'Two gold pieces, Owney, honey! Erra, let us see 'em, maybe you would?' He took the cash from Owney's hand, and after opening his eyes in great astonishment at the sight of so much money, he put them into his pocket. 'Well, Owney, I'll keep them safe for you, in my pocket within. But tell us, maybe you would, how come you to get such a _mort_ o' money for an old cup o' painted chaney, that wasn't worth, maybe, a fi'penny bit?' 'To get into the heart o' the fair, then, free and easy, and to look about me, and to cry old china, and the first man that _come_ up, he to ask me, what is it I'd be asking for the cup, and I to say out bold: "A hundred pieces of gold," and he to laugh hearty, and we to huxter together till he beat me down to two, and there's the whole way of it all.' Owney-na-peak made as if he took no note of this, but next morning early he took an old china saucer himself had in his cupboard, and off he set, without saying a word to anybody, to the fair. You may easily imagine that it created no small surprise in the place when they heard a great big fellow with a china saucer in his hand crying out: 'A raal _chaney_ saucer going for a hundred pieces of goold! raal chaney--who'll be buying?' 'Erra, what's that you're saying, you great gomeril?' says a man, coming up to him, and looking first at the saucer and then in his face. 'Is it thinking anybody would go make a _muthaun_ of himself to give the like for that saucer?' But Owney-na-peak had no answer to make, only to cry out: 'Raal chaney! one hundred pieces of goold!' A crowd soon collected about him, and finding he would give no account of himself, they all fell upon him, beat him within an inch of his life, and after having satisfied themselves upon him, they went their way laughing and shouting. Towards sunset he got up, and crawled home as well as he could, without cup or money. As soon as Owney saw him, he helped him into the forge, looking very mournful, although, if the truth must be told, it was to revenge himself for former good deeds of his cousin that he set him about this foolish business. 'Come here, Owney, eroo,' said his cousin, after he had fastened the forge door and heated two irons in the fire. 'You child of mischief!' said he, when he had caught him, 'you shall never see the fruits of your roguery again, for I will put out your eyes.' And so saying he snatched one of the red-hot irons from the fire. It was all in vain for poor Owney to throw himself on his knees, and ask mercy, and beg and implore forgiveness; he was weak, and Owney-na-peak was strong; he held him fast, and burned out both his eyes. Then taking him, while he was yet fainting from the pain, upon his back, he carried him off to the bleak hill of Knockpatrick,[10] a great distance, and there laid him under a tombstone, and went his ways. In a little time after, Owney came to himself.