"’Me sarvice to ye,’ says the king to him agin, as bowld as a ram, an’ whin the Pooka heard him shpake, he got perliter than iver, an’ made a low bow an’ shcrape wid his fut, thin they wint on together an’ fell into discoorse. "’’Tis a black night for thravelin’,’ says the Pooka. "’Indade it is,’ says the king, ’it’s not me that ’ud be out in it, if it wasn’t a case o’ needcessity. I’m on an arriant av charity,’ says he. "’That’s rale good o’ ye,’ says the Pooka to him, ’and if I may make bowld to ax, phat’s the needcessity?’ "’’Tis to relave a widdy-woman,’ says the king. "’Oho,’ says the Pooka, a-throwin’ back his head laughin’ wid great plazin’ness an’ nudgin’ the king wid his leg on the arrum, beways that it was a joke it was bekase the king said it was to relave a widdy he was goin’. ’Oho,’ says the Pooka, ’’tis mesilf that’s glad to be in the comp’ny av an iligint jintleman that’s on so plazin’ an arriant av marcy,’ says he. ’An’ how owld is the widdy-woman?’ says he, bustin’ wid the horrid laugh he had. [Illustration: "The Quane a-gosterin’"] "’Musha thin,’ says the king, gettin’ red in the face an’ not likin’ the joke the laste bit, for jist betune us, they do say that afore he married the quane, he was the laddy-buck wid the wimmin, an’ the quane’s maid towld the cook, that towld the footman, that said to the gârdener, that towld the nabers that many’s the night the poor king was as wide awake as a hare from sun to sun wid the quane a-gostherin’ at him about that same. More betoken, there was a widdy in it, that was as sharp as a rat-thrap an’ surrounded him whin he was young an’ hadn’t as much sinse as a goose, an’ was like to marry him at wanst in shpite av all his relations, as widdys undhershtand how to do. So it’s my consate that it wasn’t dacint for the Pooka to be afther laughin’ that-a-way, an’ shows that avil sper’ts is dirthy blaggârds that can’t talk wid jintlemin. ’Musha,’ thin, says the king, bekase the Pooka’s laughin’ wasn’t agrayble to listen to, ’I don’t know that same, fur I niver seen her, but, be jagers, I belave she’s a hundherd, an’ as ugly as Belzebub, an’ whin her owld man was alive, they tell me she had a timper like a gandher, an’ was as aisey to manage as an armful o’ cats,’ says he. ’But she’s in want, an’ I’m afther bringin’ her a suv’rin,’ says he. "Well, the Pooka sayced his laughin’, fur he seen the king was very vexed, an’ says to him, ’And if it’s plazin’, where does she live?’ "’At the ind o’ the boreen beyant the Corkschrew,’ says the king, very short. "’Begob, that’s a good bit,’ says the Pooka. "’Faix, it’s thrue for ye,’ says the king, ’more betoken, it’s up hill ivery fut o’ the way, an’ me back is bruk entirely wid the stapeness,’ says he, be way av a hint he’d like a ride.