50 Fairy Stories Page 14
“It is I, Mybrow’s wife. This is my husband’s field and I have a right to pick.” Out came the fairies.
“Let us all help Mybrow’s wife to pluck her corn and yams,” said they. Before the frightened woman could say a word, the fairies had all set to work with a will, and the corn and yams lay useless on the ground. Being all green and unripe, the harvest was now utterly spoiled. The farmer’s wife wept bitterly, but to no purpose. She returned slowly home, not knowing what to say to her husband about such a terrible catastrophe. She decided to keep silence about the matter.
Accordingly, next day the poor man set off gleefully to his field to see how his fine crops were going on. His anger and dismay may be imagined when he saw his field a complete ruin. All his work and foresight had been absolutely ruined through his wife’s forgetfulness of her promise.
Paddy Corcoran’s Wife
By William Carleton
READING TIME: 3 MINUTES
Paddy Corcoran’s wife was for several years afflicted with a kind of complaint which nobody could properly understand. She was sick, and she was not sick, she was well, and she was not well, she was as ladies wish to be who love their lords, and she was not as such ladies wish to be. In fact nobody could tell what the matter with her was. The poor woman was delicate beyond belief, and had no appetite at all.
Well, as we have said, she lay a bedridden invalid for long enough, trying doctors of all sorts and sizes, and all without a farthing’s benefit, until, at the long run, poor Paddy was nearly brought to despair.
The seventh year was on the point of closing, when, one harvest day, as she lay bemoaning her hard condition, on her bed beyond the kitchen fire, a little woman, dressed in a neat red cloak, came in, and sitting down by the hearth, said:
“Well, Kitty Corcoran, you’ve had a long lie of it there on the broad of yer back for seven years, and You’re just as far from being cured as ever.”
“Ay” said the other, “in truth that’s what I was this minute thinking of, and a sorrowful thought it’s to me.”
“It’s yer own fault, then,” says the little woman, “and, indeed, for that matter, it’s yer fault that ever you were there at all.”
“Ah, how is that?” asked Kitty, “sure I wouldn’t be here if I could help it? Do you think it’s a comfort or a pleasure to me to be sick and bedridden?”
“No,” said the other, “I do not – but I’ll tell you the truth – for the last seven years you have been annoying us. I am one of the good people, and as I have a regard for you, I’m come to let you know the reason why you’ve been sick so long as you are. For all the time you’ve been ill, if you’ll take the trouble to remember, your children have thrown out yer dirty water after dusk and before sunrise, at the very time we’re passing yer door, which we pass twice a day. Now, if you avoid this and throw it out in a different place, at a different time, the complaint you have will leave you, so will the gnawing at the heart, and you’ll be as well as ever you were. If you don’t follow this advice, why, remain as you are, and all the art of man can’t cure you.” She then bade her goodbye, and disappeared.
Kitty, who was glad to be cured on such easy terms, immediately complied with the injunction of the fairy, and the result was, that the next day she found herself in as good health as ever she enjoyed during her life.
The Fairy Cure
By Patrick Kennedy
READING TIME: 7 MINUTES
For nearly a year, Nora’s daughter, Judy, had been confined to her bed by a sore leg, which neither she, nor the neighbouring doctor, could ‘make any hand of.,
Now Nora’s mother was a midwife, and one night she was summoned by a dark rider to help with a lady about to have a child. She was whisked away and brought to the door of a magnificent palace. In the hall she was surprised to see an old neighbour, who had long been spirited away from the haunts of his youth and manhood. He at once took an opportunity, when the dark man was not observing him, to warn Nora that if she ever wanted to return home, she must take no refreshment of any kind while under the roof of the fairy castle, and refuse money or any other reward in any form. The only exception he made was in favour of cures for diseases inflicted by evil spirits or by fairies.
She found the lady of the castle in a bed with pillows and quilts of silk, and in a short time (for Nora was a handy woman) there was a beautiful little girl lying on the breast of the delighted mother. All the fine ladies that were scattered through the large room now gathered round, and congratulated their queen, and paid many compliments to the lucky-handed Nora. “I am so pleased with you,” said the lady, “that I shall be glad to see you take as much gold, and silver, and jewels, out of the next room, as you can carry.”
Nora stepped in out of curiosity and saw piles of gold and silver coins, and baskets of diamonds and pearls, lying about on every side, but she remembered her caution, and came out empty-handed.
“I'm much obliged to you, my lady,” said she, “but if I took them guineas, and crowns, and jewels home, no one would ever call on me again to help his wife, and I'd be sitting and doing nothing but drinking tea, an, I'd be dead before a year’d be gone by.”
“Oh dear!” said the lady, “What an odd person you are! At any rate, sit down at that table, and help yourself to food and drink.”
“Oh, ma'am, is it them jellies, an, custards, an, pastry you’d like to see me at? Lord love you! I would’n know the way to me mouth with the likes of them.”
“Alas! Alas! Is there any way in which I can show you how grateful I am for your help and your skill?”
“Indeed is there, ma'am. My girl, Jude, is lying under a sore leg for a twelvemonth, an, I'm sure that the lord or yourself can make her as sound as a bell if you only say the word.”
“Ask me anything but that, and you shall have it.”
“Oh, lady, dear, that’s giving me everything but the thing I want.”
“You don’t know the offence your daughter gave to us, I am sure, or you would not ask me to cure her.”
“Judy offend you, ma'am! Oh, it’s impossible!”
“Not at all, and this is the way it happened. You know that all the fairy court enjoy their lives in the night only, and we frequently go through the country, and hold our feasts where the kitchen, and especially the hearth, is swept up clean. About a twelvemonth ago, myself and my ladies were passing your cabin, and one of the company liked the appearance of the neat thatch, and the whitewashed walls, and the clean pavement outside the door, so much, that she persuaded us all to go in. We found the cheerful fire shining, the well swept hearth and floor, and the clean pewter and delft plates on the dresser, and the white table. We were so well pleased, that we sat down on the hearth, and laid our tea tray, and began to drink our tea as comfortably as could be. You know we can be any size we please, and there was a score of us settled before the fire.
“We were vexed enough when we saw your daughter come up out of your bedroom, and make towards the fire. Her feet, I acknowledge, were white and clean, but one of them would cover two or three of us, the size we were that night. On she came stalking, and just as I was raising my cup of tea to my lips, down came the soft flat sole on it, and spilled the tea all over me. I was very much annoyed, and I caught the thing that came next to my hand, and hurled it at her. It was the tea pot, and the point of the spout is in her leg from that night till now.”
“Oh, lady! How can you hold spite to the poor girl, that knew no more of you being there, nor of offending you, that she did of the night she was born?”
“Well, well, now that is all past and gone. Take this ointment, and rub it where you will see the purple mark, and I hope that your thoughts of me may be pleasant.”
Just then, a messenger came to say that the lord was at the hail door waiting for Nora, for the cockerels would be soon crowing. So she took leave of the lady, and mounted behind the dark man. The horse’s back seemed as hard and as thin as a hazel stick, but it bore her safely to her home. She was in a sle
epy state all the time she was returning, but at last she woke up, and found herself standing by her own door. She got into bed as fast as she could, and when she woke next morning, she fancied it was all a dream. She put her hand in her pocket, and there, for a certainty, was the box of ointment. She stripped the clothes off her daughter’s leg, rubbed some of the stuff on it, and in a few seconds she saw the skin bursting, and a tiny spout of a tea-pot working itself out.
Poor Judy awoke and wondered at the ease she felt in her leg. I warrant she was rejoiced at the story her mother told her. She soon received health and strength, and never neglected to leave her kitchen spotless when she was going to bed. She took good care never to let her feet stray after bedtime, for fear of giving offence to her unseen visitors.
Master and Man
By T Crofton Croker
READING TIME: 12 MINUTES
People are often superstitious about calling fairies by that name. Instead they use descriptions such as ‘the good people,’ or ‘the men of peace’. They didn’t really think that fairies were good or peaceful, but they hoped that these names would make fairies leave them alone. In this story, ‘the good people’ are actually the worst of company, and they can be scared off by mentioning the name of God.
Billy Mac Daniel was once as likely a young man as ever emptied a glass, or handled a cudgel. More is the pity that, through the means of his thinking, and fearing, and caring for nothing, Billy Mac Daniel fell into bad company, for surely ‘the good people’ are the worst of all company anyone could come across.
It so happened that Billy was going home one clear frosty night not long after Christmas. The moon was round and bright, but although it was as fine a night as heart could wish for, he felt pinched with cold.
“By my word,” chattered Billy, “a drop of good liquor would be no bad thing to keep a man’s soul from freezing in him, and I wish I had a full measure of the best.”
“Never wish it twice, Billy,” said a little man in a three-cornered hat, bound all about with gold lace, and with great silver buckles in his shoes, and he held out a glass as big as himself, filled with as good liquor as ever eye looked on or lip tasted.
“Success, my little fellow,” said Billy Mac Daniel, nothing daunted, though well he knew the little man to belong to ‘the good people’. “Here’s your health, anyway, and thank you kindly, no matter who pays for the drink,” and he took the glass and drained it to the very bottom without ever taking a second breath to it.
“Success,” said the little man, “and You're heartily welcome, Billy, but don’t think to cheat me as you have done others – out with your purse and pay me like a gentleman.”
“I am to pay you?” said Billy, “Could I not just take you up and put you in my pocket as easily as a blackberry?”
“Billy Mac Daniel,” said the little man, getting very angry, “you shall be my servant for seven years and a day, and that is the way I will be paid, so make ready to follow me.”
When Billy heard this he began to be very sorry for having used such bold words towards the little man, and he felt himself, yet could not tell how, obliged to follow the little man the live-long night about the country, up and down, and over hedge and ditch, and through bog and brake, without any rest.
When morning began to dawn the little man turned round to him and said, “You may now go home, Billy, but on your peril don’t fail to meet me in the fort-field tonight, or if you do it may be the worse for you in the long run. If I find you a good servant, you will find me an indulgent master.”
Home went Billy Mac Daniel, and though he was tired and weary enough, never a wink of sleep could he get for thinking of the little man, but he was afraid not to do his bidding, so up he got in the evening, and away he went to the Fort-field. He was not long there before the little man came towards him and said, “Billy, I want to go a long journey tonight, so saddle one of my horses, and you may saddle another for yourself, as you are to go along with me.”
“If I may be so bold, sir,” said Billy, “I would ask which is the way to your stable, for never a thing do I see except the old thorn tree in the corner of the field, and the stream running at the bottom of the hill.”
“Ask no questions, Billy,” said the little man, “but go over to that bit of a bog, and bring me two of the strongest rushes you can find.”
Billy did accordingly, wondering what the little man would be at, and he picked two of the stoutest rushes he could find, and brought them back to his master.
“Get up, Billy,” said the little man, taking one of the rushes from him and striding across it.
“Where shall I get up, please your honour?” said Billy.
“Why, upon horseback, like me, to be sure,” said the little man.
“Is it after making a fool of me you’d be,” said Billy, “bidding me get a horseback upon that bit of rush?”
“Up! Up! And no words,” said the little man, looking very angry, “the best horse you ever rode was but a fool to it.” So Billy, thinking all this was in joke, and fearing to vex his master, straddled across the rush.
“Borram! Borram! Borram!” cried the little man three times (which, in English, means ‘become big’), and Billy did the same after him. Presently the rushes swelled up into fine horses, and away they went at full speed, but Billy, who had put the rush between his legs, without much minding how he did it, found himself sitting on horseback the wrong way, which was rather awkward, with his face to the horse’s tail, and so quickly had his steed started off with him that he had no power to turn round, and there was therefore nothing for it but to hold on by the tail.
At last they came to their journey’s end, and stopped at the gate of a fine house. “Now, Billy,” said the little man, “do as you see me do, and follow me close.”
The little man then said some queer kind of words, out of which Billy could make no meaning, but he contrived to say them after him for all that, and in they both went through the keyhole of the door, and through one keyhole after another, until they got into the wine cellar, which was well stored with all kinds of wine.
The little man fell to drinking as hard as he could, and Billy did the same. “The best of masters are you surely,” said Billy to him, “no matter who is the next. Well pleased will I be with your service if you continue to give me plenty to drink.”
“I have made no bargain with you,” said the little man, “and will make none, but up and follow me.” Away they went, through key hole after key hole, and each mounting upon the rush which he left at the hall door, scampered off, kicking the clouds before them like snowballs, as soon as the words, ‘Borram, Borram, Borram,’ had passed their lips.
When they came back to the fort-field the little man dismissed Billy, bidding him to be there the next night at the same hour. Thus did they go on, night after night, shaping their course one night here, and another night there, sometimes north, and sometimes east, and sometimes south, until there was not a gentleman’s wine cellar in all Ireland they had not visited, and could tell the flavour of every wine in it as well, ay, better than the butler himself.
One night when Billy Mac Daniel met the little man as usual in the Fort-field, and was going to the bog to fetch the horses for their journey, his master said to him, “Billy, I shall want another horse tonight, for maybe we may bring back more company than we take.” So Billy, who now knew better than to question any order given to him by his master, brought a third rush, much wondering who it might be that would travel back in their company, and whether he was about to have a fellow-servant.
‘If I have,’ thought Billy, ‘he shall go and fetch the horses from the bog every night, for I don’t see why I am not, every inch of me, as good a gentleman as my master.’
Well, away they went, Billy leading the third horse, and never stopped until they came to a snug farmer’s house, in the county Limerick. Within the house there was a great deal of noise and the little man stopped outside for some time to listen, then turning round
all of a sudden, said, “Billy, I will be a thousand years old tomorrow!”
“God bless us, sir,” said Billy, “will you?”
“Don’t say these words again, Billy,” said the little old man, “or you will be my ruin for ever. Now Billy, as I will be a thousand years in the world tomorrow, I think it is full time for me to get married.”
“I think so too, without any kind of doubt at all,” said Billy, “if ever you mean to marry.”
“And to that purpose,” said the little man, “have I come all the way to Carrigogunniel, for in this house, this very night, is young Darby Riley going to be married to Bridget Rooney, and as she is a tall and comely girl, and has come of decent people, I think of marrying her myself, and taking her off with me.”
“And what will Darby Riley say to that?” said Billy.
“Silence!” said the little man, putting on a mighty severe look, “I did not bring you here with me to ask questions,” and without holding further argument, he began saying the queer words which had the power of passing him through the keyhole as free as air, and which Billy thought himself mighty clever to be able to say after him.
In they both went. For the better viewing the company, the little man perched himself up as nimbly as a cock sparrow upon one of the big beams which went across the house over all their heads, and Billy did the same upon another facing him, but not being much accustomed to roosting in such a place, his legs hung down as untidy as may be.
There they were, both master and man, looking down upon the fun that was going forward, and under them were the priest and piper, and the father of Darby Riley, with Darby’s two brothers and his uncle’s son, and there were both the father and the mother of Bridget Rooney, and proud enough the old couple were that night of their daughter, as good right they had, and her four sisters, with brand new ribbons in their caps, and her three brothers all looking as clean and as clever as any three boys in Munster, and plenty was there to eat and drink on the table for every one of them, if they had been double the number.