“Dubthach Mac na Lugair,” he said, “the service ye say I’ve the honor of renderin’ ye was no more than would be the duty of any man who knew the law. Ye owe me nothin’. But ’tis in me mind that ye could give me a bit of advice on a private matter, an’ let it go no further?” [Illustration] “On me honor as a royal shanachy,” said Dubthach. “Good frind, name your trouble.” “Dubthach,” said Keth, with his hand beside his mouth an’ his mouth to the poet’s ear, “Dubthach, I’ve a great weight on me mind an’ me heart. The heft of it is draggin’ me down in the dirt. Night an’ day I’m sorrowin’ an’ grievin’ the heart out of me. ’Tis turnin’ me hair an’ loosenin’ me teeth. It turns me food bitter in me mouth an’ the best metheglin sour in me throat. I can nayther slape nor stay awake. Unless I find relafe, in another day the wits will be clane gone out of me. “Iverything I’ve tried, an’ no use at all at all. Sure I’ve been atin’ the cresses an’ drinkin’ the crazy people’s water of Tobernagalt an’ Stroove Bran, but divil the bit of forgetfulness of me trouble did it bring me. Wan more day, good Dubthach, an’ I’ll be a foolish, ravin’ loon with all this sore grafe an’ worry”— [Illustration] “Hold, me frind, ’tis enough,” broke in Dubthach. “An’ ye’ve struck the right road at last. By nightfall ye’ll rache the nixt valley. ’Tis called Glanngalt, mind ye (manin’ in the Gaelic the glen of the galts, or loonatics), an’ at the bottom of the same ye’ll come to the grotto of Wurra-Wurra, our blissed God of Peaceful Souls. Ye’ve only to make the three prostrations an’ whisper your troubles into the blissed ear of Wurra-Wurra an’ they’ll all fall from ye, lavin’ ye clane an’ paceful an’ in your right mind.” At these words Keth fell on his knees an’ kissed the hand of Dubthach that was not busy with the geese an’ the pig, showin’ the joy an’ gratitude he sacretly felt for bein’ put on the right track to come up with an’ bash the face of this haythin idol Wurra-Wurra. Then he rose an’ said: “Wan thing more, good Dubthach. Will ye find me a guide down Glanngalt to the grotto of Wurra-Wurra?” “Ye’ll find a hundred of your own choice,” said Dubthach. “Ye’ve only to enter the valley an’ goin’ down on wan side ye’ll see a string of wild-eyed, sorrowin’ loonatics like yersilf—which ye’ve but to join—an’ comin’ up on the other side ye’ll see another string dancin’ an’ singin’ with joy because of the worries they lift in the grotto behind thim. Stick to the loonatics goin’ down, an’ on the word of Dubthach ye’ll come back dancin’ an’ singin’ with the happy wans.” [Illustration: _Dubthach, the Royal Shanachy, driving home the price of his poems_]