Then he felt around until he had the March windâs ankles and, taking care not to ease his weight from the March windâs chest, Murdagh bound the two ankles together with a second pair of hose from the creel.
âThat will hold you for the time,â said Murdagh, âbut I can do better than that.â
He took the last two stockings from the creel and knotted the ends together twisting them into a rope. With a quick twist he turned the March wind over on his face and put the stocking round his neck. Before the March wind knew what was happening to him, Murdagh had drawn his legs and arms together, up behind his back, and fastened them with the ends of the rope of stockings and tied them tight. Murdagh stood over him and laughed. âYouâll blow no more for a while, you rogue!â said Murdagh. âThatâs a pickle youâll not be getting yourself out of soon!â
The March wind learned at once that the less he stirred about the better off heâd be. If he moved as much as a finger or a toe the cruel rope of stockings tightened about his neck so that he was all but choked to death.
Murdagh took the napkin from his bonnet and tossed it into his creel. He shook up the bonnet to put it in order, and set it back on his head.
âOch, now,â he said to the March wind. âWhat will I do about you?â
âWhat are you going to do, Murdagh?â the March wind asked fearfully.
âBalach the dog and me were up by the bens one day, tracking a fox that was nosing about the hen run. We found a hole up there that led into a cave deep down in the ben. Iâm thinking it would be a good place to drop you into. A good big boulder set across it to seal up the hole would keep you inside in case you were able to get yourself untied.â
âOch, you would not do so!â the March wind cried in horror.
âWhy should I not?â asked Murdagh. âWe cannot have you lying here. The sheep would take fright at you, and maybe run away, losing themselves on the moor or in the glen. Iâd be falling over you, not being able to see you. Sure, one or the other of us would come to harm. The best place for you is the hole in the ben, and when I get a bit of rest Iâll carry you up and drop you in.â
âOchone! Ochone!â the March wind wailed. âLe-e-e-e-et me-e-e-e-e go-o-o-o-o!â
âIâll not do it,â said Murdagh indignantly. âYouâve been naught but a vexation and a trouble to me in the past, and so you would be again if I should set you free.â
And Murdagh sat down on his stone and taking up his needles and yarn he set to work at knitting the stocking he had begun that morn.
After a while the March wind said softly, âMurdagh?â
âAye,â said Murdagh.
âMurdagh,â said the March wind. âI know a place over beyond the bens where two great kists full of gold and siller are hidden away. For more than a hundred years theyâve lain there, and the man who brought them there is long dead and turned to dust. Nobody knows the kists are there but me. Let me go free, Murdagh, and Iâll blow both kists to you.â
âWhat good would all that gold and siller be to a shepherd like me?â Murdagh said scornfully. âAll a man needs is a good roof over his head, food to fill his belly, working clothes for weekdays and good clothes for Sundays. All these I have already, and my croft and my sheep, forbye. If thereâs aught else I fancy Iâd like to buy, Iâll have you know Iâll get it for myself. I have a wee kist of my own, and though it is not full to the top, thereâs plenty of gold and siller in it to buy me anything Iâm likely to want. Och, keep your kists for yourself.â
Murdagh went on with his knitting, and after a while the March wind said softly, âMurdagh?â
âOch, aye,â said Murdagh. âWhat would you be wanting
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