for it was limitless, but to the
limit of his ability.

"Why do you live on the bank of a river?" was one of these questions.
"Because a poem is a revelation, and it is by the brink of running water
that poetry is revealed to the mind."

"How long have you been here?" was the next query. "Seven years," the
poet answered.

"It is a long time," said wondering Fionn.

"I would wait twice as long for a poem," said the inveterate bard.

"Have you caught good poems?" Fionn asked him.

"The poems I am fit for," said the mild master. "No person can get more
than that, for a man's readiness is his limit."

"Would you have got as good poems by the Shannon or the Suir or by sweet
Ana Life'?"

"They are good rivers," was the answer. "They all belong to good gods."

"But why did you choose this river out of all the rivers?"

Finegas beamed on his pupil.

"I would tell you anything," said he, "and I will tell you that."

Fionn sat at the kindly man's feet, his hands absent among tall grasses,
and listening with all his ears. "A prophecy was made to me," Finegas
began. "A man of knowledge foretold that I should catch the Salmon of
Knowledge in the Boyne Water."

"And then?" said Fionn eagerly.

"Then I would have All Knowledge."

"And after that?" the boy insisted.

"What should there be after that?" the poet retorted.

"I mean, what would you do with All Knowledge?"

"A weighty question," said Finegas smilingly. "I could answer it if I
had All Knowledge, but not until then. What would you do, my dear?"

"I would make a poem," Fionn cried.

"I think too," said the poet, "that that is what would be done."

In return for instruction Fionn had taken over the service of his
master's hut, and as he went about the household duties, drawing the
water, lighting the fire, and carrying rushes for the floor and the
beds, he thought over all the poet had taught him, and his mind dwelt on
the rules of metre, the cunningness of words, and the need for a clean,
brave mind. But in his thousand thoughts he yet remembered the Salmon of
Knowledge as eagerly as his master did. He already venerated Finegas
for his great learning, his poetic skill, for an hundred reasons; but,
looking on him as the ordained eater of the Salmon of Knowledge, he
venerated him to the edge of measure. Indeed, he loved as well as
venerated this master because of his unfailing kindness, his patience,
his readiness to teach, and his skill in teaching.