“What caused your vexation?” asked the mother. “Why do you ask such a question at this time?”
Faolan told her the words of the player. At last she said, “Your father is Fin MacCool, Chief of the Fenians of Erin; but you are not to be sent to him till you can draw his sword from the tree-stump into which he drove it with one blow.”
“Show me the sword and the tree-stump,” said Faolan.
She took him then to the stump. With one pull, he drew out the sword.
“Prepare me food for the road,” said Faolan. “I will go to my father.”
The mother made ready three loaves of bread, kneaded them with the milk which she had saved, and baked them.
“My son,” said she, “do not refuse bread on the journey to any one whom you meet; give it from these loaves, even should you meet your worst enemy.”
She took down a sword then, gave it to him, and said, “This was your grandfather’s sword; keep it, and use it till a better one comes to you.”
Faolan took a blessing of his mother, set out on his journey, and was walking always, till he came to a harbor where he found a ship bound for Erin. He went on board, and was not sailing long, when a venomous hound rose up in the sea, and cast such high waves at the vessel as to throw it back a long distance.