Mac an Dáv turned to him.
"Is it a pain in your stomach, master?"
"It is not," said Mongan.
"Well, what made you make that brutal and belching noise?"
"It was a sigh I gave," said Mongan.
"Whatever it was," said mac an Dáv, "what was it?"
"Look down the road on this side and tell me who is coming," said his master.
"It is a lord with his troop."
"It is the King of Leinster," said Mongan.
"The man," said mac an Dáv in a tone of great pity, "the man that took away your wife! And," he roared in a voice of extraordinary savagery, "the man that took away my wife into the bargain, and she not in the bargain."
"Hush," said Mongan, for a man who heard his shout stopped to tie a sandal, or to listen.
"Master," said mac an Dáv as the troop drew abreast and moved past.
"What is it, my good friend?"
"Let me throw a little, small piece of a rock at the King of Leinster."
"I will not."
"A little bit only, a small bit about twice the size of my head."
"I will not let you," said Mongan.
When the king had gone by mac an Dáv groaned a deep and dejected groan.
"Ocón!" said he. "Ocón-ío-go-deó!" said he.
The man who had tied his sandal said then:
"Are you in pain, honest man?"
"I am not in pain," said mac an Dáv.
