covered carefully over so that a little company could dwell there
together. This was done.

Deirdre and her foster-mother dwelt in the bothy mid the hills
without the knowledge or the suspicion of any living person about
them and without anything occurring, until Deirdre was sixteen years
of age. Deirdre grew like the white sapling, straight and trim as
the rash on the moss. She was the creature of fairest form, of
loveliest aspect, and of gentlest nature that existed between earth
and heaven in all Ireland--whatever colour of hue she had before,
there was nobody that looked into her face but she would blush fiery
red over it.

The woman that had charge of her, gave Deirdre every information and
skill of which she herself had knowledge and skill. There was not a
blade of grass growing from root, nor a bird singing in the wood,
nor a star shining from heaven but Deirdre had a name for it. But
one thing, she did not wish her to have either part or parley with
any single living man of the rest of the world. But on a gloomy
winter night, with black, scowling clouds, a hunter of game was
wearily travelling the hills, and what happened but that he missed
the trail of the hunt, and lost his course and companions. A
drowsiness came upon the man as he wearily wandered over the hills,
and he lay down by the side of the beautiful green knoll in which
Deirdre lived, and he slept. The man was faint from hunger and
wandering, and benumbed with cold, and a deep sleep fell upon him.
When he lay down beside the green hill where Deirdre was, a troubled
dream came to the man, and he thought that he enjoyed the warmth of
a fairy broch, the fairies being inside playing music. The hunter
shouted out in his dream, if there was any one in the broch, to let