King O’Toole and His Goose

Och, I thought the whole world, near and far, had heard of King O’Toole. Well, well, the ignorance of people is past telling! But since you never heard it, sir, you must know that there was a king called King O’Toole, a fine old king in the ancient times, long ago, and it was he who owned the churches in those early days.

The king was the right sort, you see. He loved sport as much as he loved his life, and hunting most of all. From sunrise he was up and off over the mountains after the deer, and those were fine times. It was all well and good as long as the king had his health. But in the course of time he grew old and stiff in the limbs, and when the years came heavy on him his heart failed him. He was lost entirely for want of amusement, because he could not go hunting any more. And so, by dad, the poor king was driven at last to get a goose to amuse him.

Oh, laugh if you like, but it’s the truth I’m telling you. This is the way the goose kept him amused: she would swim across the lake and dive for trout, and catch a fish for the king on a Friday, and on other days she flew round and round the lake to cheer the poor king. All went splendidly until, by dad, the goose grew old like her master and could not amuse him any longer, and then the poor king was lost entirely.

One morning the king was walking by the edge of the lake, bemoaning his cruel fate and thinking of drowning himself, since there was no pleasure left for him in life, when suddenly, coming round the corner, he met a very decent-looking young man walking towards him.

“God save you,” said the king.

“God save you kindly, King O’Toole,” said the young man.

“True for you,” said the king. “I am King O’Toole, prince and plennypennytinchery of these parts. But how did you come to know that?”

“Oh, never mind,” said Saint Kavin. For you see, it was Saint Kavin, sure enough, the saint himself in disguise and nobody else. “Never mind,” said he, “I know more than that. May I make so bold as to ask how your goose is, King O’Toole?”

“Blur-an-agers! How did you come to know about my goose?”

“Oh, no matter. I was given to understand it,” said Saint Kavin.

After some more talk the king said, “What are you?”

“I’m an honest man.”

“Well, honest man, and how is it you make your money so easy?”

“By making old things as good as new.”

“Is it a tinker you are?”

“No,” said the saint. “I’m no tinker by trade, King O’Toole. I have a better trade than a tinker. What would you say if I made your old goose as good as new?”

My dear, at those words you’d think the poor old king’s eyes would jump out of his head. He whistled, and down came the poor goose like a hound, waddling up to her stiff-limbed master, and as like him as two peas.

The minute the saint laid eyes on her he said, “I’ll do the job for you, King O’Toole.”

“By Jaminee!” said the king. “If you do, I’ll say you’re the cleverest fellow in the seven parishes.”

“Oh, by dad, you must say more than that,” said Saint Kavin. “My horn’s not so soft as all that, that I’d mend your old goose for nothing. What will you give me if I do the job? That’s the question.”

“I’ll give you whatever you ask. Isn’t that fair?”

“Never was fairer,” said the saint. “That’s the way to do business. Now here’s the bargain I’ll make with you, King O’Toole: will you give me all the ground the goose flies over on her first flight, after I make her as good as new?”

“I will,” said the king.

“You won’t go back on your word?”

“Honour bright!” said King O’Toole, holding out his fist.

“Honour bright!” said Saint Kavin in return. “It’s a bargain. Come here,” said he to the goose, “come here, you poor old bird, and it’s I that will make a sporting bird of you.”

With that, my dear, he took up the goose by her two wings, made the holy sign of the cross over her, and threw her up in the air, giving her a puff of breath to help her along. And off she went, my jewel, flying like one of the eagles themselves and cutting as many capers as a swallow before a shower of rain.

It was a beautiful sight to see the king standing there with his mouth open, watching his poor old goose fly as light as a lark and better than she ever flew in her life. When she landed at his feet, he patted her on the head. “Ma vourneen,” said he, “you are the darling of the world.”

“And what do you say to me for making her so?” asked Saint Kavin.

“By Jabers,” said the king, “I say nothing beats the art of man, barring the bees.”

“And do you say no more than that?”

“And that I’m beholden to you.”

“But will you give me all the ground the goose flew over?”

“I will,” said King O’Toole, “and you’re welcome to it, though it’s the last acre I have to give.”

“But you’ll keep your word true?”

“As true as the sun.”

“It’s well for you, King O’Toole, that you said that,” said the saint, “for if you hadn’t, devil a bit would your goose ever fly in this world.”

Because the king kept his word, Saint Kavin was pleased with him, and then he made himself known. “King O’Toole,” said he, “you’re a decent man, for I only came here to test you. You don’t know me because I’m in disguise.”

“Musha, then, who are you?”

“I’m Saint Kavin,” said the saint, blessing himself.

“Oh, queen of heaven!” cried the king, crossing himself and falling on his knees before the saint. “Is it the great Saint Kavin I’ve been chatting with all this time without knowing it, as if he were a mere lad? And so you’re a saint?”

“I am.”

“By Jabers, I thought I was only talking to a decent boy.”

“Well, you know the difference now,” said the saint. “I’m Saint Kavin, the greatest of all the saints.”

So the king had his goose made young again, and the saint looked after him after receiving the land. But the goose’s new life did not last long: one Friday she thought she was catching a trout, but, my jewel, she made a mistake: instead of a trout it was a thieving horse-eel, and instead of the goose killing a trout for the king’s supper, by dad, the eel killed the king’s goose. Small blame to him for that. But he didn’t eat her, because he dared not eat what Saint Kavin had laid his blessed hands on.

Where this tale comes from

Jacobs took “King O’Toole and His Goose” from Samuel Lover’s Stories and Legends of the Irish Peasantry and kept the storyteller’s voice, who talks straight to a listening “sir.” In his notes Jacobs calls it really a moral lesson about keeping your word, told with so much humour that the moral slips into the heart without your noticing.

Saint Kavin is the narrator’s spelling of Saint Kevin. “Plennypennytinchery” is a joke word the king uses to sound grand, and ma vourneen means “my darling.”

Read the original: Joseph Jacobs, Celtic Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg #7885, King O’Toole)

Best for ages 9–12 with adult discussion. The king briefly thinks of ending his life, and the goose is killed at the end. The exaggerated storyteller’s voice and miraculous cure frame a legend, not a historical account or a promise that aging must be reversed to make life worthwhile.

Reading the story closely

The narrator tells the listener how to react—laugh, marvel, accept that it is true—while revealing the stranger’s identity before the king knows it. That gives readers an advantage: they can hear a saint’s test where the king hears a tradesman’s offer. The repeated ‘honour bright’ makes the bargain memorable, but the king agrees without knowing how much land the rejuvenated goose can cover.

Read the bargain once without the narrator’s comments, then again with them. How do the interruptions change our view of the king? Finally compare the miracle with the goose’s abrupt death. The comic ending limits the rescue: the gift restores an ability, not permanent safety or youth.

Talk about it

• Why was King O’Toole so unhappy at the start of the story?
• What bargain did the stranger make with the king?
• Why did Saint Kavin say it was lucky that the king kept his word?

Related stories

• Andrew Coffey — another Irish tale told in a lively storyteller’s voice
• Guleesh — an Irish tale of magic and a promise kept
• Hudden And Dudden And Donald O’Neary — a rollicking Irish tale of bargains and tricks