Peter of the Mountain (2)
I was telling you the story Peter of the Mountain. Peter took a cow to
the market. But he returned home without anything in his pocket. He had
a wager with a friend to the value of a hundred pounds that he wouldn’t
be scolded by his wife. His friend waited outside Peter’s house,
eavesdropping.
‘How did you get on in the town?’ his wife asked.
‘Well,’ said Peter, ‘I swapped the cow for a horse.’
‘A horse?’ she said. ‘Aren’t you a wise man. We won’t walk to the
church anymore.’
‘But we don’t have the horse,’ said Peter. ‘I gave it away. I got a pig
in its place.’
‘That’s good,’ said his wife. ‘We’ll now have pork.’
‘However,’ Peter admitted, ‘I don’t have the pig now. I got a goat in
its place.’
‘Bless me!’ cried his wife. ‘That’s good. We’ll get milk and cheese.’
‘But I gave the goat away and I got a sheep.’
‘Och, Peter,’ said his wife, ‘I’m so pleased. The sheep will give us
wool and milk.’
‘That’s if we had the sheep,’ replied her husband. I gave her away. I
got a goose in her place.’
‘Weren’t you wise,’ said his wife. ‘There’s nothing tastier than
roasted goose.’
‘But I don’t have the goose,’ said Peter. ‘I got a cockerel in its
place.’
‘That’s good,’ said his wife. ‘There will be no day that the cockerel
won’t waken us in the morning. We’ll never be late for anything.’
‘I sold the cockerel for a shilling because I was hungry,’ admitted
Peter.
‘Very good, darling, we can now stay in bed for as long as we want. I’m
so grateful that you returned home fit and well, and that you did
everything so well.
Peter turned to the front door and he opened it. He called to the man
who was outside. ‘What’s your opinion now. Did I win the wager?’
His friend admitted that he did without doubt, and he payed him the wager.
Pàdraig na Beinne (2)
Bha mi ag innse dhuibh an sgeulachd Pàdraig na Beinne. Thug
Pàdraig bò don mhargaidh. Ach thill e dhachaigh gun sgàth na phòcaid. Bha
geall luach ceud not aige le caraid nach fhaigheadh e trod sam bith bho a
bhean. Dh’fhan a charaid taobh a-muigh taigh Phàdraig, a’ cumail cluas ri
claisneachd.
‘Ciamar a chaidh dhut anns a’ bhaile mhòr?’ dh’fhaighnich a bhean.
‘Uill,’ thuirt Pàdraig, ‘thug mi a’ bhò seachad air each.’
‘Air each?’ ars ise. ‘Nach tu fhèin an duine glic. Cha bhi sinn a’
coiseachd don eaglais tuilleadh.’
‘Ach chan eil an t-each againn,’ thuirt Pàdraig. ‘Thug mi seachad e. Fhuair
mi muc na àite.’
‘Tha sin math,’ thuirt a bhean. ‘Bidh muicfheòil againn a-nise.’
‘Ge-tà,’ dh’aidich Pàdraig, ‘chan eil a’ mhuc agam a-nise. Fhuair mi gobhar
na h-àite.’
‘Beannaich mise!’ ghlaodh a’ bhean aige. ‘Tha sin math. Gheibh sinn bainne
is càise.’
‘Ach thug mi a’ ghobhar seachad agus fhuair mi caora.’
‘Och, a Phàdraig,’ thuirt a bhean, ‘tha mi cho toilichte. Bheir a’ chaora
clòimh is bainne dhuinn.’
‘ ʼS e sin nam biodh a’ chaora againn,’ fhreagair an duine aice. ‘Thug mi
seachad i. Fhuair mi gèadh na h-àite.’
‘Nach tu a bha glic,’ thuirt a bhean. ‘Chan eil càil nas blasta na gèadh
ròsta.’
‘Ach chan eil an gèadh agam,’ arsa Pàdraig. ‘Fhuair mi coileach na àite.’
‘Is math sin,’ thuirt a bhean. ‘Cha bhi latha ann nach dùisg an coileach
sinn sa mhadainn. Cha bhi sinn fadalach airson nì sam bith.’
‘Reic mi an coileach air tastan oir bha an t-acras orm,’ dh’aidich Pàdraig.
‘Glè mhath, a ghràidh, faodaidh sinn a-nise fuireach anns an leabaidh cho
fada ʼs a thogras sinn. Is mise a tha taingeil gun do thill thu dhachaigh
slàn, sàbhailte agus gun do rinn thu a h-uile rud gu dòigheil.’
Thionndaidh Pàdraig chun an dorais mhòir agus dh’fhosgail e e. Dh’èigh e
ris an fhear a bha a-muigh. ‘Dè do bheachd a-nise? An do bhuannaich mi an
geall?’
Dh’aidich a charaid gun do rinn e sin gun teagamh, agus phàigh e an geall
dha.
