warriors, who were called Fenians. He had a son, Oisin, who was a
great warrior, too, and besides that a poet and a minstrel. Some of
his poems are left to us yet. One day the Fenians were hunting, when
they met a beautiful girl riding on a white horse. She called to
Oisin, and he went apart from the others to speak with her.
"She told him that she was the Princess of Tir-na-n-Oge, and that she
had come to take him there, where she was to be married to him.
'Tir-na-n-Oge' means 'Land of the Young,' and they say that nobody
ever grows old there. The Princess was as beautiful as moonlight, and
her voice was as sweet as the wind blowing on a harp, and Oisin was in
love with her and eager to go before she had done speaking.
"He went back to his father and his companions and bade them farewell.
It was with tears that Finn said good-by to Oisin, for I think he knew
that he should never see him again. But Oisin did not know. Then Oisin
mounted the white horse and set the Princess in front of him, and the
horse galloped away toward the west. In a little while they came to
the sea, and the horse kept straight on, galloping over the water as
if it had been a smooth road. Then some say that the water rose around
them and covered them and that they were in a beautiful place under
the sea. I am not sure of that. Lands there are under the sea, they
say, and no doubt there are, but I am not so sure that the real
Tir-na-n-Oge is there.
"For others say that the tops of blue hills rose before them, and
changed to green as they came nearer, and then Oisin saw that soft
grass sloped down to the very water here and there, and in other
places there were tall cliffs, and trailing vines hung down from the
tops of them, covered with bright flowers, and they swung to and fro
in the light breeze. Beyond there were more hills, covered with rich
woods. Little veils of mist hid them partly and made them more
beautiful, and streams poured down from high places and looked like
thin, silky tassels hung upon the hills, and they waved in the air,
like the waving vines, and some of them seemed never to reach the
ground at all, but to blow away into fine silver spray and to mix with
the mists of the hills. And golden sunlight poured down over it all,
and there was a warm shimmer in the air that made it all look like
something seen in a dream. And this was Tir-na-n-Oge.
"The horse came to the shore and galloped over soft turf till it
seemed to Oisin that they were in the very middle of the island, and
there they came to a palace, and Oisin thought that it was more
beautiful than anything else that he had seen. It may be that the
palace was built of marble, but to Oisin it seemed like blocks of pure
snow. It was so long that one might well mount his horse to go the
length of it, instead of walking. It had gilded domes that looked
like suns, with the light shining on them, and the whole palace was
dazzling to look at. All around it were gardens, with trees and plants
in full bloom, of all the colors of the rainbow, and colors that are
not in the rainbow, and other trees with only deep green leaves, and
pathways among them which led down into cool, shady hollows, with
clear brooks running through them between banks of soft, dark-green
moss, sinking their quiet little song.
"Oisin got down off his horse and then lifted the Princess down, and
they went into the palace. There the Princess's father, the King of
Tir-na-n-Oge, made Oisin welcome and led both of them to the banquet
hall, where a great feast was spread in honor of the Princess and the
new Prince. And Oisin thought that if the palace was beautiful
outside, it was much more beautiful inside, and as for the table that
was before him, he could not think of any of the best things in the
world to eat and to drink that were not on it.
"The next day the Princess was married to Oisin. For a long time Oisin
and the Princess lived in the palace and Oisin thought that he never
could be more happy than he was now. The old warriors cared much for
what they ate and drank, and Oisin ate and drank better things than he
had ever tasted before. He walked with the Princess down through the
shady ways among the trees and across the brooks and up the hill-sides
among the flowers. They sat together in the garden or in the palace
and she sang to him and told him wonderful tales of heroes and of
princesses of olden times. Sometimes they rode hunting together, and
everywhere they found game, the finest that Oisin had ever seen.
"But at last Oisin began to feel that he cared less for all these
things than he had done at first. The grass and the flowers and the
woods did not seem so fair to him as they had seemed; the sunshine was
not such pure gold; he wished that the silver streams would not blow
away in spray and mix with the mists; he wanted to see them come down
yellow with the earth of the mountains and plunge into caverns with
great rushing and roaring; he felt that the warm air was taking his
strength from him; he no longer liked the rich feasts that were spread
before him every day; he longed to follow the deer through the woods,
with his old friends, to kill it and to cook it and eat it in the
woods, and then to sleep there, under the trees and the stars; these
trees and these gardens were beautiful, it was true, but they were too
beautiful; a hard way through a rough forest would have pleased him
better now; he did not love the Princess less, but he longed to see
his father and his men again; her singing was no less sweet to him
than it had ever been before, but he wished that he could be again
where the Fenians, after a hard day's hunt or a hard day's fight, sat
about the fire in their stronghold, and listened to one of
them--perhaps himself, for he was the best singer of them all--while
he sang songs of great heroes and of great fights.
"And one day, when the Princess had been singing to him, he took her
harp from her and sang a song of one of his father's battles, a battle
which he had seen himself, where Diarmuid had slain hundreds, and
Orcur had slain hundreds, and Erin had been kept from her enemies.
Then he said to the Princess: 'Do not think that I am ungrateful for
all the happiness that I have had here, but I am longing to see Erin
again and to see my father and his men. It is not so beautiful a land
as this, but it is my own land, and I am longing to see it. The air
here is sweet and the sunshine is warm, but I should like to breathe
the mists and to feel the chill again, if I could only see Erin once
more!"
Mrs. O'Brien stopped a moment, with the way that she had of seeming to
look at things far off. Kathleen said nothing when she paused in this
way, and in a minute the old woman went on:
"'You would not be so happy in Erin as you think,' the Princess
answered him. 'This is the best place for you to stay, and it would
break my heart for you to go.'
"So Oisin said no more then, but the great longing grew upon him, and
every day the delights of Tir-na-n-Oge pleased him less. And at last
he spoke of it again, and asked the Princess to let him go for a
little while. 'You would find Erin changed,' she said, 'and the
Fenians are all gone. How long have you been here with me?'
"'I cannot tell you to a day,' Oisin answered, 'but I know that it is
weeks since I saw my country and my people.'
"'You have been here,' said the Princess, 'for three hundred years.'
"Oisin could not understand it, but he thought that if he could live
so long and not know that the time had passed, the Fenians, too, might
be living still, and he begged again to be allowed to go. At last the
Princess saw that he would never be happy unless he went, so she
brought him the same white horse that had brought them both to
Tir-na-n-Oge. 'The horse,' she said, 'will take you to Erin. But you
must sit upon his back and never loose his bridle or get down upon the
ground. If you touch the ground of Erin you will be at once a weak,
old man, you can never come back to Tir-na-n-Oge, you will never see
me, and I shall never see you again. Will you promise me, if I will
let you go, that you will not get off the horse's back or let go his
bridle?'
"Oisin promised and she let him go. Away over the water the horse
galloped again. Tir-na-n-Oge, with its warm sun and its sweet air, was
left behind. A damp sea-wind came up, and it blew the salt spray
harshly into Oisin's face as the horse dashed along. It was a joy to
him. No more of the soft comforts of that weary island. This was
something for a man to face. Yet he did not forget the Princess, and
he meant to go back to her when he had seen his land and his people
once more. Then the clouds and the fog drifted away and the sun shone
out, but still the salt spray covered him, and he felt stronger as he
made his way against it and felt the great, free breeze from the east.
And now he saw something like a little cloud on the horizon, and it
rose higher and grew wider, and then its misty brown faded away and he
saw the beautiful green shores of Erin."
The old woman paused again and said over softly to herself: "The
beautiful--beautiful green shores of Erin."
"The horse and the rider soon reached the land now. Oisin rode first
to the spot where he had first met the Princess of Tir-na-n-Oge and
where he had last seen his father and his companions. He did not think
to find them there, but he felt that it was the first place to which
he should go. The forest had been cleared away a little, and a strange
building stood there. It was a small house, built of stone, and there
was a cross on the top of it. Inside he heard a sound of singing. He
rode to the door and looked in. There were people kneeling before a
man who stood in a higher place than the rest and held up a golden
cup.
"This was something that Oisin did not understand, and he rode away,
remembering what the Princess had told him, that he would find Ireland
changed. He wondered if he had been wise to come at all. But he went
on, and now he rode fast, in this direction and in that, to try to
find the Fenians. Sometimes he asked people whom he met if they could
tell him of his father. Some of them shook their heads and said that
they knew no such person as Finn McCool. Others laughed at him. One or
two old men told him that the Fenians had all died long ago and that
the man of greatest power in Ireland now was Patrick. It was hard for
him to believe. He would have thought himself in a dream, but a dream
seems right and true while it lasts, and this seemed all wrong and
false. Yet, when he found a place that he knew and looked for some
familiar stronghold of the Fenians, he found only a low mound of
earth, grown all over with grass, or perhaps with weeds and bushes.
And everywhere he saw these houses of stone, with crosses on their
tops.
"Then it came into his mind to find this Patrick of whom he heard so
much, and to see what sort of man was now the greatest in Ireland.
This was an easier matter than searching for the Fenians. Everyone
knew where the holy Patrick was, and soon Oisin came near the place
and found that the saint was building another of the stone houses. As
Oisin came near he saw some men trying to lift a heavy stone upon a
car, to take it to the new building. It almost made him laugh to see
how small and weak the men were. He knew well that he could put the
stone on the car alone. It was no larger than the stones that the
Fenians used to throw for sport.
"He came near and leaned down from his saddle to lift the stone for
the men. He took hold of it and began to raise it, but with the weight
the girth of his saddle broke, the saddle slipped around on the horse,
Oisin fell, and the horse ran away. Oisin lay there on the ground of
Erin, which the Princess had forbidden him to touch, an old man, weak,
helpless, blind, hollow-cheeked, wrinkled, white-haired.
"The men took him up and carried him to St. Patrick, who welcomed him
kindly and kept him for a while in his own house. Many times the saint
talked with him and tried to make him a Christian, but Oisin could
think of nothing but the grand days of the Fenians. When St. Patrick
talked with him he would begin to tell of these, and he would make the
poems about them that have been kept till now and give us what we know
of Finn McCool and his heroes. And these poems Patrick would have
written down. And always Oisin was mourning for the brave old days of
Finn McCool or for the days of Tir-na-n-Oge, which seemed to him now
still farther off.
"Old as he was now, with the heavy weight of more than three hundred
years upon him, blind and weak, there was one thing in which Oisin
felt himself a better man that St. Patrick or any of his band. St.
Patrick and all those who were with him fasted much, and when they ate
it was frugally, of bread and the herbs of the field, and but little
meat. But this was not enough for Oisin. He remembered how he and his
fellow-huntsmen used to follow the deer and kill it, and dress it, and
cook it on the moor in the fresh, cool evening, and feast till it was
time to sleep, and then wake and follow the deer again. And so the
food which was given to him in St. Patrick's house seemed poor and
scanty to him.
"He said this to the cook and others in the house, and they made sport
of him, because so old a man as he should wish to eat so much. Then he
told them tales of the days of his father, how great and strong the
men of Erin were then, how much more fertile the land was, and of the
great beasts and the great trees and plants and vines that it brought
forth. In those days, he said, the leg of a lark was as large as a leg
of mutton now, a berry of the wild ash was as large as a sheep, and an
ivy leaf as broad as a shield.
"They all laughed at him the more when he said these things, and they
did not believe a word of it all. 'Alas!' he said, 'how can I show you
that what I say is true? The dear heroes whom I knew are all gone. I
am left alone to mourn for them, among men who do not even believe how
great they were. Everything that I have found is changed, but there
may be something that is not changed. Will one of you go with me in a
war chariot and drive where I shall tell him, and let me see if I can
find anything as I knew it once?'
"Then one of them said that he would go with him. The next morning
they set out. Oisin told the man where to drive, till they came to a
place where Oisin said: 'Look around you and tell me what you can see
on the plain.'
"'I see a stone pillar,' the man answered.
"'Drive the chariot to it,' said Oisin, 'and dig at the foot of the
pillar, on the south side of it.'
"The man did as Oisin told him, and when he had dug for a while Oisin
asked him if he had found anything. 'There is something long and hard
here,' said the man, 'like a wooden pole.'
"'Dig it out,' said Oisin.
"The man dug more. 'I have it out now,' he said; 'it is like a great
spear, for it has a huge head of rusty iron. I can scarcely lift it.'
"'It is a spear such as the Fenians used,' said Oisin. 'Dig still
deeper.'
"The man dug again. 'Do you find anything more?' said Oisin.
"'I have found a great horn,' the man answered, 'many times as large
as any horn that I ever saw.'
"'It is the great war-horn of my father, Finn McCool,' said Oisin.
'Dig deeper.'
"The man dug again and said, 'I have found a lump of bog butter.'
"'Now blow the horn,' said Oisin.
"The man was scarcely able to blow the horn, but he did blow it, and
it gave forth a harsh, terrible note, which sounded over the plain
and was echoed back from the woods and the rocks with a hoarse,
dreadful sound.
"'Look about you,' said Oisin, 'and tell me what you see.'
"'Oh, I see,' said the man, 'a great flock of birds coming toward us,
and every one of them is many times as large as the largest eagle that
I have ever seen. I fear that we cannot escape them and that they will
kill us. The dog is nearly dead with terror and he is trying to break
his chain.'
"'Give him a piece of the bog butter,' said Oisin, 'and let him go.
Then tell me what he does.'
"'He is running straight toward the birds,' the man answered, 'and
they are coming straight toward him and toward us, along the ground.
Ah! he has caught one of them, and all the rest have flown away! He
has killed the bird! He is rushing back to us, with madness in his
eyes and his mouth covered with blood and foam! I fear that he will be
worse for us than the birds would have been.'
"'Hold the spear straight in front of you as he comes,' said Oisin,
'and let him run upon the point of it and kill him.'
[Illustration: "HOLD THE SPEAR STRAIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU."]
"The man held the spear as Oisin told him, and when the dog came on he
was caught upon the point of it, and it went through his heart and
he fell dead.
"Then the man went and cut off one of the legs of the bird which had
been killed, and they took it with them and started back. As they went
they passed a mountain ash which had berries of enormous size, and the
man put one of them into the chariot. Then the man saw huge ivy
leaves, and he took one of them too. So they went back to St.
Patrick's house and showed all the men there what they had brought.
The leg of the bird and the berry and the ivy leaf were even larger
than Oisin had said. And after that they all believed the stories that
Oisin told them, and all of them agreed that a man who had lived in
the days when there were such trees and such beasts and such men in
Erin should be his own judge as to how much he needed to eat. And so
after that all of St. Patrick's men treated him as well as did St.
Patrick himself.
"But Oisin died only a little while after that, the last of the great
heroes of Erin. He had lived for more than three hundred years, and it
seemed to him no more than the life of a young man."
[Illustration: ]
X
THE IRON CRUCIFIX
Kathleen had not been at home long, of course, before Peter and Ellen
came to see her, and Terence came with them. It seemed to Kathleen
that she had never seen him look as he did then. She had never seen
him look so evil or so crafty or so sad. She felt afraid of him,
because he looked so evil and so crafty, and she felt sorry for him,
because he looked so sad. She sat in the corner of the room that was
farthest from him, and it was also the farthest from all the others,
as they were all sitting near together. Then, when all the others were
busy talking among themselves, Terence suddenly came and sat close to
her, and between her and the others, so that she could not get away
from him.
"What did you do all the year that you was inside the hill?" he said.
"I don't know," Kathleen answered; "it seemed only a day to me, and I
can't remember and I can't think what it was that I did to fill all
that time."
"And how did you like the fairies?" said Terence.
"The Good People? They were very kind to me and I liked them very
much, but I wouldn't have let them keep me--I wouldn't have stayed--so
long, if I had known."
"You wouldn't have let them? You wouldn't have stayed? And what would
you have done?"
"I don't know," said Kathleen.
"And who was there besides the fairies?" Terence asked.
"Why, there was--oh, I don't want to talk to you about it, and I don't
think you ought to make me."
"You don't need," said Terence. "I know who was there. I know who he
is and what he is, and I know the kind of talk that he talked to you.
He made love to you. I know that well enough. That's what he would do.
But do you mind the promise that your father made to my father the day
after we was born? I want you should remember that promise."
"It was no promise at all," Kathleen said, "and I won't let you talk
to me that way, and I don't see that it matters to you what he--what
anybody said to me anywhere, and I won't tell you any more."
"Ah!" said Terence; "he did make love to you. And you think you can
talk any way you like to me and you won't let me talk any way I like
to you. Do you know that his staying in that hill with the fairies
depends on me? Do you know that--"
Terence turned to see if anybody else was listening and saw Mrs.
O'Brien looking straight at him. He stopped short in what he was
saying, and then, speaking lower, he went on: "Don't dare to tell
anybody what I was saying to you; you don't know what I can do, but I
might show you if I took the notion."
For the rest of the time that he stayed Terence said not a word, but
he sat and stared at Kathleen. And now she thought that there was
something more terrible in his look than there had been before. It
seemed to have a kind of spell about it. Kathleen had a feeling that
she could not move while he looked at her, although when she tried it
she found that she could.
The most natural thing in the world for Kathleen to do would have been
to tell her grandmother about this and about all that Terence had said
to her, but, whether it was because of the way that Terence had looked
at her or for some other reason, she did not tell her. Sometimes
after that, when she and Terence met, he reminded her again of what he
called the promise, but oftener he said nothing, or next to nothing,
and only looked at her in that same way, and then she felt as if she
could do nothing of herself, and that if he told her to do anything,
she would have to do it.
Kathleen did not forget the promise which she had made to the other
Terence in the hill, that she would come back. She had said that she
would come back to-morrow if she could. But when to-morrow came, so
many people who had heard that she was at home again came to see her,
that she was not left alone for a moment. It was several days before
she could get away from the house to go where she pleased alone. Then
she went straight to the little pool in the Park.
If you live in New York, perhaps you would like to know just where
this pool was--and still is. Well, then--go to the northwest corner of
Central Park and go in by the little gate at the right of the
carriage-drive. Then you will have to go down a flight of steps. Keep
to the right, along the west side of the Park, and you will have to go
only a few steps till you come to the pool, which is a little way up
the bank, on the left, with the rocks behind it and the trees around
it, as I have described it to you before. Then go back to the path and
keep on the way that you were going, till you have gone up two short
flights of steps. Then, only a few feet farther on, you will see, on
the left, the little, shell-shaped, grassy slope where Kathleen danced
with the Good People. Seeing these places will prove to you that this
whole story is true.
Kathleen went straight to the pool, as I said, never thinking but
that, when she got there, she could walk into the hill as easily as
she had done before. But there was no opening at all in the rocks.
They were just as they had always looked before she went through them
with the Good People. Then she tried to step on the water, and instead
of stepping on it she stepped into it and wet her foot. She almost
concluded that everything had been a dream after all. She felt
frightened about it, and she hurried home to look at the little box of
green ointment. If she found it where she had left it, it would prove
that she had really been inside the hill and that it was not a dream.
She ran to her room to look for it, and there it was just as she had
left it. It was not a dream.
But how was she to keep her promise to Terence?--the Hill Terence, she
called him now, when she thought of him, so as not to confuse him with
Terence Sullivan. She went to the pool again and again and tried to
find the door in the rocks open and the water so that she could walk
on it, but she never found them so. Yet she could not think of any
other way to get into the hill again. After a while it seemed so
hopeless that she gave up going to the pool so often.
Then one day a thought came to her which made it all seem so simple
that she was quite surprised at herself for not thinking of it before.
Terence had told her that he came out every day to go to school. He
had said that the next year he was to go to the School of Engineering
at the University. It was when she first came into the hill that he
told her that, and so it was next year now. Now the University was not
very far away, up on the hill, beyond the north end of the Park. She
did not know whether there was any other way to get into the hill than
this way through the rocks behind the pool, but if anybody were at the
University and wanted to get into the hill, this would surely be the
nearest way. Then she felt sure that if she went to the pool at the
right time of the day she should meet Terence when he came out or when
he went in.