‘’Pon my sowkins,’ sed she, ‘but that was a mighty odd thing entirely. Faix, an it’s myself that will be off to Castledermot to-morrow, hit or miss.’ Well, sur, the next day she gother together about three dozen nuns. ‘Toss on yer mantles,’ sez she, ‘an’ let us be off to Castledermot.’ ‘With all harts,’ sez they. ‘Come here, Norah,’ sez she to the sarvint maid. ‘Slack down the fire,’ sez she, ‘and be sure you have the kittle on. I couldn’t go to bed without my tay, was it ever so late.’ So afther givin’ her ordhers off they started. Well, behould ye, sur, when she got within two miles ov the palace, word was brought to the king that St Bridget and above five hundred nuns were on the road, comin’ to dine with him. ‘O tundheranounthers,’ roared the king, ‘what’ll I do for their dinner? Why the dhoul didn’t she come an hour sooner, or sent word yestherday? Such a time for visithers! Do ye hear me, Paudeen Roorke?’ sez he, turnin’ to his chief butler: ‘run afther Rory Condaugh, and ax him did he give away the two hind quarthers that I sed was a little rare.’ ‘Och, yer honor,’ sed Paudeen Roorke, ‘shure he gev them to a parcel of boccochs at the gate.’ ‘The dhoul do them good with it! Oh, fire and faggots! what’ll become ov me?--shure she will say I have no hospitality, an’ lave me her curse. But, cooger, Paudeen: did the roolocks overtake the ox that ran away yestherday?’ ‘Och, the dhoul a haugh ov him ever was got, yer honor.’ ‘Well, it’s no matther; that’ll be a good excuse; do you go and meet her; I lave it all to you to get me out ov this hobble.’ ‘Naboclish,’ said Paudeen Roorke, cracking his fingers, an’ out he started. Just as he got to the door he met her _going_ to _come_ in. Well become the king, but he shlipt behind the door to hear what ’ud be sed. ‘Bedhahusth,’ he roared to the guests that wor going to dhrink his health while his back was turned. ‘God save yer reverence!’ said St Bridget to the butler, takin’ him for the king’s chaplain, he had such a grummoch face on him; ‘can I see the king?’ ‘God save you kindly!’ sed Paudeen, ‘to be shure ye can. Who will I say wants him?’ eyeing the black army at her heels. ‘Tell him St Bridget called with a few friends to take pot luck.’ ‘Oh, murther!’ sed Paudeen, ‘why didn’t you come an hour sooner? I’m afraid the meat is all cowld, we waited so long for ye.’ ‘Och, don’t make any _bones_ about it,’ sed St Bridget: ‘it’s a cowld stummock can’t warm its own mait.’ ‘In troth that’s thrue enough,’ sed Paudeen; ‘but I fear there isn’t enough for so many.’ ‘Why, ye set of _cormorals_,’ sed she, ‘have ye swallied the whole ninety-nine oxen that ye kilt yestherday?’ ‘Oh, blessed hour!’ groaned the king to himself, ‘how did she know that? Och, I suppose she knows I’m here too.’ ‘Oh, bad scran to me!’ said Paudeen, ‘but we had the best and fattest keepin’ for you, but he ran away.’