When O’Donnell saw his brother’s hair, he sent out word that he would
give the third part of his property to any one who would do the same
to himself. The smith thought he would try to do it this time alone.
He went where O’Donnell was, and said to him that he would put hair on
his head for him also, as he had done to his brother O’Neil. Then he
asked that the cauldron be put on, and a good fire below it, and he
took O’Donnell into a room, tied him on a table, then took up an axe,
cut off his head, and threw it, face downwards, into the cauldron. In
a while he took the prong to see if the hair was growing, but instead
of the hair growing, the jaws were nearly falling out. The smith was
almost out of his senses, not knowing what to do, when he heard a voice
behind him saying to him, “You are in a strait.” This was the lad with
the Black Art, he formerly had, returned. He blew at the cauldron
stronger, brought the prong to see how the head was doing, or if the
hair was growing on it. The next time he tried it, it would twine round
his hand. Since it was so long of growing on it, he said, “We will put
an additional fold round my hand.” When he tried it again it would
reach two twists. He took it out of the cauldron and stuck it on the
body. It cried to be quickly let go, when he saw his yellow hair down
on his shoulders. The hair pleased him greatly; it was more abundant
than that of O’Neil, his brother. They got fully what was promised
them, and were going on their way home. The lad who had the Black Art
said, “Had we not better divide the cattle?”
“We will not, we will not,” said the smith, “lift them with you, since
I got clear.”
“Well,” said the other, “if you had said that before, you would not
have gone home empty-handed, or with only one cow,” and with that he
said, “You will take every one of them: I will take none of them.”
The smith went home with that herd, and he did not require to strike
a blow in his smithy, neither did he meet with the one with the Black
Art, ever after.
O’ NEIL, ’S MAR A CHAIDH AM FALT AIR A CHEANN.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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