“’Tis true I have no Bishop’s staff,” said he, “nor do I nade wan. I have me handstone. I have me handstone, the same that did for Macc Cairthinn, mind ye, Finola. An’ ’tis in me mind that the handstone that spilled the brains of the King’s strong man is enough to bash the countenance of a haythin idol.” And he took the stone out of his shield to gaze on its fine shape and feel the weight of it. “’Twas a smaller wan,” he said, “a mere stone from the brook with no virtue whativer, that David sunk into the forehead of Goliath.” “Is it the same,” whispered Finola with awe in her eyes, “that gave ye the triumph over Macc Cairthinn?” [Illustration: _Keth, Patrick’s Strong Man, describing to Finola the virtues of his handstone_] [Illustration] “’Tis a better wan,” spoke up Keth Mac Maragh proudly. “’Tis of fresh-slaked lime mixed with those same brains of the King’s strong man that I spilled with the old wan—mixed with Macc Cairthinn’s own brains an’ dried in the sun till it has the hardness of flint an’ the toughness of oak. Besides—mark this, Finola—’tis a true handstone with all the virtues of me own Red Branch Knighthood. An’ who can throw it fairer or swifter than Keth Mac Maragh?” At these words Finola turned strangely pale. Prisently she threw her arms about the neck of Keth an’ besought him not to journey off into that wild West country. [Illustration] “Keth, darlin’,” said she, “’tis the country of the Badb an’ all the Dedannan furies, where the terrible Banshees are only the least of the bad fairies. They will have your body an’ your soul.” An’ then she whispered: [Illustration] “Stay with Finola. She nades ye, an’—an’ soon she’ll nade ye sore!” Now Keth was touched with the tears of Finola, but he was an obstinate man an’ his mind was made up to have it for his own great triumph and credit with Patrick, the castin’ down of Wurra-Wurra. ’Twas true also that he had become a trifle weary of the white arms of Finola forever draggin’ about his neck. So he threw them off gintly, lavin’ her there on the ground half dead with grievin’, an’ wint straight to Patrick for lave to go on a journey on business of his own. [Illustration] The good Patrick, bein’ easy in his mind an’ cheerful now that Cromm Cruach was done for, gave Keth his lave an’ a blissin’; an’ lest Finola’s arms should drag at his neck again, he did not delay, but took his shield an’ his handstone an’ was off on his long legs for the West country. [Illustration] Indade, ’twas well he did not loiter, for the old wizard Lochru had already got wind of his interprise an’ was brewin’ his most divilish spells against him. Caplait was in the same business. ’Twas a close call for Keth Mac Maragh, for between thim these two howlin’ old wizards bossed all the bad fairies an’ demons an’ reptiles in Ireland.