And the man was going every day to the sea looking for her, and at the last, at the end of nine years, he got a sketch of her where she was sitting on a rock, and he made a grab at her. But she said: ‘You have no chance of getting me at all, or of bringing me back to the house. But I’ll do this for you,’ she said; ‘the eldest son I had, I’ll give him back to you if you will promise to leave him all that you have. But as for myself, you will never see me again,’ she said. ‘Is it any harm to ask you,’ says the husband, ‘what was it made you laugh the first time in the house?’ ‘I will tell you that,’ says she. ‘I laughed to hear that man make the curse, for when he did, all that was in the pot went to nothing.’ ‘And is it any harm to ask you why you laughed the second and the third time?’ says the husband. ‘The second time I laughed,’ says she, ‘was when your mother didn’t take the top off the pot. For all that was in it turned to poison then,’ says she, ‘and I took no taste of it myself. And the third time I laughed,’ she said, ‘was when your mother was knocked going in at the parlour door. For I saw what it was knocked her,’ she said. ‘It was the leg of a pot that was standing up out of the floor, and that was full of gold. And go home now,’ she said, ‘and dig under the threshold of the door, and you will find the pot of gold, and you can keep all that is in it.’ So the man did that, and he brought his eldest son with him, and he dug under the floor and found the pot of gold, and they were very rich from that time. That is all, my lady, I know about it; and that is one of the old stories of Ireland. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE BULLOCKEEN There was a King, and it is a good while ago he was in it, and he married a King’s daughter, and at the end of two years they had a son, and the mother died. And before dying she made a will, and she willed to the son but one thing only—a little black Bullockeen was out in the meadow. And she laid commands on the King: ‘Do not marry another woman,’ she said, ‘till the son I have left with you will give you leave three times to do it.’ And the son grew to be about seven years old, and he bought a hurling stick and a silver ball, and he used to go hurling. And one day he was putting the ball, and when he’d give it a blow that sent it over, he would be over before it would fall, and when he would strike it hither, he’d be hither before it, he was that smart, that it would not fall to the ground. The King was passing that way, and when he saw him he said: ‘It’s a pity your mother not to see you,’ says he, ‘for it is proud out of you she would be this day.’ ‘Let you leave talking of my mother and let you take another woman,’ says the son.