The prince said in a whisper: "Now the thirst's coming on them; the salt that was in the beef is working them; now they'll come out." And before the word had left his mouth, the third one fell, with a plop, into the water; and a moment after that, another one jumped down, and then another, until he counted five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.
"There's a dozen of them now," said the prince; "that's the clutch; the old mother didn't come yet."
The poor sick man was getting up again, but the prince called to him: "Stay as you are; the mother didn't come up."
He remained as he was, but no other one came out, though he stayed there more than a quarter of an hour. The prince himself was getting uneasy for fear the old alt-pluachra might not stir at all. The poor man was so tired and so weak that he wished to get up; and, in spite of all the prince told him, he was trying to stand on his feet, when the prince caught him by one leg, and the boccuch by the other, and they held him down in spite of him.
They remained another quarter of an hour without speaking a word, or making a sound, and at the end of that time the poor man felt something stirring again in his side, but seven times worse than before; and it's scarcely he could keep himself from screeching. That thing kept moving for a good while, and he thought the side was being torn out of himself with it. Then it began coming up, and it reached the mouth, and went back again. At last it came up so far that the poor man put the two fingers to his mouth and thought to catch
