to his liege lady, and kissed her hand kneeling as he asked:

"What would the Countess Cathleen with her steward? Shall I render my
account of lands and wealth?"

Demands to Know what Wealth she Owns

"How much have I in lands?" the Countess asked. And Fergus answered in
surprise: "Your lands are worth one hundred thousand pounds."

"Of what value is the timber in my forests?" "As much again."

"What is the worth of my castles and my fair residences?" continued
the Countess Cathleen. And Fergus still replied: "As much more,"
though in his heart he questioned why his lady wished to know now,
while the famine made all riches seem valueless.

"How much gold still unspent lies in thy charge in my
treasure-chests?"

"Lady, your stored gold is three hundred thousand pounds, as much as
all your lands and forests and houses are worth."

The Countess Cathleen thought for an instant, and then, as one who
makes a momentous decision, spoke firmly, though her lips quivered as
she gave utterance to her thought:

"Go Far and Buy Food"

"Then, Fergus, take my bags of coin and go. Leave here my jewels and
some gold, for I may hear of some stores of grain hoarded by niggard
farmers, and may induce them to sell, if not for the love of God, then
for the love of gold. Take, too, authority from me, written and sealed
with my seal, to sell all my lands and timber, and castles, except
this one alone where I must dwell. Send a man, trustworthy and speedy,
to the North, to Ulster, where I hear the famine is less terrible, and
let him buy what cattle he can find, and drive them back as soon as
may be."

"Keeping this house alone, sell all I have;
Go to some distant country, and come again
With many herds of cows and ships of grain."

The Steward Reluctantly Obeys

The ancient steward, Fergus the White, stood at first speechless with
horror and grief, but after a moment of silence his sorrow found vent
in words, and he besought his dear lady not to sell everything, her
ancient home, her father's lands, her treasured heirlooms, and leave
herself no wealth for happier times. All his persuasions were useless,
for Cathleen would not be moved; she bade him "Farewell" and hastened
his journey, saying, "A cry is in mine ears; I cannot rest." So there
was no help for it. A trusty man was despatched to Ulster to buy up
all the cattle (weak and famine-stricken as they would be) in the
North Country; while Fergus himself jo