"Who are they?" said Fionn.
"What are they?" Conán gasped.
And they stared again.
For there was a great hole like a doorway in the side of the mound, and in that doorway the daughters of Conaran sat spinning. They had three crooked sticks of holly set up before the cave, and they were reeling yarn off these. But it was enchantment they were weaving.
"One could not call them handsome," said Conán.
"One could," Fionn replied," but it would not be true."
"I cannot see them properly," Fionn complained. "They are hiding behind the holly."
"I would be contented if I could not see them at all," his companion grumbled.
But the Chief insisted.
"I want to make sure that it is whiskers they are wearing."
"Let them wear whiskers or not wear them," Conán counselled. "But let us have nothing to do with them."
"One must not be frightened of anything," Fionn stated.
"I am not frightened," Conán explained. "I only want to keep my good opinion of women, and if the three yonder are women, then I feel sure I shall begin to dislike females from this minute out."
"Come on, my love," said Fionn, "for I must find out if these whiskers are true."
He strode resolutely into the cave. He pushed the branches of holly aside and marched up to Conaran's daughters, with Conán behind him.
