it
hungered, you were true to the promise you had made to me, and did not
suffer yourself to be turned aside by vain shows. You were skilled to
perceive that the boy who tempted you to leave the temple was a teller
of false tales, and took with a grateful heart what the poor had to
offer you. Last of all, difficulties gave you courage, instead of
lending you despair.

And now, as to your reward, you shall in truth take your sister home
with you, and your brothers I will restore to life; but idle and
unfaithful as they are their lot is to wander for ever. And so farewell,
and may wisdom be with you.'

'First tell me your name?' asked Covan softly.

'I am the Spirit of Age,' said the old man.

The Princess Bella-Flor

[Taken from a Celtic Story. Translated by Doctor Macleod Clarke.]

Once upon a time there lived a man who had two sons. When they grew up
the elder went to seek his fortune in a far country, and for many years
no one heard anything about him. Meanwhile the younger son stayed at
home with his father, who died at last in a good old age, leaving great
riches behind him.

For some time the son who stayed at home spent his father's wealth
freely, believing that he alone remained to enjoy it. But, one day, as
he was coming down stairs, he was surprised to see a stranger enter the
hall, looking about as if the house belonged to him.

'Have you forgotten me?' asked the man.

'I can't forget a person I have never known,' was the rude answer.

'I am your brother,' replied the stranger, 'and I have returned home
without the money I hoped to have made. And, what is worse, they tell me
in the village that my father is dead. I would have counted my lost gold
as nothing if I could have seen him once more.'

'He died six months ago,' said the rich brother, 'and he left you, as
your portion, the old wooden chest that stands in the loft. You had
better go there and look for it; I have no more time to waste.' And he
went his way.

So the wanderer turned his steps to the loft, which was at the top of
the storehouse, and there he found the wooden chest, so old that it
looked as if it were dropping to pieces.

'What use is this old thing to me?' he said to himself. 'Oh, well, it
will serve to light a fire at which I can warm myself; so things might
be worse after all.'

Placing the chest on his back, the man, whose name was Jose, set out for
his inn, and, borrowing a hatchet, began to chop up the box. In