady," said the King of Ireland's Son, "but in my country it is a custom that one of the servants tastes all the wines lest indeed a poor drink trouble the Royal gullet." Then he added, "I have excellent servants."

The Princess laughed. Her laughter was like the carefree ringing of a little silver bell.

"By all means," she said, "have one of your servants taste the wine. But I mean to begin drinking this very instant, and if I finish before he does, straightaway your head goes on the gate."

Then she began to drink, draining barrel on barrel, as easily as a thirsty man would drink a thimbleful of water in a time of drought.

The Young Prince looked anxiously at Jack O'Moora. Jack O'Moora turned to Denis the Drought.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Am I ready!" roared Denis the Drought. The sound of his voice ruffled and riffled all the waters of the world. "As dry as a kiln in my dusty thrapple And a knob in a desert my Adam's apple."

Denis the Drought stepped forward. By this time the Princess had five barrels drained. With a mighty blow of his fist, Denis stove in the top of the first cask. Barrel after barrel he swallowed and guzzled. The wine bubbled and boiled in his dry throat. He finished the ten barrels while the Princess was draining one. Then he grasped the remaining four of the Princess's share and drank those, too. He looked wildly around.

"Is there any more wine?" he shouted. "That drop only made soakage for my throat!"

After that, the company filed up to the breakfast room and ate the meal in silence.

When they had finished, the Princess stood up and said to the Prince, "I am not easily won. Tomorrow you and I will race to the Well of the World's End for a flaskful of the Living Well Water. If I return before you do, your life shall be forfeit."

The Prince said he was satisfied. But later, when he was alone with Jack O'Moora, he grew sorrowful, for only too keenly did he realise that the Princess would outrace him with the aid of her deep magic.

"Be of stout heart!" said Jack O'Moora. "Tomorrow, when the race is about to commence, ask her if she will agree to one of your servants racing in your stead."

The following morning, the whole Court gathered on the green sward in front of the castle, to view the race. The Young Prince asked the Princess to agree to one of his servants taking his place.

"By all means," she said. "But you know what will happen if your servant fails in the race."

So Jack O'Moora called for Leg-Under-the-Belt and gave him strict instructions to leave down the leg that was tied under his belt, and in order that swiftness should be added to swiftness, Jack O'Moora made him wear the Shoes of Swiftness.

Then began the most wonderful race ever held in the world, the race between the Young Princess and Leg-Under-the-Belt, the servant of the King of Ireland's Son. Away and away sped the Princess, borne on the magic wings of an urgent wind.

Then Leg-Under-tlie-Belt raced across the hill-tops, and every leap he gave was nine hundred and ninety-nine miles long, and before the Princess had one-quarter of the journey completed, Leg-Under-the-Belt had reached the Well of the World's End, wherein sparkled the precious Living Water. Filling his flask with well water, he turned for home. Not a sight of the Princess could be seen. He bounded laughingly across the hill-tops and, when he was half-way to the castle, he met the Princess on her way to the well.

When he saw how she lagged, he hastened no longer. The day was warm. He decided to take a rest, so he lay at full length on the verdant grass. His head began to nod; it fell drowsily on to his chest. Soon he was fast asleep.

The hours passed. The sun swung up, poised itself on the top of the sky, then began to slide heavily down. But Leg-Under-the-Belt remained sunken in a deep slumber.

As the Princess was returning with the flaskful of water, she spied Leg-Under-the-Belt deeply slumbering. She tip-toed nearer, and taking a magic Sleeping Pin from her cloak, drove it deep into the sleeper's breast. While this pin was fixed in his breast, Leg-Under-the-Belt could never awaken. Then she took the flask from the sleeper's belt and emptied its contents on the grass. She turned joyfully for home.

The golden hours passed. On the sward before the castle the King of Ireland's Son and his servants searched the horizon in vain for the speck that would tell them that Leg-Under-the-

Belt was returning. But no speck could they see. The Prince paced up and down in anxiety, while Jack O'Moora's brow was criss-crossed in thought. After a while, Jack O'Moora called to Listening Ear.

"Put your ear to the ground," he said, "and hear what you hear."

So Listening Ear put his ear to the ground.

"What do you hear?" said Jack O'Moora.

"I hear the footsteps of the Princess coming nearer and nearer."

"Listen more closely! What else do you hear?" asked Jack.

All were silent. Listening Ear stayed for a long time with his ear firmly to the ground. Then he said, "I hear the snoring of Leg-Under-the-Belt. He is sound asleep on the grass halfway across the world. The snoring is so heavy that the sleeper must have a Sleeping Pin deep in his breast."

So Jack O'Moora called for the Blind Fowler.

"Are you ready, Fowler?" he asked.

"Am I ready!" roared Fowler. At the sound of his voice every feather in the world fluttered. "I'm ready to shoot the eye out of the reflection of a fly in a fly's eye!" he shouted.

"If ever you took a shot," said Jack O'Moora, "take one now, for all of our lives and the future of Ireland's Prince depend on the accuracy of your aim."

So Blind Fowler raised the hammer of his gun, then slowly and carefully he brought it to his shoulder. He took aim for the head of the Sleeping Pin that was deep in the breast of Leg-Under-the-Belt half the world away. A deep hush fell on the great host. All the while, Listening Ear had his ear to the earth; he could hear the footsteps of the Princess racing nearer and nearer. At long last, Blind Fowler fired and, nine wonders nine times over, his shot blew the Pin clean out of the sleeper's breast.

Leg-Under-the-Belt woke with a start and saw by the place of the sun in the sky, that he had slept over-long. He grasped his flask and began to race pell-mell, hell-for-leather, across the world in the direction of the castle. Suddenly he realised, to his great horror, that the flask in his grasp was empty. So, turning around, he bounded away once more towards the Well of the World's End. There he refilled his flask, turned, raced over hill and hollow, over stream and sea, over down and dale, and never cried halt or hold until he managed to out-race the Princess just as she was approaching the castle. With the flask of precious water firmly grasped in his hand, Leg-Under-the-Belt threw himself panting on the ground at the feet of the King of Ireland's Son. He had won the race!

The Young Prince and his companions were overcome with delight.

At breakfast the following morning, the Princess said tenderly to the King of Ireland's Son: "You are the bravest of the suitors who have come to win my hand, and indeed, you speak truly when you say that you have excellent servants."

Then she continued, in a harsher tone of voice: "But I am not easily won. One more task and my hand is yours. Tomorrow morning you must bring me the seven heads I kiss last tonight."

That night Jack O'Moora readied himself. He buckled on the Sword of Sharpness. Then he donned the Shoes of Swiftness and the Cloak of Darkness and followed the Princess and her handmaiden. They walked along a dark stone corridor in the castle. They came to an old door in the wall. The handmaiden opened the door with a rusty key. They went out.

Jack O'Moora followed hard on their heels, but neither the Princess nor the handmaiden could see him, because he was covered with the Cloak of Darkness. They went down to the shores of the lake. The moonlight made a pathway of beaten gold across the dark waters. The Princess bent down and picked up a twig from the ground. She spun thrice on her right heel and flung the twig down on the water at her feet. Immediately the twig was changed into a beautiful green boat. The Young Princess went into the boat. The handmaiden followed. The Princess grasped the oars and prepared to row.

"I'll ferry myself across," said the Young Princess.

"Me, too!" said the handmaiden.

"Me, three!" said Jack O'Moora. He leaped lightly into the stern of the boat.

The Princess rested on the oars.

"I thought I heard a man's voice!" she said.

"Me, too!" said the handmaiden.

"Devil a doubt in life about it!" said Jack O'Moora.

So they rowed across the lake to an island. In a cavern in this Island there lived a giant with seven heads. When they reached the shore, the Princess ran up to the cavern where the giant dwelt. The handmaiden remained seated in the boat. Jack O'Moora hurried after the Princess.

When the giant heard the Princess coming, he rushed out to meet her. He kissed her with each of his seven heads and laughed with each of his seven mouths. Then they went into the great hall of the cave and began to talk. Jack O'Moora crept in after them and took his seat on a stool in the chimney corner. He was listening carefully to their conversation. The Princess told the giant that another suitor had come to seek her hand in marriage and that his head would shortly be on the spike of the gate. She told the giant that the last task she had set the Young Prince was to bring her the seven heads she kissed last night. When the giant heard this he rippled and roared and bubbled and boiled with laughter. Once again he kissed the Princess with each of his seven heads.

Then they sat down to table and ate heartily. After supper the Princess took leave of the giant and made her way down to the little green boat. No sooner had she left the cavern than the giant's seven heads began to nod. Soon he was sound asleep. He began to snore in seven different kevs. Jack O'Moora leaped upon the table and, with one blow of the Sword of Sharpness, struck off the seven heads. He found a sack in the corner; into this he thrust the seven heads. With the sack slung across his shoulder he hurried down to the boat. The Princess and her handmaiden were just setting out for the shore.

"I'll ferry myself across," said the Young Princess.

"Me, too!" said the handmaiden.

"Me, three!" said Jack O'Moora. He leaped lightly into the stern of the boat.

The Princess rested on the oars.

"I thought I heard a man's voice!" she said.

"Me, too!" said the handmaiden.

"Devil a doubt in life about it!" said Jack O'Moora.

They rowed across to the shore. They all came out of the boat. The Princess spun thrice on her left heel and immediately the boat was changed into a twig floating on the edge of the lake. Then they all went back along the stone corridor in the castle.

At breakfast the following morning, the Princess asked the King of Ireland's Son if he had the seven heads she kissed last the night before.

"I have not!" he replied. "But, perhaps, one of my servants has them." Then he added: "I have excellent servants."

The Prince turned to Jack O'Moora. "Have you the heads?" he asked.

"I have. Sire!" said Jack.

With that he drew the sack out from under the table, caught it by the toes, and spilled its contents on the floor. One by one the great heads bounded and bounced and bobbed out of the sack. When the last head had come to rest, an extraordinary change came over the Young Princess.

Her hair, that was as golden as the autumn corn, became jet black; her cheek, that was as brown as the hazel nut, became blood-red; and her neck, that was as creamy as the cup of the lily, became snow-white.

The Young Prince cried out with joy. for he suddenly realised that she was the maiden he had come so far to find, for her hair was as black as the raven's wing and her cheek was as red as the raven's blood and her neck was as white as the unsullied snow.

Then the Princess told him that the giant with the seven heads had cast a spell of cruelty over her. from which she could not be freed until the last of his seven heads had come to rest after bounding and bobbing and bouncing on the floor of the castle.

The Prince, in turn, told her of his oath. He asked her to return to Ireland with him, where they would be married.

To this the Princess agreed. Then and there they were betrothed to one another.

The following morning, the Princess gave the castle to the noble who had been most faithful. In the Prince's carriage she placed a large dowry of gold. Then, with the Prince and his servants, she entered the coach and they began the journey back along the road that led to the land of Ireland.

When they reached the good green meadow. Listening Ear took leave of them, saying: "I am eager to learn which of the two hags got the better of the argument in the cabin at the end of the world."

So the Prince paid him twenty golden sovereigns and, amid tears and laughter, they parted with Listening Ear.

When they reached the dry stone wall, Blind Fowler took leave of them, saying: "It was from here I shot the swan and I am anxious to try my luck further."

So the Prince paid him twenty golden sovereigns and, amid tears and laughter, they parted with Blind Fowler.

And when they reached the great level field that ran away to the very rim of the world, Leg-Under-the-Belt peeped out, and what should he spy but the hare with its two long ears trained wistfully on the oncoming coach. And, there and then, Leg-Under-the-Belt took leave of them, saying: "My friend the hare is waiting for me and, if the truth be told, we are both hankering for a romp and a run and a race together."

So the Prince paid him twenty golden sovereigns and, amid tears and laughter, they parted with Leg-Under-the-Belt.

When they reached the place where the hills were greener than emeralds. Iron Buttocks took leave of them. "There are still a few hills I have left unflattened," he said, with a slow, sly smile.

So the Prince paid him twenty golden sovereigns and, amid tears and laughter, they parted with Iron Buttocks.

And when they reached the mountain torrent, Denis the Drought took leave of them, saving: "This is the place where the water is purest and most plentiful, and I haven't quenched my thirst properly since I left it."

So the Young Prince paid him twenty golden sovereigns, and amid tears and laughter they parted with Denis the Drought.

Now there was left in the coach only the Prince, the Princess and Jack O'Moora. And as every clop of the horses' hooves brought them nearer the village where Jack O'Moora had first joined his fortunes to the King of Ireland's Son, a heavy gloom fell upon the three travellers. They did not speak to one another, nor did Jack O'Moora urge on the horses as was his custom. The twilight had gathered when they reached the village. When they came to the exact place where the Prince had last heard the deep dong of the dead bell. Jack O'Moora descended from the coach and stood on the road's edge.

"Here our ways part!" he said.

The Prince and Princess were overcome with sorrow. They besought him to return with them to Ireland, where he would be great and powerful in the land when the Young Prince had become King.

Jack O'Moora said nothing. He still continued to stand some distance apart. To the Prince and Princess he now appeared much taller and gaunter. The golden glow of a remembered sunset seemed to play about his form.

"Pay me my wages. Sire," he said, "and let me go."

Then the Prince remembered that he had promised to give Jack O'Moora half of all he owned when the quest was at an end. So he removed all the gold from the carriage and made two equal parts of it and offered one part to Jack O'Moora.

But Jack O'Moora did not even look at the piled gold. He said sternly, "The bargain, sire was for half of all you owned."

The Young Prince was puzzled. "Have I not made two equal parts of all my gold?" he asked.

Jack O'Moora spoke still more sternly. "The bargain was for half of all you possessed. Half the gold, half the carriage, half the chariot, half the Princess!"

Jack O'Moora then drew the Sword of Sharpness.

Hearing this, the Prince was overcome with grief. He threw himself on his knees and implored Jack O'Moora to release him from his bargain. "I have journeyed so far," he said, "and endured so many hardships for her sake, that life without her would be a hollow thing." But Jack O'Moora did not reply.

He stood before the Princess and raised the Sword of Sharpness. Its blade caught the blood-light of quenched suns. The Princess closed her eyes. The Prince bowed his head to the earth so that his eyes would not witness the ending of his love.

But the blow did not fall and when again the Prince and the Princess raised their eyes. Jack O'Moora had lowered the Sword and was smiling strangely.

"Rise, sire!" he said to the Prince.

The Prince stood up.

Jack O'Moora looked about him. After a while, he spoke. "It was here you paid the debt for the man who was dead, so that his body could be placed in holy ground."

"It was a small service," said the King of Ireland's Son.

"To me it was a great service!" said Jack O'Moora.

The Prince and Princess looked at him in astonishment. They wondered what secret meaning lurked in his words. Jack O'Moora began to speak slowly.

"I am that soul for whom you paid the debt. Denis the Drought and the others were sent to help me, so as to atone for some wrong they had done in this life. By helping me they have brought us all nearer to the shining place. By helping you to find the maiden of your heart, I have given my best to repay you for the service you have done me. You owe me nothing. Although my time here is ended, I shall continue to watch over you, over your children, and the children of your children. I bid you both farewell."

Before the Prince and Princess could reply, the figure of Jack O'Moora had blended with the dusk. They heard no more of him, unless, perhaps, he spoke in the first rustle of the land-wind, or in the twilight conversation of the trees.

The Prince and Princess re-entered the carriage and con-tinned their homeward journey. When they reached the end of the road, the old King welcomed them with arms that trembled with joy. The following morning the Prince and Princess were married, and the wedding-feast was attended by the nobles of Ireland. For nine days and nine nights the banquet lasted and during that time all the bells in the Kingdom kept swinging and ringing with joy.

When, in the course of time, the old King died, the Prince and Princess were made King and Queen of Ireland. Under their rule, the land laughed with happiness. Each man said the word that came from the mellow mind and did the deed that sprang from the bright, light heart. The young King and Queen had cribs upon cribs of golden-haired children, and when these children grew up, their Royal parents told them the story of their adventures with Jack O'Moora and his wonderful men. And these children, in their turn, told the the story to their children, and so the deathless tale has come down to delight us across the lovely laughing centuries.

For 'tis said they lived jolly and merry and free, And if they weren't happy, that the hearers may be.

so ends the story of Jack O'Moora and the King of Ireland's son.

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