Part 6

'Hurrah!' shouted the schoolmaster. 'Cockerham against the world!' And as in his joy he jumped out of the ring, the Evil One, instead of seizing him, in one stride crossed Pilling Moss and Broadfleet, and vanished, and from that night to the present day Cockerham has been quite free from Satanic visits.{19}

THE SILVER TOKEN.

Believe i' Fairies? 'Ay, that I do, though I never clapped mi een on 'em,' said old Nancy to a group of gaping listeners seated by the farm-house kitchen fire.

'That's quare,' remarked a sceptical young woman in the ingle nook.

Old Nancy gave her a scornful glance, and then went on:--

'I never see'd a fairy as I know on, but I used to sarve one on 'em wi' milk. Yo' mon stare; but th' way on it wir this. I wir at mi wark i' th' dairy one day, abaat th' edge o' dark, when o ov a suddent a loile jug clapt itsel daan afooar mi on th' stooan. Yo' may be sure I wir fair capt, for wheear it come fray, or heaw it geet theear, I couldn't mek aat. I stoopt mi daan to pike howd on it, and it met a' bin silver, it wir that breet and bonnie; but it wir as leet as a feather, an' I couldn't tell what it wir med on. I wir baan to set it o' th' stooan again, when I seed at a new sixpenny bit hed bin put theer wi' it, so it struck mi as milk wir wantit. Accordingly I fillt th' jug and seet it daan again, an' welly as soon as I'd clapt it wheear I fun' it, it up an' whipt eaut o' seet. Well I thowt it meeterly quare, bud I'd heeard mi feyther say, monny an' monny a toime, as thuse as geet fairy brass gin 'em should tell nubry, so I kept it to mysen, though I'd hard wark, yo' may be sure. Every neet th' jug an' th' sixpenny bit clapt theirsens o' th' stooan as reglar as milkin' toime, an' I fillt th' jug and piked up th' brass. At last, ha'ever, I thowt happen no lumber could come on it if I towd nobbut one, so when Roger theear and me settlet a beein wed I towd him what sooart ov a nest-egg I'd getten so quarely. Mi feyther wir reet, ha'ever, for th' next neet nayther jug nor th' sixpenny bit showed thersels, an' fray that day to this I've sin no mooar on 'em, an' it's ower forty year sin I piked up th' last brass.{3}

THE HEADLESS WOMAN.

(BEAWT HEEOD.)

It was near upon twelve when Gabriel Fisher bade good night to the assembled roysterers who were singing and shouting in the kitchen of the White Bull, at Longridge, and, turning his back to the cosy hearth, upon which a huge log was burning, emerged into the moonlit road. With his dog Trotty close at his heels, he struck out manfully towards Tootal Height and Thornley, for he had a long and lonely walk before him. It was a clear and frosty night, but occasionally a light cloud sailed across the heavens, and obscured the moon. Rapidly passing between the two rows of cottages which constituted the little straggling village, his footsteps ringing upon the frozen ground, Gabriel made for the fells, and, as he hurried along, he hummed to himself a line of the last song he had heard, and now and again burst into a fit of laughter as he remembered a humorous story told by 'Owd Shuffler.' When he reached the highest point of the road whence he could see the beautiful Chipping valley, a soft breeze was whispering among the fir-trees, with that faint rustle suggestive of the gentle fall of waves upon a beach. Here and there a little white farm-house or labourer's cottage was gleaming in the moonlight, but the inmates had been asleep for hours. There was an air of loneliness and mystery over everything; and though Gabriel would have scorned to admit that he was afraid of anything living or dead, before he had passed out of the shadow of the weird-looking melodious branches he found himself wishing for other company than that of his dog. He suddenly remembered, too, with no access of pleasurable feelings, that on the previous day he had seen a solitary magpie, and all sorts of stories of 'Banister Dolls' and 'Jinny Greenteeths,' with which his youthful soul had been carefully harrowed, came across his mind. He tried to laugh at these recollections, but the attempt was by no means a successful one, and he gave expression to a hearty wish that Kemple End were not quite so far off.

Just then a sharp shrill cry fell upon his ear, and then another and another. 'Th' Gabriel Ratchets,'{33} he shouted, 'what's abaat to happen?' The cries were not repeated, however, and he went on, but when he reached the peak of the fell, and gazed before him into the deep shade of a plantation, he could not repress a slight shudder, for he fancied that he saw something moving at a distance. He paused for a moment or two to assure himself, and then went on again slowly, his heart throbbing violently as he lessened the space between the moving object and himself. The dog, as though equally influenced by similar feelings, crept behind him in a suspicious and terrified manner.

'It's nobbut a woman,' said he, somewhat re-assured; 'it's a woman sewerly. Mebbee someburry's badly, an' hoo's gooin' for help. Come on, Trotty, mon.'

So saying, he quickened his pace, the dog hanging behind, until he approached almost close to the figure, when, with a wild howl, away Trotty fled down the hillside. As Gabriel drew still closer, he saw that the object wore a long light cloak and hood, and a large coal-scuttle bonnet; and surprised to find that the sound of his footsteps did not cause her to turn to see who was following, he called out:

'It's a bonny neet, Missis; bud yo're aat rayther late, arn't yo'?'

'It is very fine,' answered the woman, in a voice which Gabriel thought was the sweetest he had ever heard, but without turning towards him as she spoke.

'Summat wrong at your fowk's, happen?' he asked, anxious to prolong the talk. There was no reply to this, though, and Gabriel knew not what to think, for the silent dame, although she declined to reply, continued to keep pace with him, and to walk at his side. Was it some one who had no business to be out at that hour, and who did not wish to be recognised, he wondered? But if so, thought he, why did she continue to march in a line with him? The voice, certainly, was that of one of a different rank to his own; but, on the other hand, he reflected, if she were one of the gentle folks, why the cottager's cloak and bonnet, and the huge market basket? These conjectures crossed his brain in rapid succession; and influenced by the last one--that as to his companion's clothing--he determined again to address her.

'Yo' met a left yir tung at whoam, Missis,' said he, 'sin' yo' connot answer a civil mon.'

This taunt, however, like the direct query, failed to provoke an answer, although the startled Gabriel could have sworn that a smothered laugh came from beneath the white cloth which covered the contents of the basket 'Let me carry yer baskit,' said he; 'it's heavy for yo'.'

Without a word, the woman held it out to him; but, as Gabriel grasped the handle, a voice, which sounded as though the mouth of the speaker were close to his hand, slowly said:

'You're very kind, I'm sure;' and then there came from the same quarter a silvery peal of laughter.

'What i' th' warld can it be?' said Gabriel, as without more ado he let the basket fall to the ground. He did not remain in ignorance very long, however, for, as the white cloth slipped off, a human head, with fixed eyes, rolled out 'Th' yedless boggart!' cried he, as the figure turned to pick up the head, and revealed to him an empty bonnet, and away he fled down the hill, fear lending him speed. He had not run far, however, before he heard a clatter of feet on the hard road behind him; but Gabriel was one of the fleetest lads about the fells, and the sight he had just seen was calculated to bring out all his powers; so the sound did not grow louder, but just as he turned into the old Chaighley Road, the head, thrown by the boggart, came whizzing past in unpleasant proximity to his own, and went rolling along in front of him. For a second or two Gabriel hesitated what to do, the headless woman behind and the equally terrible head in front; but it did not take long to decide, and he went forward with renewed vigour, thinking to pass the dreadful thing rapidly rolling along in advance of him. No sooner was he near to it, however, than, with an impish laugh, which rang in his ears for days afterwards, the ghastly object diverged from its course and rolled in his way. With a sudden and instinctive bound, he leaped over it; and as he did so the head jumped from the ground and snapped at his feet, the teeth striking together with a dreadfully suggestive clash. Gabriel was too quick for it, however, but for some distance he heard with horrible distinctness the clattering of the woman's feet and the banging of the head upon the road behind him.

Gradually the sounds grew fainter as he speeded along, and at length, after he had crossed a little stream of water which trickled across the lane from a fern-covered spring in the fell side, the sounds ceased altogether. The runner, however, did not pause to take breath until he had reached his home and had crept beneath the blankets, the trembling Trotty, whom he found crouched in terror at the door of the cottage, skulking upstairs at his heels and taking refuge under the bed.

'I olus said as tha'd be seein' a feeorin wi' thi stoppin' aat o' neets,' remarked his spouse after he had narrated his adventure; 'bud if it nobbut meks tha fain o' thi own haath-stooan I'se be some glad on it, for it's moor nor a woman wi' a heead on her shoothers hes bin able to do.'{20}

THE RESCUE OF MOONBEAM.

From one corner of Ribbleton Moor, the scene of Cromwell's victory over Langdale, there is as lovely a view as ever painter dreamed of. Far below the spectator the Ribble sweeps almost in a circle beneath the scars which, by the action of years of this washing, have been scooped out so as to form a large precipice, under which the waters flow, marking out in their course the great 'horse-shoe meadow,' with its fringe of shining sand. The peaceful valley through which the river, reflecting in its moving bosom the overhanging many-tinted woods and cliffs, meanders on its way to the sea, is bounded afar-off by noble hills, the whale-like Pendle towering in majestic grandeur above the rest. From the moor a rough and stony lane winds down the wooded hillside, past a beautiful old half-timbered house down to the dusty highway and the bridge over the Belisamia of the Romans. The beautiful river, with its tremulous earth and sky pictures, the meadows and corn-fields whence come now and again the laugh and song of the red-faced mowers and reapers, the clearly-defined roads and white farm-houses, the spires of distant hillside churches, and the rich green of the waving woods, make up an enchanting picture. When night comes, however, and the lovely stars peep out, and the crescent moon casts her glamour over the dreaming earth, and half-hidden in a dimly transparent veil of shimmering mist the Ribble glides as gently as though it had paused to listen to its own melody, a still deeper loveliness falls upon the dreaming landscape, over which the very genius of beauty seems to hover silently with outspread wings.

At such a time, when moon and stars threw a faint and mysterious light over the sleeping woods, and not a sound, save the cry of a restless bird, broke the silence, a young countryman made his way rapidly across the horse-shoe meadow to the bend of the stream under Red Scar.

It was not to admire the beautiful scenery, however, that Reuben Oswaldwistle was crossing the dew-besprinkled field, over which faint odours of hay were wafted by a gentle breeze. The sturdy young fellow was too practical to yield entirely to such an influence, and although he was by no means unlearned in the traditions and stories of the neighbourhood, long familiarity had taught him to look upon the landscape with the eye of a farmer. He was simply about to practise the gentle art in the hope of beguiling a few stray 'snigs' for dinner on the following day. Still the scene in all its glamour of moonlight and peace was not powerless even upon his rude nature; so, after setting his lines, he took out a little black pipe, filled it from a capacious moleskin pouch, and after lighting the fragrant weed, gave way to a train of disconnected fancies--past, present, and future mingling strangely in his reverie.

What with the rustling of the leaves overhead, the musical rippling of the river as it danced over the stones on its way to the sea, and the soothing effect of the tobacco, Reuben was beginning to doze, when suddenly he fancied he heard the sound of a light footstep in the grass behind him. Turning round somewhat drowsily, he beheld a little figure of about a span high, clad in green, and wearing a dainty red cap, struggling along under the load of a flat-topped mushroom much larger than itself. After having more than once fallen with its load, the dwarf cried out in a sweet, faint voice, 'Dewdrop, Dewdrop!' and no sooner had the sound died into silence than another little fellow, who evidently answered to the pretty name, came tripping from the shadow of a hawthorn.

'What's the matter, Moonbeam?' said the new-comer, cheerily.

'This table is too much for me,' answered the labourer whom Reuben had seen first, 'and if the king's dinner is not ready to a minute he will have me stung. Help me with this load, there's a good sort.'

Without any more ado Dewdrop came forward and the tiny pair put their shoulders beneath the load and marched off. They did not bear it very far, however, for the astonished Reuben simply stretched himself at full length on the grass and again was quite close to them.

The two dots stopped when they came to a hole, into which they at once stuck the stem of the mushroom. Moonbeam then took from his pocket a butterfly's wing, which served him as a handkerchief, and wiping his forehead as he spoke, he said:--

'I'm about tired of this. Every night the table is stolen, Dewdrop, and I've to find a new one for each dinner, and no thanks for it either. What has come of late over the king I am at a loss to imagine, for he has done nothing but have me stung. I shall emigrate if this continues, that's all.'

'So would I,' answered the other little fellow, 'if Blue-eyes would go also, but I can't leave her.'

After a hearty peal of laughter, during which he had held his shaking sides, Moonbeam shouted--

'Why, my dear innocent, if you went she would be after you in a trice. I remember that when I was as guileless as you I fell in love with Ravenhair, the daughter of old Pigear. She treated me just as Blue-eyes uses you, but when, in a fit of jealous rage, I began to pay delicate attentions to Jasmine, the tables soon were turned, and one evening, as I was dozing in a flower cup, I heard some one call me, and peeping out of my chamber, I saw the once scornful Ravenhair weeping at the foot of the stalk. No sooner did she catch a glimpse of the tip of my nightcap than in piteous tones, that went straight to my heart, she cried out, "Dearest Moony, let me come up and"--. But, hush! wasn't that the dinner gong?'

The pair listened intently as over the grass came the solemn hum of a bee.

'I'm in for it,' said the fairy whose tale had been so suddenly interrupted; 'there's the first bell, and I haven't got even the table set.'

The pair darted off, and tripping away into the shade of the hawthorn, they were for a moment or two lost to the sight of the wondering Reuben, but they soon returned, each bearing a dish and cover made of a little pearl shell. These they placed upon the mushroom, and away they scudded, again to return in a minute with another load. In an incredibly short space of time the table was set out with a goodly array of tiny dishes and plates.

Once more the hum of the bee was heard booming over the grass, and from the shadow of the tree there emerged a dainty being whose attire glittered in the moonlight, and whose step was like that of a proud monarch. He was clad in a many-hued coat made of wings of dragon flies, a green vest cut from a downy mouse-ear leaf, and with buttons of buttercup buds; little knee-breeches of fine-spun silk dyed in the juice of a whinberry, stockings of cobweb, and shoes of shining beetle case; his shirt, which was as white as falling snow, had been cut from convolvulus flowers ere they had opened to the light; and his hat, a gem of a thing fit only for a fairy, was of red poppy, with a waving white feather, and a band of fur from a caterpillar. He led by the hand another personage, equally daintily dressed, but of a higher order of loveliness, with a pale oval face, and dreamy-looking eyes, gleaming like the sea when the moon and stars are bending over its bosom, and the wind is whispering its sad secrets. Her hair was golden, and rippled almost to her exquisite feet, and over it she wore a blue cornflower wreath, with diamond dewdrops here and there amid the leaves. Her dress was of damask rose leaves looped up with myosotis.

The grass hardly bent beneath her, so daintily did she trip along, just touching the tips of the fingers of the hand the king extended to her. Following this royal pair came a group of gaily-clad attendants, and a band discoursing sweet sounds, the deep bass of bees harmonising happily with the barytone of a beetle and the crescendo chirp of a cricket.

With a loud flourish from the musicians all took their places at the festive mushroom, and the banquet began. The dishes were sufficiently various to tempt even an anchorite to excess, for all the delicacies of the season were there. Ladybird soup, baked stickleback, roasted leg of nightingale, boiled shoulder of frog with cranberry sauce, wild strawberry tarts, and numerous kinds of fruits and juices, made up a dainty repast, of which king, queen, and courtiers partook heartily. The band, the members of which were perched in the swinging flowers of a foxglove close by, played lustily during the feast.

'For once,' said the king, 'for once--and let the circumstance be remembered when the annals of our reign are written--a day hath passed without anything having annoyed our royal self, without anything unpleasant having happened in our royal presence, and without anything having disagreed with our royal stomach.'

No sooner had these words passed the royal lips, however, than the queen gave a faint shriek, and cried out--

'My love, there is not a drop of my chickweed wine on the table.'

A dark cloud passed over the monarch's face as he angrily shouted--

'Methinks we were congratulating our royal self somewhat too early in the day. Bring hither the rascally Moonbeam and bid the executioners attend for orders.'

One of the courtiers, with an alacrity marvellously resembling that of beings of a larger growth, rushed out, and speedily returned with the unfortunate dependant, who at once flung himself on the ground before the angry king and begged to be forgiven. What result might have followed these prayers is uncertain, for, unfortunately, the suppliant's tears fell upon one of the monarch's shoes and dimmed its lustre.

'Bring hither the executioners and their instruments,' roared the infuriated king, and almost immediately a couple of sturdy little fellows appeared leading by a chain two large wasps.

'Do your disreputable work!' shouted the monarch.

The executioners seized Moonbeam, fastened him to a stake, and pressed a wasp against him. The insect instantly stung him, and the miserable little fellow howled with pain.

'Take him away,' cried the queen; 'we don't want _whine_ of that kind.'

'What a wretched pun!' involuntarily said Moonbeam, as they were dragging him from the royal presence.

'Bring the villain back,' roared the King; 'bring him back, and sting him until he is less critical.'

'If tha hez him stung ageeon,' interrupted the indignant Reuben, who in his excitement had gradually crept nearer to the royal table, 'I'll knock thi proud little heeod off, chuz who tha art.'

Neither the king or the executioners, however, took the slightest notice of the warning, so, as the latter were once more forcing the unhappy Moonbeam against the other wasp, down came a huge fist upon the royal head.

'Theer,' said the fisherman, exultingly, 'I towd tha, didn't I, bud tha wouldn't tek wernin'. Tha 'rt on 't' penitent form bi this time, I daat.'

Lifting up his hand, however, what was the surprise of the wondering Reuben to find only a little crushed grass under it. King, Queen, courtiers, Moonbeam, executioners, and wasps, all had vanished, and even the band, whose humming and droning he had heard so distinctly during the whole banquet, no longer broke the silence.

'Well,' said the fisherman, 'that's a capper, in o mi born days. I see 'em as plain as a pikestaff. Th' last day connot be far off, I'm sewer. Bud I'll hev th' tabble, at onny rate, beawt axin.' And, so saying, he took possession of the huge mushroom, and after hurriedly gathering up his lines, he wended his way across the meadow to his little cottage by the high road, and arrived there, he narrated to his drowsy wife the story of the banquet.

'Drat th' fairies, an' thee, too, wi' thi gawmless tales,' said his sceptical helpmate, 'I wondered what hed getten tha. Tha's bin asleep for hours i' th' meadow istid a lookin' after th' fish. Tha never seed a fairy i' thi life. Tha'rt nod hauve sharp enough, clivver as tha art i' owt as is awkurt.' There was a short pause after this sally, and then the sly Reuben drily answered--

'Yoy, I 've sin a fairy monny an' monny a time. Olus when I used to come a cooartin' to thi moather's. Bud tha 'r nod mich like a fairy neaw, tha 'st autert terbly. Tha 'rt too thrivin' lookin'.'

'Be off wi' thi fawseness,' said the pleased woman; 'tha 'd ollus a desayvin tung i' thi heead;' and then after a drowsy pause as she was dosing to sleep; 'but for o that I'll mek a soop o' good catsup out o' thi fairy tabble.'

THE WHITE DOBBIE.

Many years ago, long before the lovely Furness district was invaded by the genius of steam, the villagers along the coast from Bardsea to Rampside were haunted by a wandering being whose errand, the purpose of which could never be learned, used to bring him at night along the lonely roads and past the straggling cottages. This pilgrim was a wearied, emaciated-looking man, on whose worn and wan face the sorrows of life had left deep traces, and in whose feverish, hungry-looking eyes, mystery and terror seemed to lurk. Nobody knew the order of his coming or going, for he neither addressed anyone, nor replied if spoken to, but disregarded alike the 'good neet' of the tramp who knew him not, and the startled cry of the belated villager who came suddenly upon him at a turn of the road. Never stopping even for a minute to gaze through the panes whence streamed the ruddy glow of the wood fires, and to envy the dwellers in the cosy cottages, he kept on his way, as though his mission was one of life and death, and, therefore, would not brook delay.

On wild wintry nights, however, when the salt wind whirled the foam across the bay, and dashed the blinding snow into heaps upon the window-sills and against the cottage doors, and darkness and storm spread their sombre wings over the coast, then was it certain that the mysterious being would be seen, for observation had taught the villagers and the dwellers in solitary houses along the lonely roads between the fishing hamlets that in storm and darkness the weird voyager was most likely to appear.