Page:Irish Fairy Tales (Stephens).djvu/381

CHAP. XVIII He took little slow steps, and he did not loosen his knees when he walked, so he went stiffly. One of his feet turned pitifully outwards, and the other turned lamentably in. His chest was pulled inwards, and his head was stuck outwards and hung down in the place where his chest should have been, and his arms were crooked in front of him with the hands turned wrongly, so that one palm was shown to the east of the world and the other one was turned to the west.

"How goes it, mac an Dáv?" said the king.

"Bad," said mac an Dáv.

"Is that the sun I see shining, my friend?" the king asked.

"It may be the sun," replied mac an Dáv, peering curiously at the golden radiance that dozed about them, "but maybe it's a yellow fog."

"What is life at all?" said the king.

"It is a weariness and a tiredness," said mac an Dáv. "It is a long yawn without sleepiness. It is a bee, lost at midnight and buzzing on a pane. It is the noise made by a tied-up dog. It is nothing worth dreaming about. It is nothing at all."

"How well you explain my feelings about Duv Laca," said the king.

"I was thinking about my own lamb," said mac an Dáv. "I was thinking about my own treasure, my cup of cheeriness, and the pulse of my heart." And with that he burst into tears.

"Alas!" said the king.

"But," sobbed mac an Dáv, "what right have I to complain? I am only the servant, and although I didn't make any bargain with the King of Leinster or with any king of them all, yet my wife is gone away as if she was the consort of a potentate the same as Duv Laca is."