ed. And then she lay awake and tried to know the meaning in the song
the Spae-Woman sang when she sat spinning wool in the chimney Corner--

You would not slumber
If laid at my breast!
Little sister,
I'll rock you to rest!

The flood on the river beats
The swan from its nest!
You would not slumber
If laid at my breast!

The rain-drops encumber
The hawthorn's crest:
My thoughts have no number:
You would not slumber
If laid at my breast,
Little sister,
I'll rock you to rest.

She passed the night between sleeping and waking, and when the light
grew she saw the white grouse crouching against the window-opening.
She opened the door and stepped outside to let the grouse fly from her
hands.

And there, on the ground before her was a sword! Sheen knew it to be the
sword of the man she had seen yesterday, and she knew the man had been
before the door in the night-time. She knelt on the ground to look at
the bright blue blade. O my listeners, if I was there I was in the
crows that flew down heavily and cawed as they picked up something that
pleased them, in the wood-cushats that cooed in the trees, in the small
birds that quarreled in the thatch of the house, and in the breeze that
blew round--the first breeze of the day.

The Spae-Woman came outside and saw what Sheen was looking at--the sword
on the ground. "It is wrought with cunning that only the smiths of Kings
possess," she said. She took the sword and hung it on the branch of a
tree so that the dews of the ground might not rust it. "I think the
one who owns it is the stranger who is seen in the wild places
hereabouts--the man whom the neighbors call the Hunter-King," she said
to Sheen.

On another day Sheen went to gather bog-down. This time she crossed the
river by the stepping-stones and went into a country where there were
many cattle. She stood wondering at their numbers and wishing that such
a cow and such a calf might belong to the Spae-Woman. Then the next
thing she saw was two black horses striving with each other. They showed
their teeth at each other and bit and kicked. Then they came racing
towards her. "Oh," said Sheen to herself, "they are Breogan's wild
stallions." She ran, but the horses were able to make circles round her.
"Breogan's wild stallions," said she, "they will rush in and trample me
to death." Then she heard someone shouting commands to the horses. She
saw a man strike one of the stall