Legendary fictions of the Irish Celts

Legends of the " Good People
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dishes. One evening they sat up ever so long, keeping
one another in heart with teUing stories about ghosts and
fetches and that when—what would you have of it %—the
little scullery boy that used to be sleeping over the horses,
and couldn't get room at the fire, crept into the hot
hearth, and when he got tired listening to the stories,
sorra fear him but he fell dead asleep.
Well and good, after they were all gone, and the fire
raked up, he was woke with the noise of the kitchen
door opening, and the trampling of an ass on the kitchen
floor. He peeped out, and what should he see but a big
grey ass, sure enough, sitting on his currabingo, and
yawning before the fire. After a little, he looked about
him, and began scratching his ears as if he was quite
tired, and says he, " I may as well begin first as last." The
poor boy's teeth began to chatter in his head, for says he,
" Now he's goin' to ate me ; " but the fellow with the long
ears and tail on him, had something else to do. He
stirred up the fire, and then he brought in a pail of water
from the pump, and filled a big pot, that he put on the
fire before he went out. He then put in his hand—foot,
I mean—into the hot hearth, and pulled out the little
boy. He let a roar out of him with the fright, but the
pooka only looked at him, and thrust out his lower lip to
show how little he valued him, and then he pitched him
into his pew again.
Well, he then lay down before the fire till he heard
the boil coming on the water, and maybe there wasn't a
plate, or a dish, or a spoon on the dresser, that he didn't
fetch and put into the pot, and wash and dry the whole
bilin' of 'em as well as e'er a kitchenmaid from that to
Dubhn town. He then put all of them up in their places
on the shelves, and, if he didn't give a good sweepin' to
the kitchen after all, leave it till again. Then he comes
and sits foment the boy, let down one of his ears and
cocked up the other, and gave a grin. The poor fellow
strove to roar out, but not a dheeg 'ud come out of his
throat. The last thing the pooka done was to rake up