“No,” said Granua, “I’m down in the valley, picking bilberries”
“If I were you, Fin,” said Oonagh, “I’d not be saying much about courage. The best thing for you is to do as I tell you, and trust me to get you out of this scrape as I’ve pulled you through many before.”
So Fin said no word more, but sat down on the hill and pitched cliffs into the valley to steady his quaking limbs.
Oonagh went about her plans. First she worked a charm by drawing nine threads of nine different colors. For this she always did when she wanted to know how to succeed in anything important. Next she braided them in three braids of three colors each. One she put around her right arm; one around her right ankle; and one around her heart, for then she knew that she could not fail in anything she tried to do.
“Now, Fin,” said she, “will you kindly go to the neighbors’ for me and borrow one-and-twenty iron griddles, the largest and strongest you can get?”
Fin was glad enough of something to do, and hardly were the words from her mouth when off he was, down the hill and over the valley.
Oonagh went into the house and began kneading a great mountain of dough. Into two-and-twenty parts she divided it, each a great round cake the size of a mill-wheel. Scarcely was she done when back came Fin again, clattering and clanking loud enough to be heard ten miles beyond Cullamore. Seven griddles he had in one hand, seven in the other, and seven strung about him in a noisy necklace.