’N uair bha iad so ’dol dachaidh’s an spréidh aca, thuirt an gille ris a’ ghobhainn, “Tha mi nis ’dol a dhealachadh ribh, ’s nì sinn dà leth air an spréidh.” Cha robh an gobhainn toileach air so a thoirt dha, ach bho ’n a bha e ’n a chùmhnant fhuair e ’n darna leth. Dhealaich iad so, agus am beothach nach cailleadh an gobhainn an dràsd’ shiubhladh e rithist, ’s cha robh fhios aige c’ àite an robh e a’ dol, ’s mu ’n d’ ràinig e ’n tigh cha robh aige ach seann mhart nach do chaill e de ’n spréidh.
’N uair a chunnaic O’ Domhnull am falt a bh’ air a bhràthair, chuir e mach fios gu ’n toireadh e ’n treas cuid d’ a mhaoin seachad do aon ’s am bith a chuireadh air fhéin e. Smaointich an gobhainn gu ’m feuchadh e-fhéin g’ a dheanamh an dràsda gun duine ach e-fhéin. Chaidh e far an robh O’Domhnull ’s thuirt e ris gu ’n cuireadh e air-san e mar an ceudna, ’s gur e a chuir air a bhràthair, O’Neil, e, ’s dh’ iarr e ’n coire ’chur air ’s teine math ris. Thug e O’ Domhnull stigh do sheòmar ’s cheangail e air bòrd e, ’s rug e air an tuaidh, ’s thug e dheth an ceann ’s thilg e ’an comhair na goille e anns a’ choire. ’An ceann treis rug e air a’ ghramaiche dh’ fheuchainn an robh falt a’ cinntinn, ach ’an àite falt a bhi ’cinntinn ’s ann a bha na giallan ’tuiteam as. Bha an gobhainn ’an impis dol as a chiall, gun fhios aige ’dé dheanadh e, ’n uair a chualaig e guth air a chùlthaobh ag ràdhainn ris, “Tha thu ann ad éiginn.” Bha so gille na sgoil-duibhe, a bh’ aige fhéin roimhe, air tilleadh. Shéid e ris a’ choire na bu teodha, ’s thug e sin nuas leis an gramaiche a shealltainn ciamar a bha an ceann a’ deanamh, ’s bha am falt a’ cinntinn. An ath-uair a dh’ fheuch e e, ruigeadh car mu ’dhòrn dheth. “Bho ’n a bha e co fada gun chinntinn,” ars’ esan, “cuiridh sinn car a bharrachd mu ’m dhòrn;” ’s ’n uair a dh’ fheuch e rithist e, ruigeadh e ’n dà char. Thog e as a’ choire e, ’s bhuail e air a’ choluinn e; ’s ghlaodh e ’ghrad-fhuasgladh, ’s e ’faicinn ’fhalt buidhe sìos air a ghualainn. Chòrd am falt ris fior mhaith, bha barrachd fuilt air ’s a bh’ air O’ Neil a bhràthair. Fhuair iadsan ’cheart ni a chaidh ghealltainn doibh, ’s bha iad ’dol dachaidh air an rathad. Thuirt gille na sgoil-duibhe, “Nach fheàrr dhuinn ar treud a roinn?” “Cha roinn, cha roinn,” ars’ an gobhainn, “tog leat iad, bho ’n a fhuair mise saor.” “Ma tà,” ars’ esan, “na ’n dubhairt thu sin roimhe cha deachaidh thu dhachaidh falamh no air aon mhart; agus leis a sin,” ars’ esan, “bheir thu leat h-uile h-aon diùbh, cha ghabh mise gin diùbh.”
Chaidh an gobhainn dachaidh leis an spréidh sin, ’s cha do ruig e leas buille a bhualadh ’an ceàrdaich tuille, ni mò a thachair e-fhéin air fear na sgoil-duibhe tuille.
BEAST FABLES.
THE WOLF AND THE FOX.
This story, like many others in which the lower animals figure as characters, is very popular in the Highlands, in fact, Mr. Campbell of Islay, by whom it is mentioned, could not help falling in with it. But the version published by him is destitute of several interesting incidents which form a part of the story. The narration depends always upon the knowledge and skill of the person who tells it, and this edition is given because there is to be found in it incidents of much interest and amusement, not to be found in any other version, such as the Fox’s oath and standing in front of the fire. The Gaelic is not given except in the essential expressions, and it is not deemed of much consequence to give more, as their fluency and number depend upon the reciter’s knowledge and tact. In these fables the lower animals appear with the same characteristics as are always assigned to them, and in this tale the fox appears as not only wily and cunning, but also as the most unprincipled scoundrel, indifferent to the interests of others, and also to what is usually of weight with men, the restraint of an unseen power.
The Fox and Wolf were keeping house together near the shore, and as might naturally be expected, were very poor and at times hard up for food. At first the fox kept himself in good condition, and was not so voracious as the wolf. After a heavy storm in winter time the two went along the shore to see what the sea had cast up. This is still done by poor people in the islands, and in those places where wood does not grow. They are often fortunate enough to find logs and planks of wood. On the occasion of the wolf and the fox’s journey they were fortunate enough to find a keg of butter. Probably it had come from Ireland and been swept or thrown overboard in the storm. It was particularly welcome to the poor finders, and the rascally fox at once coveted it for himself. He said to the wolf that, as this was the winter time, they had not so much need of it, but when the hungry summer (samhradh gortach) would come, it would be doubly welcome; they had better bury it, and no one would know of its existence but themselves. They dug a deep hole, buried the keg of butter, and went home with their other provisions. Some days after that the fox came in, and wearily throwing himself on a settle, or seat, which formed part of the furniture, he heaved a deep sigh and said, “Alas! Alas! Woe is me (Och! Och! fhéin thall).”
“Alas! Alas!” said the sympathising wolf, “what is it that troubles you?”
“Dear me,” said the fox, “they are wanting me out to a christening (Och! Och! tha iad ’gam iarraidh mach gu goisteachd),” still pretending a weary indifference, and the Gaelic expression is here noticeable, as, being asked out to a baptism means literally being asked to be god-father, or gossip at the baptism, a practise observed in the Highlands, even where the Roman Catholic and Episcopal systems have disappeared.