was the rale boy, and loved sport
as he loved his life, and huntin' in partic'lar; and from the risin' o'
the sun, up he got, and away he wint over the mountains beyant afther
the deer; and the fine times them wor.

"Well, it was all mighty good, as long as the king had his health; but,
you see, in coorse of time the king grew ould, by raison he was stiff in
his limbs, and when he got sthriken in years, his heart failed him, and
he was lost intirely for want o' divarshin, bekase he couldn't go a
huntin' no longer; and, by dad, the poor king was obleeged at last for
to get a goose to divart him. Oh, you may laugh, if you like, but it's
truth I'm tellin' you; and the way the goose divarted him was
this-a-way: You see, the goose used for to swim across the lake, and go
divin' for throut, and cotch fish on a Friday for the king, and flew
every other day round about the lake, divartin' the poor king. All went
on mighty well, antil, by dad, the goose got sthriken in years like her
master, and couldn't divart him no longer, and then it was that the poor
king was lost complate. The king was walkin' one mornin' by the edge of
the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate, and thinkin' o' drownin' himself,
that could get no divarshun 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 to the young man.

"'God save you kindly, King O'Toole,' says the young man. '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.

"You see it was Saint Kavin, sure enough--the saint himself in disguise,
and nobody else. 'Oh, never mind,' says he, 'I know more than that. May
I make bowld to ax how is your goose, King O'Toole?' says he.
'Bluran-agers, how kem ye to know about my goose?' says the king. 'Oh,
no matther; I was given to understand it,' says Saint Kavin. After some
more talk the king says, 'What are you?' '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