"Tell the first story yourself," said Cormac.
"Seven pigs I have of the same kind as the one I brought, and I could feed the world with them. For if a pig is killed I have but to put its bones into the stye again, and it will be found alive the next morning."
The story was true, and a quarter of the pig was cooked.
Then Cormac begged the woman of the house to tell a story.
"I have seven white cows, and they fill seven cauldrons with milk every day, and I give my word that they yield as much milk as would satisfy the men of the whole world if they were out on yonder plain drinking it."
That story was true, and a second quarter of the pig was cooked.
Cormac was bidden now to tell a story for his quarter, and he told how he was upon a search for his wife, his son and his daughter that had been borne away from him a year before by a youth with a fairy branch.
"If what thou sayest be true," said the man of the house, "thou art indeed Cormac, son of Art, son of Conn of the Hundred Battles."
"Truly I am," quoth Cormac.
That story was true, and a quarter of the pig was cooked.