Chuala mé iad dhá rá agus níl aon smid bréige ann, athair mo sheanmháthar a chuaigh siar, agus níl ’fhios agamsa cé a bhí in éindí leis, is dócha gurbh iad a chlann, acht fuair siad rón óg ar charraig agus thug siad leo é, agus chuir siad isteach in íochtar an drisiúir é lena choinneáil ann.
Acht chuaigh siad siar aríst lá arna mháireach, ag iascach a bhí siad, agus bhí an seanrón ag imeacht timpeall an bháid agus ní raibh ’fhios acub ar Diarmuidín nó Taidhgín a bhí sé ag rá, acht is ar éigean a scar sé ón mbád [ar] chor ar bith. Nuair a tháinig siad abhaile bhí siad ag inseacht an scéil agus bhí an rón óg ag éisteacht leo agus nuair a chuala sé é;
“Ó,” a deir sé, “sin é m’athair a bhí ag cuartú Taidhgín.”
Thug siad siar an rón óg lá arna mháireach agus shílfeá go ngabhadh an seanrón isteach sa mbád le teann áthais agus é mar bheadh sé ag glacadh buíochais leo. Níl scéal ar bith chomh fíor leis sin.
I’ve heard them say, and there’s no word of a lie in it, my grandmother’s father went west and I don’t know who was with him, probably his children, but they found a young seal on a rock and they took it with them and they put him in the bottom of the dresser to keep him there.
But they went west again the next day, they were fishing, and an old seal was going around the boat and they didn’t know if he was saying Diarmuidín or Taidhgín, but he never left the boat at all. When they came home they were telling the story and the young seal was listening to them and when he heard it;
“Oh,” he said, “that’s my father who was looking for Taidhgín.”
They took the young seal back the next day and you’d think that the seal would get into the boat through sheer joy. It was as if he was thanking them. There’s no story as true as that.