"I don't want to waste any more time listening to nonsense," said the gray-headed crow. She flew to the a.s.s's back and plucked out some of the felt. "I'll take this for my own habitation," she said, and flew back to the cliff.

The a.s.s would have kicked up his heels only two of his legs were fastened with the straw rope. He turned away, and without a word of farewell to the seal went scrambling up the bank of the island.

The seal stayed for a while moving his head about intelligently. Then he slipped into the water and paddled off. "One feels their lives in music," he said; "great tones vibrate round the island where men live.

It is very wonderful."

"That," said the King's Son, "is the first story in 'The Breastplate of Instruction,'--'The a.s.s and the Seal.' And now you must tell me a story while we are crossing the field of blue flowers."

"Then it will be a very little story," said Fedelma. They crossed a little field of blue flowers, and Fedelma told

The Sending of the Crystal Egg

XI

The Kings of Murias heard that King Atlas had to bear The world upon his back, so they sent him then and there The Crystal Egg that would be the Swan of Endless Tales That his burthen for a while might lie on his shoulder-scales Fair-balanced while he heard the Tales the Swan poured forth--North-world Tales for the while he watched the Star of the North; And East-world Tales he would hear in the morning swart and cool, When the Lions Nimrod had spared came up from the drinking pool; West-world Tales for the King when he turned him with the sun; Then whispers of magic Tales from Africa, his own.

But the Kings of Murias made the Crane their messenger--The fitful Crane whose thoughts are always frightening her She slipped from Islet to Isle, she sloped from Foreland to Coast; She pa.s.sed through cracks in the mountains and came over trees like a ghost; And then fled back in dismay when she saw on the hollow plains The final battle between the Pigmies and the Cranes.

Where is the Crystal Egg that was sent King Atlas then? Hatched it will be one day and the Tales will be told to men: That is if it be not laid in some King's old Treasury: That is if the fitful Crane did not lose it threading the Sea!

They were not long going through the little field of blue flowers, and when they went through it they came to another field of white flowers.

Fedelma asked the King's Son to tell her another story, and thereupon he told her the second story in "The Breastplate of Instruction."

The Story of the Young Cuckoo

XII

The young cuckoo made desperate attempts to get himself through the narrow opening in the hollow tree. He screamed when he failed to get through.

His foster-parents had remained so long beside him that they were wasted and sad while the other birds, their broods reared, were vigorous and joyful. They heard the one that had been reared in their nest, the young cuckoo, scream, but this time they did not fly towards him. The young cuckoo screamed again, but there was something in that scream that reminded the foster-parents of hawks. They flew away. They were miserable in their flight, these birds, for they knew they were committing a treason.

They had built their nest in a hollow tree that had a little opening.

A cuckoo laid her egg on the ground and, carrying it in her beak, had placed it in the nest. Their own young had been pushed out. They had worn themselves to get provision for the terrible and fascinating creature who had remained in their nest.

When the time came for him to make his flight he could not get his body through the little opening. Yesterday he had begun to try. The two foster-parents flew to him again and again with food. But now their own nesting place had become strange to them. They would never go near it again. The young cuckoo was forsaken.

A woodp.e.c.k.e.r ran round the tree. He looked into the hollow and saw the big bird crumpled up.

"h.e.l.lo," said the woodp.e.c.k.e.r. "How did you get here?"

"Born here," said the young cuckoo sulkily.

"Oh, were you?" said the woodp.e.c.k.e.r and he ran round the tree again.

When he came back to the opening the young cuckoo was standing up with his mouth open.

"Feed me," said he.

"I've to rush round frightfully to get something for myself," said the woodp.e.c.k.e.r.

"At least, someone ought to bring me food," said the young cuckoo.

"How is that?" said the woodp.e.c.k.e.r.

"Well, oughtn't they to?" said the young cuckoo.

"I wouldn't say so," said the woodp.e.c.k.e.r, "you have the use of your wits, haven't you?" He ran round the trunk of the tree again and devoured a lean grub. The young cuckoo struggled at the opening and screamed again.

"Don't be drawing too much attention to yourself," advised the woodp.e.c.k.e.r when he came to the opening again. "They might take you for a young hawk, you know."

"Who might?" said the cuckoo. "The neighbors. They would pull a young hawk to pieces."

"What am I to do?" said the young cuckoo.

"What's in your nature to do?"

"My nature?" said the young cuckoo. "It's my nature to swing myself on branches high up in a tree. It's my nature to spread out my wings and fly over pleasant places. It is my nature to be alone. But not alone as here. Alone with the sound of my own voice." Suddenly he cried, "Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!"

"I know you now," said the woodp.e.c.k.e.r. "There's going to be a storm," he said; "trust a woodp.e.c.k.e.r to know that."

The young cuckoo strove towards the big sky again, and he screamed so viciously that a rat that had just come out of the ditch fastened his eyes on him. That creature looked bad to the young cuckoo. Rain plopped on the leaves. Thunder crashed. A bolt struck the tree, and the part above the opening was torn away.

The young cuckoo flung himself out on the gra.s.s and went awkwardly amongst the blue bells. "What a world," said he. "All this wet and fire and noise to get me out of the nest. What a world!" The young cuckoo was free, and these were the first words he said when he went into the world.

That was the last story the King's Son told from Maravaun's book, "The Breastplate of Instruction." They had another little field of blue flowers to cross, and as they went across it Fedelma told the King's Son

THE STORY OF THE CLOUD-WOMAN

XIII

The Cloud-woman, Mor, was the daughter Of Griann, the Sun,--well, and she Made a marriage to equal that grandeur, For her Goodman was Lir, the Sea.

The Cloud-woman Mor, she had seven Strong sons, and the story-books say Their inches grew in the night-time, And grew over again in the day.

The Cloud-woman Mor,--as they grew in Their bone, she grew in her pride, Till her haughtiness turned away, men say, Her goodman Lir from her side;

Then she lived in Mor's Home and she watched With pride her sons and her crop, Till one day the wish in her grew To view from the mountain-top All, all that she owned, so she Traveled without any stop.

And what did she see? A thousand

Fields and her own fields small, small!