[Footnote 1: Adapted from _In Chimney Corners_, by Seumas McManus. I have
ventured to give this in the somewhat Hibernian phraseology suggested by
the original, because I have found that the humour of the manner of it
appeals quite as readily to the boys and girls of my acquaintance as to
maturer friends, and they distinguish as quickly between the savour of it
and any unintentional crudeness of diction.]

Once upon a time, there was a king and a queen, and they had one son,
whose name was Billy. And Billy had a bull he was very fond of, and the
bull was just as fond of him. And when the queen came to die, she put it
as her last request to the king, that come what might, come what may, he'd
not part Billy and the bull. And the king promised that, come what might,
come what may, he would not. Then the good queen died, and was buried.

After a time, the king married again, and the new queen could not abide
Billy; no more could she stand the bull, seeing him and Billy so thick. So
she asked the king to have the bull killed. But the king said he had
promised, come what might, come what may, he'd not part Billy Beg and his
bull, so he could not.

Then the queen sent for the Hen-Wife, and asked what she should do. "What
will you give me," said the Hen-Wife, "and I'll very soon part them?"

"Anything at all," said the queen.

"Then do you take to your bed, very sick with a complaint," said the
Hen-Wife, "and I'll do the rest."

So the queen took to her bed, very sick with a complaint, and the king
came to see what could be done for her. "I shall never be better of this,"