Cornelius Doyle is an elder of the small wiry type, with a hardskinned, rather worried face, clean shaven except for sandy whiskers blanching into a lustreless pale yellow and quite white at the roots.  His dress is that of a country-town titan of business:  that is, an oldish shooting suit, and elastic sided boots quite unconnected with shooting.  Feeling shy with Broadbent, he is hasty, which is his way of trying to appear genial.

Broadbent, for reasons which will appear later, has no luggage except a field glass and a guide book.  The other two have left theirs to the unfortunate Patsy Farrell, who struggles up the hill after them, loaded with a sack of potatoes, a hamper, a fat goose, a colossal salmon, and several paper parcels.

Cornelius leads the way up the hill, with Broadbent at his heels.  The priest follows; and Patsy lags laboriously behind.

Cornelius.  This is a bit of a climb, Mr. Broadbent; but it’s shorter than goin round be the road.

Broadbent [stopping to examine the great stone].  Just a moment, Mr Doyle:  I want to look at this stone.  It must be Finian’s die-cast.

Cornelius [in blank bewilderment].  Hwat?

Broadbent.  Murray describes it.  One of your great national heroes—­I can’t pronounce the name—­Finian Somebody, I think.

Father Dempsey [also perplexed, and rather scandalized].  Is it Fin McCool you mean?

Broadbent.  I daresay it is. [Referring to the guide book].  Murray says that a huge stone, probably of Druidic origin, is still pointed out as the die cast by Fin in his celebrated match with the devil.

Cornelius [dubiously].  Jeuce a word I ever heard of it!

Father Dempsey [very seriously indeed, and even a little severely].  Don’t believe any such nonsense, sir.  There never was any such thing.  When people talk to you about Fin McCool and the like, take no notice of them.  It’s all idle stories and superstition.

Broadbent [somewhat indignantly; for to be rebuked by an Irish priest for superstition is more than he can stand].  You don’t suppose I believe it, do you?

Father Dempsey.  Oh, I thought you did.  D’ye see the top o the Roun Tower there?  That’s an antiquity worth lookin at.

Broadbent [deeply interested].  Have you any theory as to what the Round Towers were for?

Father Dempsey [a little offended].  A theory?  Me! [Theories are connected in his mind with the late Professor Tyndall, and with scientific scepticism generally:  also perhaps with the view that the Round Towers are phallic symbols].

Cornelius [remonstrating].  Father Dempsey is the priest of the parish, Mr Broadbent.  What would he be doing with a theory?

Father Dempsey [with gentle emphasis].  I have a knowledge of what the Roun Towers were, if that’s what you mean.  They are the forefingers of the early Church, pointing us all to God.