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white sea-mist lay like a woolly fleece over Dublin and had drifted inland as far as Gleann-na-smol—the Glen of the Thrushes—and Fionn, glancing outside the door of his hunting-cabin, thought regretfully of the plan he had formed overnight for a deer-hunt, and how little prospect there seemed of its fulfilment this morning, when objects only a few yards distant were completely hidden by the mist. Still, he remembered many a good day that had begun with a misty morning, and calling Oisin, he told him to waken the rest of the huntingparty and leash the hounds, he himself taking his two favourite hounds, Bran and Sgeolan.

They climbed the hill above the glen, stumbling over the rough, narrow paths made

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