"Leave your much talking, or I will cut the head off you. Tell me the news of the death of Anshgayliacht."
"Oh, you can have my head."
"But your head is no good to me; tell me the story."
"Oh," said Niall's wife, "you must get the story."
"Oh" [said Morraha], "is the woman your wife?"
"Oh," said the man, "it is not you who have the story."
"Oh," said she, "you will tell it to us."
"Well," said the man, "let us sit down together till I tell the story. I thought no one would ever get it; but now it will be heard by all."
THE STORY.
(The Story is from the narrative of Terence Davis, of Renvyle, co. Galway.)
When I was growing up, my mother taught me the language of the birds; and when I got married, I used to be listening to their conversation; and I would be laughing; and my wife would be asking me what was the reason of my laughing, but I did not like to tell her, as women are always asking questions. We went out walking one fine morning, and the birds were arguing with one
another. One of them said to another,—
