Page:West Irish folk-tales and romances - William Larminie.djvu/191

 Rh approaching,—there is not a tree in the wood on which a man's head is not hung, except one tree that is waiting for your head. We'll return home.”

“I will never go home,” said the king's son, “till I get one sight of that woman.”

They went forward till they came to the king's house. The king made great welcome for them. They took their dinner. They spent the night in drinking and sport. When they were sitting to their supper she came down from the top of the house. Her head was as black as the bird's wing, her skin as white as the snow, and her cheeks as red as the blood. She came to them, to the place where they were eating. She threw him a comb. Said she, “If you have not that comb to give me to-morrow, I will cut your head from you.”

He took hold of the comb. He put it down in his pocket. When they were going to bed the red man said, “See if you have the comb.” He put his fingers in his pocket. He had not the comb. His tears fell.

“It's a pity I did not take your advice when you told me to return home.”

“Perhaps we shall get the better of her entirely,” said the red man. He was comforting him till he got him to bed. When he got him to bed he put on the dark cloak. He took with him