thankful to you."

Saying this he sat down on the bank and his companions, placing their
pails behind them, did likewise. The Philosopher divided his cake into
eight pieces and gave one to each person.

"I am sorry it is so little," said he.

"A gift," said the bearded man, "is never little," and he courteously
ate his piece in three bites although he could have easily eaten it in
one, and his children also.

"That was a good, satisfying cake," said he when he had finished;
"it was well baked and well shared, but," he continued, "I am in a
difficulty and maybe you could advise me what to do, sir?"

"What might be your trouble?" said the Philosopher.

"It is this," said the man. "Every morning when we go out to milk the
cows the mother of my clann gives to each of us a parcel of food so that
we need not be any hungrier than we like; but now we have had a good
breakfast with you, what shall we do with the food that we brought with
us? The woman of the house would not be pleased if we carried it back
to her, and if we threw food away it would be a sin. If it was not
disrespectful to your breakfast the boys and girls here might be able
to get rid of it by eating it, for, as you know, young people can always
eat a bit more, no matter how much they have already eaten."

"It would surely be better to eat it than to waste it," said the
Philosopher wistfully.

The young people produced large parcels of food from their pockets and
opened them, and the bearded man said, "I have a little one myself also,
and it would not be wasted if you were kind enough to help me to eat
it," and he pulled out his parcel, which was twice as big as any of the
others.

He opened the parcel and handed the larger part of its contents to the
Philosopher; he then plunged a tin vessel into one of the milk pails and
set this also by the Philosopher, and, instantly, they all began to eat
with furious appetite.

When the meal was finished the Philosopher filled his tobacco pipe and
the bearded man and his three sons did likewise.

"Sir," said the bearded man, "I would be glad to know why you are
travelling abroad so early in the morning, for, at this hour, no one
stirs but the sun and the birds and the folk who, like ourselves, follow
the cattle?"

"I will tell you that gladly," said the Philosopher, "if you will tell
me your name."

"My name," said the bearded man, "is Mac Cul."

"Last night," said the Philosopher, "when I came from the h