The Birth of Bran (Irish Fairy Tales) by James Stephens

Author:James Stephens
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, novel, book, bestseller, top10, interactive media, urban romantics
Publisher: Sovereign Classic
Published: 2017-05-24T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER IV

On the following day Fergus called his servant.

“Has that dog stopped shivering yet?” he asked.

“It has not, sir,” said the servant.

“Bring the beast here,” said his master, “for whoever else is dissatisfied Fionn must be satisfied.”

The dog was brought, and he examined it with a jaundiced and bitter eye.

“It has the shivers indeed,” he said.

“The shivers it has,” said the servant.

“How do you cure the shivers?” his master demanded, for he thought that if the animal’s legs dropped off Fionn would not be satisfied.

“There is a way,” said the servant doubtfully.

“If there is a way, tell it to me,” cried his master angrily.

“If you were to take the beast up in your arms and hug it and kiss it, the shivers would stop,” said the man.

“Do you mean—?” his master thundered, and he stretched his hand for a club.

“I heard that,” said the servant humbly.

“Take that dog up,” Fergus commanded, “and hug it and kiss it, and if I find a single shiver left in the beast I’ll break your head.”

The man bent to the hound, but it snapped a piece out of his hand, and nearly bit his nose off as well.

“That dog doesn’t like me,” said the man.

“Nor do I,” roared Fergus; “get out of my sight.”

The man went away and Fergus was left alone with the hound, but the poor creature was so terrified that it began to tremble ten times worse than before.

“Its legs will drop off,” said Fergus. “Fionn will blame me,” he cried in despair.

He walked to the hound.

“If you snap at my nose, or if you put as much as the start of a tooth into the beginning of a finger!” he growled.

He picked up the dog, but it did not snap, it only trembled. He held it gingerly for a few moments.

“If it has to be hugged,” he said, “I’ll hug it. I’d do more than that for Fionn.”

He tucked and tightened the animal into his breast, and marched moodily up and down the room. The dog’s nose lay along his breast under his chin, and as he gave it dutiful hugs, one hug to every five paces, the dog put out its tongue and licked him timidly under the chin.

“Stop,” roared Fergus, “stop that forever,” and he grew very red in the face, and stared truculently down along his nose. A soft brown eye looked up at him and the shy tongue touched again on his chin.

“If it has to be kissed,” said Fergus gloomily, “I’ll kiss it; I’d do more than that for Fionn,” he groaned.

He bent his head, shut his eyes, and brought the dog’s jaw against his lips. And at that the dog gave little wriggles in his arms, and little barks, and little licks, so that he could scarcely hold her. He put the hound down at last.

“There is not a single shiver left in her,” he said.

And that was true.

Everywhere he walked the dog followed him, giving little prances and little pats against him, and keeping her eyes fixed on his with such eagerness and intelligence that he marvelled.

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