Un Curse

Terence, Baby-Glossy and Saint Roley go back inside.

No one is up yet.

Keep telling the story, says Terence. 

Wait, says Saint Roley. Something has happened.

What? asks Terence.

Look, says Saint Roley. Your Ear and your brick are stuck together.

It is true. The Ear and Peut-étre are stuck together.

Un curse, says Baby-Glossy.

Nine hundred years, says Terence.

Then what? asks the Ear.

You'll still be an Ear, says Terence. Bad luck.

It seems I must finish the story, says Saint Roley. Sit still and listen.

At some point in the nine hundred years, Saint Patrick had come to Ireland.

I know him! says Terence. He wears a green hat.

That's him, says Saint Roley. One day a monk arrived at the place where the swans were, and heard them singing. He asked if they were the Children of Lir. They allowed him to bind them with silver chains and lead them away. He was ringing a bell.

Why? asks Terence.

Why what? asks Saint Roley The bell, or the chains, or why they allowed it?

The bell, says Baby-Glossy.

To get their attention, says Saint Roley. 

The silver chains, says Terence. 

To keep them together, says Saint Roley.

Why they allowed it, says the Ear.

You can't ask, says Terence. You don't even know the first part of the story.

I don't need to, says the Ear.

That is so, says Saint Roley. Now the King of Connacht saw the swans and wanted to give them to his wife, but the monk refused to release them. So the King grabbed at them and their feathers came off.

Ha ha! laughs Terence.

It's no joke, says Saint Roley. Their feathers came off, revealing three old men and one old woman, thin and bony. They asked the monk to baptise them.

THAT'S funny, says Terence.

We can't expect them to make good decisions at this stage, says Saint Roley. They died soon after and were buried. The monk was sad.

Was the king sad? asks Baby-Glossy. 

That isn't recorded, says Saint Roley.