“Go outside then and count them.”
The King of Ireland’s Son went outside. He found on the right-hand side of the house a deep quarry-pit. Round the edge of it were horns of all kinds, black horns and white horns, straight horns and crooked horns. And below in the pit he saw a young man digging for horns that were sunk in the ground. He had on a jacket made of the skin of a goat.
“Who are you?” said the young man in the quarry-pit. “I am the King of Ireland’s Son. And who may you be?”
“Who I am I don’t know,” said the young man in the goatskin, “but they call me Gilly of the Goatskin. What have you come here for?”
“To get knowledge of the Unique Tale.”
“And it was to tell the same Unique Tale that I came here myself. Why do you want to know the Unique Tale?”
“That would make a long story. Why do you want to tell it?”
“That would make a longer story. There is a quarry-pit at the left-hand side of the house filled with horns and it must be your task to count them.”
“I will count them,” said the King of Ireland’s Son. “But you will be finished before me. Do not tell the Old Woman of Beare the Tale until we both sit down together.”
“If that suits you it will suit me,” said Gilly of the Goatskin, and he began to dig again.