“Or did you find the staff of Amergin or of Ossian in a bog and it written from the top to the bottom with signs?” said the second man.
“No,” said the Philosopher, “it isn’t that way you’d go visiting a god. What you do is, you go out from your house and walk straight away in any direction with your shadow behind you so long as it is towards a mountain, for the gods will not stay in a valley or a level plain, but only in high places; and then, if the god wants you to see him, you will go to his rath as direct as if you knew where it was, for he will be leading you with an airy thread reaching from his own place to wherever you are, and if he doesn’t want to see you, you will never find out where he is, not if you were to walk for a year or twenty years.”
“How do you know he wants to see you?” said the second man.
“Why wouldn’t he want?” said the Philosopher.
“Maybe, Mister Honey,” said the woman, “you are a holy sort of a man that a god would like well.”
“Why would I be that?” said the Philosopher. “The gods like a man whether he’s holy or not if he’s only decent.”
“Ah, well, there’s plenty of that sort,” said the first man. “What do you happen to have in your bag, stranger?”
“Nothing,” replied the Philosopher, “but a cake and a half that was baked for my journey.”
“Give me a bit of your cake, Mister Honey,” said the woman. “I like to have a taste of everybody’s cake.”
“I will, and welcome,” said the Philosopher.