Mac an Dáv turned to him.

"Is it a pain in your stomach, master?"

"It is not," said Mongan.

"Well, what made you make that brutal and belching noise?"

"It was a sigh I gave," said Mongan.

"Whatever it was," said mac an Dáv, "what was it?"

"Look down the road on this side and tell me who is coming," said his master.

"It is a lord with his troop."

"It is the King of Leinster," said Mongan.

"The man," said mac an Dáv in a tone of great pity, "the man that took away your wife! And," he roared in a voice of extraordinary savagery, "the man that took away my wife into the bargain, and she not in the bargain."

"Hush," said Mongan, for a man who heard his shout stopped to tie a sandal, or to listen.

"Master," said mac an Dáv as the troop drew abreast and moved past.

"What is it, my good friend?"

"Let me throw a little, small piece of a rock at the King of Leinster."

"I will not."

"A little bit only, a small bit about twice the size of my head."

"I will not let you," said Mongan.

When the king had gone by mac an Dáv groaned a deep and dejected groan.

"Ocón!" said he. "Ocón-ío-go-deó!" said he.

The man who had tied his sandal said then:

"Are you in pain, honest man?"

"I am not in pain," said mac an Dáv.