standing with
his mouth open, looking at his poor old goose flying as light as a
lark, and better than ever she was: and when she lit at his feet,
patted her on the head, and "_Ma vourneen_," says he, "but you are the
_darlint_ o' the world."

"And what do you say to me," says 'Saint Kavin, "for making her the
like?"

"By Jabers," says the king, "I say nothing beats the art o' man,
barring the bees."

"And do you say no more nor that?" says Saint Kavin.

"And that I'm beholden to you," says the king.

"But will you gi'e me all the ground the goose flew over?" says Saint
Kavin.

"I will," says King O'Toole, "and you're welcome to it," says he,
"though it's the last acre I have to give."

"But you'll keep your word true?" says the saint.

"As true as the sun," says the king.

"It's well for you, King O'Toole, that you said that word," says he;
"for if you didn't say that word, the devil the bit o' your goose would
ever fly agin."

When the king was as good as his word, Saint Kavin was pleased with
him, and then it was that he made himself known to the king. "And,"
says he, "King O'Toole, you're a decent man, for I only came here to
try you. You don't know me," says he, "because I'm disguised."

"Musha! then," says the king, "who are you?"

"I'm Saint Kavin," said the saint, blessing himself.

"Oh, queen of heaven!" says the king, making the sign of the cross
between his eyes, and falling down on his knees before the saint; "is
it the great Saint Kavin," says he, "that I've been discoursing all
this time without knowing it," says he, "all as one as if he was a lump
of a _gossoon_?--and so you're a saint?" says the king.

"I am," says Saint Kavin.

"By Jabers, I thought I was only talking to a dacent boy," says the
king.

"Well, you know the difference now," says the saint. "I'm Saint Kavin,"
says he, "the greatest of all the saints."

And so the king had his goose as good as new, to divert him as long as
he lived: and the saint supported him after he came into his property,
as I told you, until the day of his death--and that was soon after; for
the poor goose thought he was catching a trout one Friday; but, my
jewel, it was a mistake he made--and instead of a trout, it was a
thieving horse-eel; and instead of the goose killing a trout for the
king's supper--by dad, the eel killed the king's goose--and small blame
to him; but he didn't ate her, because he darn't ate what Saint Kavin
had laid his ble