an pay whin ye plaze, an' I'll sind it
be the postman whin he goes by.' An' the ould King 'ud say, 'Oh, I wont
throuble ye. Bedad, I'll carry it,' an' aff the blessed ould King 'ud go,
wid his bundles undher his arm, an' the crown on his head, as happy as a
widdy wid a new husband.

"An' there was six other ould Kings, that was frinds to him, an' they was
all as like him as six paze. Foor times a year they'd all come to Athenroy
fur a bit av a shpree like, bekase the King av Athenroy was the ouldest av
thim, an' they thought the worruld an' all av him. Faix, it was mighty
improvin' to see thim all a-goin' to chapel in the mornin', an' singin'
an' drinkin' an' playin' whisht in the avenin'. Sure thim was the blessed
days fur the counthry.

"Well me dear, in coorse av time, the six ould Kings all died, God rest
their sowls, but as aitch wan had a son to come afther him, the differ was
mighty shmall, for the young Kings was dacent shpoken lads an' kept on
comin' to Athenroy just like the ould Kings.

"Oh, bedad, I forgot to tell yez that the ould King had a dawther, that
was the light av his eyes. She was as tall as a sargent an' as shtrate as
a gun, an' her eyes was as blue as the shky an' shone like the shtars. An'
her hairs was t'reads av goold, an' she was the beautifulest woman iver
seen in Athenroy. An' shmall love there was for her, fur she was as cowld
as a wet Christmas. She didn't shpake often, bekase she wasn't wan o' thim
that 'ud deefen a smith, but whin she did, the tongue that was in the head
av her was like a sting-nettle, an' 'ud lash around like a throut on land.
An' ivery woman in the shtrate watched her like kites whin she set fut out
o' the dure, bekase she dressed as fine as a fiddle, wid a grane silk
gown, an' a blue bonnet wid yellow ribbins, an' a shtring av goold baids
the size av plums 'round her neck.

"Musha, thin, it's a quare thing entirely, that min like wan woman betther
than another. Begob, it's my belafe, savin' yer prisence, that there's not
the differ av a cowld pitaty bechune thim all whin it's a queshtion av
marryin' wan o' thim, an' if the whole worruld knewn that same, its few
hurted heads there'd be along o' the wimmin. Well, it was the divil's own
job, axin' yer pardon, but ivery wan o' thim young Kings tuk into his head
to fall in love wid the Princess Bridget, fur that was her name, an' a
good name it is; an' wan afther another, they'd shlip in whin they'd be
passin', to pay