life of her. Certain it was she could not help it, for Maurice
never stopped playing that wonderful tune of his.

He only turned his ear to the sound of his mother's voice, fearing it
might put him out in his steps, and all the answer he made back was,
'Whisht with you, mother--sure I'm going to be king over the fishes down
in the sea, and for a token of luck, and a sign that I'm alive and well,
I'll send you in, every twelvemonth on this day, a piece of burned wood
to Trafraska.' Maurice had not the power to say a word more, for the
strange lady with the green hair, seeing the wave just upon them,
covered him up with herself in a thing like a cloak with a big hood to
it, and the wave curling over twice as high as their heads, burst upon
the strand, with a rush and a roar that might be heard as far as Cape
Clear.

That day twelvemonth the piece of burned wood came ashore in Trafraska.
It was a queer thing for Maurice to think of sending all the way from
the bottom of the sea. A gown or a pair of shoes would have been
something like a present for his poor mother; but he had said it, and he
kept his word. The bit of burned wood regularly came ashore on the
appointed day for as good, ay, and better than a hundred years. The day
is now forgotten, and may-be that is the reason why people say how
Maurice Connor has stopped sending the luck-token to his mother. Poor
woman, she did not live to get as much as one of them; for what through
the loss of Maurice, and the fear of eating her own grandchildren, she
died in three weeks after the dance. Some say it was the fatigue that
killed her, but whichever it was, Mrs. Connor was decently buried with
her own people.

Seafaring people have often heard, off the coast of Kerry, on a still
night, the sound of music coming up from the water; and some, who have
had good ears could plainly distinguish Maurice Connor's voice singing
these words to his pipes--

Beautiful shore, with thy spreading strand,
Thy crystal water, and diamond sand;
Never would I have parted from thee,
But for the sake of my fair ladie.

From 'Fairy Tales and Traditions of the South of Ireland.'

_THE RICH BROTHER AND THE POOR BROTHER_

THERE was once a rich old man who had two sons, and as his wife was
dead, the elder lived with him, and helped him to look after his
property. For a long time all went well; the young man got up very early
in the morning, and worked hard all day,