Chapter III: Part 3

Now he got into bed, and thought he would go to sleep; but oh, how hard the mattress was! Wry-Face lay this way, then that, but no matter which way he lay, he found a great hump just beneath him which was as hard as hard, and as nobbly as could be.

Wry-Face tossed and tossed till it was nearly morning; and his bones were so sore that he could lie no longer.

Then he pulled the mattress from the bed and cut a great hole in it, and when he had searched and searched he found in the middle of the mattress—a big brown potato!

“This,” cried Wry-Face, “is why I have not slept the whole night through!” And he wept like anything.

But the potato was as cool as cool.

“I belong,” it said, “to One-Eye, the potato wife; and let me tell you, my little gnome, unless you take me to her immediately, I shall climb into your mattress again, and there I shall remain.”

“Alas,” cried Wry-Face, “I have tossed about for hours and hours and am too tired to do anything. But if you will wait till to-morrow, dear potato, I will carry you to One-Eye, the potato wife—I will, indeed.”

At first the potato was unwilling to listen to this, but after a while it said, “Very well, then, I will wait till the morning. But this much I know, my Wry-Face, if you do not carry me then to One-Eye, the potato wife, I shall get into your mattress and you shall roll again _every night_.”

So Wry-Face put the potato in the bin. When he had done that he went to bed, and slept and slept.

When the sun was shining he awoke, and he remembered that he had to carry the potatoes back to One-Eye, the potato wife; and he was as cross as anything.

“Well, I suppose I must,” he said. And when he had had his breakfast, he went to his cupboard to get a sack.

Then he found that his sack was full of pearls which he had gathered together for Heigh-Heavy, the giant, whose daughter, So-Small, he wished to marry.

So he thought, “First of all I will carry the pearls to Heigh-Heavy, for that is more important.” And away he went with the sack upon his back. And he never saw the spell which Oh-I-Am had placed beside his door.

When he reached the Most Enormous House of Heigh-Heavy, the Giant, there the giant was sitting in his parlor lacing his shoes.

So Wry-Face cried out in a gay little voice, “Here I am, Heigh-Heavy, here I am. And here is a bag of pearls which I have brought you in exchange for your beautiful daughter, So-Small.”

When Heigh-Heavy heard this, he stopped lacing his shoes, and said, “You must bring me in exchange for my daughter So-Small as many pearls as will cover my palm.”

Then Wry-Face ran forward and he tipped up the sack; and, standing high upon his toes, he shook out all that it held into the hand of Heigh-Heavy, the Giant.

Now all that it held was—one brown potato!

Wry-Face the gnome stared and stared and stared, his eyes growing rounder and rounder; but he had no time to weep, on account of Heigh-Heavy the giant who had fallen into a rage terrible to see.

“Now there is one thing quite certain,” said Heigh-Heavy, “and that is that you shall never marry my daughter So-Small, for, my Wry-Face, I will turn you into a brown potato, and a brown potato you shall remain your whole life through.”

When Wry-Face heard this terrible threat he took to his heels, and ran from the Most Enormous House of Heigh-Heavy, the giant. He ran, and ran, till his coat was torn and his ears were red; and he never rested till he reached his cottage door, and got inside.

Heigh-Heavy laughed till he cried to see the little gnome run. “He will play no tricks on _me_!” said he. And he went in and shut the door.

But Wry-Face said to himself, as he carried the potatoes, weeping, to the potato-wife:

“I will never play a trick on _anyone_ again, not as long as I live!”

CHANTICLEER

Once upon a time a widow and her two daughters lived in a little cottage near a grove. They were so poor that it took the most careful managing to earn a humble living. Their meals were very simple; indeed, they often had nothing but milk and brown bread, and once in a while a bit of bacon and an egg or two.

Around the cottage was a henyard, fenced in with sticks and a dry ditch, and here the old widow kept a handsome rooster called Chanticleer. His match for crowing could not be found; his voice was merrier than the merry organ heard in the church on Mass days, and the wonder of it was one could tell the hour of the day by his crowing! His comb was redder than fine coral, and all notched like a castle wall. His bill was black and shone like jet, his legs and his toes were like azure, his nails whiter than the lily flower, and his feathers the color of burnished gold.

Chanticleer lived a happy life. He had with him seven plump wives, all very much like him in color, but by far the cheeriest companion among them was Demoiselle Partlet, who was not only beautiful but also wise and courteous. Chanticleer loved her dearly. What joy it was to hear them sing together at sunrise,

“My love is far away.”

Early one morning when Chanticleer and his seven hens sat on the perch, Partlet, who was beside her lord, heard a loud groan. “My dear,” she said, astonished and alarmed, “what can be the matter with you? For shame, to wake us all up in this way!”

“Madam,” replied the rooster, “do not be anxious about me. It was only a dream, but it has frightened me almost beyond words. I thought I was roaming up and down the yard, when suddenly I saw a beast somewhat like a hound ready to spring at me. He was between yellow and red in color, his tail and ears were tipped with black, his nose was small and his eyes glowed like fire. I almost died of fright! That is what made me groan.”

“Fie for shame!” retorted Partlet. “Do you admit to your love that anything could fill your heart with fear? Alas! Alas! You know that dreams mean nothing. Let me explain what causes them. Overeating creates too much black humor, and in consequence one is likely to dream that black bears, or black bulls, or even _devils_ will catch him. Then again, if one has too much red humor he may dream of arrows, of fire with red blazes, or of great and small whelps that will bite. I could go on, but further talk is unnecessary. Dearest, when we fly down from these rafters I will point out to you herbs and berries that will cure you; also for a day or two you shall have a light diet of worms. Cheer up, I say, and in a little while all will be well. Should this occur again, remember the words of the wise Cato: ‘Take no heed of dreams!’”

“Thank you for your excellent advice, my dear,” replied Chanticleer. “I know that Cato had much wisdom, but I can give you examples of other very wise men who did not agree with him. Do you not remember the story of Daniel in the Old Testament? Did he think dreams mean nothing? Also read the story of Joseph and you will see that a dream held warnings of future things. Recall for a moment Pharaoh, King of Egypt, his baker and his butler! See what they thought about the meaning of dreams. Wonderful stories on this subject I could point out to you, so do not be surprised that this dream of mine makes me anxious. But now, my dearest Partlet, let us talk about merrier things, for, when I see the beauty of your face and the lovely scarlet hue about your eyes, all my fears leave me. I am so full of joy and comfort in your company that I forget dreams.”

Daybreak had come and the rooster and his seven wives flew down from the perch. “Cluck! Cluck!” he called gayly when he found a tidbit in the yard. Behold Chanticleer in all his glory! Brave as a lion, he roamed proudly on his tiptoes up and down the henyard, never dreaming that an enemy was watching him with cunning interest.

Now it happened that a wicked fox had lived for three years in the grove near the cottage. All this time he had been watching his chance to fall upon the handsome rooster. During the night of Chanticleer’s dream, the fox had pushed slyly through the hedge into the garden and had carefully hidden himself among the vegetables.

The sun was shining gloriously! Partlet and her sisters were bathing merrily in the warm sand! Gallant Chanticleer, singing merrier than a mermaid, was watching a butterfly flitting about in the sunshine among the herbs when suddenly his eye caught sight of the fox lying low among the leaves! Terror seized him. The song died in his throat. “Cok! Cok!” he gasped. In a moment he would have fled, but the fox began right away to speak to him in a very persuasive tone.

“Gentle sir, I hope you are not afraid of me, your own good friend. Certainly I should be worse than a fiend if I harmed you. Indeed I did not come here to spy upon you, but, pardon me, to hear your glorious voice. No angel in heaven could sing sweeter than you do. How well I remember my lord, your father, and my lady, your honorable mother. They have been guests at my house many times. Shall I ever again hear a voice as beautiful as your father’s when he greeted the sunrise! I remember exactly how he looked. He stood on his tiptoes, shut his eyes tightly, stretched out his long slender neck and then poured forth his glorious song. He was indeed a wonder. Also, he was very wise and careful. I have heard it said that no one could surpass him in song or wisdom. I wonder, kind sir, if your voice is as beautiful as your father’s. For sweet charity’s sake, will you not sing one song for me and let me compare the two voices?”

How could Chanticleer refuse one so kind and courteous? He began to flap his wings. He stood on tiptoe. He closed his eyes. He stretched his long, slender neck and began to crow. Snap! In a twinkling the fox seized Chanticleer by the throat, swung him across his back, and was off to the woods with him.

Never was there such a commotion! The hens screamed and cried pitifully. Partlet shrieked at the top of her voice. This brought the widow and her daughters to the door, and then they saw the wicked fox with Chanticleer across his back making for the wood. “Help! Help! A fox! A fox!” they cried, and started after him as fast as they could go. Men snatched up sticks and joined them. The dog Coll ran yelping and barking. Malkin started with the distaff in her hand. The cow and the calf ran. The hogs, frightened at the loud barking of the dogs and the screaming of the people, set up a squealing like fiends and followed in the chase. The ducks quacked as if they were being murdered, the geese in terror took flight over the tree tops. The hideous deafening noise started a swarm of bees forth from their hive. Soon other people followed with horns of brass, wood, and bone. They blew, they bellowed, they cried, they screamed, they whooped, they shrieked, and made such a bedlam that it seemed the very heavens would fall. And on ran the fox with the rooster on his back.

Now Chanticleer in all his breathless terror was rapidly turning over in his mind how he could help his friends to rescue him. Controlling his fright as best he could, he said,

“Sir, if I were you, I’d scoff at these followers. Say to them, ‘Turn back you proud churls! A plague upon you! The rooster is mine and I’ll soon be where I can eat him.’”

“In faith,” replied the fox, “I’ll do what you say.” As soon as the fox opened his mouth, Chanticleer flew high up into a tree which stood near. Now the fox saw his mistake, but was not ready to give up.

“Alas, alas, Chanticleer,” he began, “I’ve done you a great wrong. I seized you and carried you entirely too roughly. Forgive me for frightening you. Come now, fly down a moment and let me explain.”

“No thank you,” crowed Chanticleer. “Your flattery will not catch me a second time, and make me sing again with my eyes closed. For no good can come to anyone who closes his eyes when they should be open.”

“Bad luck to the one who talks when he should hold his peace,” grumbled the fox.

THE JACKAL AND THE ALLIGATOR

A little Jackal, who was very fond of crabs and bits of fish and whatever else he could find, went down to the riverside one morning in search of something for his dinner. He ran up and down the bank, here and there, but he could find nothing to eat. At last, near some tall bulrushes and under clear, shallow water he saw a little crab who was sidling along as fast as his legs could carry him. The little jackal was so very hungry that, without looking, he put his paw into the water after the crab. “Snap!” A great big alligator who lived in the river, had the paw in his jaws.

“Oh, dear,” thought the little jackal, “a big alligator has my paw in his mouth. In another minute he will drag me down under the water and swallow me. What can I do?” Then a thought came to the little jackal, “I’ll fool that old alligator and get away from him.” So he called out in a very cheerful voice, “Clever Alligator! Clever Alligator! To catch hold of that bulrush root for my paw! I hope you will find it very tender.”

The old alligator was so hidden among the bulrushes that he could scarcely see anything. On hearing the little jackal call out he said to himself, “Dear me, I thought I had caught hold of the jackal’s paw; but there he is calling out in a cheerful voice. I suppose I have made a mistake.” So saying he opened his mouth and let the little jackal go.

The jackal ran away as fast as he could. When he was at a safe distance he called out, “O wise Alligator! O wise Alligator! So you let me go again.” The alligator was very angry, but the little jackal had run too far away to be caught.

The next day the jackal returned to the riverside to get his dinner as before. The old alligator was nowhere to be seen, but the little jackal thought it best not to take any chances, so he called out, “Wherever I go to look for my dinner, I search for the nice little fat crabs that come peeping up through the mud. Then I put my paw down and catch them. I wish I could see one now.”

The old alligator was down in the mud at the bottom of the river, and he heard every word the jackal said. He thought to himself, “Aha! I’ll just show the tip of my nose up through the mud. He’ll take it for a little fat crab and put his paw in to catch me. As soon as he does so, I’ll gobble him up!” So he popped the little point of his nose out of the mud and waited. No sooner did the jackal see the tip of the alligator’s nose than he called out, “O Friend Alligator, so there you are. No dinner for me here, thank you.” And off he ran and fished for his dinner a long, long way from that place. The old alligator snapped his jaws again and again. He was very angry at missing his dinner a second time, and he made up his mind not to let the jackal escape again.

The following day, the little jackal went down to the waterside as usual to look for crabs. He was rather afraid to go too near the river’s edge, for he felt sure the old enemy was hiding somewhere. So he stayed back at a safe distance and called out,

“Where are all the little crabs gone? There is not one here and I am very hungry. When I don’t see them on the shore or peeping up through the mud I see them blowing bubble, bubble, bubble, and all the little bubbles go pop! pop! pop!” The old alligator lying low in the mud heard this and he said to himself, “I can fool that little jackal easy enough _this_ time. I’ll pretend to be a little crab.” Then he began to blow, puff, puff! Bubble, bubble, bubble! And all the great bubbles rushed to the top of the river, and burst there, and the water whirled and whirled round and round just above the place where the old alligator lay hidden. It didn’t take the jackal long to know who was underneath those bubbles, and off he ran, as fast as he could go, calling out,

“Thank you, kind Alligator, thank you, thank you! Indeed it is very kind of you to show me just where you are.”

The old alligator was furious at being deceived by the little jackal once more. “Next time I will be very cunning,” he said. So, for a long time he waited and waited for the jackal, to come to the riverside, but the jackal never returned.

“I shall be caught and eaten by that wicked old alligator some day if I am not careful. I must content myself to do without crabs.” He went no more to the river, but stayed in the jungle and ate wild figs and roots which he dug up with his paws.

When the alligator found this out he was angry again, and he determined to try to catch the jackal on land. So he crawled over the ground to a place where the largest of the wild fig trees grew. He made a great heap of the fallen figs and hid himself under it, and there he waited for the jackal. No sooner did the cunning little animal spy the great pile of figs than he thought, “Oh, ho, that looks much like my friend the alligator. I’ll see.” So he called out,

“The little wild figs I like best always tumble down from the tree, and roll here and there as the wind drives them. That great heap of figs is quite still. They can not be good figs. I will not eat one of them.”

The old alligator thought, “Oh, ho! How suspicious this jackal is. I will make the figs roll about a little, then he will come and eat them.”

So the great beast shook himself and all the little figs went roll, roll, roll, this way and that, farther than the most blustering wind could have driven them. The jackal knew who was under the heap. Away he scampered, calling back, “Thank you, Mr. Alligator, for letting me know you are there! I should scarcely have guessed it.” The alligator hearing this was so angry that he ran after the jackal, but the jackal ran away too quickly to be caught.

The old alligator was now in a rage. “I will not let him make fun of me another time and then run away out of my reach. I will show him I can be more cunning than he thinks,” he declared.

Early the next morning he crawled as fast as he could till he came to the little jackal’s den. The jackal was away, and so he crept in and hid himself to wait until the little animal should return. By and by the jackal came home. He looked all about the place, for the ground around his house was torn up as though some very heavy animal had been crawling there.

“Dear me,” he said. Then he saw that the earth on each side of the door of his den had been knocked down as if something very big had tried to squeeze through it.

“I certainly will not go inside until I know who has gone in there.” So he called out, “Little house, why do you not give me an answer when I call? You always call out to me if all is safe and right. Is anything wrong that you do not speak?”

Then the alligator who was inside thought, “I must pretend to be the little house and call out. He will not come in unless he thinks all is right in here.” So he called out in as pleasant a voice as he could, “Sweet little Jackal.” When the little jackal heard that he was frightened indeed.

“So that dreadful old alligator is in my house. I must try to kill him if I can, or he will certainly make an end of me some day.”

Then he answered, “Thank you, my dear little house. I like to hear your pretty voice. I am coming in a minute, but first I must collect some firewood to cook my dinner.” As fast as he could, he gathered all the dry branches and bits of sticks and piled them up close to the mouth of the den. The old alligator inside kept as quiet as a mouse, but he could not help laughing a little to himself, “So I have deceived that little jackal at last. In a few minutes he will run in here, and then, won’t I snap him up!”

When the jackal had gathered as many sticks as he could find, he ran back and placed the sticks all round the outside of his den. Then he set fire to them. The great fire blazed up, and the smoke filled the den and smothered that wicked old alligator.

FINN AND THE FAIRY SHOEMAKER

Finn O’Shea’s grandmother knew more about fairies than anyone else in the village. One afternoon when the sun was shining on the tops of the Nine Hills, which rose up a few fields beyond the edge of the village, Finn and his grandmother were coming home from a walk. Suddenly the old woman darted forward and picked up the tiniest bit of a gray feather. Her sharp eyes had spied it under the shadow of a foxglove.

“What is it, Granny?” asked Finn.

“An owl’s feather, lad. It fell out of one of their wee red caps,” said she, laughing quietly. “They had a fine revel in the fields last night, my boy, for it was Midsummer Eve. That is the time when the wee folks are gayest, you know.”

“I wish I could see them dancing,” said Finn.

“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.

“Well,” said his father, “there’s great pride in Brownies. They’ll work their fingers off for love, but you must never thank them, nor give them anything, or away they will go. Good Grannie Duncan had told us that over and over again, but your mother and I forgot all about her wise words. We thought that the little thing ought not to work for nothing. So we bought a piece of green cloth and a piece of brown cloth and your mother sat up all night cutting and stitching. By morning she had made as neat a pair of little trousers and as fine a coat as ever she made for you.

“That night we laid the clothes in a little parcel beside the bowl of broth, and we heard the little thing saying to himself:

“‘A nice pair of green trousers and a little brown coat for me. I can come here no more—_no more_—till one of the children of the village travels the world over and finds me first.’

“And the strange little creature vanished in the night and no one has seen or heard of him since though we have missed him very, very much.”

Olaf thought about the Brownie all day. He felt that, although the world away from the village might be very dangerous, he was quite willing to travel in it if, by so doing, he could bring the Brownie back to Blednock.

Olaf asked each person in the village where to find the Brownie. Also, he asked the oldest apple tree in the orchard, but it said nothing. He asked the cows, but they said nothing. He asked the dog, but he barked about other things. Only the sheep helped him. They said nothing, but they looked as if they knew. Olaf tended the sheep and the young lambs throughout the year, and he wondered and wondered if the lambs learned from the old sheep where the Brownie was hidden.

“I will not come back until a child of this village travels the world over and finds me first,—travels the world over and finds me first,” Olaf kept saying to himself over and over.

At last one summer evening, as he was coming home from the sheepfolds, he heard the faint sound of bagpipes very near. He heard it again the next night, and the next, and the night after that, and every night, until, at last, he made up his mind to follow the sound and find out who it was that played the pipes so sweetly.

He left the sheep path and followed the music, walking carefully lest he should lose it. The soft sweet notes seemed to come from a mass of rocks which lay on the moor behind him. As he came near the rocks he knew the music was directly above it, so he started to climb up. Halfway up the path was easy to climb, and he soon won his way up to a little tree which thrust itself out of the side of the pile. He twisted himself over the tree and rested there, wondering how he could get up the rest of the way, for he saw six feet of smooth rock up to the top.

All the time the music of the bagpipes, scarcely louder than a concert of bees and crickets, sounded close above his head. “Oho, there!” shouted Olaf at last. The music stopped suddenly. A little brown face with a long blue beard looked eagerly over the top of the rocks.

“So it is you, is it?” said a voice. “Here, take hold of my wrist and then pull.”

Olaf caught sight of a long brown arm stretched down toward him. He caught hold of the wrist and pulled, and the next moment Olaf found himself scrambling over a thick mass of heather on to the top of the rocks. He lay sprawling on the edge of a little cleft in the rock with high walls on the sides. In one of these walls there was a little cave, and just in front of the cave was a little three-legged stool that had been upset, and a little set of bagpipes was lying on the ground beside it.