The horse started from the door, and at every leap he crossed seven hills and valleys, seven castles with villages, acres, roods, and odd perches. He could overtake the whirlwind before him seven hundred times before the whirlwind behind him could overtake him once. Early in the afternoon of the next day he was in the Eastern World. When he dismounted, Lawn Dyarrig cut the sod from under the foot of the slim white steed, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and Terrible Valley was down under him there. What he did next was to tighten the reins on the neck of the steed and let him go home.
“Now,” said Lawn Dyarrig to his brothers, “which would you rather be doing—making a basket or twisting gads (withes)?”
“We would rather be making a basket; our help is among ourselves,” answered they.
Ur and Arthur went at the basket and Lawn Dyarrig at twisting the gads. When Lawn Dyarrig came to the opening with the gads all twisted and made into one, they hadn’t the ribs of the basket in the ground yet.
“Oh, then, haven’t ye anything done but that?”
“Stop your mouth,” said Ur, “or we’ll make a mortar of your head on the next stone.”
“To be kind to one another is the best for us,” said Lawn Dyarrig. “I’ll make the basket.”
hile they’d be putting one rod in the basket he had the basket finished.
“Oh, brother,” said they, “you are a quick workman.”