Finn’s dearest friend and constant companion, during his later years, was Dermot. This young man was most loyal to his chief, and because he was such a true friend, so strong in the fight, so swift of foot and so keen of sight, Finn depended greatly upon him. Where Finn went you were sure to find Dermot, and if Dermot was off on an adventure, Finn was pretty sure to be with him.

On the day of our story the two were out hunting with some friends. We find these Fenians on the hunt a great deal of the time. The reason is a simple one. From November to May the men of the army lived at the expense of the High King and the people; from May to November they had to get their food and clothing by hunting. Naturally, many of the adventures start on a hunting trip.

As this particular morning advanced, the party decided to stop in a little sheltered spot near the shore for their meal. It was while the men were getting the game cooked that Finn and Dermot strolled along the beach and sat down on a ledge of rock. While they were there a ship sailed into the little harbor.

It was a small vessel, handsome in every line, with sails full as if in a strong breeze. This was remarkable because no air was stirring at that time. The ship neared the shore and stopped. The sails dropped loosely. Finn and Dermot looked in vain for the crew, but there was no one visible except a lone woman, who sat on the deck.

“It is a wonder to me that one woman should be able to sail a ship alone and come into a harbor at full speed with no wind blowing,” said Finn.

Dermot was looking with interest toward the ship.

“You shall not wonder long,” said Dermot. “I will go down and bring you word.”

Finn detained him with a laugh. “No, Dermot,” he said. “This time we will take into consideration the heart of the lady. I shall see for myself.”

Finn went down to the shore, placed the point of his sword upon a rock and sprang lightly to the deck of the vessel.

He was amazed at the beauty of it all. The deck was as clean as a deck could be with trimmings of silver and gold. At the end, on a seat of the finest tapestry, sat a beautiful woman. She smiled engagingly and held out her hand toward Finn.

“Come here,” she said. “I wish you would tell me where I have landed.”

“You are in the harbor of Erin,” said Finn.

“And could you tell me where I am to find the home of a man named Finn MacCool?” she asked.

“You will not need to find his home, for I am Finn himself,” he answered.

“Then I am indeed lucky,” said the woman. “I have come to play a game with Finn. I have heard that he never refuses to play for a sentence, and that he honorably lives up to his agreements.”

It flattered Finn to be praised by a beautiful woman. Like most of the heroes of history his wisdom deserted him when dealing with a woman. It was true that he and the other Fenians took great delight in playing a game for a wager. These wagers were usually in the form of sentences. That is, they would play a game and at the end the winner would set a task for the loser to perform. Sometimes these tasks required years of labor and much suffering, but no Fenian ever refused to carry out a sentence imposed upon him.

“I would willingly play if I had my board and chessmen,” said Finn.

“I have them as good as your own,” answered the woman. To prove it she pulled out a beautiful board and a set of silver and gold chessmen. She had Finn sit on the seat near her to play. At the end of the first game Finn was the winner.

“You have beaten me,” she said with a dazzling smile. “What is the sentence you are to pronounce?”

Now Finn had not quite made up his mind as to what manner of woman it was who was playing with him. She looked and dressed like a king’s daughter, but an enchantress could assume that appearance. To prove it he made a sentence that would prove very difficult for anyone not able to use the arts of magic.

“I put you under bonds,” he said, “not to eat twice in the same place or sleep twice in the same bed until you have brought me a white horse with a saddle and bridle of red leather for myself and each of the Fenians with me today.”

The woman smiled again. “Look behind you,” she said.

Finn looked toward the shore. There were the beautiful steeds he had ordered, handsome in their saddles and bridles of red leather. In the lead was one much finer than the others.

Finn knew then that he was playing with an enchantress. He wished he was well out of his bargain, but he could not refuse to play the second game without violating the honor of a Fenian. He felt sure that the woman would win the next game.

The second game was short. As Finn imagined, the woman, by the aid of her powers, proved an easy winner. He was anxious to know what was in store for him.

“Let me know my sentence at once,” he demanded.

“Perhaps you will be sorry for your impatience when you hear it,” said the lady.

“No trouble was ever made lighter by putting it off,” declared Finn. “Pronounce your sentence immediately.”

“Very well,” she answered. “I put you under bonds to go with me and obey me in what I ask until some one throws upon you the amount of seven shovelfuls of earth. You will be under my enchantment until that happens.”

Finn did not show his dismay when he heard this hard sentence.

“It is your right to demand it,” he said. “Wait here until I give the steeds to my men and leave orders for them to follow during my absence.”

When he turned to look for the horses they had vanished. She saw his look of astonishment.

“You put me under bonds to bring the steeds, but I was not obliged to leave them there,” said the enchantress.

“It is true,” said Finn. “Now, since you have taken advantage of the wording of my sentence, I shall try to evade yours. You have put me under bonds to go with you, but you did not mention that I was not to try to escape from them.”

She nodded. “Of course, as a man of honor you cannot tell anyone what will release you,” she said. “If you free yourself otherwise, I shall be to blame.”

Finn went ashore to tell his men of his wager and sentence. He gave orders as to the conduct of the Fenians during his absence, then took Dermot to the top of a hill near the shore.

“Your eyes and ears are best in all Erin,” said Finn. “You will remain here to watch and listen. If you hear my horn, it will mean that I am not able to release myself by my own efforts.”

“I will not leave until you are back or my body turns to dust and the wind carries it away,” declared Dermot.

Then Finn went down to the ship and sprang aboard. The watchers saw the sails fill and the boat move swiftly out of sight over the waves.

II.

It was not long before the vessel arrived in a small harbor, which Finn recognized as the port of the White Nation. This was not very encouraging to him, because in a battle not long before he had defeated the king of that nation. He began to suspect that he was under enchantment for some purpose. Still he must go with the woman because he had pledged his word.

When the ship stopped the woman got out and bade him follow her. On the shore she paused, and pointing to a broad road bordered with tall trees, said,

“As you are a great champion in your country it is not fitting for you to follow me into the city as a servant. You will walk up the road to the palace while I take a shorter one and prepare a welcome for you.”

Finn did as he was told. He was puzzled and anxious. He could not but feel that there was something wrong with this plan. The woman had put him under bonds to come as a servant, and now she made it appear that this was not what she wished. Finn wished that he had been able to keep his sword, but that the woman would not allow. Only one thought cheered him. Dermot was watching and listening, ready to come to his assistance at any time.

Soon he came to the gates of the palace. A great crowd of people rushed out as though to welcome him. The welcome was a deceit. The men pushed against him on all sides and shoved him from one to another until he was bruised and bleeding. Finn was the match for many ordinary men in strength. Still, without his swords, he could not stand off a multitude.

Thus pushing and jostling him the crowd bore him into the courtyard into the presence of the ruler of the nation. The king sat upon a raised platform and by his side, in the robes of a princess, was the woman who had brought Finn to the country under sentence.

When the king saw Finn he laughed long and loudly.

“What ho, Finn MacCool!” roared he. “Methinks this is a fine manner for the arrival of a champion of Erin.”

Finn hung his head in shame.

“My daughter asked me to name the thing I most desired in all the world,” went on the king. “I told her the one thing necessary to my happiness was the head of Finn MacCool. She promised to bring you here that I might take it myself.”

Finn’s heart sank. He felt that the hour of his death was very near. The king stepped down from his platform, sword in hand, and swung the weapon back and forth.

“You would not dare do that if you would let me have a sword,” said Finn, looking him squarely in the eye.

The king drew back and bowed his head in thought. Probably he had hoped to have Finn beg for his life.

“No,” he said at length, “I will let you think over the fact that you are in my power. It will be pleasant for you to lie and wonder how long I will let you live.”

He gave orders that Finn’s legs and arms be firmly tied with seven knots on each rope so that escape would be impossible. Then he had his captive placed in a dark dungeon. Each day he was to receive an ounce of bread and a pint of water, no more under any consideration. For a big strong man like Finn this was very little food. But being tied and lying in a black hole was even more likely to take the spirit out of him.

Each day an old woman came with his food and water, but his arms and legs were never loosened. On the eighth day Finn said to the woman,

“Tell the king that I beg leave to walk in the garden for an hour. I do not ask for my head, but if he does not give me a little freedom I shall not be able to live. For the king to take the head of a dead man would be small glory.”

The king yielded to this request and ordered Finn an hour of freedom. He took no chances, however. The walk was to occur in a walled garden and thirty armed men were to be with him every moment.

Finn was happy over the privilege. It was not the fear of death that had made him ask for the walk. No, he had a far better reason, as you shall see. After he had walked a few minutes he said,

“I am very fond of music. Have you any musical instruments with you?”

Now the chief was very sorry to see such a mighty man a prisoner without a chance for his life. He would gladly have had the music played, but was obliged to confess that none of his men had instruments with them at the time.

Then Finn took from under his clothes a queerly shaped horn. He turned it over and over in his hands and looked at it as though it was very dear to him. Finally he spoke.

“When I was at home and in charge of my men I used to play for them quite often. I really enjoy music very much. I wonder—perhaps you and your men might like to hear a tune?” he finished, as though the idea had just come to him.

“I should be very glad to hear you play,” answered the chief.

So Finn placed the horn to his lips and played a tune of the Fenians. At the end of the air he blew a blast that echoed from hill to hill and made the listeners involuntarily put their hands to their ears. Then Finn put the horn away and was willing to be tied up again. The chief thought he had heard some wild Irish music. He little dreamed that the call had gone out for help.

III.

Dermot was asleep when Finn sounded the horn but the last note of it waked him. He sprang to his feet with a mighty bound that sent showers of rocks and dirt in every direction.

“Great is the trouble of my chief!” he exclaimed. “I have never heard such a blast from his horn.”

He rushed to the shore, found a small boat lying there, hoisted the sail and set off in the direction from whence the sound had come. He was lucky enough to arrive at the same harbor in which was anchored the ship on which Finn had been taken away. Dermot anchored his boat and started up the broad road.

As he went along he found men, women and children hastening in the same direction with all the speed at their command. He asked several of them the reason for their hurry, but all seemed too excited to answer him. Finally Dermot grew angry, so singling out one man who seemed to be in greater haste than the rest, he picked him up and held him off the ground while he repeated his question.

The man was greatly frightened, you may believe, for Dermot was taller and broader than any man of the White Nation and must have seemed quite like a giant to his captive. The man suddenly became very anxious to explain.

“You must not belong to this country, if you do not know where we are going,” he said.

“I am not from this country,” answered Dermot. “I am from Erin.”

“If that is so, you must know Finn MacCool,” said the man.

“I know him well. He is my chief,” replied Dermot.

“Then you had better tell no one that you are from Erin,” said the man. “If you do, you are likely to share the same fate. Finn is to be hanged in the palace courtyard today. The gallows is ready. When he is dead, his body is to be pulled to pieces by wild horses. You had better not acknowledge that you know him.”

Dermot set the fellow on his feet again. The fierce look in his eyes caused the man to step back.

“If you were not so small,” thundered Dermot, “you would never give such advice to another man. Men from Erin never fail to acknowledge their friends. Show me the way to the palace.”

“If you will go up the hill on your right, you can see it in the valley below,” directed the man. He lost no time in getting a safe distance from this mighty stranger. He was so frightened that instead of going on to the hanging, he turned around and made for his home as fast as he could. In the whole White Nation he was the only man traveling away from the palace.

Dermot bounded up the hill with mighty strides. When on top he looked in the direction of the hurrying people. Sure enough, there was the castle with crowds spread out all around it. Dermot dashed down the hill at full speed.

People were crowded so closely together that no ordinary man could possibly have squeezed through them. Each man was elbowing his neighbor so that he might get close enough to see the death of this great Fenian chief. Dermot could have cut his way through with his sword, but it was one of the rules of the Fenians not to harm the common people of a nation. He cleared his way by taking several in his right hand and several in his left and putting them behind him. Then he stepped into the opening and repeated the process until he reached the courtyard. He walked past the gallows and up to the pole of combat before the palace. This he struck a mighty blow with his sword.

The king came to his window and looked out in alarm.

“Who struck that blow?” he asked. “It must have been an enemy.”

If the trouble had not been so serious, Dermot might have laughed at this silly remark. But he was in no humor for laughter.

“If that sounded like the blow of a friend,” he said, “listen to this.”

Once more he swung his sword against the pole. This time his blow was so strong that the pole broke into splinters, which showered over the heads of the people.

“What do you want?” whined the king, who was, and always had been, a fearful coward.

“I want to see my chief, Finn MacCool, or to fight for him,” announced Dermot.

“See him you shall not,” declared the king, keeping well in the protection of his castle. “You are at liberty to fight for him.”

“Very well,” answered Dermot. “Send out seven hundred of your best men on my right hand, seven hundred on my left, seven hundred at my back and as many as you wish in front of me.”

“How many?” demanded the startled king, drawing still further back into his palace.

Dermot repeated his demand. You must remember that Dermot was the son of a god and could not be wounded. It is no wonder the king thought he had misunderstood. It was too good a chance to let go by. The king sent out the men requested, feeling sure that he would soon be rid of this fellow, who had made splinters of the combat pole.

But the king’s men were no match for Dermot even when they pressed against him in such numbers. By nightfall not a man had touched him while hundreds of the warriors of the White Nation were wounded or dead. With the setting of the sun, Dermot put up his sword and called out to the king,

“Do I get shelter for the night?”

It was customary in those days to stop fighting when the sun went down. It was also the custom to furnish food and a bed to a hero who was making a trial at arms. The king pointed to a long, low house a short distance from the courtyard.

“Go in there,” he called. “You are welcome to what shelter you find.”

Dermot was tired from his combat. He went to the house, opened the door and walked in. To his surprise he found himself surrounded by hundreds of little men, reaching no higher than his knee. They were wild, shaggy little fellows, kept by the king to kill people he did not like. Though not strong singly, they were there in such numbers that they could cover a man like ants and crush the life out of him.

When Dermot had entered, the little men shut the door and barred it. Then they began covering the windows and filling up the chinks between the logs.

“Why are you going to such trouble?” asked Dermot. The antics of the little fellows amused him. He never thought of treachery on the part of the king.

“We fear you may escape,” answered one of the men. “It is our duty to eat you.”

Poor foolish little fellows! They imagined a mighty hero like Dermot could creep through a hole large enough to let one of them through.

Dermot’s amusement turned to anger. By all the laws of hospitality he was entitled to a place to rest quietly until time for the next day’s combat. The king would have lasted only a few minutes if Dermot could have laid a hand on him when he discovered the foul scheme. The little men rushed at him by the hundreds. There was little use of using a sword against such small enemies. Dermot caught up the nearest by the ankles and used him as a club to beat down the others.

Soon there were no little savages left except one very small fellow in the corner.

“Spare me, great champion,” he called in a shrill, high voice. “If you give me my life there is not a place to which you will go but I will be with you. I will be a good servant to you.”

“No man ever asked for his life but I granted it,” said Dermot.

He sat down on a bench and looked about him. “Have you any food?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said the small chief, for he was the leader of the small men. “We never have food except the people the king sends us to eat. If you will go out and walk forty paces to your right, you will come to the king’s bakery. There you should be able to get some loaves.”

Dermot followed directions and found the king’s baker just closing up for the night.

“Give me two loaves of bread,” demanded Dermot.

The baker let out a scream of rage. “Ruffian,” he yelled. “Do you dare ask me for bread after the way you treated our soldiers today? Get out of here this minute.”

The little man was dancing with rage. Dermot let out a roar of laughter. He picked up the baker and held him at arms’ length. “You are a nimble dancer,” he said. “I shall give you a place to dance.”

Opening the oven, now cool enough so that it would not injure him, Dermot put the baker inside and shut the door. He helped himself to what bread he wanted while the baker kept up an excited dancing, accompanied by a steady pounding on the oven door.

But Dermot was not content to live on bread alone. He asked the small chief where he might get some meat.

“Instead of turning to the right, as you did when you went to the bakery, turn to the left and go the same distance in that direction. That will bring you to the king’s butcher, where you should be able to get plenty of meat.”

Dermot did as he was advised and found the man in his shop. He was a big, red-faced fellow, smeared from head to foot with the blood of the last animal he had killed.

“I want some meat for my supper,” said Dermot.

The butcher flew into a fine rage and brandished his knife. “Get out of here, you ruffian from Erin!” he shouted. “It was you who wounded so many of our people today. Get away before I cut out your heart.”

The butcher made a dash at Dermot. The latter was merely amused by the rage of the man. He laughed loudly, took away the knife with one hand, while with the other he caught the butcher by the belt and lifted him off the floor. A meat hook on the wall was very handy. Dermot hooked the belt of the butcher over that and left him hanging there, a funny sight as he kicked and yelled. With the meat Dermot got from the shop, and the bread, he and the small chief had a hearty supper.

The next day he again presented himself before the king.

“What do you want today?” asked the ruler of the White Nation.

“I want to see my chief, Finn MacCool, or to fight for him,” said Dermot.

“Fight you shall,” declared the king. “You shall not see him.”

Then the king ordered sent out double the number of men that had faced the champion the day before. He still had hopes that he could overpower Dermot by numbers. But this battle was but a second like the one of the day before. Dermot could not be wounded, while the slaughter of the king’s soldiers was something terrible. With the setting of the sun the combat was over, and Dermot went back to the long house to eat the supper the small chief had prepared for him, and to rest after his hard day.

V.

Next morning Dermot went again to the palace and made the same demand as on the two previous days. This time the king did not send out his forces to battle. Even he could see that he was wasting his soldiers without hope of defeating this new champion. Still he did not wish to give up Finn MacCool. His soldiers were not strong enough, the small men could not eat this man, but the king had other schemes to try before he gave up. Everyone knew the fondness of the Fenians for attempting feats of strength or adventure. The king decided to try that on Dermot, so that he could gain time, even if he did not get rid of this nuisance.

In the land of the White Nation there lived an enormous fellow known as the Red Giant. His choicest possession was a beautiful hound, which he kept near him at all times. When he went out walking, he had the dog with him on the end of a chain of solid gold. When he was at home he fastened the chain to the wall and kept the dog beside him.

There was a strange thing about this Red Giant. He had only one eye and that was in one side of his head, just above his ear. Because of this, he could see only what happened on one side of him. He kept the hound to warn him if anyone approached on the other side.

Though this man was the strongest person in the White Nation, he had no use for the king and would not serve him. The monarch resolved to get his aid by trickery.

“I will not let you see Finn MacCool,” he told Dermot, “until you have brought to this courtyard the hound and the golden chain.”

“Where can I find it?” asked Dermot.

“The world is wide,” answered the king. “Finding it is part of the task.”

“No man can give me a task I will not try to accomplish,” said Dermot. “There is but one thing I demand. If I go after this hound, you must pledge yourself that Finn is to be taken out of the dungeon and given a better room, with plenty of food to eat.”

This request did not please the king. He did not wish to grant Finn any favors, but he was afraid Dermot would not go to the Red Giant if he did not agree. He gave a grudging consent.

Poor Dermot! He went to the long house in despair. How was he to bring back something when he did not know where to look for it, and when there was no one in the country to give him directions? Yet, if he did not complete the task, he would lose his head and Finn would have to die. He sat down in the long house and buried his face in his hands.

“What is troubling you, master?” asked the small chief.

Dermot sighed. “Nothing that you can help me with,” he said.

“I’ll wager that you have been sent to bring the hound and the golden chain,” said the chief.

Dermot sat up in surprise. “How did you know that?” he demanded.

“Because the hound is kept by the Red Giant, and the king has rid himself of many a good man by sending him after that hound,” said the little fellow.

“Do you know where I can find him?” asked Dermot.

“I can lead you to the place and show you how to get the hound,” declared the chief.

The two set out immediately and traveled all day through a heavy forest. In the evening they came to the gate of an immense stone castle. There the chief stopped Dermot.

“In there lives the Red Giant,” he said. “At this hour he has had his meal and is sleeping beside the table in the center of the castle.”

Then the chief went on to explain that the giant had but one eye, which faced the main door to see if anyone entered. He took from his pocket a little cake and passed it to Dermot.

“Take this cake,” he said. “Do not go in at the main door but follow the corridor around and come to the small opening at the other side of the room. Throw this cake to the dog, and when he has eaten it pick him up and bring him with you. If you are quiet the giant will never know you have been in there.”

Dermot thanked his helper and went into the castle. Everything happened just as the small chief had promised. The task was so easy that he was back in five minutes with the hound under his arm. The two set off for the palace with their prize.

But Dermot was not happy. He kept going slowly and more slowly, until finally he stopped all together.

“What is the matter?” asked the chief.

“I can’t help thinking of the dirty trick I played on the Red Giant,” answered Dermot.

“How is that?”

“Like a thief I took away his hound without giving him a chance to fight for it,” said Dermot.

“It was the hound you went for, not a contest, and bringing him back will give you sight of Finn MacCool,” argued the chief. “Let us hurry.”

But Dermot would not go. “I’d think a man a fine champion if he sneaked in and took something of mine,” he said. “Not even for Finn will I do such a thing. I am going back and take the hound away from the giant as a champion should.”

No argument of the small chief did any good. Back they went to the castle and again the small chief stayed outside.

“Since you are bent on being foolish, I will give you some more advice,” said the little fellow. “The giant is strongest on his stone floor. Much of his strength leaves him when he is on soft earth.”

“I thank you for your help,” said Dermot.

He slipped in quietly and fastened the hound to the wall. Then he went around to the main door and stepped into the room. Instantly the giant saw him and sprang to his feet.

“What do you want?” he roared.

“Your hound and your golden chain,” answered Dermot.

“Well, you’ll not get him from me,” roared the giant. He made a rush at Dermot and grappled with him.

Now the Red Giant was a big man in the White Nation, but you must remember that Dermot was a big man, too. It turned out that they were about equal in strength. At the first rush of the giant, both men went down on the floor where they struggled desperately. Back and forth they rolled, with Dermot putting every bit of his strength into the effort to get them out on the ground. Finally, with a mighty heave, he succeeded in causing them both to roll out of the castle door.

As soon as they struck the soft earth Dermot was the stronger. He picked up the Red Giant and drove him into the earth like a post, until only his head was above ground.

“Spare me, man of Erin,” pleaded the Red Giant. “I concede that you are the better man, and that you are entitled to the hound.”

Dermot never took advantage of a man who asked for mercy. He pulled the giant out of the earth and set him upon his feet. From that moment the Red Giant was his friend. He invited Dermot and the small chief into the castle and set out food and drink for them. In the morning he willingly gave up the hound and bade them a hearty farewell.

VI.

Dermot went before the king the next morning. You can guess that the monarch was far from overjoyed at seeing him. He had felt sure that the troublesome champion would never bother him again.

“Well, have you the hound with the golden chain?” he asked, trying to hide his disappointment.

“You see them before you,” answered Dermot.

“Hand them over to me,” demanded the king.

That was just what Dermot had no intention of doing. He felt sorry for the Red Giant, because the man had put up a good fight and had been his friend after the struggle was over. Moreover, he felt that the king had no right to the hound.

“That I will not do,” declared Dermot.

The king’s wicked little eyes lit up with pleasure. “Then, by the terms of the trial, you forfeit your head,” he said.

“You are wrong,” said Dermot. “The words of the trial were, ‘until you have brought to the courtyard the hound with the golden chain.’ I have carried out the command of the trial; now I am going to take the hound back to the Red Giant, who has more right and more need of him than any of us.”

The king knew he was caught by the terms of his own sentence. He pounded the arms of his throne in anger, but he did not dare deny the terms he had pronounced.

“Well,” demanded Dermot, “do I get to see my chief, Finn MacCool?”

“You do not,” answered the king. “I did not say that bringing the hound was the only trial you would have to accomplish. You shall not see your chief until you bring me the true story of the Sorrowful Knight.”

Dermot was willing to try another test. He believed that the king was honest in saying he meant to have two trials before releasing Finn.

“Where can I find this man?” he asked.

“That is for you to find out,” said the king.

Dermot left the palace and went to the long house. Once more he felt discouraged, but once more the small chief came to his aid.

“I’ll wager you have been sent to get the story of the Sorrowful Knight,” he said.

“How did you guess it?” asked Dermot.

“Because that is the most dangerous task the king could possibly think of. The quest will lead you into the land of enchantment. No one has ever heard the story, and few have ever reached the castle.”

“Nevertheless I must go,” said Dermot. “All I need is some one to show me the way.”

“I can do that easily,” answered the little fellow.

Dermot looked at him in admiration. “I shall never cease to be thankful that I spared your life,” he said. “We shall start immediately, and on the way we shall leave with the Red Giant his hound and golden chain.”

VII.

The Red Giant greeted them warmly. Never before had he met a man who was stronger than he, so that made him respect Dermot; but he respected him still more for his honesty, when he found that the hound was to be returned to him.

“Are you on another quest, or have you rescued your chief?” asked the giant.

“I am on a most difficult errand,” explained Dermot. “I must get the story of the Sorrowful Knight before I may see Finn MacCool.”

The Red Giant slapped his knee a resounding whack.

“You are right,” he said. “It is difficult! It would be impossible but for the fact that you have been fair with me. I once did a service for the Sorrowful Knight. He swore that nothing I should ever ask him would be refused. Tomorrow I shall go with you, and my request shall be in your interest.”

You may be sure that Dermot was glad he had not taken a thief’s advantage of the giant when he had had the opportunity. That night, with the small chief, he and the Red Giant spent the time eating, drinking and telling stories.

The journey to the land of the Sorrowful Knight, under the guidance of the Red Giant, was a short one. They found the castle set deep in a thick wood. No sound came from it. The branches of the trees drooped in sadness. Even the cattle grazing in the field seemed to crop the grass mournfully.

The guard at the gate wiped the tears from his eyes before he asked them the nature of their errand. When he learned that they wished to see the Sorrowful Knight, he led them through a quiet courtyard into a dark and dismal chamber in the heart of the castle.

At first Dermot could see nothing. When his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he saw that the room was draped in black, and that the furniture was the color of night. At the table in the center of the room sat a man, his head leaning on his hand, his elbow on the table. He appeared to be asleep, nor did he awaken when the three entered the room. He must have been at the table a long time. Where his elbow rested upon it, a deep groove had been worn, and into it, even in his sleep, the tears dropped steadily.

The Red Giant took him by the shoulder and spoke to him. The man straightened up slowly.

“Why do you come here to interrupt my grieving?” he asked.

“You promised many years ago that you would grant any request I would make,” said the Red Giant. “I have come to test your promise.”

The Sorrowful Knight sighed heavily. “What is your request?” he asked.

“You are to tell to Dermot of the Fenians the reason for your sorrow,” said the giant.

Once more the knight sighed, and the tears flowed more freely down his cheeks.

“I feared your request would be that,” he said. “Since I promised you on my honor, I must tell the story, but no other living man has heard it.”

The Sorrowful Knight had dinner served for his guests with a flickering candle for light. Most people would have had a small appetite in such gloomy surroundings, but Dermot and his friends were hungry enough to forget about it. They did full justice to the meal. When each had satisfied his hunger the knight began:

“It was twenty-one years ago that the sorrow came to me. I lived in this castle as happily as any man of the kingdom. Anyone would have been proud of the twelve handsome young men I called my sons. Every place I went my boys were with me.

“On the morning of the first of May it was our custom to hunt the deer together. Of course, we hunted on many days of the spring, but the May day was always our first deer hunt. On the morning of which I speak we started up a deer without horns and gave chase.

“It was a fleeter animal than any we had ever followed before. All day long we kept after her until toward evening we saw her disappear into a cave. We thought we had her trapped and followed swiftly. Imagine our surprise when we found ourselves not in a cave at all, but in a new country, at the gate of a large castle.

“The deer was nowhere in sight. We were too far from home to return that night, so we decided to ask for shelter from the lord of the castle. This was readily granted.

“We were taken into a big banquet hall. Along one side of the room, over huge fires, were twelve kettles of scalding water. In front of each kettle was the carcass of a wild boar. The master of the castle apologized for not having supper cooked and asked if any of us could prepare the boars for roasting. We said we could and set to work.

“But, though we dipped the animals in the scalding water, we could not remove a single bristle. The scalding seemed to make them stick more tightly. We could do nothing toward preparing the meat for supper.

“Then the master called in a small servant and told him to get the animals ready. This man lined up the twelve boars, blew upon them through a small tube, and instantly every bristle disappeared. I knew then that we were in the land of enchantment.

“We had all that we could eat, and after the meal the lord of the castle asked me if my sons would be willing to show their strength for our amusement. I told him they would. He ordered in twelve small men with a long chain and bade my sons pull it away from them. This seemed like an easy task. But when my sons took hold of the chain they could not move the small men an inch. Soon the small men pulled my sons toward them with a quick jerk and threw the slackened part about the necks of my boys. The instant the chain touched my sons they became twelve stones.”

At this point the tears of the Sorrowful Knight stopped his words. His listeners had to wait until he had mastered his grief before he could go on.

“When I saw my twelve noble sons thus changed before my eyes, I was filled with the great grief which has never left me. The lord of the castle had me thrown out into the night, and it was with difficulty that I found my way back to my home. Since then I never have left my castle.

“Each year, on May day, the deer comes to the gate and calls, ‘Here is the deer, but where are the hunters to follow it?’ Tomorrow she will come again, but no one here has heart for the chase.

“That, then, is my story. I ask you if any man could be happy with such a sorrow in his life?”

Dermot had listened with rising pity that soon turned into anger. He rose abruptly to his feet.

“I have but been sent to get your story, but no true Fenian is willing to let wickedness go unpunished. If you will go with me, there will be men to follow the deer tomorrow, and the sun shall not set before I have tried my strength against the enchantment of the lord of that castle.”

For the first time in twenty-one years the Sorrowful Knight no longer wept. He announced that he would go the next morning. The small chief and the Red Giant also promised to take part in the chase of the deer.

In the morning the deer came to the gate and called as was her custom, “Here is the deer, but where are the hunters to follow it?”

The four men had been waiting and now they set after her at full speed. All day long they followed her, and in the evening she approached a cave in the hillside.

“That is where she will disappear!” shouted the knight.

Dermot sped after her. Now, as you know, there was no one in Erin who could equal him in a race. He rapidly caught up with the deer and seized her by the hind leg, just as she reached the mouth of the cave. Instantly the deer disappeared, and in her place was a hideous old witch, with straggly gray hair and long crooked teeth. Dermot was so startled that he let go his hold. The witch ran screaming into the cave.

The men followed and came out at the gate of the castle just as the knight had done years before. When they knocked for admission, they were met by the master, who seemed greatly surprised to see the Sorrowful Knight.

“I thought you had enough of this place when you were here before,” he said.

Dermot did the answering. “He comes with me,” he said. “I could not have enough of your castle, because this is the first time I have ever been here.”

The master invited them into the room where waited the twelve kettles of water and the twelve boars.

“Have you a man among you who can prepare the supper?” asked the master.

“We have,” said Dermot. “And it is a long time since you had one as good. We have also a man who will get the meat.”

Dermot went out into the forest and brought in enough meat for the meal. He knew better than to try to prepare the enchanted boars. The ones he had killed, he dressed with his sword and soon had them cooked. The master made no comments, but ate with the others.

When the meal was over the lord of the castle addressed the knight.

“Have you a man among you who can show us a little action for our amusement?”

Once more Dermot did the answering. “He has. Send in the same twelve small men you used against his sons and we will show you enough action to satisfy you.”

The small men brought in the chain and passed one end to Dermot, who braced his feet against the rocks on the floor. The small men pulled as hard as they could, but not a link of slack chain could they get. All at once Dermot jerked them toward him, looped the chain over their necks and snapped off the twelve heads.

He then held out the end of the chain to the master and said, “Perhaps you would like to show us a little action yourself?”

The lord of the castle was seized with a fit of trembling at the thought of pulling against this terrible Fenian. He dropped to his knees and began to beg for his life.

“Spare me, and I will bring back the knight’s twelve sons,” he cried.

“That is all I could ask of you,” said Dermot.

The frightened enchanter took his rod and touched each of the twelve blocks of stone along the wall. Instantly the twelve sons of the knight were with them, as strong and hearty as ever.

You can imagine how the father felt over this change. He was no longer the Sorrowful Knight.

They wasted no time in leaving the enchanter’s palace and in returning to the castle of the man who was now the Glad Knight. From there Dermot and his friends went on to the home of the Red Giant, and then on to the king of the White Nation. Dermot was happy in being able to rescue the twelve young men, but he was far happier in the thought that he was now to see Finn MacCool.

IX.

On his return Dermot presented himself at the palace. Though the wicked old king was surprised to see him again, he endeavored not to show it.

“Well, have you the story of the Sorrowful Knight?” he asked.

“I have,” said Dermot. “Are you ready to hear it?”

Then he told the king the story, just as it had been told to him. I don’t believe that he mentioned the rescue of the twelve sons, because that was not in his sentence, and he was anxious to be through with the task and rescue Finn. At the end of the story he said:

“Now I have done what you asked. Do I get to see my chief?”

“You do not,” answered the king. “You shall not see him until you get me the story of the Lad of True Tales.”

Dermot’s anger flamed up. For the first time he saw that the king was not honest in his sentences, and that he was merely setting tasks to put him off, until he could find something that would do away with him forever.

“Oh, is that so?” he asked. “You should have spoken about it sooner. I have worn out all the leather I am going to use, tramping over the rocks of your country. I am going to let you find out how sharp some of those stones are.”

He picked up the treacherous king and tossed him out of the upper window of the palace to the rocks below. The king of the White Nation would never set another task for any man.

Then Dermot searched high and low for Finn. Everyone got out of his way, but still he could not find his chief. When he was almost in despair, he met an old woman.

“I will lead you to Finn,” she said. “It is I who have been caring for him.”

She did as she promised. Dermot was so happy on seeing Finn that he wanted to embrace him. Finn pushed him away.

Dermot’s feelings were hurt. “If any man had gone through what I have to rescue me, I would not seem ungrateful,” he said.

“It is not ingratitude,” said Finn. “My thumb tells me that we have little time to lose. The king’s daughter has gone off to enchant another victim. We must get away while she is gone.”

The two friends hastened to the shore, taking what food they could on the way. Then they raised the sails and pointed the boat toward Erin. Finn placed Dermot in the stern to watch, while he managed the boat. Every few minutes he would say, “Do you see anything?” Dermot would answer, “I see nothing but waves and sky.”

They were nearing the shores of Erin when Finn asked the question again.

“I see a bird that looks like an eagle,” said Dermot.

“Then we are lost,” cried Finn. “She is following.”

“Is there no way to release you?” asked Dermot.

“There is,” answered Finn, “but I am in honor bound not to tell you of it.”

The boat sped swiftly on, with the bird ever gaining. When near the land, the two champions sprang ashore, just as the bird turned the boat over and perched upon the hull. She saw them on the land and flew after them. The instant she struck the earth she became a woman. Rushing up to Finn she threw her arms around his neck.

“Come back with me and be my husband,” she begged. “You shall be the king of the White Nation.”

It made Dermot angry to see the actions of the woman who had caused them both so much trouble. He swung his sword against the hillside in anger. So great was the blow that a valley appeared where the sword struck. A great shower of dirt, far more than the seven shovelfuls, fell over Finn and the woman.

Finn put the enchantress from him. “I thank you, Dermot,” he said. “You have released me from her bonds.”

The woman gave a cry of rage, became an eagle once more and flew out over the ocean. Finn and Dermot hastened to join the Fenians.