There was a widow woman had her little dwelling convenient to where M'Gauran was building his castle. Gold she had none, nor evenly a coin was of silver, one cow only was her riches on the earth. (And surely them that had heart to molest her like would be robbing the dead of the raiment is with them in the grave.) Herself was more nor horrid lonesome the day she seen the creature driven from her by a man of the chiefs, he having a lengthy knife in his hand.
At the fall of night a traveller came to the poor woman's cabin door. He was a bent, aged man with a sorrowful countenance on him, and the garments did cover him were rags. She invited him within, giving him the kindly welcome, and she set out what food was in the place for his refreshment.
"It is destroyed I am with a parching drouth is splitting my gullet," says he, "and I walking the mountainy ways since the screech of dawn. The sun was splitting the bushes at the noon of day, and the fury of it was eating into my skin. But no person took compassion on me at all."
With that the widow set a mug of milk before him, and it the last drop was in the countryside. He drank it down, middling speedy, and he held out the cup to be filled again.
"'Tis a heart scald surely," says herself, "that I be to refuse the request of a man is weary walking the territory of Ireland, since the rising sun brought light on his path. There is a king in these parts, stranger, and he has the cattle destroyed on the poor of the world, the way he will have a lasting mortar to his house."
"Isn't yourself after giving me the loveliest mug of sweet milk?" says he, like one was doubtful of the honesty of her words.
"The last drop was in this townland, stranger, and it is heart glad I am that it refreshed you. I had but the one cow only, the grandest milker in the land, and she was driven from me this day--up yonder to the masons are working with their shovels dripping red."
"I am thinking it is four strong walls in the pit of Hell are building for that chieftain's soul. Maybe it's red hot they'll be, and he imprisoned within them for a thousand years and more," says the traveller.
"Let there be what masonry there will in the next world, the wealth of the people cements his castle there beyond. For the cow and the milk and the butter are the gold of the dwellers on the land," says the widow. "But let you be resting a while in this place: what haste is on you to depart?" For she seen he was rising to be gone.