ugly or pretty, I'm with them, and against
the Pagans. But now to see what all this is
about, although it's myself that is hardly
able to put one foot before the other. Oh!
murder! murder! but I feel as lazy as the
tinker who laid down his budget to sneeze."

So saying, the saint hobbled as well as he
could round the hill, so as that, without being
himself observed, he might learn from his
own eye-sight what was passing.

The saint had not far to travel. There
still, as the day he looked upon them, are the
two hills facing each other, and the ford of
Lehon, where is now the bridge, right
between them. On the top of those two hills
were two high castles; and, from these castles,
soldiers were discharging great big stones,
and whole flights of arrows at one another.

"I had much rather be looking on at such
play as that, than taking part in it," said
Columbanus.

The saint stopped to see the two factions
—the MacLaws and the Pagans—fighting, in
the hope that one or the other would at last
get tired, and that whoever won would give
him his dinner.

For a full hour he looked on the warriors
on both sides, and then, all of a sudden, he
saw on one hill, where there was a green flag
flying, that it was pulled down, and a white
banner took its place. At the same moment
the blood-red flag that was on the enemy's
hill was changed for a white streamer, and
then there was an end to stone-throwing and
arrow-shooting.

"Are they going to make peace with one
another? " said Columbanus. " I hope so,
for then I would be sure of a dinner. But I
must now have something to eat, no matter
who gives it to me. The green flag, I suppose,
belongs to the MacLaws, and  the red
flag to the Pagans. In war time, all good
generals say, you should quarter on the
enemy—and as I regard the Pagans as
enemies, I'll try them first, to see what is to be
got out of them. Besides, they are nearer to me
where I am now standing than the MacLaws."

With these words Columbanus limped
down the hill of Dinan, and then he clambered
up the hill to the giant's castle. As
he found a big trumpet lying on the ground
outside the gate of the fortification, he took
up the instrument, and played Patrick's
Day upon it, to let the Pagans inside know
that there was one outside wishing to speak
with them.

When the saint had done playing, there
appeared on the top of the wall a young man
with black hair, and a beard of the fieryest,
foxyest red that ever yet was seen.

"Holloa! you fellow, trumpeting down
there," said the young man with the terrible
bristling red beard, " what are you making
all that noise for? disturbing honest people,
just as they are sitting down to their dinner."

"Are you the master of this place? " said
Columbanus.

"No," said the red-bearded man. " There
are six masters in this house: they are the
six giants of Lehon: and, as they don't speak
your language, they bid me tell you to cut
your stick in less than no time, or it will be
worse for you."

"How do you know, you red-muzzled
ignoramus," said the saint, "that I don't
speak their language, not all as one as yours?
I can speak every language—that is, every
language to which there is a grammar."

"Well," said the red-bearded man, " there
is no grammar to their language, for they
speak nothing but gibberish; and in gibberish
they bid me tell you to be off with
yourself, and then to ask you what it is
you want to say to them."

"All I want to say to them is, that I want
a good breakfast, for I have eaten nothing
today, as yet; then I want a substantial
dinner; then a nice supper; and then the best
bed in the house; for I am a saint that has
travelled all the way from Ireland to France;
and my name—a better name than ever you
had—is Columb, sometimes called for
shortness, Columbanus."

"There is no breakfast, no dinner, no supper,
and no bed to be got here by wanderers
without swords," answered the red-bearded
man. "The six giants of Lehon hate saints,
and they detest Irishmen. And now, all I
can tell you is—if you stay there two minutes
longer, something will happen to you that
will put an end to your travels for ever and
a day."

"Well—I'm off; but, before I go, I will
ask you for one thing," said Columbanus.

"What is it?" asked the red-bearded
man.

"That you will favour me with your name.
I should like to remember you in my
prayers."

"I don't care for your prayers," answered
the red-bearded man; " but as to my name,
you can have it, and welcome, for I am not
ashamed of it. I am the Count Canao, and
the son of Howell, King of Armorica. But,
again, I say, be off with yourself, for the six
giants of Lehon are waiting dinner for
me."

"The back of my hand and the sole of my
foot to you, Mister Canao, son of King
Howell," said Columbanus, as he trudged
down the hill, crossed the ford, and climbed,
as well as he could, that frightful steep hill
there, on which some Frenchman has lately
built the greatest gazebo of a distracted-
looking house to be seen in the whole
country.

CHAPTER THE THIRD.

Outside the gate of the castle in which
lived the MacLaws, there was, of course, a
bugle, and the saint took it up and played, in
a manner that would wheedle the birds off
the bushes,—that fine old air, to which the
appropriate words in Irish are: