All were happy; Garret talked, his wife smiled; told all the “new news” of the Queen’s county; whilst the spaces were filled up by blind Maurice, who played several of his most delightful national airs on his antique-looking pipes, whilst invariably as he concluded each successive lay, he would enrich the treat by some tradition connected with the piece he had been playing, and which threw an indescribable charm not only around the performance, but the performer. “That’s a curious thing,” remarked Garret, as the piper concluded one particular rant; “it’s a quare medley, sometimes gay and sometimes sad, and sometimes like the snarlin’ of a growlin’ dog, and again exactly like the mewing of a cat.” The piper smiled. “And have you,” he asked, “never heard me play that tune before?--and did I never tell you the strange story connected with it?” “Never,” was the reply. “Well, that is strange enough; that tune is an old favourite in Munster, and I thought the whole world had heard of it.” “It never kem to Glen-Mac-Tir, any how,” replied the farmer, “or I’d surely have heard of it. How d’ye call the name of it?” “_Caith-na-brogueen_--that is in English, Puss in Brogues,” said the piper. “Well,” said Garret, “it’s often I heard of Puss in Boots, but I never heard of Puss in Brogues afore.” “Well, I’ll tell you and this good company all about it,” said Maurice, laying down his pipes and wiping his forehead. “Ay, but afore you begin,” said Garret, “take another dhrop to wet your whistle, and you’ll get on the betther with your story.” The piper seized the flowing tumbler again, and raising it to his lips, gaily exclaimed, whilst his attenuated hand shook nervously beneath the weight of the smoking goblet, “_Sho-dhurtlh_, your healths, my friends, glory to our noble selves; and if this be war, may we never have more peaceable times.” “Amen,” was the fervent response of every one present. “Now for the _Caith-na-brogueen_,” said Garret. “Ay, and a wild and strange tale it is,” said Maurice. “However, it is a popular tradition in South Munster, and often when a boy have I listened to it, whilst my eyes, now dark for ever, would glisten with delight, and I would even fear to breathe lest one syllable of the legend might escape me.” Then emitting a deep-drawn sigh, and again wiping his polished brow, he thus began.