"I was born in this place," said Tibraidè, "my father was born here before me, and my grandfather was born here before him, but until this day and this minute I never saw a river here before, and I never heard of one."
"What will we do at all?" said the clerk. "What will we do at all?"
"We will be sensible," said Tibraidè sternly, "and we will go about our business," said he. "If rivers fall out of the sky what has that to do with you, and if there is a river here, which there is, why, thank God, there is a bridge over it too."
"Would you put a toe on that bridge?" said the clerk.
"What is the bridge for?" said Tibraidè.
Mongan and mac an Dáv followed them.
When they got to the middle of the bridge it broke under them, and they were precipitated into that boiling yellow flood.
Mongan snatched at the book as it fell from Tibraidè's hand.
"Won't you let them drown, master?" asked mac an Dáv.
"No," said Mongan, "I'll send them a mile down the stream, and then they can come to land."
Mongan then took on himself the form of Tibraidè and he turned mac an Dáv into the shape of the clerk.
"My head has gone bald," said the servant in a whisper.
"That is part of it," replied Mongan.
"So long as we know!" said mac an Dáv.
They went on then to meet the King of Leinster.
