“I do not know. But do you see the three birds that are picking out of my pot? For two score years the swallow was coming to my house and building outside. Then he came and built inside. Then for three score years he was coming into my house to build here. Now he never goes across the sea at all, and do you see the corncrake? For five score years she was coming to the meadow outside. Then she began to run into the house to see what was happening here. For two score years she was running in and out. Then she stayed here altogether. Now she never goes across the sea at all. And do you see the cuckoo there? For seven score years she used to come to a tree that was outside and sing over her notes. Then when the tree was gone, she used to light on the roof of my house. Then she used to come in to see herself in a looking glass. I do not know how many score years the cuckoo was going and coming, but I know it is many score years since she went across the sea.”
“I went from Laheen the Eagle to Blackfoot the Elk, and from the Elk of Ben Gulban to the Crow of Achill, and from the Crow of Achill, I come to you to ask if you have knowledge of the Unique Tale.”
“The Unique Tale, indeed,” said the Old Woman of Beare. “One came to me only last night to tell me the Unique Tale. He is the young man who is counting the horns.”
“What young man is he and what horns is he counting?”
“He is no King’s Son, but a gilly—Gilly of the Goat-skin he is called. He is counting the horns that are in two pits outside. When the horns are counted I will know the number of my half-years.”
“How is that, old mother?”
“My father used to kill an ox every year on my birthday, and after my father’s death, my servants, one after the other, used to kill an ox for me. The horns of the oxen were put into two pits, one on the right-hand side of the house and one on the left-hand side. If one knew the number of the horns one would know the number of, my half-years, for every pair of horns goes to make a year of my life. Gilly of the Goatskin is counting the horns for me now, and when he finishes counting them I will let him tell the Unique Tale.”
“But you must let me listen to the tale too, Old Woman of Beare.”
“If you count the horns in one pit I will let you listen to the tale.”
“Then I will count the horns in one pit.”