id
this morning."

"I am satisfied with that," said the boy.

The Philosopher then continued:

"When you awakened this morning and went out of the house what was the
first thing you did?"

The boy thought "I went out, then I picked up a stone and threw it into
the field as far as I could."

"What then?" said the Philosopher.

"Then I ran after the stone to see could I catch up on it before it hit
the ground."

"Yes," said the Philosopher.

"I ran so fast that I tumbled over myself into the grass."

"What did you do after that?"

"I lay where I fell and plucked handfuls of the grass with both hands
and threw them on my back."

"Did you get up then?"

"No, I pressed my face into the grass and shouted a lot of times with my
mouth against the ground, and then I sat up and did not move for a long
time."

"Were you thinking?" said the Philosopher.

"No, I was not thinking or doing anything."

"Why did you do all these things?" said the Philosopher.

"For no reason at all," said the boy.

"That," said the Philosopher triumphantly, "is the difference between
age and youth. Boys do things for no reason, and old people do not.
I wonder do we get old because we do things by reason instead of
instinct?"

"I don't know," said the boy, "everything gets old. Have you travelled
very far to-day, sir?"

"I will tell you that if you will tell me your name."

"My name," said the boy, "is MacCushin."

"When I came last night," said the Philosopher, "from the place of Angus
Og in the Caste of the Sleepers I was bidden say to one named MacCushin
that a son would be born to Angus Og and his wife, Caitilin, and that
the sleepers of Erinn had turned in their slumbers."

The boy regarded him steadfastly.

"I know," said he, "why Angus Og sent me that message. He wants me to
make a poem to the people of Erinn, so that when the Sleepers arise they
will meet with friends."

"The Sleepers have arisen," said the Philosopher. "They are about us on
every side. They are walking now, but they have forgotten their names
and the meanings of their names. You are to tell them their names and
their lineage, for I am an old man, and my work is done."

"I will make a poem some day," said the boy, "and every man will shout
when he hears it."

"God be with you, my son," said the Philosopher, and he embraced the boy
and went forward on his journey.

About half an hour's easy travelling brought him to a point from which
he coul