It was so with all the other cats. They finished lapping their milk and Morag showed them the red ribbon satchel. They let her put it round each of their necks and then they sprang off the table, and marched off more scornful and overbearing than before.
Six of the fierce yellow cats climbed into the branches of the Fairy Rowan Tree; six stayed in the kitchen; six went into Crom Duv’s chamber, and six went to march round the house, three taking each side. No sound came from the cats that were within or without. Morag drew a ball of cotton across the floor, and the cats that were in the kitchen gave no sign of seeing it. “The sight has left their eyes,” said Morag. “Then,” said Flann, “I will climb the Fairy Rowan Tree and bring down two berries.” “Be sure you bring down two, my dear, my dear,” said Morag.
They went out to the courtyard and Flann began to climb the Fairy Rowan Tree with all suppleness, strength and cunning. The cats that were below felt him going up the tree and the cats that were above humped themselves up. Flann passed the first branch on which a cat was crouched. He went above where the rowan berries were, and bending down he picked two of them and put them into his mouth.
He came down quickly with the cats tearing at him. Others had come out of the house and were mewing and spitting in the courtyard. Only one had fastened itself on Flann’s jerkin, and this one would not let go. “Come into the wood, come into the wood,” said Morag. “Now we must stand between the house and the mound, and wait till the Pooka rides by.” Flann put the two berries into her hand, they jumped across the chain, and ran from the house of the Giant Crom Duv.
They went into the wood, Flann and Morag, and the Little Red Hen was under Morag’s arm. They thought they would hide behind trees until they heard the coming of the Pooka and his horse. But they were not far in the wood when they heard Crom Duv coming towards his house. He came towards them with the iron spike in his hand. Flann and Morag ran. Then from tree to tree Crom Duv chased them, shouting and snorting and smashing down branches with the iron spike in his hand. Morag and Flann came to a stream, and as they ran along its bank they heard the trampling and panting of a horse coming towards them. Up it came, a great black horse with a sweeping mane. “Halt, Pooka,” said Flann in a commanding voice. The black horse halted and the Pooka that was its rider slipped down to its tail.