Part 6

She looked peeringly at the sow, and then began to mutter something which the good woman could not well understand, but she said it sounded like--

"Pitter patter, Holy water."

Then she took a little bottle out of her pocket, with something like oil in it, and rubbed the sow about the snout and on the tip of the tail. "Get up, beast," said the green woman; and no sooner said than done, for up jumps the sow with a grunt and goes off to the trough for her breakfast.

The good woman of Kittleroopit was now as happy as need be, and would have kissed the very hem of the green madam's gown-tail, but she wouldn't let her, and said, "I'm not fond of any such nonsense; but now that I have set your sick beast on its legs again let us settle our agreement. You'll not find me over unreasonable. I like to do a good turn for a small reward. Now all I ask, and will have, is the baby at your breast!"

The good woman of Kittleroopit, who now knew her customer, gave a scream like a screech-owl, and falls to begging and praying, but it wouldn't do. "You may spare yourself all this trouble and screeching as if I were as deaf as a door-post; but this I'll tell you, by our laws I cannot take your child till the third day from this day, and not then if you can tell me my right name." Hereupon the green lady goes her way, round the back of the pig-sty, and the good woman fell down in a swoon where she stood.

That night she could not sleep for fretting, and the next day she could do nothing but hug her baby, that she nearly squeezed the breath out of it; but the second day she thought a walk would do her good, so she went into the fir-wood I told you of. She walked on far among the trees, with her baby in her arms, till she came to an old quarry hole all over-grown with grass. Before she came close up to it she heard the "bizzing" of a spinning-wheel and a voice singing, so she crept quietly among the bushes and peeped down into the hole.

What should she see, but the green Fairy spinning away as fast as possible and singing awhile--

"Little knows the good old dame That Fittletetot is my name."

"Ah, ha!" laughed our good Woman, and she was fit to jump for joy, when she thought how the green old Fairy would be cheated.

She was a merry woman when there was nothing to weigh too heavily on her heart, so she determined to have some sport with the Fairy when she came the next day, as she little doubted she would. That night she slept well, and found herself laughing in the morning when she woke.

When she saw the green Fairy coming up the hill, neither lazy nor lame this time, she put the baby under her stool on which she sat so as to hide it, and turning one leg over the other she put her elbow on her knee, resting her head in her hand as if she were fretting.

Up came the old Fairy, and said, "You know what I have come for, so let us waste no time." The good woman pretends to grieve more than ever, and wringing her hands as she fell on her knees, "Good, kind Madam," she cried, "spare my only child, and take the old sow."

"The foul fiend take the sow," the Fairy said; "I came not here for swine flesh. Now don't be troublesome, but give me the child at once."

"Oh! my good Lady," the good Woman again said, "leave my dear child and take myself."

"What does the old jade mean?" the Fairy cried, this time in a passion. "Why, you old fool, who do you think would have anything to do with the like of you, you ugly old cat?"

This, I promise you, put the good dame's back up; for though she had blear eyes, and a long red nose, she thought herself no less engaging than the vainest; so up she jumped, and making a courtesy down to the ground, she said--

"We cannot all be as beautiful as your own sweet self, and I might have known that I should not be thought fit to tie even the shoes of the high and mighty Princess Fittletetot."

The old Fairy could not have jumped higher if she had been blown up; but down she came again, and roaring with rage ran down the hill, followed by the laughter of the good dame of Kittleroopit.

XXVIII.

_The wee Bannock._

There was an old man who had an old wife, and they lived by the side of a hill. They had two cows, five hens and a cock, a cat and two kittens. The old man looked after the cows whilst the old woman knitted stockings for him, and when she let her ball of yarn fall the kittens sprang upon it, and after it as it rolled away, till it got twisted round all the legs of the chairs and of the table, so that the old woman had plenty to do without knitting the stockings.

One day, after breakfast, she thought she would have a bannock, so she made two oatmeal bannocks and put them to the fire to bake. After a while the old man came in and sat down by the side of the fire, and when he saw the bannocks he took up one and snapped it through the middle. No sooner did the other see this than off it ran as fast as it could, and the old woman after it; but the wee bannock ran away and out of sight, and ran till it came to a pretty large thatched house, into which it ran boldly up to the fire-side. There were three tailors sitting on a table, and when they saw the wee bannock come in they jumped up and off the table, and ran behind the good wife who was carding tow on the other side of the fire.

"Be not afraid," she cried, "it's only a wee bannock. Catch it, and I'll give you a basin of milk with it."

Up she gets with the tow-cards, and the tailor with the goose, and the two apprentices: the one with the shears and the other with the sleeve-board, but it eluded them all. The one apprentice made a snap at it with the shears, but he fell into the ash-pit. The tailor threw the goose and his wife the tow-cards; but it wouldn't do; the bannock got away and ran till it came to a little house by the road-side, into which it ran. There was a weaver sitting on his loom, and his wife was winding a skein of yarn.

"Kitty," said he, "what's that?" "Oh," said she, "it's a wee bannock." "It's welcome," said he, "for our pottage was rather thin to-day. Catch hold of it, my Girl; catch it." "Yes, that I will," said she. "How now! why that's a clever bannock. Stop it, Willie; stop it, Man." But it wouldn't be stopped, and away it went over the hillock and ran into the nearest house, straight up to the fire-side. There was the good wife churning, and she said, "Come along, my wee Bannock. I have cream, but no bread." However the bannock dodged round the churn, and she after it, till she nearly upset the churn, and before she could steady it the wee bannock was off, down by the side of the stream into the mill.

The miller was sifting meal; but when he looked up and saw the bannock, he said, "It's a sign of plenty when you're running about like that and no one to look after you. But I like a bannock and cheese, so come here, and I'll give you a night's lodging." But the bannock wouldn't trust itself with the miller and his cheese, so it turned and ran out again, and the miller didn't trouble himself about it.

This time it rolled on gently till it came to a smithy, and in it ran up to the anvil. The smith, who was making horse-nails, said, "I like a stoup of good ale and a well-toasted bannock, so you are just the thing for me." But the bannock was frightened when it heard him talk of the ale, so it ran off as hard as it could split, and the smith after it, but all to no purpose; for it was out of sight in a crack, and it ran on till it came to a farm-house. In it went up to the fire-side, where the farmer was plaiting straw ropes. "Why, Janet," he cried, "here's a bannock. I'll have the half of't." "Well, John, and I the other half." But neither could get hold of it, and off it was, up one side of the hill and down the other, to the nearest house, and in it went up to the fire.

The good folks were just sitting down to supper. "Shut the door," cried the good woman, "for here's a wee bannock come in to warm itself by our fire, and it's just in time for supper."

When the bannock heard this it ran all about the house, and got out at last, when it ran faster and faster till it got to another house. As it ran in the folk were just going to bed. The goodman was taking off his breeches, and his wife raking out the fire.

"What's that?" cried he. "It's a wee bannock," said his wife. "I could eat the half of it for all the supper I had," said he. "Catch hold of it," cried she, "and I'll have a bit too. Throw your breeches at it--there, stop it--stop it!" The goodman threw his breeches at it and nearly buried it, but it got away and out of the house. The goodman ran after it; and now a regular chase began, round the house, through the garden, across the fields on to a common among the furze, where he lost it, and he had to trot home again half naked.

It had now grown quite dark, and the wee bannock could not see an inch before it, so by mistake it got into a fox's hole.

Now the fox had had no meat for two days, so it made a snap at the bannock and it was gone in an instant.

It would seem as if there were little use in the wee bannock having escaped so many dangers, but not so, for all its pursuers could do very well without it, whereas the poor fox had fasted two days and must have been really hungry.

XXIX.

_Jock and his Mother._

There was once a widow who had a son, and she called him Jock. Now, one day she said to him, "You are a lazy fellow, but now you must go out and earn something in order to help me."

"I'll do that willingly," said Jock. So away he went, and fell in with a pedler, who said to him, "If you'll carry my pack all day, I'll give you a needle at night." He carried the pack all day, receiving the needle at night; and as he went on his way home to his mother, he cut a bundle of rushes and put the needle in the middle of them.

When he got home his Mother said to him, "What have you done, and brought home to-day?" "I met with a pedler," said Jock, "and carried his pack for him, for which I received a needle, which you may look for among the rushes."

"Out upon you, for a blockhead," said his Mother, "you should have stuck it in your cap." "I'll mind that another time," said Jock.

The next day he overtook a man carrying plough-shares, and the man said to him, "If you'll help me to carry my plough-shares during the day, I'll give you one for yourself at night." "Agreed," said Jock. So at night he gets a plough-share, which he sticks in his cap. On his way home he was thirsty, so he went down to the river to have a drink, and as he stooped the plough-share fell out of his cap and was lost in the water. He then went home, and his Mother said to him, "Well, Jock, what have you been doing to-day?" And when he told her she cried out, "How stupid you are, Jock! you should have tied a piece of string to it and trailed it after you along the ground." "Well, I'll mind that another time," said Jock.

Off he started the next morning and fell in with a butcher. "If you'll be my servant for the day," he said, "I'll give you a leg of mutton at night." "That is a bargain," said Jock. And after serving his day out he got a leg of mutton, to which he tied a piece of string and dragged it after him through all the dust and dirt. When his Mother saw him she exclaimed, "Will you never grow wise? You should have carried the leg of mutton on your shoulder." "Well, Mother, another time I shall know better," was his answer.

The next day he went out as usual, and he met a horse-dealer. He said, "If you will help me with my horses during the day, I'll give you one at night." "I'll do that," said Jock. So after serving him he received a horse as his day's wages. He tied the animal's feet together, but was not able to lift it up; so he left it and went home to his mother, whom he told how he had tried to do as she bid him, but that he could not lift the horse on to his shoulder to carry it. "Oh, you born idiot!" she cried; "could you not have jumped on its back and ridden it home?" "I'll not forget that the next time," he promised.

The next day he overtook a drover driving some cattle to a neighbouring town, and the drover said to him, "If you'll help me safely to the town with my cattle, I'll give you a cow for your trouble." This Jock agreed to; and when he got his promised cow he jumped on to its back, and taking its tail over his shoulder, he galloped along, in high glee, towards home.

Now there was a very rich man who had an only daughter, and she had such fits of melancholy that it was sad to see her; so that, after trying every remedy and consulting all the quacks in the country, he had it publicly announced that whoever could make her laugh should have her for his wife.

Though she was young and beautiful no one had been found to cure her, and she was sitting in a very melancholy state, at the window, when Jock came galloping along on his cow, which seemed so highly ridiculous to her that she burst out laughing.

Well, according to her father's promise, she was married to Jock, and a grand wedding it was, and a grand supper was prepared for the guests; but of all the delicacies Jock was most pleased with some honey he had eaten.

Now, after all the company had departed, excepting the old priest that had married them, and who had fallen asleep by the kitchen fire, Jock, who could not forget the honey, said to his bride, "Is there any more of that delicious honey we had for supper?" "Yes," she answered, "you will find plenty more in jars in the kitchen cupboard." So he went into the kitchen, where the lights had been put out, and all had gone to bed, excepting the priest, who was sleeping by the fire; and he found the honey jars.

He thrust his hand into one of the jars to get at some of the honey, but his hand would not come out again, and he did not know what he should do, when he bethought him of breaking the jar on the hearth-stone.

Now, as already said, the kitchen was in darkness; and Jock, mistaking a large white wig, which the priest wore, for the hearth-stone, gave the poor man such a whack on the head with the honey jar that he screamed out murder; and Jock, frightened out of his senses, ran out and hid himself among the bee-hives.

That very night, as luck would have it, some thieves came to steal the bee-hives, which they bundled into a large plaid, and Jock with them without knowing it. Off the thieves ran with their booty on their backs, and when they came to the brook where Jock had dropped the plough-share, one of them kicking his foot against it, cried out, "Here's a plough-share in the water." "That is mine," Jock cried from out of the plaid; and the thieves thinking it was a ghost on their backs, let the plaid, with its contents, fall into the water, and it being tied up Jock could not get out, so was drowned with all the bees.

[Decoration]

XXX.

_The Irish Highwayman._

It was before the introduction of railways, into Ireland at any rate, that a certain Irish Bishop had occasion to visit Dublin. There was, no doubt, a public conveyance of some sort or another of which the good Bishop might have availed himself, but his lordship was a portly gentleman and fond of his ease; besides which his wife and daughter wished to make the journey with him, and they never would for a moment have listened to travelling in a dirty car or coach, so their own comfortable carriage was got ready. I said the Bishop was portly and fond of his ease, but by that I did not mean to infer that all bishops are stout, for I knew one who was a very lean man; nor did I mean that portly personages are all fond of their ease, that is, not more so than the rest of us are; nor do I now mean that a lean man does not appreciate comfort. Be that as it may, the Bishop in question had a handsome comfortable carriage which he thought he might as well use; and, indeed, as his lady and daughter were going with him, he had no choice, so the carriage was used and his lordship's horses too; and to save both, as well as the ladies, the journey was performed in easy stages.

Now the Bishop was an advocate for a moderate amount of exercise, and for this reason, as well as to spare his horses as much as possible, he made a point of alighting from his carriage at the foot of the hills, and walking up to the top, unless, indeed, the hill proved too steep.

On one occasion he had loitered behind admiring the scenery, which was particularly wild and beautiful, and the carriage had got out of sight. However, as it always waited for him at the top of the hill, that did not trouble him as long as he had only the difficulties of the road to contend with; but soon danger appeared in the shape of an ugly looking fellow, who, suddenly starting up from behind a heap of stones, stood right in front of him, effectually stopping his progress, which was particularly vexatious. From the appearance of the stranger the Bishop felt very much inclined to quicken his pace.

"What can I do for you, my good Man?" said the Bishop very civilly, and in his softest voice, for he did not like the look of the man, nor of a dangerous looking club he held in his hand.

"As your Honour is so civil as to ask," the fellow said, "you may first of all give me your money, for I'm sartain sure so kind a gintleman would not like to see a poor fellow in distress, when you can relieve him by only putting your hand in your pocket."

Civilly as he spoke he was a determined looking rascal, with whom it would evidently be of no use to argue, so the Bishop gave him what silver he had about him, hoping to get off with that; but he was mistaken, for the fellow had no sooner put it into his coat pocket than he said--

"Your Honour has made a mistake, for it's sure I am a thorough gintleman like you could not intend to give only a few paltry shillings. But I beg your Riverence's pardon, for I see now that you are an ornament of the blessed Church. It's some gold pieces you intended to give me; but it will save your Riverence trouble if you give me your purse." This was accompanied by a scarcely perceptible movement of the club, which however seemed a very convincing argument, for his lordship immediately produced his purse, which as quickly followed the silver into the capacious pocket.

"I'm sorry to trouble your Honour, your Riverence I mane, any further, for I see you're in a hurry, and it's beg your pardon I do for the same; but I judge you're going to Dublin, and you can have everything in the big city for the asking; but here nothing can be got for love or money, and you see that I want a new coat and hat. Now I'm sure so kind a gintleman won't mind changing yours with me."

"This is too much, my good Man," the Bishop said, driven to resistance by this extraordinary demand. "Recollect that you are breaking the laws of God and man, and think of the punishment in this world and the next. Be satisfied, for you have taken all my money, and my clothes I will not part with."

"Now, sure," was the answer, "your Honor's Riverence makes a mistake, for you gave me that bit of money, and it is that very kindness makes me not believe that you mane to refuse me now. Pray consider, and I'll wait with pleasure for another answer, for I know you'll be sorry." He stepped back a few paces, and, as if to while away the time whilst waiting for the answer, he flourished his cudgel about, first over his head, then on one side and then on the other.

What was to be done? The poor Bishop saw that help was hopeless and resistance equally so, and, after a few moments' hesitation, he took off his coat and hat, laying them on the heap of stones by his side.

"Now, bless your Riverence," the fellow said, "I knew you would not refuse me; but after all your kindness I cannot allow you to be without a coat and hat. It would be neither comfortable nor dacent, and, therefore, just put on my coat. Indeed I'll not take a refusal," he continued, as the Bishop hesitated, and he helped his lordship on with his tattered garment. He then removed his unresisting victim's wig and placed his old hat on his head.

"Now I hope you intend to let me go," the Bishop said.

"I have one more favour to ask, and then I will bid your Riverence a very good morning. I must beg the loan of your watch till I have the honor of seeing you again, for there is no watch or clock for miles around, and it is very awkward, for I don't know when to be at my work, and I'm afraid of cheating my employer out of some of the time due to him. Your Honor can easily get another."

"Will you never be satisfied? But beware of keeping me any longer, for there is my carriage close by, and the servants, whom I have only to call to my help." This the Bishop said in despair, pointing along the road as he spoke, but he had a quick reply.

"Don't trouble yourself to call, for I saw your Riverence's carriage pass, and it is far out of hearing." This his lordship knew well, so he gave up his watch, and was at length allowed to depart. He hurried on, for he was afraid of another demand being made upon him, and it was not long before he reached his carriage.

Much astonishment was caused by his extraordinary appearance, and after he had related his adventure his wife said to him: "Throw off that filthy coat, my Dear, for we shall soon reach a town where you can buy something more befitting you to wear."

"Not so easily, my Dear," was his reply, "for I have not a shilling of money left."

"Well, never mind," his wife said, "take off the nasty thing, for positively you cannot come into the carriage that figure. I'll give you my cloak to cover your shoulders."

The good man was not used to resist his wife, so he took off the coat, throwing it upon the road. As he did so some silver fell out, which induced him to make his servant examine it, and to his joy and relief all his property was found in the pocket.

The party reached Dublin without any further adventure, and a few days after received intelligence of the capture of the Highwayman.

XXXI.

_Fiddling Jackey._

There was once a little boy, who led a very unhappy life, for his father was tipsy from morning till night, and he had no mother to soothe and console him when he had met with ill-treatment, which happened almost daily.

I cannot tell you exactly how long ago this was, but it must be a long, long time, for there were fairies then, and the birds, trees, and flowers sang and spoke, which you know has not happened within your recollection, at all events.

Jackey's father, for Jackey was the little boy's name, was village musician, and had once played the violin remarkably well, but since he had taken to drinking had grown so careless that his scraping was a horror to all who could hear at all, that the dogs even howled in disgust, and probably in pain, for the noise they made was piteous in the extreme.

Now, when the drunken fiddler reeled home at night, accompanied by the most dissolute of the village, the shouting of these, the horrid scraping of the fiddle, and the discordant chorus of some twenty or thirty dogs, made the more steady and respectable portion of the community tremble in their beds, with some undefined fear.

All this, you must know, happened in Germany, where in every cottage of the villages there is, at least, one dog, and where the watchman, who is generally the swineherd as well, no doubt was not over sober himself, and more likely to add to the noise than stop it.

Though the fiddler was a sad reprobate, and his playing of the worst description, he was tolerated; for the fact is that the most of the elder portion of the villagers cared only for drinking, and the younger ones thought of nothing but dancing; so he was good enough for them after all.