Then he heard the cheerful voices of the boys as they brake from
the royal palace and ran down the wide smooth lawn to the hurling-
ground. His heart yearned for their companionship, yet he feared
greatly, and his mind misgave him as to the manner in which they
would receive him. He longed to go to them and say, "I am little
Setanta, and my uncle is the king, and I would be your friend and
playfellow." Hope and love and fear confused his mind. Yet it came
to him that he was urged forwards, by whom he knew not.
Reluctantly, with many pausings, he drew nigh to the players and
stood solitary on the edge of the lawn southwards, for the company
that held that barrier were the weaker. He hoped that some one
would call to him and welcome him, but none called or welcomed.
Silently the child wept, and the front of his mantle was steeped
in his tears. Some looked at him, but with looks of cold surprise,
as though they said, "Who is this stranger boy and what doth he
here? Would that he took himself away out of this and went
elsewhere." The boy thought that he would be welcomed and made
much of because he was a king's son and nephew of the high King of
Ulla, and on account of his skill in hurling, and because he
himself longed so exceedingly for companions and comrades, and
because there were within him such fountains of affection and
loving kindness.
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