An’ he turned to curse Wurra-Wurra. ’Twas now, for the first time, he saw the opin ears of the idol that listened day an’ night for the gintlist whisper of troubles of man or woman, to take the same on himsilf—an’ thin Keth filt the full power of him. The curse died on his lips, all desire of curses wint out of his heart. Keth Mac Maragh, Strong Man to the good Patrick that was to become a blissed saint, leaned upon his shield an’ gazed long on the image that filled the grotto. An’ while he gazed the soul of him drank its fill of peace and forgetfulness of care. [Illustration] For it was true of the ancient Irish God of Peaceful Souls, named Wurra-Wurra, that no creature of woman born could stand before him an’ know more of trouble in this world. From ivery shoulder he took off the trouble to place it upon its own, and bear it thinceforth in token of his great love and compassion for all with minds distrissed. There was no nade for Keth to read the inscription on the stone which was the idol’s seat—which, indade, he could not, for it was in the most ancient Irish characters. ’Twas Bishop Erc, the same who was Judge in Patrick’s household and a very learned man, who afterward put it into Gaelic, which, being translated into English, is the best of all mottoes in the category, namely: LET WURRA WORRY There was no nade for Keth Mac Maragh to read this inscription, for the face and figure of the idol, an’ his wide opin ears foriver listenin’, thimselves told the whole story—not only that it was his business to bear all the worries and troubles of the world, but that he liked the job! [Illustration] Indade, yis. Though the weight of the world’s worries through a hundred cinturies had glued the stomach of him to his thighs, an’ his broad chist risted on his stomach so that the massy shoulders were prissed nearly down to the region of his navel, while the heft of the troubles showered on his head had crunched it down into his bristbone—in spite of all the crushing weight of worries upon him the smile he wore was like the noon sun bursting through after a tin days’ rain in April. ’Twas that same smile of Wurra-Wurra that chased away all the curses out of the heart of Keth Mac Maragh an’ brought the great peace to his soul. [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] Alas! as Keth looked upon the idol, Patrick an’ all his glorious works became no more than a faded memory. He filt himself ready to prostrate himsilf before Wurra-Wurra an’ whisper into the ear of him his last small worry about Finola of the White Shoulder—upon which he had risted his head more ardently than was good for his ease of mind—whin a well-raymimbered an’ hated voice brought him suddenly to himsilf. “Back, thou sacriligious monster!” said the voice, an’ Keth knew it for the voice of Lochru, the wizard.