Irish Fairy Tales | Page 4

terror; but he had no fear of
Time. Indeed he was the foster-brother of Time, and so disdainful of
the bitter god that he did not even disdain him; he leaped over the
scythe, he dodged under it, and the sole occasions on which Time
laughs is when he chances on Tuan, the son of Cairill, the son of
Muredac Red-neck.


CHAPTER II
Now Finnian could not abide that any person should resist both the

Gospel and himself, and he proceeded to force the stronghold by
peaceful but powerful methods. He fasted on the gentleman, and he did
so to such purpose that he was admitted to the house; for to an
hospitable heart the idea that a stranger may expire on your doorstep
from sheer famine cannot be tolerated. The gentleman, however, did
not give in without a struggle: he thought that when Finnian had grown
sufficiently hungry he would lift the siege and take himself off to some
place where he might get food. But he did not know Finnian. The great
abbot sat down on a spot just beyond the door, and composed himself
to all that might follow from his action. He bent his gaze on the ground
between his feet, and entered into a meditation from which he would
Only be released by admission or death.
The first day passed quietly.
Often the gentleman would send a servitor to spy if that deserter of the
gods was still before his door, and each time the servant replied that he
was still there.
"He will be gone in the morning," said the hopeful master.
On the morrow the state of siege continued, and through that day the
servants were sent many times to observe through spy-holes.
"Go," he would say, "and find out if the worshipper of new gods has
taken himself away."
But the servants returned each time with the same information.
"The new druid is still there," they said.
All through that day no one could leave the stronghold. And the
enforced seclusion wrought on the minds of the servants, while the
cessation of all work banded them together in small groups that
whispered and discussed and disputed. Then these groups would
disperse to peep through the spy-hole at the patient, immobile figure
seated before the door, wrapped in a meditation that was timeless and
unconcerned. They took fright at the spectacle, and once or twice a

woman screamed hysterically, and was bundled away with a
companion's hand clapped on her mouth, so that the ear of their master
should not be affronted.
"He has his own troubles," they said. "It is a combat of the gods that is
taking place."
So much for the women; but the men also were uneasy. They prowled
up and down, tramping from the spy-hole to the kitchen, and from the
kitchen to the turreted roof. And from the roof they would look down
on the motionless figure below, and speculate on many things,
including the staunchness of man, the qualities of their master, and
even the possibility that the new gods might be as powerful as the old.
From these peepings and discussions they would return languid and
discouraged.
"If," said one irritable guard, "if we buzzed a spear at the persistent
stranger, or if one slung at him with a jagged pebble!"
"What!" his master demanded wrathfully, "is a spear to be thrown at an
unarmed stranger? And from this house!" And he soundly cuffed that
indelicate servant.
"Be at peace all of you," he said, "for hunger has a whip, and he will
drive the stranger away in the night."
The household retired to wretched beds; but for the master of the house
there was no sleep. He marched his halls all night, going often to the
spy-hole to see if that shadow was still sitting in the shade, and pacing
thence, tormented, preoccupied, refusing even the nose of his favourite
dog as it pressed lovingly into his closed palm.
On the morrow he gave in.
The great door was swung wide, and two of his servants carried Finnian
into the house, for the saint could no longer walk or stand upright by
reason of the hunger and exposure to which he had submitted. But his
frame was tough as the unconquerable spirit that dwelt within it, and in

no long time he was ready for whatever might come of dispute or
anathema.
Being quite re-established he undertook the conversion of the master of
the house, and the siege he laid against that notable intelligence was
long spoken of among those who are interested in such things.
He had beaten the disease of Mugain; he had beaten his own pupil the
great Colm Cille; he beat Tuan also, and just as the latter's door had
opened