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“Won’t you take a turn with us, Pat?” says he, bowing till he nearly touched the ground. And, indeed, he had not far to go, for he was barely two feet high.

“Don’t say it twice, sir,” says Pat. “It’s myself will be proud to foot the floor wid ye;” and before you could look round, there was Pat in the circle dancing away for bare life.

At first his feet felt like feathers for lightness, and it seemed as if he could have gone on for ever. But at last he grew tired, and would have liked to stop, but the fairies would not, and so they danced on and on. Pat tried to think of something good to say, that he might free himself from the spell, but all he could think of was:

“A dozen hanks of grey yarn for Missis Murphy.”

“Three gross of bright buttons for the tailor.”

“Half an ounce of throat drops for Father Andrew, and an ounce of snuff for his housekeeper,” and so on.

And it seemed to Pat that the moon was on the one side of the Rath when they began to dance, and on the other side when they left off; but he could not be sure after all that going round. One thing was plain enough. He danced every bit of leather off the soles of his feet, and they were blistered so that he could hardly stand; but all the little folk did was to stand and hold their sides with laughing at him.

At last the one who spoke before stepped up to him, and–“Don’t break your heart about it, Pat,” says he; “I’ll lend you my own shoes till the morning, for you seem to be a good-natured sort of a boy.”

Well, Pat looked at the fairy man’s shoes, that were the size of a baby’s, and he looked at his own feet; but not wishing to be uncivil, “Thank ye kindly, sir,” says he. “And if your honour ‘ll be good enough to put them on for me, maybe you won’t spoil the shape.” For he thought to himself, “Small blame to me if the little gentleman can’t get them to fit.”

With that he sat down on the side of the Rath, and the fairy man put on the shoes for him, and no sooner did they touch Pat’s feet, than they became altogether a convenient size, and fitted him like wax. And, more than that, when he stood up, he didn’t feel his blisters at all.

“Bring ’em back to the Rath at sunrise, Pat, my boy,” says the little man.

And as Pat was climbing over the ditch, “Look round, Pat,” says he. And when Pat looked round, there were jewels and pearls lying at the roots of the furze-bushes on the ditch, as thick as peas.

“Will you help yourself, or take what’s given ye, Pat?” says the fairy man.

“Did I ever learn manners?” says Pat. “Would you have me help myself before company? I’ll take what your honour pleases to give me, and be thankful.”

The fairy man picked a lot of yellow furze-blossoms from the bushes, and filled Pat’s pockets.

“Keep ’em for love, Pat, me darlin’,” says he.

Pat would have liked some of the jewels, but he put the furze-blossoms by for love.

“Good-evening to your honour,” says he.

“And where are you going, Pat, dear?” says the fairy man.

“I’m going home,” says Pat. And if the fairy man didn’t know where that was, small blame to him.

“Just let me dust them shoes for ye, Pat,” says the fairy man. And as Pat lifted up each foot he breathed on it, and dusted it with the tail of his green coat.

“Home!” says he, and when he let go, Pat was at his own doorstep before he could look round, and his parcels safe and sound with him.

Next morning he was up with the sun, and carried the fairy man’s shoes back to the Rath. As he came up, the little man looked over the ditch.