cheerful sound of voices and music—as was usual at the feast of Samhain—there was silence; and deep gloom rested over all, from the high king to the serving-men. Suddenly the graven bronze doors of the dun opened, and a boy, taller than the tallest warrior there, entered the hall. His mantle of skins was white with the falling snow, which glittered on his fair hair and flecked his face with water. His blue eyes gazed serenely around him for a moment, then with confident step he walked up the hall, through the host of warriors seated there, and stood at a short distance from the king's table.
Conn looked at him, wondering who this youth, with the form of a hero, and the face of a young untried boy, could be. Then he called the boy nearer, and questioned him:
"I do not think I have seen you before," said Conn. "Who are you, and have you entered my service?"
"I am Fionn mac Cumall," answered the boy, "son of that great chief of the Clan Basna who met his death fighting the Clan
