Chapter VI: Part ONE: Fairy-Lore and Elfin Legends (3)

“What’s all this noise about, then? If you did it your ownself, there’s nobody to blame but yourself!”

THE SICK-BED ELVES

_From China_

Wang Little-Third-One lay stretched on his bed of bamboo laths, where a low fever kept him. He complained to every one, especially to his friend the Magician who came to see him.

The Magician was very wise, so he gave Wang a drink of something delicious and cool, and went away.

When Little-Third-One had drunk this, his fever fell, and he was able to enjoy a little sleep. He was awakened by a slight noise. The night was come. The room was lighted by the full moon, which threw a bright gleam through the open door.

Then he saw that the room was full of insects that were moving and flying hither and thither. There were white ants that gnaw wood, bad-smelling bugs, enormous cockroaches, mosquitoes, and many many flies. And they were all buzzing, gnashing their teeth, or falling.

As Little-Third-One looked, he saw something move on the threshold. A small man, not bigger than a thumb, advanced with cautious steps. In his hand he held a bow; a sword was hanging by his side.

Little-Third-One, looking closer, saw two dogs as big as shirt-buttons, running in front of the little man. They suddenly stopped. The archer approached nearer to the bed, and held out his bow, and discharged a tiny arrow. A cockroach that was crawling before the dogs, made a bound, fell on its back, kicked, and was motionless. The arrow had run through it.

Behind the little man, other little men had come. Some rode on small horses, and were armed with swords, and still others were on foot. All these huntsmen scattered about the room, and ran or rode, to and fro, shooting arrows, and brandishing their swords; until hundreds and hundreds of insects were killed. At first the mosquitoes escaped, but, as they cannot fly for long, every time one of them settled on the wall, it was transfixed by a huntsman.

Soon none were left of all the insects that had broken the silence with their buzzing, their gnashing of teeth, and their falling.

A horseman then galloped around the room, looking from right to left. He gave a signal. All the huntsmen called their dogs, went to the door, and disappeared.

Little-Third-One had not moved, for fear that he should disturb the hunt. At last he went peacefully to sleep, and woke the next day cured. When his friend the Magician came to see him, Little-Third-One told him about the mysterious huntsmen, and his friend the Magician smiled.

HOW PEEPING KATE WAS PISKEY-LED

_From Cornwall_

’Tis Hallowe’en Night, Teddy, my boy. Don’t go out on the moor, or near the Gump, for the Piskeys and the Spriggans are abroad, waiting to mislead straying mortals. Many are the men and women that the Little People have whisked away on Hallowe’en Night; and the poor mortals have never been heard of since.

Sit down, Teddy, my boy, crack these nuts, and eat these red apples; and I’ll tell you how Peeping Kate was Piskey-led.

I have heard the old folks say how long ago--maybe a hundred years or so--the Squire of Pendeen had a housekeeper, an elderly dame, called Kate Tregeer.

Well, one Hallowe’en Night, some spices and other small things were wanted for the feasten-tide, and Kate would not trust any one to go for them except herself. So she put on her red coat and high steeple-crowned hat, and walked to Penzance. She bought the goods and started for home.

It was a bright moonlight night, and though no wind was blowing, the leaves of the trees were murmuring with a hollow sound. And Kate could hear strange rustlings in the bushes by the side of the road.

She had walked a very long time, and her basket was so heavy that she began to feel tired. Her legs bent under her and she could scarcely stand up. Just then she beheld, a little in front of her, a man on horseback. And she could tell by the proud way he sat that he was a gentleman-born.

She was very glad to see him, and as he was going slowly, she soon overtook him; and when she came up, his horse stood stock-still.

“My dear Master,” she said, “how glad I am to see you. Don’t you know me? I’m Kate Tregeer of Pendeen; and I can’t tell you how hard I’ve worked all day.”

Then she explained to him how she had walked to Penzance, and was now so tired that she could not stand up. But the gentleman made no reply.

“My dear Master,” said she, “I’m footsore and leg-weary. I’ve got as far as here, you see, but I can get no farther. Do have pity on a poor unfortunate woman, and take her behind you. I can ride well enough on your horse’s back without a saddle or pillion.”

But still the gentleman made no reply.

“My dear Master,” she said again, “My! but you’re a fine-looking man! How upright you sit on your horse! But why don’t you answer me? Are you asleep? One would think you were taking a nap; and your horse, too, it is standing so still!”

Not having any word in reply to this fine speech, Kate called out as loud as she could: “Even if you are a gentleman-born, you needn’t be so stuck-up that you won’t speak to a poor body afoot!”

Still he never spoke, though Kate thought that she saw him wink at her.

This vexed her the more. “The time was when the Tregeers were among the first in the parish, and were buried with the gentry! Wake up and speak to me!” screamed she in a rage. And then she took up a stone, and threw it at the horse. The stone rolled back to her feet, and the animal did not even whisk its tail.

Kate now got nearer, and saw that the rider had no hat on, nor was there any hair on his bald head. She touched the horse, and felt nothing but a bunch of furze. She rubbed her eyes and saw at once, to her great astonishment, that it was no gentleman and horse at all, only a smooth stone half buried in a heap of furze. And there she was still far away from Pendeen, with her heavy basket, and her legs so tired that she could scarcely move. And then she saw that she had come a short distance only, and knew that she must be bewitched.

Well, on she went; and seeing a light at her left hand she thought that it shone from the window of a house where she might rest awhile. So she made for it straight across the moor, floundering through bogs, and tripping over bunches of furze. And still the light was always just ahead, and it seemed to move from side to side. Then suddenly it went out, and she was left standing in a bog. The next minute she found herself among furze-ricks and pigsties, in the yard of Farmer Boslow, miles away from Pendeen.

She opened the door of an old outhouse, and entered, hoping to get a few hours’ rest. There she lay down on straw and fell asleep; but she was soon wakened by some young pigs who were rooting around in the straw. That was too much for Kate. So up she got, and as she did so she heard the noise of a flail. And seeing a glimmer of light in a barn near by, she crept softly to a little window in the barn, and peeped to find what was going on.

At first she could see only two rush-wicks burning in two old iron lamps. Then through the dim light she saw the slash-flash of a flail as it rose and fell, and beat the barn floor. She stood on tiptoes, and stuck her head in farther, and whom did she see, wielding the flail, but a little old man, about three feet high, with hair like a bunch of rushes, and ragged clothes. His face was broader than it was long, and he had great owl-eyes shaded by heavy eyebrows from which his nose poked like a pig’s snout. Kate noticed that his teeth were crooked and jagged, and that at each stroke of the flail, he kept moving his thin lips around and around, and thrusting his tongue in and out. His shoulders were broad enough for a man twice his height, and his feet were splayed like a frog’s.

“Well! Well!” thought Kate. “This is luck! To see the Piskey threshing! For ever since I can remember I have heard it said that the Piskey threshed corn for Farmer Boslow on winter nights, and did other odd jobs for him the year round. But I would not believe it. Yet here he is!”

Then she reached her head farther in, and beheld a score of little men helping the Piskey. Some of them were lugging down the sheaves, and placing them handy for him; and others were carrying away the straw from which the grain had been threshed. Soon a heap of corn was gathered on the floor, as clean as if it had been winnowed.

In doing this the Piskey raised such a dust that it set him and some of the little men sneezing. And Kate, without stopping to think, called out:--

“God bless you, little men!”

Quick as a wink the lights vanished, and a handful of dust was thrown into her eyes, which blinded her so that for a moment she could not see. And then she heard the Piskey squeak:--

“_I spy thy face,
Old Peeping Kate,
I’ll serve thee out,
Early and late!_”

Kate, when she heard this, felt very uneasy, for she remembered that the Little People have a great spite against any one who peeps at them, or pries into their doings.

The night being clear, she quickly found her way out of a crooked lane, and ran as fast as she could, and never stopped until she reached the Gump. There she sat down to rest awhile.

After that she stood up; and turn whichever way she might the same road lay before her. Then she knew that the Piskey was playing her a trick. So she ran down a hill as fast as she could, not caring in what direction she was going, so long as she could get away from the Piskey.

After running a long while, she heard music and saw lights at no great distance. Thinking that she must be near a house, she went over the downs toward the lights, feeling ready for a jig, and stopping now and then to dance around and around to the strains of the music.

But instead of arriving at a house, in passing around some high rocks she came out on a broad green meadow, encircled with furze and rocks. And there before her she saw a whole troop of Spriggans holding an Elfin Fair. It was like a feasten-day. Scores of little booths were standing in rows, and were covered with tiny trinkets such as buckles of silver and gold glistening with Cornish diamonds, pins with jewelled heads, brooches, rings, bracelets, and necklaces of crystal beads, green and red or blue and gold; and many other pretty things new to Kate.

There were lights in all directions--lanterns no bigger than Foxgloves were hanging in rows; and on the booths, rushlights in tulip-cups shone among Fairy goodies such as Kate had never dreamed of. Yet with all these lights there was such a shimmer over everything that she got bewildered, and could not see as plainly as she wished.

She did not care to disturb the Little People until she had looked at all that was doing. So she crept softly behind the booths and watched the Spriggans dancing. Hundreds of them, linked hand in hand, went whirling around so fast as to make her dizzy. Small as they were, they were all decked out like rich folk, the little men in cocked hats and feathers, blue coats gay with lace and gold buttons, breeches and stockings of lighter hue, and tiny shoes with diamond buckles.

Kate could not name the colours of the little ladies’ dresses, which were of all the hues of Summer blossoms. The vain little things had powdered their hair, and decked their heads with ribbons, feathers, and flowers. Their shoes were of velvet and satin, and were high-heeled and pointed. And such sparkling black eyes as all the little ladies had, and such dimpled cheeks and chins! And they were merry, sprightly, and laughing.

All the Spriggans were capering and dancing around a pole wreathed with flowers. The pipers, standing in their midst, played such lively airs that Kate never in all her life had wanted to dance more. But she kept quite still, for she did not wish the Little People to know that she was there. She was determined to pocket some of the pretty things in the booths, and steal softly away with them. She thought how nice a bright pair of diamond buckles would look on her best shoes, and how fine her Sunday cap would be ornamented with a Fairy brooch.

So she raised her hand and laid it on some buckles, when--oh! oh!--she felt a palmful of pins and needles stick into her fingers like red-hot points; and she screamed:--

“Misfortune take you, you bad little Spriggans!”

Immediately the lights went out, and she felt hundreds of the Little People leap on her back, and her neck, and her head. At the same moment others tripped up her heels, and laid her flat on the ground, and rolled her over and over.

Then she caught sight of the Piskey mounted on a wild-looking colt, his toes stuck in its mane. He was holding a rush for a whip. And there he sat grinning from ear to ear, and urging on the Spriggans to torment her, with “Haw! Haw! Haw!” and “Tee! Hee! Hee!”

She spread out her arms and squeezed herself tight to the ground, so that the Spriggans might not turn her over; but they squeaked and grunted, and over and over she went. And every time that they turned her face downward, some of the little fellows jumped on her back, and jigged away from her toe to her head.

She reached around to beat them off with a stick, but they pulled it out of her hand; and, balancing it across her body, strided it, and bobbed up and down, singing:--

“_See-saw-pate!
Lie still old Peeping Kate!
See-saw-pate!
Here we’ll ride, early and late,
On the back of Peeping Kate!_”

And with that, poor Kate, not to be beaten by the Spriggans, tossed back her feet to kick the little fellows away, but they pulled off her shoes and tickled and prickled the soles of her feet until she fell a-laughing and a-crying by turns.

Kate was almost mad with their torment, when by good chance she remembered a charm that would drive away all mischievous spirits, on Hallowe’en. So she repeated it forwards and backwards, and in a twinkling all the little Spriggans fled screeching away, the Piskey galloping after them.

Then she got on her feet and looked around. She saw, by the starlight of a clear frosty morning, that the place to which she had been Piskey-led was a green spot near the Gump, where folks said the Spriggans held their nightly revels. And although the spot was very small, it had seemed to her like a ten-acre field because of enchantment.

And her hat, and her shoes, and her basket were gone; and poor Kate, barefooted and bareheaded, had to hobble home as best she could. And she reached Pendeen gate more dead than alive.

ONE-EYED PRYING JOAN’S TALE

_From Cornwall_

Sit down, Bobby, my boy. Eat some bread and cheese. Don’t be afraid to drink the cider. It’s all my own making. Sit down, and I’ll tell you how I lost the sight of my right eye.

The last Christmas Eve I went to Penzance to buy a pair of shoes for myself, and some thread and buttons, and things to mend Master’s clothes. I dearly like company, and as I started out I thought of old Betty down at the cove, she that they say is a Witch, you know.

Thinks I to myself: “If she’s a Witch, she’ll not hurt me, as I never crossed her in my life. Witch or no Witch, I’ll stop and have a bite of something hot at her little house,” thought I.

When I came to the house, the door was tight shut, and I heard a strange mumbling inside, but I could not make out what it was. So I took a peep through the latch-hole. And what did I see but old Betty standing by the chimney-piece with a little box in her hand, and she was muttering something that sounded like a charm. She put her finger into the box and pulled it out again, and smeared some ointment over her eyes. Then she put the box into a hole near the chimney.

I lifted the latch and walked in. “How-de-do, Betty,” said I.

“Welcome,” said she, grinning and pleased. “Sit down by the fire. Now we’ll have a good drop of something hot to ourselves, seeing that it’s Christmas Eve,” said she.

“I’ll take a thimbleful, just to drink your health and a Merry Christmas to you, with all my heart,” said I; for I well knew that Betty made the best sweet drink, with sugar and spice and a roasted apple bobbing around in it.

I put down my basket, and took off my coat, and sat by the fire; while Betty stepped into a closet to fetch the cups.

Now, I had often wondered what made her eyes so clear and piercing. “’Tis the Fairy ointment, or Witch salve in the box,” thought I. “If it will do that to her eyes, it won’t hurt me.” So while she was gone, I took the box from the hole, where she had covered it with ferns, and put a bit of the ointment on my right eye. The stuff had no sooner touched me than it burned like fire, or as if needles and pins were being thrust into my eyeball. Just then Betty came from the closet, and I dragged the brim of my hat down over my right eye, so she should not see what had happened.

After we had drunk each other’s health three or four times, the pain went off, and I ventured to open my anointed eye. And oh! what did I see! The place was full of Spriggans! Troops of the Little People were cutting all sorts of capers in the folds of the nets and sails hung on the walls, in the bunches of herbs that swung from the rafters, and in the pots and pans on the dresser. Some of them were playing seesaw on the beams of the ceiling, tossing their heels and waving their feathered caps, as they teetered up and down on bits of straw or green twigs. Numbers of them were swinging in the cobwebs that festooned the rafters or riding mice in and out through holes in the thatch.

I noted that all the little men were dressed in green tricked out with red, and had feathered caps and high riding-boots with silver spurs. Their ladies, if you please, were all decked in grand fashion--their gowns were of green velvet with long trains and looped up with silver chains and bells. They wore high-crowned steeple-hats, with wreaths of the most beautiful flowers around them; while sprigs of blossoms and garlands decorated all parts of their dress, and were in their hands as well. They were the sauciest Little People I ever did see. They pranced around on their high-heeled boots sparkling with diamond buckles.

When I peeped into the wood-corner under Betty’s bunk, I spied some of the ugly Spriggans sitting there looking very gloomy because they have to watch the treasures that are hidden in the ground, and do other disagreeable things that the merry Spriggans never have to do.

While looking into the dark corner I heard strains of sweet, unearthly music outside the house. Glancing around the room, I saw that all was changed. The walls were hung with tapestry, the chimney stools on which we sat were carved chairs. Betty and I sat under a canopy of embroidered satin, and our feet rested on a silken carpet. And wherever the little Spriggans trod, they left circles like diamonds on the floor.

The sweet music was now close at hand under the little window, and a moment after a troop of the Little People appeared on the window-sill, playing on pipes, flutes, and other instruments made of green reeds from the brook and of shells from the shore.

The Fairy band stepped down most gracefully from the window-sill, and was closely followed by a long train of little men and women magnificently dressed, and carrying bunches of flowers in their hands. All walked in an orderly procession, two by two, and bowed or curtsied, to Betty, and cast the flowers in her lap. I saw their many bunches of Four-leaved Clover and sprigs of magic herbs. With these she makes her salves and lotions.

Then all the Spriggans who had been dancing and capering about the ceiling and floor joined the others and came crowding around Betty. She did not look surprised, and I did not say anything to let her know that I saw. The Spriggans then began to pour dew over her dress out of flower-buds and from the bottles of the Foxglove. Immediately her jacket was changed into the finest and richest cloth of a soft cream colour, and her dress became velvet the colour of all the flowers, and it was draped over a petticoat of silk quilted with silver cord.

The Little People brought tiny nosegays of sky-blue Pimpernel, Forget-me-nots, and dainty flower-bells, blue, pink, and white, and hundreds of other Fairy blossoms like stars and butterflies. These delicate little sprigs they stitched all over Betty’s silver-corded petticoat together with branching moss and the lace-like tips of the wild grass. All around the bottom of her skirt they made a wreath of tiny bramble leaves with roses and berries, red and black.

Many of the Little People perched themselves on the top of the high-backed chair in which Betty sat, and even stood on her shoulders, so that they might arrange her every curl and every hair. Some took the lids off pretty little urns they carried in their hands, and poured perfume on her head, which spread the sweetest odours through the room. I very much admired the lovely little urns, with their grooved lids, but when I picked one up, it was only a seed-pod of the wild Poppy. They placed no other ornament in her hair except a small twig of holly full of bright red berries. Yet Betty, decked out by her Fairy friends, was more beautiful than the loveliest Queen of May.

My senses were overcome by the smell of the Fairy odours, and the scent of the flowers, and the sweet perfume of honey, with which the walls of the house seemed bursting. And my head fell forward and I slept.

How long I dozed I do not know, but when I woke I saw that all the little Spriggans were glaring at me angrily. They thrust out their tongues and made the most horrid grimaces. I was so frightened that I jumped up, and ran out of the house, and shut the door.

But for the life of me, I could not leave the place without taking another peep. I put my left eye to the latch-hole--and would you believe it?--the house was just as it was when I entered it; the floor was bare, and there sat Betty in her old clothes before the fire. Then I winked, and looked with the right eye, and there was the beautiful room, and Betty seated in her fine flower-gown, beneath the silken canopy, while all the little Spriggans were dancing and capering around her.

I tore myself away, glad to get out of the cove, and hurried to Penzance to do my shopping, although it was so late. And as I was standing in front of a booth, what should I see but a little Spriggan helping himself to hanks of yarn, stockings, and all sorts of fine things.

“Ah! Ha! my little man!” cried I. “Are you not ashamed to be carrying on this way, stealing all those goods?”

“Is that thee, old Joan?” said he. “Which eye canst thou see me with?”

After winking both my eyes, I said: “’Tis plain enough that I can see you with my right eye.”

Then in a twinkling he pointed his finger at my right eye, and mumbled a spell, and I just caught the words:--

“_Joan the Pry
Shall nor peep nor spy,
But shall lose
Her charmèd eye!_”

Then he blew in my face, and was gone. And when I looked around, my right eye was blind. And from that day to this I have never seen a blink with my anointed eye.

THE FAIRY FOLK

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!

Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.

High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
He’s nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music,
On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow;
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lakes,
On a bed of flag leaves,
Watching till she wakes.

By the craggy hillside,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
As dig one up in spite?
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather.

_William Allingham_

FAIRY SERVANTS IN THE HOUSE

_Their dwellings be
In corners of old houses least frequented
Or beneath stacks of wood; and these convented
Make fearful noise in butteries and in dairies;
Robin Goodfellows some, some call them Fairies.
In solitary rooms, these uproars keep;
And beat at doors to wake men from their sleep._

* * * * *

_Pots, glasses, trenchers, dishes, pans, and kettles,
They will make dance about the shelves and settles,
As if about the kitchen tossed and cast,
Yet in the morning nothing found misplaced!_

FROM THE HIERARCHIE OF THE BLESSED ANGELLS (1635)

THE FAIRY’S SERVANTS

_From the Basque_

Once upon a time there was a poor woman who had three daughters.

One day the youngest said: “Mother, now that I am old enough, I wish to go out to service.”

The mother thought to herself: “If this one goes, why, there will be more to eat for the rest of us,” so she said: “Very well, good luck go with you.”

The girl set out, and after she had walked a long way she came to a beautiful city. A handsome lady met her, and asked:--

“Where are you going, my child?”

“I am going out to service,” replied the girl.

“Will you come with me to my home?” asked the lady.

“Yes, indeed,” said the girl, “and I’ll try to serve you faithfully.”

The lady led her to a large and fine house, and told her what work she should do that day.

“We are Fairies,” said she. “I must go away for a short time, but do you work in the kitchen while I am gone. Dig up the kitchen floor, smash the pitcher, break the plates. Whip the children, throw dirt in their faces, and rumple their hair.” Then the lady went away.

The girl, who thought these orders very strange, began to feed the children. Just then a little dog came creeping up to her, wagging his tail.

“Bow! Bow! Bow!” said he. “I, too, want something to eat!”

So the girl gave him a plateful of breakfast, and when he had eaten all he wished, he said:--

“You are a good girl, and I will tell you what to do to please my mistress. What she really meant was for you to sweep the kitchen floor, fill the pitcher, wash the dishes, and dress and feed the children. Do all this well, and she will give you the choice of a beautiful star on your forehead or a donkey’s tail hanging from your nose. Then she will offer you a sack of gold or a bag of charcoal. You must choose the donkey’s tail and the bag of charcoal.”

Well, the girl did all as the little dog told her, and when the mistress came home she smiled and said:--

“Choose which you will have, a beautiful star on your forehead, or a donkey’s tail hanging from your nose.”

“A donkey’s tail is the same to me,” said the girl.

“Will you have a sack of gold or a bag of charcoal?” asked the lady.

“The bag of charcoal is the same to me,” said the girl.

Then the lady placed a beautiful star on her forehead, and gave her a big sackful of gold, and told her she might go back to her mother.

The girl thanked the lady, and leaving the house hastened home. When her mother and sisters saw how pretty she was with the star on her forehead, and when they felt the big sack of gold on her shoulder, they were astonished.

Then the eldest sister began to cry and say: “Mother, I will go out and be a servant, too!”

“No! no! my child,” said the mother, “I will not let you go.”

But the girl wept, and would not leave her mother in peace until she said, “Go”; then she set off and walked until she came to the Fairy city.

The handsome lady met her and asked:--

“Where are you going, my child?”

“I am going out to service,” said the girl.

“Will you come with me to my home?” asked the lady.

The girl said she would, so the lady led her to the large and fine house and told her what work she should do that day.

“Dig up the kitchen floor,” said she, “smash the pitcher, break the plates. Whip the children, throw dirt in their faces, and rumple their hair.” Then she went away.

As soon as the lady was gone, the girl began to eat up all the good things in the pantry. Just then the little dog came creeping up to her, wagging his tail.

“Bow! Bow! Bow! I, too, want something to eat,” he said.

“Go away, you horrid little beast,” answered the girl, and she gave him a kick.

But the little dog would not leave her, and followed her about until she drove him from the kitchen with blows. Then she dug up the kitchen floor, smashed the pitcher, broke all the plates, whipped the children, threw dirt in their faces, and rumpled their hair.

By and by the mistress came home, and when she saw what the girl had been doing she frowned and said:--

“Choose which you will have, a beautiful star on your forehead or a donkey’s tail hanging from your nose.”

“A star on my forehead for me,” said the girl.

“Will you have a sack of gold or a bag of charcoal?” asked the lady.

“A sack of gold for me,” said the girl.

Then the lady hung a donkey’s tail on the end of her nose, and gave her a big bag of charcoal, and sent her back to her home. And when her mother saw her she was so ashamed that she locked her in the cellar.

As for the youngest girl, she shared her sack of gold with her mother and other sister, and then she married a fine young man, and lived happily ever after.

THE PIXIES

_From England_

There was once a little cottage in the middle of a flower garden. Its walls were covered with roses, and its porch was twined with clematis. The bees buzzed over the flowers, and the butterflies fluttered about the porch. And a hundred little green Pixies lived in the wood near by.

In this cottage two orphan sisters dwelt all alone. One morning the elder sister, Mary, got up at break of day. She milked the cow, churned the butter, swept the hearth, and made the breakfast. Then she sat on the porch to spin, and sang:--

“_How merrily the wheel goes round,
With a whirring, humming sound!_”

But the younger sister, Alice, lay in bed asleep. Then Mary put her spinning aside, and called:--

“Wake, Alice, wake! There is much for you to do while I go to the market-town. I must sell our yarn, and buy your new dress. While I am gone, don’t forget to bring in the firewood, drain the honeycomb, and fill the Pixies’ water-pail.”

But Alice did not answer. So Mary put on her hood and took her basket full of yarn. She walked all the way to the market-town and sold her yarn, and bought the new dress. Then she walked home again.

The sun was set when she reached the cottage, and Alice was sitting idle on the porch. The honeycomb was not drained, the firewood was not brought in, the bed was not made, and the supper was uncooked. And although Mary was tired and hungry, she had to cook the supper and make the bed. Then the sisters went to sleep.

By and by, the hundred little green Pixies came creeping, creeping into the kitchen. They pattered softly about and whispered so that the sisters should not hear them. Some ran to the spinning-wheel and began to spin, others built a fire under the oven, and mixed and kneaded the bread. One took a broom and swept the floor, and another brought in the firewood.

When all the yarn was spun, the bread baked, and the kitchen tidy, the Pixies ran to the water-pail to get a drink. But there was not a drop of water in it! And, oh! how angry they were!

Then Mary awoke, and cried: “Alice! Alice! Don’t you hear those angry buzzings? Surely you did not forget to fill the Pixies’ water-pail!”

But Alice answered: “I did not draw the water to-day. And I will not leave my bed now to fetch it for any little Pixy!” Then she went to sleep again.

But Mary got up, and, though her feet were tired and sore, she took the pail and ran through the garden to the spring. And as she stooped she saw a hundred little faces laughing at her from the water. She dipped her pail, and they were gone. She lifted the full pail, and felt little hands seize it and bear it along. It was carried to the door, and into the kitchen, and set down by the hearth. But she could see no one, so she went to bed again.

The next morning early, Mary got up. She ran to the pail and looked into it. Then she clapped her hands and called:--

“Come, Alice, come! See the silver pennies shining at the bottom of the clear water! There must be a hundred of them! Come, sister, dear!”

Then Alice, waking, tried to sit up. But she screamed with fright, for she could not move her hands and feet. Indeed, she could not rise at all! And that day, and the next, and for many days after, she lay helpless on her bed, and Mary fed and comforted her.

And every night the hundred little green Pixies came creeping, creeping into the kitchen. They swept, they baked, they sewed, they spun, and they drank from Mary’s water-pail. And every night they left one piece of silver there.

And so a whole year passed, and Alice lay and thought, and thought, and thought about her idle ways. And one night she called Mary to her, and wept and said:--

“Oh, sister, if only I could get up to-morrow, and feel the warm sunshine and play among the flowers! And if only I were strong enough to work for you, as you have worked for me!”

And Mary kissed and comforted her.

The next morning came, and Mary got up at break of day. She ran and looked into the water-pail. Then she clapped her hands and called:--

“Come, Alice, come! See the silver pennies shining at the bottom of the clear water! There must be a hundred of them! Come, sister, dear!”

And Alice forgot that she could not move. She sprang lightly out of bed and ran into the kitchen. And she was all well and happy again!

And oh, how glad the sisters were! How they kissed each other and laughed with joy! They milked the cow, and churned, and baked, and cooked, and sat spinning on the porch. And the bees buzzed, and the butterflies fluttered, and the sisters sang:--

“_How merrily the wheels go round,
With a whirring, humming sound!_”

THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH

_From Scotland_

OLD MADGE’S TALE

Have you ever heard of the Brownie, Aiken-Drum? No? Well, I will tell you how he came to Blednoch. It was in the Autumn time. The red sun was setting, when through our town he passed crying, oh! so wearily:--

“_Have ye work for Aiken-Drum?
Have ye work for Aiken-Drum?_”

He tirled at the pin, and entered in. I trow the boldest there stood back! You should have heard the children scream. The black dog barked, the lasses shrieked, at the sight of Aiken-Drum.

His matted head lay on his breast. A long blue beard fell to his waist. Around his hairy form was wrapped a cloth of woven rushes green. His long, thin arms trailed on the ground. His hands were claws; his feet had no toes. Oh, fearful to see was Aiken-Drum! And all the time he cried so wearily, so drearily:--

“_Have ye work for Aiken-Drum?
Have ye work for Aiken-Drum?_”

Then the brave goodman stood forth, and said: “What would you? Whence come you by land or sea?”

Then what a groan gave Aiken-Drum! “I come from a land where I never saw the sky! But now I’ll bide with you, if ye have work for Aiken-Drum! I’ll watch your sheep and tend your kine, each night till day. I’ll thresh your grain by the light of the moon. I’ll sing strange songs to your bonny bairns, if ye’ll but keep poor Aiken-Drum! I’ll churn the cream, I’ll knead the bread, I’ll tame the wildest colts ye have, if ye’ll but keep poor Aiken-Drum! No clothes nor gold is wage for me. A bowl of porridge on the warm hearthstone is wage enough for Aiken-Drum!”

“The Brownie speaks well,” said the old housewife. “Our workers are scarce. We have much to do. Let us try this Aiken-Drum.”

Then should you have seen the Brownie work! By night he swept the kitchen clean. He scoured the pots until they shone. By the light of the moon he threshed the grain. He gathered the crops into the barn. He watched the sheep and tended the kine. By day he played with the bonny bairns, and sang them strange songs of the land without sky. So passed the months away, and all farm-things throve for the goodman and the old housewife.

But when the cold night winds blew hard, a lass, who saw the Brownie’s clothes woven all of rushes green, made him a suit of sheep’s wool warm. She placed it by his porridge bowl. And that night was heard a wailing cry, so weary and so dreary:--

“_Long, long may I now weep and groan!
Wages of clothes are now my own!
O luckless Aiken-Drum!_”

And down the street and through the town, his voice came back upon the wind:--

“_Farewell to Blednoch!
Farewell! Farewell!_”

And never again in all that land was seen the Brownie Aiken-Drum!

ELSA AND THE TEN ELVES

_From Sweden_

Once upon a time a little girl named Elsa lived on a farm. She was pretty, sweet-tempered, and generous, but she did not like to work. Her father was very proud of her, and sent her to school in the city. She learned to read, write, sing, and dance, but still she did not know how to cook, sew, or care for a house.

When she grew older, she was so good and beautiful that many young men wished her for a wife, but she said “No” to all except to her neighbour, Gunner, a handsome, industrious young farmer. Soon they were married, and went to live on his farm.

At first all was happiness, but as the days passed, and Elsa did not direct the servants or look after the house, everything went wrong. The storerooms were in disorder, the food was stolen, and the house dirty. Poor Gunner was at his wits’ end; he loved Elsa too much to scold her.

The day before Christmas came, the sun had been up for a long time, and still Elsa lay in bed. A servant ran into her room, saying:--

“Dear mistress, shall we get ready the men’s luncheon so that they may go to the woods?”

“Leave the room,” said Elsa sleepily, “and do not waken me again!”

Another servant came running in. “Dear mistress,” she cried, “the leaven is working, and if you come quickly the bread will be better than usual.”

“I want candlewicks, dear mistress,” called a third.

“And what meat shall we roast for to-morrow’s feast?” shouted a fourth.

And so it was; servant after servant came running into the room asking for orders, but Elsa would neither answer nor get up.

Last of all came Gunner, impatient because his men had not yet started for the woods.

“Dear Elsa,” he said gently, “my mother used to prepare things the night before, so that the servants might begin work early. We are now going to the woods, and shall not be back until night. Remember there are a few yards of cloth on the loom waiting to be woven.” Then Gunner went away.

As soon as he was gone, Elsa got up in a rage, and, dressing herself, ran through the kitchen to the little house where the loom was kept. She slammed the door behind her, and threw herself down on a couch.

“No!” she screamed. “I won’t!--I won’t endure this drudgery any more! Who would have thought that Gunner would make a servant of me, and wear my life out with work? Oh, me! Oh, me! Is there no one from far or near to help me?”

“I can,” said a deep voice.

And Elsa, raising her head with fright, saw standing close to her an old man wrapped in a gray cloak and wearing a broad-brimmed hat.

“I am Old Man Hoberg,” he said, “and have served your family for many generations. You, my child, are unhappy because you are idle. To love work is a joy. I will now give you ten obedient servants who shall do all your tasks for you.”

He shook his cloak, and out of its folds tumbled ten funny little men. They capered and pranced about, making faces. Then they swiftly put the room in order and finished weaving the cloth on the loom. After all was done they ran and stood in an obedient row before Elsa.

“Dear child, reach hither your hands,” said the old man.

And Elsa, trembling, gave him the tips of her fingers.

Then he said:--

“_Hop-o’-My-Thumb,
Lick-the-Pot,
Long-Pole,
Heart-in-Hand,
Little-Peter-Funny-Man,
Away all of you to your places!_”

And in the twinkling of an eye the little men vanished into Elsa’s fingers, and the old man disappeared.

Elsa could hardly believe what had happened, and sat staring at her hands. Suddenly a wonderful desire to work came over her. She could sit still no longer.

“Why am I idling here?” cried she cheerfully. “It is late in the morning and the house is not in order! The servants are waiting.” And up she jumped and hastened into the kitchen, and was soon giving orders and singing while she prepared the dinner.

And when Gunner came home that night all was clean and bright to welcome him, and the smell of good things to eat filled the house.

And after that day Elsa rose early each morning, and went about her work sweet-tempered and happy. No one was more pleased and proud than she to see how the work of the farmhouse prospered under her hands. And health, wealth, and happiness came and stayed with Elsa and Gunner.

PISKEY FINE! AND PISKEY GAY!

_From Cornwall_

’Tis told in the west country, how the Piskey threshed the corn, and did other odd jobs for Farmer Boslow as long as the old man lived. And after his death the Piskey worked for his widow. And this is how she lost the little fellow.

One night, when the hills were covered with snow, and the wind was blowing hard, the Widow Boslow left in the barn, for the Piskey, a larger bowl than usual full of milk thickened with oatmeal. It was clear moonlight, and she stopped outside the door, and peeped in to see if the Piskey would come to eat his supper while it was hot.

The moonlight shone through a little window on to the barn floor; and there, sitting on a sheaf of oats, she saw the Piskey greedily eating his thickened milk. He soon emptied the bowl and scraped it as clean with the wooden spoon as if it had been washed. Then he placed them both in a corner, and stood up and patted and stroked his stomach, and smacked his lips, as if to say: “That’s good of the old dear! See if I don’t thresh well for her to-night!”

But when the Piskey turned around, the widow saw that he had nothing on but rags, and very few of them.

“How the poor Piskey must suffer!” thought she. “He has to pass most of his time out among the rushes in the boggy moor, and his legs are naked, and his breeches are full of holes. I’ll make the poor fellow a good warm suit of home-spun, at once!”

No sooner thought than she went home and began the suit. In a day or two she had made a coat and breeches, and knitted a long pair of sheep’s wool stockings, with garters and a nightcap all nicely knitted, too.

When night came, the widow placed the Piskey’s new clothes and a big bowl of thickened milk on the barn floor, just where the moonlight fell brightest. Then she went outside, and peeped through the door.

Soon she saw the Piskey eating his supper, and squinting at the new clothes. Laying down his empty bowl, he took the things, and put them on over his rags. Then he began capering and jumping around the barn, singing:--

“_Piskey fine! and Piskey gay!
Piskey now will run away!_”

And sure enough, he bolted out of the door, and passed the widow, without so much as “I wish you well till I see you again!” And he never came back to the farm.

THE FAIRY WEDDING

_From Sweden_

Once upon a time there was a lovely young girl, daughter of rich parents, who was known for her gentleness and goodness.

One night, while she was lying awake in her bed, watching the moonbeams dance on the floor, her door was softly opened. Then in tripped a little Fairy man clad in a gray jacket and red cap. He came lightly toward her bed, nodding in a most friendly way.

“Do not be afraid, dear lady,” he said. “I have come to ask a favour of you.”

“And I will do it willingly, if I can,” answered the girl, who had begun to recover from her fright.

“Oh, it will not be difficult!” said the Fairy man. “For many years I and mine have lived under the floor of your kitchen, just where the water-cask stands. But the cask has become old and leaky, so that we are continually annoyed by the dripping of water. Our home is never dry.”

“That shall be seen to in the morning,” said the girl.

“Thank you, dear lady,” said the Fairy man, and making an elegant bow, he disappeared as softly as he had come.

The next day, at the girl’s request, her parents had the water-cask removed. And after that, to the surprise of the servants, the kitchen-work was done at night when all slept, and never a pitcher or glass was broken in the house from that day forth. So the Fairies showed their gratitude.

Well, a few months after this, the pretty young girl was again lying awake in her bed, watching the moonbeams dance on the floor, when again her door was opened softly, and the Fairy man stole in.

“Dear lady,” said he, smiling and bowing, “now I have another request to make, which, in your kindness, you will surely not refuse to grant.”

“What is it?” asked she.

“Will you honour me and my house, to-night,” he replied, “and stand at the christening of my newly born daughter?”

The girl arose and dressing herself, followed the Fairy man through many passages and rooms that she had never known existed. At last they entered a small but elegant apartment, in which a host of Fairies were assembled. They immediately christened the Fairy baby. And as the little man was about to conduct the girl again to her room, the Fairies filled her pockets with what looked like shavings.

The little man then led her back through the same winding passages, and as soon as she was safely in her room, he said:--

“If we should meet at another time, you must never laugh at me and mine. We love you for your goodness and modesty, but if you laugh at us, you and I shall never see each other again.”

When he was gone the girl threw all the shavings into the fireplace, and lay down, and went to sleep. And, lo, the next morning when the maid came in to build the fire, she found in the ashes the most beautiful jewelry, all of pure gold set with gems, and of the finest workmanship!

Now, it happened, some time after this, that the girl’s wedding day arrived. There was great bustling, and preparations for a splendid feast. At length the wedding hour came. The bride, beautifully dressed and wearing her Fairy jewels and a crown on her golden hair, was conducted to the hall where the guests were waiting.

During the ceremony she chanced to glance around the hall. She saw, near the fireplace, all her friends the Fairies gathered for a wedding feast. The bridegroom was a little Elf, and the bride was her goddaughter, and the feast was spread on a golden table.

No one but the girl could see the Fairies. Just at that moment one of the Elves, who was acting as waiter at the Fairy bridal, stumbled over a twig that lay on the floor, and fell. Forgetting the caution that the little man had given her, the girl burst into a hearty laugh.

Instantly the golden table, the Elfin bridegroom and bride, and all the Fairy guests vanished. And from that day to this, no work was ever done at night in that kitchen, nor were any Fairies ever seen about that house.

THE TOMTS

_From Sweden_

Every child knows--or ought to know if he does not know--that the Tomt is a queer little Elfin man, old and wizen, and clad in gray clothes and red cap. He lives in the pantry or in the barn. At night he washes the dishes and sweeps the kitchen floor, or threshes the farmer’s corn and looks after his sheep. Oh, the Tomt is a very friendly Elf, but his feelings are easily hurt! And if any one is impolite to him, he runs away, and is never seen again.

Now, it happened, once upon a time, that there was a farmer whose crops and flocks and herds prospered so well that all knew he was aided by a Tomt. In fact he became the richest farmer in his neighbourhood. Although he had few servants, his house was always in order, and his grain nicely threshed. But he never saw the Elf who did all these things for him.