The rain-drops encumber The hawthorn’s crest: My thoughts have no number: You would not slumber If laid at my breast, Little sister, I’ll rock you to rest. She passed the night between sleeping and waking, and when the light grew she saw the white grouse crouching against the window-opening. She opened the door and stepped outside to let the grouse fly from her hands. And there, on the ground before her was a sword! Sheen knew it to be the sword of the man she had seen yesterday, and she knew the man had been before the door in the night-time. She knelt on the ground to look at the bright blue blade. O my listeners, if I was there I was in the crows that flew down heavily and cawed as they picked up something that pleased them, in the wood-cushats that cooed in the trees, in the small birds that quarreled in the thatch of the house, and in the breeze that blew round--the first breeze of the day. The Spae-Woman came outside and saw what Sheen was looking at--the sword on the ground. “It is wrought with cunning that only the smiths of Kings possess,” she said. She took the sword and hung it on the branch of a tree so that the dews of the ground might not rust it. “I think the one who owns it is the stranger who is seen in the wild places hereabouts--the man whom the neighbors call the Hunter-King,” she said to Sheen. On another day Sheen went to gather bog-down. This time she crossed the river by the stepping-stones and went into a country where there were many cattle. She stood wondering at their numbers and wishing that such a cow and such a calf might belong to the Spae-Woman. Then the next thing she saw was two black horses striving with each other. They showed their teeth at each other and bit and kicked. Then they came racing towards her. “Oh,” said Sheen to herself, “they are Breogan’s wild stallions.” She ran, but the horses were able to make circles round her. “Breogan’s wild stallions,” said she, “they will rush in and trample me to death.” Then she heard someone shouting commands to the horses. She saw a man strike one of the stallions with a staff, making him rear high. She saw him make the other stand with the command that was in his voice. She ran to the river, but she slipped on the stepping-stones; she fell down and she felt the water flowing upon her. The man came and lifting her up carried her to her own side of the river. Across the bog he carried her, and when she looked at him she saw the lean face and eyes blue like gentian-flowers--she saw the face of the man who was called the Hunter-King. He left her on the ground when they passed the bog, and she went on her way without speaking.