"A young seraph, named Cuchulain, chancing to pass that way shortly afterwards, saw the threepenny-piece peeping brightly from the rocks, and he picked it up.
"He looked at it in astonishment. He turned it over and over, this way and that way. Examined it at the stretch of his arm, and peered minutely at it from two inches distance.
"'I have never in my life seen anything so beautifully wrought,' said he, and, having stowed it in his pouch along with some other trinkets, he strolled homewards again through the massy gates.
"It was not long until Brien discovered his loss, and suddenly, through the black region, his voice went mounting and brawling.
"'I have been robbed,' he yelled. 'I have been robbed in heaven!'
"Having begun to yell he did not stop. Sometimes he was simply angry and made a noise. Sometimes he became sarcastic and would send his query swirling upwards.
"'Who stole the threepenny-bit?' he roared. He addressed the surrounding black space:
"'Who stole the last threepenny-bit of a poor man?'
"Again and again his voice pealed upwards. The pains of his habitation lost all their sting for him. His mind had nourishment, and the heat within him vanquished the fumes without. He had a grievance, a righteous cause, he was buoyed and strengthened, nothing could silence him. They tried ingenious devices, all kinds of complicated things, but he paid no heed, and the tormentors were in despair.
"'I hate these sinners from the kingdom of Kerry,' said the Chief Tormentor, and he sat moodily down on his own circular saw; and that worried him also, for he was clad only in a loin-cloth.