and the dark night
coming behind him. He came to a wide field where there were field-fares
or ground larks in companies. He crossed it. He came to a plain of tall
daisies where there were thousands of butterflies. He crossed it.
He came to a field of buttercups where blue pigeons were feeding. He
crossed it. He came to a field of flax in blue blossom. He crossed it
and came to a smoke-blackened stone house deep sunk in the ground. The
wheel stopped rolling before it and he went into the house.

An old woman was seated on the ground before the fire basting a goose. A
rabbit-skin cap was on her hairless head and there were no eye-brows on
her face. Three strange birds were eating out of the pot--a cuckoo, a
corncrake and a swallow. "Come to the fire, gilly," said the old woman
when she looked round.

"I am not a gilly, but the King of Ireland's Son," said he.

"Well, let that be. What do you want of me?"

"Are you the Old Woman of Beare?"

"I have been called the Old Woman of Beare since your
fore-great-grandfather's time."

"How old are you, old mother?"

"I do not know. But do you see the three birds that are picking out
of my pot? For two score years the swallow was coming to my house and
building outside. Then he came and built inside. Then for three score
years he was coming into my house to build here. Now he never goes
across the sea at all, and do you see the corncrake? For five score
years she was coming to the meadow outside. Then she began to run into
the house to see what was happening here. For two score years she was
running in and out. Then she stayed here altogether. Now she never goes
across the sea at all. And do you see the cuckoo there? For seven score
years she used to come to a tree that was outside and sing over her
notes. Then when the tree was gone, she used to light on the roof of my
house. Then she used to come in to see herself in a looking glass. I
do not know how many score years the cuckoo was going and coming, but I
know it is many score years since she went across the sea."

"I went from Laheen the Eagle to Blackfoot the Elk, and from the Elk of
Ben Gulban to the Crow of Achill, and from the Crow of Achill, I come to
you to ask if you have knowledge of the Unique Tale."

"The Unique Tale, indeed," said the Old Woman of Beare. "One came to me
only last night to tell me the Unique Tale. He is the young man who is
counting the horns."

"What young man is he and what horns is he