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of the birds, and paid no heed to the murmur of the brook rushing by his
feet. The crackling of branches near him barely disturbed him, but when
a shadow fell across his eyes he looked up gloomily, and saw, or thought
he saw, someone standing before him. He started up, and who should he see
but the little wizened old man who found shelter in his father's hut on
the stormy night.

"This is a nice place for a battle champion to be. This is a nice place
for _you_ to be on the day which is to decide who will be the successful
suitor of the princess."

"What is it to me," said Fergus, "who is to win her since I cannot?"

"I told you," said the little man, "the night you opened the door for
me, that the time might come when I might be able to do a good turn for
you and yours. The time has come. Take this harp, and my luck go with
you, and in the contest of the bards to-day you'll reap the reward of
the kindness you did when you opened your door to the poor old wayfarer
in the midnight storm."

The little man handed his harp to Fergus and disappeared as swiftly as
the wind that passes through the leaves.

Fergus, concealing the harp under his silken cloak, reached the camp
before his comrades had aroused themselves from sleep.

At length the hour arrived when the great contest was to take place.

The king gave the signal, and as the chief bard of Erin was seen
ascending the mound in front of the royal inclosures he was greeted with
a roar of cheers, but at the first note of his harp silence like that of
night fell on the mighty gathering.

As he moved his fingers softly over the strings every heart was hushed,
filled with a sense of balmy rest. The lark soaring and singing above
his head paused mute and motionless in the still air, and no sound was
heard over the spacious plain save the dreamy music. Then the bard
struck another key, and a gentle sorrow possessed the hearts of his
hearers, and unbidden tears gathered to their eyes. Then, with bolder
hand, he swept his fingers across his lyre, and all hearts were moved
to joy and pleasant laughter, and eyes that had been dimmed by tears
sparkled as brightly as running waters dancing in the sun. When the last
notes had died away a cheer arose, loud as the voice of the storm in the
glen when the live thunder is reveling on the mountain tops. As soon as
the bard had descended the mound the Skald from the northern lands took
his place, greeted by cries of welcome from