says amen, amen, every
time the man in front puts a grunt out of him. And they don't like our
gods at all!" said mac an Da'v.

"They do not," said Mongan.

"Play a trick on them, master," said mac an Da'v. Mongan agreed to play
a trick on the priests.

He looked at them hard for a minute, and then he waved his hand at them.

The two priests stopped, and they stared straight in front of them, and
then they looked at each other, and then they looked at the sky. The
clerk began to bless himself, and then Tibraide' began to bless himself,
and after that they didn't know what to do. For where there had been a
road with hedges on each side and fields stretching beyond them, there
was now no road, no hedge, no field; but there was a great broad river
sweeping across their path; a mighty tumble of yellowy-brown waters,
very swift, very savage; churning and billowing and jockeying among
rough boulders and islands of stone. It was a water of villainous depth
and of detestable wetness; of ugly hurrying and of desolate cavernous
sound. At a little to their right there was a thin uncomely bridge that
waggled across the torrent.

Tibraide' rubbed his eyes, and then he looked again. "Do you see what I
see?" said he to the clerk.

"I don't know what you see," said the clerk, "but what I see I never did
see before, and I wish I did not see it now."

"I was born in this place," said Tibraide', "my father was born here
before me, and my grandfather was born here before him, but until this
day and this minute I never saw a river here before, and I never heard
of one."

"What will we do at all?" said the clerk. "What will we do at all?"

"We will be sensible," said Tibraide' sternly, "and we will go about our
business," said he. "If rivers fall out of the sky what has that to do
with you, and if there is a river here, which there is, why, thank God,
there is a bridge over it too."

"Would you put a toe on that bridge?" said the clerk. "What is the
bridge for?" said Tibraide' Mongan and mac an Da'v followed them.

When they got to the middle of the bridge it broke under them, and they
were precipitated into that boiling yellow flood.

Mongan snatched at the book as it fell from Tibraide''s hand.

"Won't you let them drown, master?" asked mac an Da'v.

"No," said Mongan, "I'll send them a mile down the stream, and then they
can come to land."

Mongan then took on himself the form of Tibraide' and he turned mac an
Da'v into