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Behind the bar is a long low-ceilinged apartment, the parlour par excellence, only used by distinguished visitors, and reserved on one especial evening of the week for the meeting of the 'Goats, as the members of a club call themselves the chief, indeed the founder, being our friend Mathew Kearney, whose title of sovereignty was 'Buck-Goat, and whose portrait, painted by a native artist and presented by the society, figured over the mantel-piece.
To those who shall say thus it must be forgiven, since it is not credible that they are moved by other than just cause, for that the friars are a good sort of folk, who eschew unease for the love of God and who grind with a full head of water and tell no tales, and but that they all savour somewhat of the buck-goat, their commerce would be far more agreeable.
"And now, my dear little froggy! you will see that the black buck-goat will bring you your sweetheart, only we must wait till the old and the young master are well out of the way, which will certainly happen when the Eperies annual fair begins." Michal believed everything the witch told her. What else could she have done? All her former faith had been destroyed. She believed in nothing more.
"No, not into this hideous hole, perhaps, not into the house of the vihodar, but into a quiet little cot where the doves bill and coo on the gables." "But how am I to get there? I should not care about sitting on the buck-goat." "Nor need you.
But of the Upper-mark were the Horse and the Spear, and the Shield, and the Daybreak, and the Dale, and the Mountain, and the Brook, and the Weasel, and the Cloud, and the Hart. Of the Nether-mark were the Salmon, and the Lynx, and the Ling worm, the Seal, the Stone, and the Sea-mew; the Buck-goat, the Apple-tree, the Bull, the Adder, and the Crane.
At the bottom of the pan, the last drop of water had long since evaporated. "My buck-goat has arrived," cried the witch, in triumph. At that moment, Valentine Kalondai entered and advanced toward Michal. It was no longer joy, it was frenzy which took possession of the young woman.
A poplar which had been torn down by the storm marked the spot where pretty Michal lay. "I hear the tramp of horses' hoofs," murmured one of the musketeers in the ditch. "What if it be the devil riding on a buck-goat?" "Yes, indeed, who else would think of riding over the plains at such a time?" "Look how the will-o'-the-wisps are dancing!" said a third, raising his head a little above the ditch.
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