Part 6

“Ah, my lad, no mortal can see them so long as they keep their wee red caps on,” said grandmother. “Sometimes in their revels they toss their caps aside, but you see the frogs are always on the lookout to warn the fairies if mortal steps are near. These tiny elves are very clever. Do you see those three circles of green which are a little lighter in color than the rest of the grass? That is where they danced until the village cocks began to crow. Then they made off to the Nine Hills. Ah! It would be a wonderful sight to see the wee folks whirling and gliding about in the white moonlight to the sweetest fairy music. But as I said, few mortals have ever seen them.”

“Do they dance every night, grandmother?”

“Every night, Finn. If the weather is fine they frolic on the green, especially if the moon is bright. When the nights are wet and stormy they keep inside the hills, where there is an elfin village.”

Finn look very serious. “Grandmother,” he said, “these wee folks must wear out a good many pairs of shoes.”

“That they do, my lad. I’m sure I don’t know what they would do without little Leprechaun, the Fairy Shoemaker. He is the only industrious one among them.”

“Tell me about him, Granny,” said Finn.

Grandmother sat down on a large stone and looked toward the Nine Hills.

“The Fairy Shoemaker is very rich, Finn, richer than my lord O’Toole who lives in the castle by the sea. Indeed, there is no one in all Ireland who has as much gold as this elfin shoemaker who spends his days working for the fairies. All kinds of shoes he makes,—stout little brogans and buskins, high hunting boots, bits of satin slippers that you could stand on a penny, tiny sandals with silver laces and diamond buckles,—all kinds of shoes. O Finn, my lad, he is a wonderful wee old man.”

“Where does he keep his money, Granny?”

“Why, what a question, my lad! Do you think this sly little Elf would let any mortal know that secret? Not he!”

“I wonder if anyone has ever seen him,” said Finn.

“My lad, your great-grandmother O’Shea knew a poor farmer who found a pot of gold buried in one of his fields. The villagers always believed that the man had in some way caught little Leprechaun, and made him point out the spot where his gold was hidden.”

“Granny,” said Finn, “I’d like to catch the Fairy Shoemaker. One pot of his gold would make us very rich, wouldn’t it?”

“Catch little Leprechaun, Finn! My lad, you couldn’t do it.”

“He is very tiny, grandmother. I’m sure I could hold him easily.”

“You would have to catch him, first, Finn. He is the trickiest Elf of all. No one can see him as long as he wears his wee red cap! And if you should chance to find him without it, you wouldn’t dare take your eyes off him for one second or away he would go. Some people say bad luck is sure to come to mortals who meddle with the fairies,” said grandmother, looking about cautiously. “It is better to earn your pot of gold, my lad. But come, the sun has gone behind the hills.”

Finn was very quiet all the way home. He was wondering how he could catch the Fairy Shoemaker and make the little Elf tell where his treasure crocks were hidden. He would begin the search in good earnest the very next day.

In the morning when Finn drove the cow to the pasture, he peeped carefully among the low willows that bordered the brook. He looked all around the big stones in the meadow. Several times he stopped and listened! Once he felt sure he caught the clicking sound of an elfin hammer. It seemed to come from the direction of a tall ragweed, but when Finn drew near, the sound stopped suddenly and he could see nothing. Patiently each day he searched for the little Leprechaun. One afternoon when he was sauntering through a shady glen near the Nine Hills he stooped down to quench his thirst at a tiny spring of clear water. He fancied he heard a faint clicking sound! “Tip-tap, tip-tap.” Finn raised his head quickly and listened!

“Rip-rap-tip-tap Tick-a-tack-too; Tip-tap-tip, Rip-rap-rip, Tick-tack-too.”

The sound came from behind a large stone near the spring. Soon the tapping stopped and the shrill voice sang out:

“Tip-a tap-tip And tick-a-tack-too, Every stitch helps To finish a shoe.”

Finn could hear his heart beat. He crept cautiously along and peeped around the stone. There, on a tiny stool, sat the Fairy Shoemaker hammering away at a wee hunting boot of scarlet leather, which he held between his knees. _And his bit of a red cap was hanging on a spear of tall grass!_ Finn leaped to his feet, faced little Leprechaun, seized the red cap, and said, “Good day, sir.”

Instantly the little Elf jumped up and looked sharply through his spectacles at Finn. He was about twelve inches tall and his queer little face was full of wrinkles. A long gray beard reached to the top of a leathern apron which almost covered his brown suit.

“Good day, sir,” repeated Finn.

“Humph!” grunted Leprechaun.

Finn went closer, grasped the little Elf’s shoulder, held him tightly, and stared sharply at him.

“You’d better be off,” said the Fairy Shoemaker; “I have work to do.”

Finn kept his eyes fixed on the wee man, and said, “Come, now, where do you keep your treasure crocks? I shall not let you go until you tell me.”

“Oh! Is that all you want?” laughed the Elf. “Well, come along with me.”

Finn was delighted. The old man seemed very easy to manage. Leprechaun looked up pleasantly and said, “Your pardon, sir.” He pulled out a tiny gold snuffbox, took a pinch and offered some to Finn. “Snuff, sir?” he said with a smile.

“Why, how friendly he seems,” thought Finn, taking a pinch.

“Pouf-f!!” The Fairy Shoemaker blew all the snuff right into Finn’s face.

“Tshoo-oo!—Tshoo-oo! A-a-a-tshoo-oo-oo!” sneezed Finn, _shutting his eyes_! In a twinkling the wee man had snatched his red cap and was gone!

Finn went home a little discouraged. “Why didn’t I remember what Granny told me about his tricks?” he said to himself. “I’ll try again, and he shall not catch me a second time.”

One afternoon a few weeks later, Finn walked as far as the Nine Hills. He was very tired, so he lay down on one of the grassy slopes to rest. How quiet it was on the shady hillside!

“Tip-a-tap-tip And tick-a-tack-too, Rip-rap-rip Tick-tack-too.”

The sound came from the crest of the hill. After a little pause a shrill voice sang:

“A wedding feast to-night And dancing on the green! In moonbeams’ silver light Gay fairies will be seen! Tiny satin sandals To grace the dainty bride; Stitch away Leprechaun They must be your pride.”

It was the voice of little Leprechaun! The Fairy Shoemaker was working away near the crest of the hill. Finn crept up the grassy slope, and there in the shadow of some low bushes sat the tiny Elf. He was putting a high heel on the daintiest white satin sandal. And beside him lay his wee red cap!

“Tip-tap-rip-rap Tick-a-tack-too.”

The elfin hammer was working busily—busily!

Finn slipped up quietly, and grasping the red cap in one hand laid hold of the wee man’s shoulder with the other. Up jumped the Elf. He looked round quickly for his cap.

“Good day, sir,” said Finn.

Leprechaun made a deep bow.

“You are busy, I see.”

“Always busy, sir,” answered the wee man. “Always busy.”

“I suppose you like to make shoes, especially such dainty ones?” And all the time Finn kept his eyes on the little Elf’s face and held him fast.

“I like to _work_” said the Fairy Shoemaker slyly. “Come, now, do you?”

Finn felt a little confused at this last question, but he answered,

“You have plenty of gold and some to spare, I should think. Come, tell me where you keep your treasure crocks.”

“I will show you where I keep _one_ of them,” answered Leprechaun.

“All right,” answered Finn. “If you’ll lead me to the spot where one crock of gold is buried, I’ll not bother you again.”

“Come, then,” said the Elf.

“Mind that you keep your snuffbox in your pocket,” said Finn. “You shan’t catch me that way again.”

“This way,” laughed the wee man.

Down the hillside and over the fields hurried the Fairy Shoemaker, leading Finn along at a good pace. It was wonderful to see this queer Elf skip across the ditches and hedges, and hop over the stones and rough places in the meadow. Finn was becoming very tired. “How much farther is it?” he asked.

“Come along, come along,” laughed little Leprechaun.

Finally they came to a field full of ragweed. The Fairy Shoemaker stopped suddenly. Then pointing with his tiny finger, he said, “If you dig deep under the roots of this weed, you’ll find one of my treasure crocks filled to the brim with gold.”

“But I can’t dig without a spade,” said Finn excitedly.

“Of course not,” answered Leprechaun. “But now that you know the spot you can get the gold whenever you like.”

“I shall get it to-day,” said Finn. “I’ll run home now and get my spade. But I’d better mark the weed, I think.”

“That would be a good plan,” said the Shoemaker. “Here I have a bit of bright red string in my pocket. Let us tie it around the stem near the top.”

How deftly the elfin fingers tied the mark!

“Thank you very kindly,” said Finn.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” asked Leprechaun.

“You will promise not to touch the string?”

“I promise not to touch it, sir. Also I assure you no one else shall touch it,” said Leprechaun.

“Well, then, you may go. Here is your red cap. I thank you very much for your kindness. Good day!” said Finn pleasantly.

“Good day, sir,” said the Fairy Shoemaker, and off he scampered, chuckling to himself.

You may be sure Finn hurried away to fetch his spade. How surprised Granny would be to hear that he had caught the Fairy Shoemaker. He would not tell her until he carried home the treasure. In breathless haste he got his spade and hurried back to the field of ragweed. Then Finn stood still and looked! A bit of bright red string was tied around every ragweed in the field! The Fairy Shoemaker had tricked him again! He thought he heard a low chuckling laugh. Finn listened carefully. From among the weeds he heard a faint voice singing,

“How does the little Leprechaun Fill treasure crocks with gold? The live long day he _works away_ From far-off times of old.”

MAKING THE BEST OF IT

“What a pretty day this is!” said the old gray goose to the brown hen, as they stood at the henhouse window and watched the falling snow which covered every nook and corner of the farmyard.

“Yes, indeed,” said the brown hen; “I would be almost willing to be made into chicken pie on such a day.”

She had scarcely stopped talking, when the Pekin duck said, fretfully, “I am dreadfully hungry,” and a little flock of speckled chickens all huddled together wailed in sad chorus, “And we’re so thirsty!”

In fact, the feathered folks in the henhouse were very much inclined to be cross and discontented. Since the farmer’s boy fed them, early in the morning, they had been given nothing to eat or drink, and, as hour after hour went by, and the cold winter wind howled around their house, it is no wonder they felt deserted.

The handsome white rooster, however, appeared quite as happy as usual, and that is saying a great deal, for a jollier, better-natured old fellow than he never graced a farmyard. Sunshine, rain, or snow were all the same to him, and he crowed quite as lustily in stormy weather as in fair.

“Well,” he said, laughing heartily, as his bright eyes glanced about the henhouse, “you all seem to be having a fit of the dumps.”

Nobody answered the white rooster, but a faint cluck or two came from some hens who immediately put their heads back under their wings, as if ashamed of having spoken at all.

This was quite too much for the white rooster, who, standing first on one yellow foot and then on the other, said: “Well, we are a lively set! Anyone would think, to look in here, that we were surrounded by a band of hungry foxes.”

Just then a daring little white bantam rooster hopped down from his perch, and, strutting pompously over to the big rooster, created quite a stir among the feathered folk by saying,

“We’re all lively enough when our crops are full, but when we’re starving the wonder is that we can hold our heads up at all. If I ever see that farmer’s boy again, I’ll—I’ll peck his foot!”

“You won’t see him until he feeds us,” said the white rooster, “and then I think you will peck his corn.”

“Oh, oh!” moaned the brown hen, “don’t mention a peck of corn.”

“Madam,” remarked the white rooster, bowing politely, “your trouble is my own—that is, I’m hungry, too. But we might be worse off; we might be on our way to market in a box. Then, too, suppose we haven’t had enough to eat to-day, at least we have room enough to stretch our wings and a good, quiet place to sleep in.”

“Why, that is a fact,” answered the brown hen; and all the feathered family—the smallest chickens included—stretched their wings, preened their feathers, and looked a trifle more animated.

“Now then,” went on the rooster, “suppose we have a little music to cheer us and help pass the hours until roosting time. We will all crow—there, I beg your pardon, ladies; I am sorry you can’t crow—we will sing a merry song. Will you be kind enough to start a lively tune, Mrs. Brown Hen?”

The brown hen shook herself proudly, tossed her head back, and began: “Cut-cut-cut-ca-dak-cut,” and in less than two minutes every one in the henhouse had joined her.

Now the horses, cows, and sheep were not far away, and, hearing the happy voices in the henhouse, they, too, joined in the grand chorus, while the pigs did their best to sing louder than all the rest. Higher and higher, stronger and stronger, rose the chorus; louder and louder quacked the ducks, and shriller and shriller squealed the pigs. At length even the dogs barked merrily.

They were all so happy that they quite forgot their hunger until the door of the henhouse burst open, and in came three chubby children, each carrying a dish full of steaming chicken food.

“Don’t stop your music, Mr. Rooster,” said the little girl, who was so snugly bundled up that you could scarcely see her dear little face. “You see, we were so lonesome that we didn’t know what to do; but when we heard all you folks singing out here in your house, we laughed and laughed until we almost cried. Then we went to tell Jack about you; he was lonesome, too—poor Jack sick with a sore throat—and he said, ‘Why, those poor hens; they haven’t been fed since morning!’”

“Cock-a-doodle-do!” said the white rooster. “This comes of making the best of things. Cock-a-doodle-do!” And nobody asked him to stop his crowing.

THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCK

Did you ever hear how a Brownie came to the village of Blednock and was frightened away again?

It was one November evening, just when the milking was done and before the children were put to bed. The people of the village were standing by their doorsteps talking about their bad harvest and the turnips, and what chances there were of a good price for their cattle at the coming fair.

All at once the queerest humming noise seemed to come up from the riverside. It came nearer and nearer, and all the good people stopped talking and began to look down the road. And, indeed, it was no wonder that they stared, for there, coming up the middle of the highway, was the strangest little creature that human eyes had ever seen.

He looked like a wee, wee man. He had a long blue beard which almost touched the ground. His legs were twisted, his knees knocked together as he walked, and his arms were so long that his hands trailed in the mud as he came along. He seemed to be humming something over and over. As he came nearer, the good people of the village could make out the words:

“Have ye work for Aiken-Drum? Any work for Aiken-Drum?”

Oh, how frightened the people were! The children screamed and hid their faces in their mothers’ gowns and the milkmaids threw down the pails of milk they were carrying. Even the dogs crept in behind the doors, whining and hiding their tails between their legs. Some of the men who were not too frightened to look the wee man in the face, laughed and hooted at him.

“Did you ever see such eyes?” cried one.

“His mouth is so big he could swallow the moon and never even notice it,” said the other.

“Look at his long blue beard!” said a third.

And still the poor little man came slowly up the road, crying:

“Have ye work for Aiken-Drum? Any work for Aiken-Drum?”

Good Grannie Duncan, the kindest old woman in the village, called out at last: “He’s just a Brownie, a simple, kindly Brownie. I’ve heard tell of Brownies before. Many a long day’s work will they do for the people who treat them well.”

Gathering courage from her words, all the village folk crowded around the little man. When they were close to him, they saw that his face was kind and gentle and that his tiny eyes had a merry twinkle in them.

“Strange little creature,” said an old man, “tell us what you want and where you came from?”

“I cannot well tell thee whence I came,” said the wee man. “My country is a nameless land and is very different from this land of yours. For there we all learn to serve, while here every one wishes to be served. When there is no work for us to do at home, we sometimes set out to visit thy land to see if there is any work we can do there. If thou wilt, I will stay here awhile. I do not wish anyone to wait on me, for I want no wages, nor clothes, nor bedding. All I ask for is a corner of the barn to sleep in, and a bowl of broth set down on the floor at bedtime. If no one meddles with me, I shall be ready to help any one who needs me. I’ll gather your sheep on the hill. I’ll take in the harvest by moonlight. I’ll sing your bairns to sleep in their cradles. You’ll find that the bairns all love Aiken-Drum. And, good housewives, I’ll churn for you and bake your bread on a busy day. The men folk, too, may find me useful when there is corn to thrash, or untamed colts in the stables, or when the waters are out in flood.”

No one knew quite what to say in answer to the little creature’s strange request. It was an unheard-of thing for anyone to come and offer his services for nothing. Some thought it could not be true; others said it were better to have nothing to do with the little creature.

Then up spoke good Grannie Duncan again:

“He’s but a Brownie, I tell you, a harmless Brownie. Many a story I’ve heard in my young days about the work that a Brownie can do, if he be treated well and let alone. Have we not all been complaining about bad times, small wages, and the hard work we all have to do? And now, when a workman comes ready to your hand, you will have nothing to do with him just because he is strange looking. And I’ve heard that a Brownie can stalk a whole ten-acre field in a single night! Shame on you, say I!”

“A ten-acre field in a single night!” cried out all the men of the village at once. “A ten-acre field!” repeated one. “And in a single night!” added another. That settled the matter. The miller at once offered the Brownie a corner of his barn to sleep in, and good Grannie Duncan promised to make him some broth at bedtime and to send her grandchild, wee Janie, down to the barn with it every evening. Then all the people of the village said, “Good night,” and went to their homes. But they were careful to look over their shoulders once in a while, for fear that the strange little man was following them.

But if they were afraid of him that night, they had a very different story to tell about him before a week had passed. Whatever he was or wherever he came from, he was the most wonderful little worker that these people had ever known. And the strange thing was that he did most of the work at night. Village folk came from all parts of the countryside to catch a glimpse of this queer little worker, but they were never successful, for he was never to be seen when one looked for him. They might have gone to the miller’s barn twenty times a day, and twenty times a day they would have found nothing but a heap of straw and an empty broth bowl.

But whenever there was work to be done, whether it was a tired child to be sung to, or a house to be made tidy, or a batch of bread to be worked up, or a flock of sheep to be gathered together on a stormy night, Aiken-Drum always knew of it and appeared ready to help just at the right time.

Many a time some poor mother who had been up all night with a crying child would sit down with it on her lap in front of the fire in the morning and fall asleep. When she awoke she would find that Aiken-Drum had made a visit to her house; for the floor would be scrubbed and the dishes washed, the fire made up and the kettle put on to boil. But the little Brownie would have slipped away as if he were afraid of being thanked.

The little children were the only ones who ever saw him when he was not working, and, oh, how they loved him! When school was out you could see them away down by the stream crowding around the little dark brown figure, and you could hear the sound of low, sweet singing; for Aiken-Drum knew all the songs that children love well.

By and by the name of Aiken-Drum came to be a household word among the good people of the village, for, although they seldom saw him near at hand, they loved him like one of their own people.

And he would never have gone away if every one in the village had remembered what good Grannie Duncan told them about Brownies. “A Brownie works for love,” she had said to them over and over again. “He will not work for pay. If anyone tries to pay him, the wee creature’s feelings will be hurt, and he will vanish in the night.”

But a good man of the village and his wife forgot all that had been said, and one day they planned to make something for Aiken-Drum.

“He should not work for nothing,” said the good man.

“He has already worn out his coat and trousers slaving for us,” said his wife.

So one day they made him a little pair of green trousers and a little brown coat. That night the two good people laid a parcel by the side of the bowl of broth in the miller’s barn.

In the middle of the night some one heard the Brownie saying to himself, “A nice pair of green trousers and a little brown coat for me. I can come here no more till one of the children of this village travels the world over and finds me first.”

So this strange little creature had to go away. He vanished in the night as any Brownie is sure to do if some one tries to pay him.

And all the good people of Blednock talked of the kind deeds of the little strange man who came one evening into their midst, and they wondered and wondered if he would ever come back to them again.

HOW OLAF BROUGHT THE BROWNIE BACK

Did you ever hear how Olaf, one of the village children, went in search of the Brownie and brought him back to the good people of Blednock?

It came about in this way.

Olaf’s father had often told him of the Brownie that had once lived in the village and had helped all the village people to do their work.

“The little lively thing would come night after night and clean the floor, and scrub the table, and wash the dishes, and keep the whole house as clean as a new pin. But one night he went away and he never came back.”

“Why did he go away, father?” asked Olaf.