"And it is my grief," he said, "that ever I came to Ireland, for now I am as a tree blasted and distorted by lightning; henceforth I shall be the mock and scorn of people wherever I go."
"I think, Gael, it will be better for you to board your ship and cease lamenting over the trouble you have brought on yourself," the Carle said, taking Cael by the arm, and beginning to lead him to the shore. Then he turned round to Fionn, and continued: "Let neither you nor your men come with me, Fionn: I will return in a little while."
He walked over the hill-top and down the winding path to the shore with Cael, and wading into deep water placed Cael on the deck. Then a little wind blew from the land, the vessel began to move and the sails filled out, gleaming like dim silver in the gathering twilight. The Carle watched it until it disappeared in the darkness, then he sighed a little, as one sighs over the foolishness or ignorance of others—and sometimes over one's own—and turned away from the shore.
During the Carle's absence the Fians made
