“I was dreaming that I was going over the foord by moonlight, and that I saw the Boccough walking on the water towards me; that he stopped at a certain big stone, and began to examine under with his hands; that I came up, and asked him what he was searching for, when he looked up with a frightful phiz, and cried out in a horrible voice, ‘For my red nightcap!’” “God Almighty never opened one door but he opened two,” exclaimed old Kathleen. “Examine under that stone to-morrow, and by all the cottoners in Cork, you’ll find another ‘lob’ of money in it.” “Faix, maybe so,” replied Terry; “it’s no harm to say ‘Godsend,’ and that God may make a thief of you before a _liar_.” “Amen, _achiernah_,” replied Kathleen. Next morning at daybreak, Terry got up, and proceeded to the identical stone where he fancied that he had seen the spirit of the Boccough. He examined it closely, and after a strict search, discovered in the sand beneath the rock a leathern pouch full of money. He seized it joyfully, and on counting its contents, found it amounted to upwards of a hundred pounds, all in silver and copper coins. “What a lucky born man you are, Terry O’Shea!” cried the overjoyed gold-finder, “and what a bright day it was for your family that the Boccough Ruadh crossed over the waters of the Nore.” “It was not a bright day at all, but a wild, gloomy, stormy night,” said the old woman, who, unperceived, had followed her son to watch the success of his expedition. “No matter for that,” said Terry; “there never was so bright a day in your seven generations as that dark night; I am now the richest man of my name, and I would not, this mortal minute, call Lord De Vesci my uncle.” It is easier for the reader to imagine than for the writer to describe the manner in which this joyful day was passed by the happy mother and son. Now counting and examining the gold, and again proposing plans, and considering the best purposes to which it could be applied, they passed the hours until the summer sun had long sunk behind the crimson west. Terry was again in bed, when he started with a wild shriek. “Mother of mercy!” he frantically vociferated, “here is the Boccough Ruadh; I hear the tramp of his wooden leg on the floor.” “Lord save us!” said the old woman in a trembling voice, “what can ail him now? Maybe it’s more money he has hid somewhere else.” “Oh, do you hear how he rattles about! Devil a _kippeen_ in the cabin but he will destroy,” exclaimed poor Terry. “It’s the black day to us that ever we seen himself or his dirty thrash of money; and if God saves me till morning, I’ll go back and lave every rap ov id where I got it.” “That would be a murdher to lave so much fine money moulding in the clay, and so many in want of it; you shall do no such thing,” said the mother.