The nobles and chiefs could hardly realize that in that single second their boldest champion was overthrown; but when they saw him stretched motionless on the grassy sward, from out their ranks six warriors advanced to where the chieftain lay, and sadly they bore him away upon their battle-shields, and Enda remained victor upon the field.

And then the king’s voice rang out clear as the sound of a trumpet in the still morning:

“Bards and brehons, princes and nobles, and chiefs of Erin, Enda has proved himself a battle champion, and who amongst you now will dare gainsay his right to claim my daughter for his bride?”

And no answer came.

But when he summoned Enda to his throne, and placed the lady’s hand in his, a cheer arose from the great assembly, that proved that jealousy was extinguished in all hearts, and that all believed that Enda was worthy of the winsome bride; and never since that day, although a thousand years have passed, was there in all the world a brighter and gayer wedding than the wedding of Enda and the Princess Mave.

“Crying will only spoil your bright eyes, my little princess,” said Trencoss, “and you will have to marry me whether you like it or no.”

He then bade her go back to her room, and he ordered the dwarfs to give her everything she asked for while he was away, and the harpers to play the sweetest music for her. When the princess gained her room she cried as if her heart would break. The long day passed slowly, and the night came, but brought no sleep to Eileen, and in the grey light of the morning she rose and opened the window, and looked about in every direction to see if there were any chance of escape. But the window was ever so high above the ground, and below were the hungry and ever watchful hounds. With a heavy heart she was about to close the window when she thought she saw the branches of the tree that was nearest to it moving. She looked again, and she saw a little white cat creeping along one of the branches.

“Mew!” cried the cat.

“Poor little pussy,” said the princess. “Come to me, pussy.”

“Stand back from the window,” said the cat, “and I will.”

“Where do you come from, and what is your name?” asked the princess.

“No matter where I come from or what’s my name,” said the cat, “I am a friend of yours, and I come to help you?”

“I never wanted help worse,” said the princess.

“I know that,” said the cat; “and now listen to me. When the giant comes back from battle and asks you to marry him, say to him you will marry him.”

“But I will never marry him,” said the princess.

“Do what I tell you,” said the cat. “When he asks you to marry him, say to him you will if his dwarfs will wind for you three balls from the fairy dew that lies on the bushes on a misty morning as big as these,” said the cat, putting his right forefoot into his ear and taking out three balls––one yellow, one red, and one blue.

“They are very small,” said the princess. “They are not much bigger than peas, and the dwarfs will not be long at their work.”

“When will the giant come back?” asked Eileen.

“He will return to-morrow afternoon,” said the cat.

“Will you stay with me until then?” said the princess. “I am very lonely.”

“I cannot stay,” said the cat. “I have to go away to my palace on the island on which no man ever placed his foot, and where no man but one shall ever come.”

“And where is that island?” asked the princess, “and who is the man?”

“The island is in the far-off seas where vessel never sailed; the man you will see before many days are over; and if all goes well, he will one day slay the giant Trencoss, and free you from his power.”

“Ah!” sighed the princess, “that can never be, for no weapon can wound the hundred hounds that guard the castle, and no sword can kill the giant Trencoss.”

“Shall I ever see you again?” asked the princess.

“Time will tell,” answered the cat, and, without saying so much as good-bye, he jumped through the window on to the tree, and in a second was out of sight.

The morrow afternoon came, and the giant Trencoss returned from battle. Eileen knew of his coming by the furious barking of the hounds, and her heart sank, for she knew that in a few moments she would be summoned to his presence. Indeed, he had hardly entered the castle when he sent for her, and told her to get ready for the wedding. The princess tried to look cheerful, as she answered:

“I will be ready as soon as you wish; but you must first promise me something.”

“Ask anything you like, little princess,” said Trencoss.

“Is that all?” said Trencoss, laughing. “I shall give the dwarfs orders at once, and by this time to-morrow the balls will be wound, and our wedding can take place in the evening.”

“And will you leave me to myself until then?”

“I will,” said Trencoss.

“On your honour as a giant?” said Eileen.

“On my honour as a giant,” replied Trencoss.

The princess returned to her rooms, and the giant summoned all his dwarfs, and he ordered them to go forth in the dawning of the morn and to gather all the fairy dew lying on the bushes, and to wind three balls––one yellow, one red, and one blue. The next morning, and the next, and the next, the dwarfs went out into the fields and searched all the hedgerows, but they could gather only as much fairy dew as would make a thread as long as a wee girl’s eyelash; and so they had to go out morning after morning, and the giant fumed and threatened, but all to no purpose. He was very angry with the princess, and he was vexed with himself that she was so much cleverer than he was, and, moreover, he saw now that the wedding could not take place as soon as he expected.

“Mew,” said the cat, as he sprang softly into the room; but the prince did not heed him. “Mew,” again said the cat; but again the prince did not heed him. “Mew,” said the cat the third time, and he jumped up on the prince’s knee.

“Where do you come from, and what do you want?” asked the prince.

“I come from where you would like to be,” said the cat.

“And where is that?” said the prince.

“Oh, where is that, indeed! as if I didn’t know what you are thinking of, and of whom you are thinking,” said the cat; “and it would be far better for you to try and save her.”

“I would give my life a thousand times over for her,” said the prince.

“For whom?” said the cat, with a wink. “I named no name, your highness,” said he.

“You know very well who she is,” said the prince, “if you knew what I was thinking of; but do you know where she is?”

“I will set out there at once,” said the prince “and I will challenge the giant to battle, and will slay him.”

“Easier said than done,” said the cat. “There is no sword made by the hands of man can kill him, and even if you could kill him, his hundred hounds, with tongues of fire and claws of iron, would tear you to pieces.”

“Then, what am I to do?” asked the prince.

“Be said by me,” said the cat. “Go to the wood that surrounds the giant’s castle, and climb the high tree that’s nearest to the window that looks towards the sunset, and shake the branches, and you will see what you will see. Then hold out your hat with the silver plumes, and three balls––one yellow, one red, and one blue––will be thrown into it. And then come back here as fast as you can; but speak no word, for if you utter a single word the hounds will hear you, and you shall be torn to pieces.”

The prince waited until the giant had entered the castle before he descended the tree. He set off as fast as he could. He went up hill and down dale, and never stopped until he arrived at his own palace, and there waiting for him was the little white cat.

“Have you brought the three balls?” said he.

“I have,” said the prince.

“Then follow me,” said the cat.

On they went until they left the palace far behind and came to the edge of the sea.

“Now,” said the cat, “unravel a thread of the red ball, hold the thread in your right hand, drop the ball into the water, and you shall see what you shall see.”

The prince did as he was told, and the ball floated out to sea, unravelling as it went, and it went on until it was out of sight.

“Pull now,” said the cat.

“Now,” said the cat, “step into this boat and it will bear you to the palace on the island on which no man has ever placed his foot––the island in the unknown seas that were never sailed by vessels made of human hands. In that palace there is a sword with a diamond hilt, and by that sword alone the giant Trencoss can be killed. There also are a hundred cakes, and it is only on eating these the hundred hounds can die. But mind what I say to you: if you eat or drink until you reach the palace of the little cat in the island in the unknown seas, you will forget the Princess Eileen.”

“I will forget myself first,” said the prince, as he stepped into the silver boat, which floated away so quickly that it was soon out of sight of land.

The day passed and the night fell, and the stars shone down upon the waters, but the boat never stopped. On she went for two whole days and nights, and on the third morning the prince saw an island in the distance, and very glad he was; for he thought it was his journey’s end, and he was almost fainting with thirst and hunger. But the day passed and the island was still before him.

“Welcome! welcome! Prince of the Silver River, welcome to the island of fruits and flowers. Our king and queen saw you coming over the sea, and they sent us to bring you to the palace.”

“You can’t do anything to-night,” said the cat, for he knew what the prince was thinking of, “but when morning comes go down to the sea, and look not to the right or the left, and let no living thing touch you, for if you do you shall never leave the island. Drop the second ball into the water, as you did the first, and when the boat comes step in at once. Then you may look behind you, and you shall see what you shall see, and you’ll know which you love best, the Princess Eileen or the Princess Kathleen, and you can either go or stay.”

“Who are you, my little man?” asked the giant.

“I am a prince,” replied the prince.

“Oh, you are a prince, are you?” said the giant. “And what are you good for?” said he.

The prince did not know, for nobody had asked him that question before.

“I know what he’s good for,” said an old giantess, with one eye in her forehead and one in her chin. “I know what he’s good for. He’s good to eat.”

When the giants heard this they laughed so loud that the prince was frightened almost to death.

“Why,” said one, “he wouldn’t make a mouthful.”

“Oh, leave him to me,” said the giantess, “and I’ll fatten him up; and when he is cooked and dressed he will be a nice dainty dish for the king.”

The giants, on this, gave the prince into the hands of the old giantess. She took him home with her to the kitchen, and fed him on sugar and spice and all things nice, so that he should be a sweet morsel for the king of the giants when he returned to the island. The poor prince would not eat anything at first, but the giantess held him over the fire until his feet were scorched, and then he said to himself it was better to eat than to be burnt alive.

And the dwarfs had wound two balls, and were winding a third.

At last the prince heard from the old giantess that the king of the giants was to return on the following day, and she said to him:

“As this is the last night you have to live, tell me if you wish for anything, for if you do your wish will be granted.”

“I don’t wish for anything,” said the prince, whose heart was dead within him.

“Well, I’ll come back again,” said the giantess, and she went away.

The prince sat down in a corner, thinking and thinking, until he heard close to his ear a sound like “purr, purr!” He looked around, and there before him was the little white cat.

“I ought not to come to you,” said the cat; “but, indeed, it is not for your sake I come. I come for the sake of the Princess Eileen. Of course, you forgot all about her, and, of course, she is always thinking of you. It’s always the way––

“’Tis you that ought to blush,” said the cat; “but listen to me now, and remember, if you don’t obey my directions this time you’ll never see me again, and you’ll never set your eyes on the Princess Eileen. When the old giantess comes back tell her you wish, when the morning comes, to go down to the sea to look at it for the last time. When you reach the sea you will know what to do. But I must go now, as I hear the giantess coming.” And the cat jumped out of the window and disappeared.

“Well,” said the giantess, when she came in, “is there anything you wish?”

“Is it true I must die to-morrow?” asked the prince.

“It is.”

“Then,” said he, “I should like to go down to the sea to look at it for the last time.”

“You may do that,” said the giantess, “if you get up early.”

“I’ll be up with the lark in the light of the morning,” said the prince.

“Very well,” said the giantess, and, saying “good night,” she went away.

The king and the prince, followed by the cats, went down to the strand, and when the prince stepped into the boat all the cats “mewed” three times for good luck, and the prince waved his hat three times, and the little boat sped over the waters all through the night as brightly and as swiftly as a shooting star. In the first flush of the morning it touched the strand. The prince jumped out and went on and on, up hill and down dale, until he came to the giant’s castle. When the hounds saw him they barked furiously, and bounded towards him to tear him to pieces. The prince flung the cakes to them, and as each hound swallowed his cake he fell dead. The prince then struck his shield three times with the sword which he had brought from the palace of the little white cat.

When the giant heard the sound he cried out: “Who comes to challenge me on my wedding-day?”

The dwarfs went out to see, and, returning, told him it was a prince who challenged him to battle.

The giant, foaming with rage, seized his heaviest iron club, and rushed out to the fight. The fight lasted the whole day, and when the sun went down the giant said:

“Not so,” said the prince. “Now or never; win or die.”

“Then take this,” cried the giant, as he aimed a blow with all his force at the prince’s head; but the prince, darting forward like a flash of lightning, drove his sword into the giant’s heart, and, with a groan, he fell over the bodies of the poisoned hounds.

When the dwarfs saw the giant dead they began to cry and tear their hair. But the prince told them they had nothing to fear, and he bade them go and tell the princess Eileen he wished to speak with her. But the princess had watched the battle from her window, and when she saw the giant fall she rushed out to greet the prince, and that very night he and she and all the dwarfs and harpers set out for the Palace of the Silver River, which they reached the next morning, and from that day to this there never has been a gayer wedding than the wedding of the Prince of the Silver River and the Princess Eileen; and though she had diamonds and pearls to spare, the only jewel she wore on her wedding-day was the brooch which the prince had brought her from the Palace of the Little White Cat in the far-off seas.

Once upon a time there lived in a little house under a hill a little old woman and her two children, whose names were Connla and Nora. Right in front of the door of the little house lay a pleasant meadow, and beyond the meadow rose up to the skies a mountain whose top was sharp-pointed like a spear. For more than half-way up it was clad with heather, and when the heather was in bloom it looked like a purple robe falling from the shoulders of the mountain down to its feet. Above the heather it was bare and grey, but when the sun was sinking in the sea, its last rays rested on the bare mountain top and made it gleam like a spear of gold, and so the children always called it the “Golden Spear.”

Sometimes the soft white mist would steal through the glen, and creeping up the mountain would cover it with a veil so dense that the children could not see it, and then they would say to each other: “Our mountain is gone away from us.” But when the mist would lift and float off into the skies, the children would clap their hands, and say: “Oh, there’s our mountain back again.”

In the long nights of winter they babbled of the spring and summertime to come, when the birds would once more sing for them, and never a day passed that they didn’t fling crumbs outside their door, and on the borders of the wood that stretched away towards the glen.

When the spring days came they awoke with the first light of the morning, and they knew the very minute when the lark would begin to sing, and when the thrush and the blackbird would pour out their liquid notes, and when the robin would make the soft, green, tender leaves tremulous at his song.

“Oh, Connla! Connla! Look at the thrush––and, look, look up in the sky, there is a hawk!” cried Nora.

Connla looked up, and he saw the hawk with quivering wings, and he knew that in a second it would pounce down on the frightened thrush. He jumped to his feet, fixed a stone in his sling, and before the whirr of the stone shooting through the air was silent, the stricken hawk tumbled headlong in the grass.

The thrush, shaking its wings, rose joyously in the air, and perching upon an elm-tree in sight of the children, he sang a song so sweet that they left the hawthorn shade and walked along together until they stood under the branches of the elm; and they listened and listened to the thrush’s song, and at last Nora said:

“Oh, Connla! did you ever hear a song so sweet as this?”

“No,” said Connla, “and I do believe sweeter music was never heard before.”

“Ah,” said the thrush, “that’s because you never heard the nine little pipers playing. And now, Connla and Nora, you saved my life to-day.”

“It was Connla saved you,” said Nora, “for he slew the hawk with his sling.”

“I owe my life to both of you,” said the thrush. “You like my song, and you say you have never heard anything so sweet; but wait till you hear the nine little pipers playing.”

“And when shall we hear them?” said the children.

“Well,” said the thrush, “sit outside your door to-morrow evening, and wait and watch until the shadows have crept up the heather, and then, when the mountain top is gleaming like a golden spear, look at the line where the shadow on the heather meets the sunshine, and you shall see what you shall see.”

And having said this, the thrush sang another song sweeter than the first, and then saying “good-bye,” he flew away into the woods.

The children went home, and all night long they were dreaming of the thrush and the nine little pipers; and when the birds sang in the morning, they got up and went out into the meadow to watch the mountain.

And when the mountain top gleamed like a golden spear, they fixed their eyes on the line between the shadow and the sunshine.

“Now,” said Connla, “the time has come.”

“Oh, look! look!” said Nora, and as she spoke, just above the line of shadow a door opened out, and through its portals came a little piper dressed in green and gold. He stepped down, followed by another and another, until they were nine in all, and then the door slung back again. Down through the heather marched the pipers in single file, and all the time they played a music so sweet that the birds, who had gone to sleep in their nests, came out upon the branches to listen to them and then they crossed the meadow, and they went on and on until they disappeared in the leafy woods.

While they were passing the children were spell-bound, and couldn’t speak, but when the music had died away in the woods, they said:

“The thrush is right, that is the sweetest music that was ever heard in all the world.”

That day they went out into the woods, and they sat beside a stream that pattered along beneath the trees, and through the leaves tossing in the breeze the sun flashed down upon the streamlet, and shadow and sunshine danced upon it. As the children watched the water sparkling where the sunlight fell, Nora said:

“Oh, Connla, did you ever see anything so bright and clear and glancing as that?”

“No,” said Connla, “I never did.”

“That’s because you never saw the crystal hall of the fairy of the mountains,” said a voice above the heads of the children.

And when they looked up, who should they see perched on a branch but the thrush.

“And where is the crystal hall of the fairy?” said Connla.

“Oh, it is where it always was, and where it always will be,” said the thrush. “And you can see it if you like.”

“We would like to see it,” said the children.

And the thrush having said this, flew away.

Connla and Nora went home, and that night they fell asleep talking of the thrush and the fairy and the crystal hall.

All the next day they counted the minutes, until they saw the shadows thronging from the glen and scaling the mountain side. And, at last, they saw the door springing open, and the nine little pipers marching down.

They waited until the pipers had crossed the meadow and were about to enter the wood. And then they followed them, the pipers marching on before them and playing all the time. It was not long until they had passed through the wood, and then, what should the children see rising up before them but another mountain, smaller than their own, but, like their own, clad more than half-way up with purple heather, and whose top was bare and sharp-pointed, and gleaming like a golden spear.

Up through the heather climbed the pipers, up through the heather the children clambered after them, and the moment the pipers passed the heather a door opened and they marched in, the children following, and the door closed behind them.

Over the crystal floor the little pipers marched; over the crystal floor the children followed, and when a door at the end of the hall was opened to let the pipers pass, a crowd of colours came rushing in, and floor, and ceiling, and stately pillars, and glancing couches, and shining walls, were stained with a thousand dazzling hues.

Out through the door the pipers marched; out through the door the children followed, and when they crossed the threshold they were treading on clouds of amber, of purple, and of gold.

“Oh, Connla,” said Nora, “we have walked into the sunset!”

When they had gone some distance, the pipers disappeared, and when Connla and Nora came up to the spot where they had seen the last of them, they found themselves at the head of a ladder, all the steps of which were formed of purple and amber clouds that descended to what appeared to be a vast and shining plain, streaked with purple and gold. In the spaces between the streaks of gold and purple they saw soft, milk-white stars. And the children thought that the great plain, so far below them, also belonged to cloudland.

They could not see the little pipers, but up the steps was borne by the cool, sweet air the fairy music; and lured on by it step by step they travelled down the fleecy stairway. When they were little more than half way down there came mingled with the music a sound almost as sweet––the sound of waters toying in the still air with pebbles on a shelving beach, and with the sound came the odorous brine of the ocean. And then the children knew that what they thought was a plain in the realms of cloudland was the sleeping sea unstirred by wind or tide, dreaming of the purple clouds and stars of the sunset sky above it.

“Would you like to follow the nine little pipers?” The children said, “yes.”

“Well, then,” said the little man, “come up here behind me; you, Nora, first, and Connla after.”

“Now,” said the little man to the children, “clasp me tight, Nora, and do you, Connla, cling on to Nora, and both of you shut your eyes.”

The children did as they were bidden, and the little man cried:

“Swish! swash!”

And the steed went down and down until at last his feet struck the bottom.

“Now open your eyes,” said the little man.

And when the children did so they saw beneath the horse’s feet a golden strand, and above their heads the sea like a transparent cloud between them and the sky. And once more they heard the fairy music, and marching on the strand before them were the nine little pipers.

“You must get off now,” said the little man, “I can go no farther with you.”

The children hurried on, and when they came up close to the rocks they saw sitting on a flat and polished stone a mermaid combing her golden hair, and singing a strange sweet song that brought the tears to their eyes, and by the mermaid’s side was a little sleek brown otter.

When the mermaid saw them she flung her golden tresses back over her snow-white shoulders, and she beckoned the children to her. Her large eyes were full of sadness; but there was a look so tender upon her face that the children moved towards her without any fear.

“Come to me, little one,” she said to Nora, “come and kiss me,” and in a second her arms were around the child. The mermaid kissed her again and again, as the tears rushed to her eyes, she said:

Then she ordered the nine little pipers to come before her, and she said to them:

“So far you have done your duty faithfully, and now play one more sweet air and your task is done.”

And the little pipers played, and from the couches at the first sound of the music all the fairies rose, and forming partners, they danced over the crystal floor as lightly as the young leaves dancing in the wind.

Listening to the fairy music, and watching the wavy motion of the dancing fairies, the children fell asleep. When they awoke next morning and rose from their silken beds they were no longer children. Nora was a graceful and stately maiden, and Connla a handsome and gallant youth. They looked at each other for a moment in surprise, and then Connla said:

“Oh, Nora, how tall and beautiful you are!”

“Oh, not so tall and handsome as you are, Connla,” said Nora, as she flung her white arms round his neck and kissed her brother’s lips.

“Oh, Nora, Nora,” said she, “I am not as high as your knee, and as for you, Connla, you look as straight and as tall as one of the round towers of Erin.”

“And how did we grow so tall in one night?” said Connla.

“In one night!” said the fairy queen. “One night, indeed! Why, you have been fast asleep, the two of you, for the last seven years!”

“And where was the little mother all that time?” said Connla and Nora together.

And as she spoke she flung round Connla’s shoulders a flowing mantle of yellow silk, and pinned it at his neck with a red gold brooch.

“And now, my children, you must go away from me. You, Nora, will be a warrior’s bride in Erin of the Streams. And you, Connla, will be king yet over the loveliest province in all the land of Erin; but you will have to fight for your crown, and days of battle are before you. They will not come for a long time after you have left the fairyland under the sea, and until they come lay aside your helmet, shield, and spear, and warrior’s cloak and golden brooch. But when the time comes when you will be called to battle, enter not upon it without the golden brooch I give you fastened in your cloak, for if you do harm will come to you. Now, kiss me, children; your little mother is waiting for you at the foot of the golden spear, but do not forget to say good-bye to Liban the Mermaid, exiled from the land she loves, and pining in sadness beneath the sea.”

“And so you are going up to Erin,” she said, “up through the covering waters. Kiss me, children, once again; and when you are in Erin of the Streams, sometimes think of the exile from Erin beneath the sea.”

And the children kissed the mermaid, and with sad hearts, bidding her good-bye, they walked along the golden strand. When they had gone what seemed to them a long way, they began to feel weary; and just then they saw coming towards them a little man in a red jacket leading a coal-black steed.

When they met the little man, he said: “Connla, put Nora up on this steed; then jump up before her.”

Connla did as he was told, and when both of them were mounted––

“Now, Connla,” said the little man, “catch the bridle in your hands, and you, Nora, clasp Connla round the waist, and close your eyes.”

On went the steed, and soon he was galloping beneath the branches that almost touched Connla’s head. And on they went until they had passed through the wood, and then they saw rising up before them the “Golden Spear.”

“Oh, Connla,” said Nora, “we are at home at last.”

“Yes,” said Connla, “but where is the little house under the hill?”

And no little house was there; but in its stead was standing a lime-white mansion.

“What can this mean?” said Nora.

But before Connla could reply, the steed had galloped up to the door of the mansion, and, in the twinkling of an eye, Connla and Nora were standing on the ground outside the door, and the steed had vanished.

Before they could recover from their surprise the little mother came rushing out to them, and flung her arms around their necks, and kissed them both again and again.

“Oh, children! children! You are welcome home to me; for though I knew it was all for the best, my heart was lonely without you.”

“Oh, Nora!” said the little mother, “you are a head over me; and as for you, Connla, you look almost as tall as one of the round towers of Erin.”

“That’s what the fairy queen said, mother,” said Nora.

“Blessings on the fairy queen,” said the little mother. “Turn round, Connla, till I look at you.”

Connla turned round, and the little mother said:

“Oh, Connla, with your golden helmet and your spear, and your glancing shield, and your silken cloak, you look like a king. But take them off, my boy, beautiful as they are. Your little mother would like to see you, her own brave boy, without any fairy finery.”

And Connla laid aside his spear and shield, and took off his golden helmet and his silken cloak. Then he caught the little mother and kissed her, and lifted her up until she was as high as his head. And said he:

“Don’t you know, little mother, I’d rather have you than all the world.”

And that night, when they were sitting down by the fire together, you may be sure that in the whole world no people were half as happy as Nora, Connla, and the little mother.