And with that she handed him the one loaf that had no griddle in it. And Fin, grasping it in both hands, ate it down greedily.
Cucullin stared and stared. He forgot his lost teeth entirely, for wonder that such a youngster could devour bread he himself could not even bite. “If the son that’s yet in the cradle can eat bread like that,” thought he, “what must the father be? It’s perhaps as well for me after all that Fin’s at the Causeway.”
“I’d like,” said he to Oonagh, “to have a glimpse of that lad in the cradle. A boy that can manage that bread must be something to look at, too.”
“Indeed you may see him,” said Oonagh. “Get up, darling, and show this good man something that’ll be worthy of your father, Fin M’Coul.”
At that Fin, who was cramped and aching from lying so long bent double, gave a leap, and bounced out, nearly bursting his cradle. Up to Cucullin he went, and seizing him by the hand, started out the door.
“Are you strong?” bellowed he. “Are you as strong as my daddy?”
“Thundering pancakes!” exclaimed Cucullin. “What a voice for a little chap!”
Fin picked up a big white stone. “Are you strong enough,” said he, “to squeeze water out of this?”