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After looking over the last details of the toolsheds and henneries we were riding home under the over-arching elms down Bran Lane. As we passed Chryseros' entrance we heard yells for help. Hedulio spurred his horse up the avenue and towards the yells, I after him. The yells guided us to the lower barn-yard gate.
Look where Bran is, the hound of Fionn, and he shall take it, for he does not love Fionn better than he loves Diarmid, so, Oscar, tell him to go to Diarmid who is in Derry. And Oscar told that to Bran, and Bran understood, and stole round to the back part of the army where Fionn might not see him; then he bounded away to Derry and thrust his head into Diarmid's bosom as he lay asleep.
But Bran and Sceo'lan did not stop; they added another inch to their long-stretched easy bodies, and came up on the fawn. "It is an easy kill," said Fionn regretfully. "They have her," he cried. But he was again astonished, for the dogs did not kill. They leaped and played about the fawn, licking its face, and rubbing delighted noses against its neck. Fionn came up then.
The slave emptied the bran, and dividing it with his hands among the horses, felt a linen cloth tied up, and very heavy; he brought the cloth to me in the condition that he found it, and presented it to me, telling me, that it might perhaps be the cloth he had often heard me talk of among my friends.
It was the wolf howl, not yet quite born. Food came more easily than voice. Toward midday he cornered a big white rabbit under a log, and killed it. The warm flesh and blood was better than frozen fish, or tallow and bran, and the feast he had gave him confidence. That afternoon he chased many rabbits, and killed two more.
"Yes," he replied, "thou knowest that there remaineth to me but this one round, after which each of us will wend a different way." She laughed at him and said, "Art thou an eater of bran?
Bran, after watching them attentively for a few moments as they stood side by side near the French window, rose up from off his haunches, and walked gloomily away. 'Bran, Bran! Twemlow cried. 'It's no use, she laughed. 'He's vexed. He thinks he's being neglected. He'll go to his kennel and nothing will bring him out of it, except food. Come into the house. It's going to rain again.
Now the dog Bran, being unhungered, and refusing to eat of Toma's loaf, as all did who were ignorant of its druidical purpose, fell upon the Magic Thread-Clue and tore it in twain. This so greatly affrighted the champions that they sounded the Dord-Fian slowly and plaintively, hoping that the war-cry might bring Sheela to their rescue.
Well, the pity is that this foolish contradictory taste of mine, while it makes me hungry, forbids me to follow your example. Why am I to take lessons from my soldier-phantasms, and not from my canine one? Illogical! Bran! Bran! and he went out and whistled in vain for the dog.
They can be kept in a box filled with moist sand or bran. If kept too long they will start off as flies. which raise such a racket from the trees, particularly at night and after the middle of July, are rather hard to get, but they pay for the trouble, particularly if you want to tempt pike or pickerel.
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