se was
no more in the flower of her blume.

"Well, the King was nigh broken-hearted and melancholy intirely, and was
walkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate,
an' thinkin' o' drownin' himself, that could get no divarshin in life,
when all of a suddint, turnin' round the corner beyant, who should he
meet but a mighty dacent young man comin' up to him.

"'God save you,' says the King (for the King was a civil-spoken
gintleman, by all accounts), 'God save you,' says he to the young man.

"'God save you kindly,' says the young man to him back again; 'God save
you, King O'Toole.'

"'Thrue for you,' says the King, 'I am King O'Toole,' says he, 'prince
and plennypennytinchery o' these parts,' says he; 'but how kem ye to
know that?' says he.

"'Oh, never mind,' says Saint Kavin (for 'twas he that was in it). 'And
now, may I make bowld to ax, how is your goose, King O'Toole?' says he.

"'Blur-an-agers, how kem you to know about my goose?' says the King.

"'Oh, no matther; I was given to understand it,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Oh, that's a folly to talk,' says the King, 'bekase myself and my
goose is private friends,' says he, 'and no one could tell you,' says
he, 'barrin' the fairies.'

"'Oh, thin, it wasn't the fairies,' says Saint Kavin; 'for I'd have you
know,' says he, 'that I don't keep the likes o' sich company.'

"'You might do worse, then, my gay fellow,' says the King; 'for it's
_they_ could show you a crock o' money as aisy as kiss hand; and that's
not to be sneezed at,' says the King, 'by a poor man,' says he.

"'Maybe I've a betther way of making money myself,' says the saint.

"'By gor,' says the King, 'barrin' you're a coiner,' says he, 'that's
impossible!'

"'I'd scorn to be the like, my lord!' says Saint Kavin, mighty high,
'I'd scorn to be the like,' says he.

"'Then, what are you?' says the King, 'that makes money so aisy, by your
own account.'

"'I'm an honest man,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Well, honest man,' says the King, 'and how is it you make your money
so aisy?'

"'By makin' ould things as good as new,' says Saint Kavin.

"'Is it a tinker you are?' says the King.

"'No,' says the saint; 'I'm no tinker by thrade, King O'Toole; I've a
betther thrade than a tinker,' says he. 'What would you say,' says he,
'if I made your ould goose as good as new?'

"My dear, at the word o' making his goose as good as new, you'd think
the poor ould King's eyes was ready to jump