glade. His heart was sorrowful, for he
thought of the great race of the morning, and he knew that he could not
hope to compete with the rider of the white steed of the plains. And as
he lay beneath the spreading branches during the whole night long his
thoughts were not of the victory he had won, but of the princess, who
was as far away from him as ever. He passed the night without sleep, and
when the morning came he rose and walked aimlessly through the woods.

A deer starting from a thicket reminded him of the happy days of his
boyhood, and once more the wish came back to him that he had never left
his forest home. As his eyes followed the deer wistfully, suddenly he
started in amazement. The deer vanished from view, and in his stead was
the wild horse of the mountains.

"I told you I'd do you a good turn," said the Pooka, "for the kindness
you and yours did me on that wild winter's night. The day is passing.
You have no time to lose. The white steed of the plains is coming to the
starting-post. Jump on my back, and remember, 'Faint heart never won
fair lady.'"

In half a second Fergus was bestride the Pooka, whose coat of shaggy
hair became at once as glossy as silk, and just at the very moment
when the king was about to declare there was no steed to compete with
the white steed of the plains, the Pooka, with Fergus upon his back,
galloped up in front of the royal inclosure. When the people saw the
champion a thunderous shout rose up that startled the birds in the
skies, and sent them flying to the groves.

And in the ladies' inclosure was a rustle of many-colored scarves waving
in the air. At the striking of the shields the contending steeds rushed
from the post with the swiftness of a swallow's flight. But before the
white steed of the plains had gone halfway round, Fergus and the wild
horse of the mountains had passed the winning post, greeted by such
cheers as had never before been heard on the plains of Tara.

Fergus heard the cheers, but scarcely heeded them, for his heart went
out through his eyes that were fastened on the princess, and a wild hope
stirred him that his glance was not ungrateful to the loveliest lady of
the land.

And the princess was sad and sorry for her vow, for she believed that it
was beyond the power of Fergus to bring her a robe of all the colors of
the rainbow, so subtly woven as to fit in the palm of her soft, white
hand.

That night also Fergus went to the forest, not too sad