But Oonagh, who always had her wits about her, soon saw that something was troubling her good man. For it was nothing but into the house and out again, across the hill and back, looking and peering, looking and peering for something he didn’t seem altogether wishful to see.
Oonagh watched him for a while. Then, “Is there some one you’re expecting, Fin?” said she.
Now, Fin knew very well that Oonagh would have it out of him sooner or later. So he lost no time. “It’s that Cucullin,” roared he, “that earthquaker, that thunderbolt-flattener! He’ll be coming here to beat me; he’ll be coming here to treat me as—”
A pause came on Fin. Not a word more did he say; but into his mouth went his great thumb. It was a rare quality Fin’s thumb had that when he stuck it between his teeth it could tell him of the future.
“Thundering pancakes!” howled Fin. “He’s coming now! He’s down below Dungannon. My thumb tells me.”
“Well,” said Oonagh, keeping on with some knitting she had, “what if he is?”
“What if he is!” echoed Fin. “What if he is! So you’d sit there, would you, and never raise your eyes to see your good man made pulp before you! Cucullin’s coming, I tell you, that can knock a thunderbolt flat as a pancake; and I can’t be running away.”
“Well, well,” said Oonagh, “we might be stopping him a bit.” So she got up and turned toward Cullamore.
Now, Cullamore was where her sister Granua lived,—a hill, four miles across the valley, the twin of Knockmany. Many a pleasant chat Oonagh and Granua had together of summer evenings, one sitting outside her door on Knockmany, the other on Cullamore. For Granua was as ready-witted as Oonagh herself, and something of a fairy as well.
“Granua,” called Oonagh, “are you at home?”