"An’ he was the besht King in Ireland, an’ sorra a beggar ’ud come an the dure, but the King ’ud come out in his gown an’ shlippers an’ ax him how he come to be poor, an’ sind him ’round to the kitchen to be warrumed wid a dhrop av whishkey an’ fed wid all the cold pitaties that was in the panthry. All the people riz up whin he was a-walkin’ down the shtrate wid a big goold-top shtick in his hand, an’ the crown a-shinin’ on his head, an’ they said, ’God save yer Holiness,’ an’ he said, ’God save ye kindly,’ mighty perlite, bekase he was a dacent mannered ould King, an’ ’ud shpake to a poor divil that hadn’t a coat on his back as quick as to wan av his ginerals wid a goold watch an’ a shiny hat. An’ whin he wint into a shop, sure they niver axed him to show the color av his money at all, but the man ’ud say, ’God save ye! Sure ye can 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.