Ah, glory be, my old legs are getting tireder every day, so they are. Wisha, one time—when himself was in it—I could go about the house all day long, cleaning the place, and feeding the pigs, and the hens and all, and then dance half the night, so I could: and himself proud of me....” The old woman turned up a little rambling road and went on still talking to herself, and the Philosopher watched her go up that road for a long time. He was very glad she had gone away, and as he tramped forward he banished her sad image so that in a little time he was happy again. The sun was still shining, the birds were flying on every side, and the wide hillside above him smiled gaily. A small, narrow road cut at right angles into his path, and as he approached this he heard the bustle and movement of a host, the trample of feet, the rolling and creaking of wheels, and the long unwearied drone of voices. In a few minutes he came abreast of this small road, and saw an ass and cart piled with pots and pans, and walking beside this there were two men and a woman. The men and the woman were talking together loudly, even fiercely, and the ass was drawing his cart along the road without requiring assistance or direction. While there was a road he walked on it: when he might come to a cross road he would turn to the right: when a man said “whoh” he would stop: when he said “hike” he would go backwards, and when he said “yep” he would go on again. That was life, and if one questioned it, one was hit with a stick, or a boot, or a lump of rock: if one continued walking nothing happened, and that was happiness. The Philosopher saluted this cavalcade. “God be with you,” said he. “God and Mary be with you,” said the first man. “God, and Mary, and Patrick be with you,” said the second man. “God, and Mary, and Patrick, and Brigid be with you,” said the woman. The ass, however, did not say a thing. As the word “whoh” had not entered into the conversation he knew it was none of his business, and so he turned to the right on the new path and continued his journey. “Where are you going to, stranger,” said the first man. “I am going to visit Angus Óg,” replied the Philosopher. The man gave him a quick look. “Well,” said he, “that’s the queerest story I ever heard. Listen here,” he called to the others, “this man is looking for Angus Óg.” The other man and woman came closer. “What would you be wanting with Angus Óg, Mister Honey?” said the woman. “Oh,” replied the Philosopher, “it’s a particular thing, a family matter.” There was silence for a few minutes, and they all stepped onwards behind the ass and cart. “How do you know where to look for himself?” said the first man again: “maybe you got the place where he lives written down in an old book or on a carved stone?” “Or did you find the staff of Amergin or of Ossian in a bog and it written from the top to the bottom with signs?” said the second man.