old enough to listen to them, her grandmother began telling her the
old stories of Ireland. Often Terence would come and listen to them,
too, for he seemed to be less afraid of Mrs. O'Brien as he grew a
little older. But it never seemed to be because of the stories that he
came; he only wanted to be near Kathleen.
Mrs. O'Brien told the children stories about the Good People, and
about the old heroes and kings of Ireland who had fought to save the
country from its enemies. Terence never liked the stories about the
Good People. "Don't be telling us about them fairies all the time," he
would say. "Tell us about men; that's what I like better."
"Don't call them by that name," Mrs. O'Brien would answer. "They don't
like it, and if you call them by it they may do you harm."
"I'll call them what I like," Terence would say, "and they'll do me no
harm. It's a worthless lot they are, and you know that same yourself,
Mrs. O'Brien, if you'ld only think so. They can do no harm to you, or
to any woman or man that knows how to deal with them. Why will you
bother with them all the time?"
And all this made Mrs. O'Brien think the more that Terence was one of
them.
One day Mrs. O'Brien happened to tell the children a ghost story. I
don't know whether your mother allows you to read ghost stories. I
don't see any harm in them myself, any more than Mrs. O'Brien did, but
some people do, and if your mother does, then it is lucky that you are
skipping this part. I think that your mother will be very glad that
you skipped this part with the ghost story in it. That is, of course,
she won't really be glad, because, since you are skipping it, you
won't know that there is any ghost story here, and so you won't tell
your mother that you skipped a ghost story, and so she won't really
care whether you skipped it or not. What I mean is that if you had
read it instead of skipping it, so that you could tell your mother
that there was a ghost story, she would be glad that you had
skipped--well, what is the use of my trying to tell you what I mean,
as long as you are skipping it, anyway? I had better go on with the
story.
"Once a man was coming home from a funeral," said Mrs. O'Brien. "As he
was walking along the road, near a churchyard, he found the head of a
man. He took it up and left it in the churchyard. Then he went on his
way, and soon he met a man who looked like a gentleman.
"'Where have you been?' said the gentleman.
"'I was at a funeral,' said the man, 'and as I came back I found the
head of a man, and I left it in the churchyard.'
"'It was well for you that you did that,' said the gentleman. 'That
was my head, and if you had done any wrong by it, it would be the
worse for you.'
"'And how did you lose your head, then?' the man asked.
"'I did not lose it,' the gentleman answered; 'I left it on the road,
where you found it, to see what you would do with it.'
"'Then you must be one of the Good People,' said the man, 'and it's
sorry I am that I met you.'
"'Don't be afraid,' said the gentleman. 'I'll do you no harm, and I
may do you good.'
"'I'm obliged to you,' said the man; 'will you come home with me to
dinner?'
"They went to the man's house, and the man told his wife to get dinner
ready for them. When they had eaten dinner they played cards, and then
they went to bed and slept till morning. In the morning they had
breakfast, and after a while the gentleman said: 'Come with me.'
"'Where am I to come with you?' the man asked.
"'I want you to see the place where I live,' the gentleman said.
"They went together till they came to the churchyard. The gentleman
pointed to a tombstone and said: 'Lift it up.'
"The man lifted it up, and there was a stairway underneath. They went
down the stairs together till they came to a door, and it led into a
kitchen. Two women were sitting by the fire. Said the gentleman to one
of the women: 'Get up and get dinner ready for us.'
"The woman got up and brought some small potatoes. 'Are those all you
have for us?' the gentleman asked.
"'Those are all I have,' the woman answered.
"'As those are all you have,' said the gentleman, 'keep them.'
"Then he said to the other woman: 'Get up and get dinner ready for
us.'
"The woman got up and brought some meal and husks. 'Are those all you
have?' the gentleman asked.
"'Those are all I have,' the woman answered.
"'As those are all you have,' said the gentleman, 'keep them.'
"He led the man up the stairs and knocked at a door. A beautiful woman
opened it. She was dressed in a gown of silk, and it was all trimmed
with gold and jewels. He asked her if she could give him and the
stranger a dinner. Then she placed before them the finest dinner that
was ever seen. And when they had eaten and drunk as much as they
liked, the gentleman said: 'Do you know why this woman was able to
give us such a dinner?'
"'I do not know,' said the man, 'but I should like to know, if you
care to tell me.'
"'When I was alive,' said the gentleman, 'I had three wives. And the
first wife I had would never give anything to any poor man but little
potatoes. And now she has nothing but little potatoes herself, and
she can give nothing else to anyone, till the Day of Judgment. And my
second wife would never give anything to the poor but meal and husks,
and now she has nothing but meal and husks herself, and she can give
nothing else to anyone, till the Day of Judgment. But my third wife
always gave to the poor the best that she had, and so she will always
have the best that there is in the world, and she can always give the
best in the world to anyone, till the Day of Judgment.'
"Then the gentleman took the man about and showed him his house, and
it was a palace, more beautiful than anything that he had ever seen.
And while he was walking about it he heard music. And he thought that
he had never heard music so beautiful. And while he was listening to
the music he felt like sleeping, so he lay down and slept. And when he
woke he was in his own home. He never saw the gentleman again and he
could never find the place where he had been."
"It's all the time fairies and ghosts with you, Mrs. O'Brien," Terence
said. "Who cares what they do? It's what men do that counts. I'll tell
you a story now."
So Mrs. O'Brien and Kathleen listened to Terence's story.
"There was three men," Terence began, "that lived near together, and
their names was Hudden and Dudden and Donald. Each one of them had an
ox that he'ld be ploughing with. Donald was a cleverer man than the
others and he got on better. So the other two put their heads together
to think what would they do to hurt Donald and to ruin him entirely,
so that he'ld have to give up his farm and they could get it cheap.
Well, after a while they thought that if they could kill his ox he
couldn't plough his land, and then he'ld lose the use of it and he'ld
have to give it up. So one night they went and killed Donald's ox.
"And to be sure, when Donald found his ox killed, he thought it was
all over with him. But he wasn't the man to be thinking that way long.
So he thought he'd better make the best he could of it, and he took
the skin off the ox and started with it to the town to sell it. And as
he was going along a magpie perched on the skin and began pecking at
it, and all the time chattering, for it had been taught to talk. With
that Donald put round his hand and caught the magpie and held it under
his coat.
"He went on to the town and sold the skin, and then he went to an inn
for a drink. He followed the landlady down into the cellar, and while
she was drawing the liquor he pinched the magpie and it began
chattering again. 'By the powers,' says the landlady, 'who's that
talking and what's he saying at all?'
"'It's a bird,' says Donald, 'that I carry around with me, and it
knows a great deal and tells me many a thing that it's good for me to
know. And it's after telling me just now that the liquor you're giving
me is not the best you have.'
"'It's the wonderful bird all out,' says the landlady, and with that
she went to another cask for the liquor. Then said she: 'Will you sell
that bird?'
"'I wouldn't like to do that,' says Donald. 'It's a valuable bird, and
then it's been my friend a long time, and I dunno what it would be
thinking of me if I'd sell it.'
"'Maybe I'ld make it worth your while.' said the landlady.
"'I'm a poor man,' says Donald.
"'I'll fill your hat with silver,' says the landlady, 'if you'll leave
me the bird.'
"'I couldn't refuse that,' says Donald; 'you may have the bird.'
"So she filled his hat with silver, and he left her the bird and went
on his way home.
"It wasn't long after he got home till he met Hudden and Dudden.
'Aha!' says he to them, 'you thought it was the bad turn you was doing
me, but you couldn't have done me a better. Look what I got for the
hide of my ox, that you killed on me.' And he showed them the hatful
of silver. 'You never saw such a demand for hides in your life,' says
he, 'as there is in the town this present time.'
"No sooner had he said that than Hudden and Dudden went home and
killed their own oxen and set off for the town to sell the hides. But
when they got there they could get no more for them than the common
price of hides, and they came home again vowing vengeance on Donald.
"This time they were bound there would be no mistake about it, so they
went to his house and they seized him and put him into a sack and tied
up the top of it. 'Now,' says one of them, 'you'll not be doing us any
dirty turn this time, I'm thinking. We're going to take you to the
river and throw you in and drown you; that's what we're going to do
and I'm telling you of it now, so that you'll have the pleasure of
thinking that all your sorrows are nearly over, as you go along.'
"Well, Donald said never a word, but he kept thinking, and those words
'all your sorrows are nearly over' gave him something particular to
think about, and it wasn't long till he began to see his way, if he
could only get a chance to do what he was thinking of.
"They took up the sack and they carried it by turns for a time, but
both of them soon began to get mighty tired and thirsty. Then they
came to a tavern, and they left the sack outside, and Donald in it,
and went in to get a drink. Donald knew that if they once began
drinking they would stay inside for some time. Then presently he heard
a great trampling sound, and he knew it must be a herd of cattle
coming, and he knew there must be somebody driving them. With that he
began singing, like he was the happiest man in the world.
"The man that was driving the cattle came up to him and he says:
'Who's inside the sack there, and what are you singing like that for?'
"'I'm singing because I'm the happiest man alive,' says Donald. 'I had
plenty of troubles in my life, but I'm going to heaven now, and
they're all over. There's a blessing on this same sack, you must know,
and whoever's in it goes straight to heaven, and isn't it myself
that's a right to be singing?'
"'Surely you have,' says the man, 'and it's glad I'ld be to take your
place. What would you take from me now to let me get in that sack in
your place?'
"'There's not money enough in the world to make me do it,' says
Donald, and he began singing again.
[Illustration: "THERE'S A BLESSING ON THIS SAME SACK."]
"'Ah, be reasonable!' says the man. 'I'll pay you well.'
"'I tell you the whole world couldn't do it,' says Donald. 'It's not
every day a man gets a chance to go to heaven. Think of being over
with all the sorrows and the troubles of this world, and nothing but
happiness any more forever. Sure I'ld be a fool if I'ld give it up.'
"'Oh, but think of me,' says the man. 'It's me that has the sorrows on
me so that I can't bear them. There's my wife died three months ago,
and all the children was dead before her, and it was she always helped
me with the farm and knew how to manage better nor myself, so that now
she's gone I can do nothing with it. And I've lost money on it till I
can't pay the rent, and now I'll lose the farm itself, and here I am
driving these cattle to town to sell them to get money to take another
piece of land and keep the life in me, and yet I don't want to live at
all. Oh, give me your place in that sack and you'll go to heaven in
your own time, if it was only for that one good deed. Give me your
place and I'll give you these twenty fine cattle, and you'll have
better luck nor me and you'll surely do well with them.'
"'I can't resist you,' says Donald; 'sure it's you needs to go to
heaven more nor me. It's the truth I hate to do it, but I'll give you
my place.'
"So with that the man untied the sack and Donald got out of it and he
got into it, and Donald tied it up again. Then Donald went away home,
driving the cattle before him.
"It was not long then till Hudden and Dudden came out of the inn, and
they took up the sack, thinking that Donald was still inside it, and
they took it to the river and threw it into a deep place. Then they
went home, and there they found Donald before them, and a herd of the
finest cattle they ever saw. 'How is this, Donald?' they said. 'We
drowned you in the river, and here you are back home before us. And
where are you after getting all these cattle?'
"'Oh, sure,' says Donald, 'it's myself has the bad luck all out. Here
I've only twenty of these cattle, and if I'd only had help I could
have had a hundred--aye, or five hundred. Sure in the place where you
threw me in, down at the bottom of the river, there was hundreds of
the finest cattle you ever saw, and plenty of gold besides. Oh, it's
the misfortunate creature that I am, not to have any help while I was
down there. Just these poor twenty was all I could manage to drive
away with me, and these not the best that was there.'
"Then they both swore that they would be his friends if he would only
show them the place in the river where they could get cattle like
his. So he said he'ld show them the place and they could drive home
as many of them as they liked. Well, Hudden and Dudden was in such a
hurry they couldn't get to the river soon enough, and when they were
there Donald picked up a stone, and said he: 'Watch where I throw this
stone, and that's where you'll find the most of the cattle.'
"Then he threw the stone into a deep part of the river, and he said:
'One of you jump in there now, and if you find more of the cattle than
you can manage, just come to the top and call for help, and the other
two of us will come in and help you.'
"So Hudden jumped in first and he went straight to the bottom. In a
minute he came up to the top and shouted: 'Help! help!'
"'He's calling for help,' says Donald; 'wait now till I go in and help
him.'
"'Stay where you are,' says Dudden; 'haven't you cattle enough
already? It's my turn to have some of them now.' And in he jumped, and
Hudden and Dudden was both drowned. And then Donald went home and
looked after his cattle and his farm, and soon he made money enough to
take the two farms that Hudden and Dudden had left, besides his own.
"And that's the way," said Terence, "to get on in this world or any
world. Get the better of them that's trying to get the better of you,
and don't hope for any help from fairies or ghosts."
"Terence," said Mrs. O'Brien, "there's a little that's right in what
you say, and there's more that's wrong. Depend on yourself and don't
look for help from Good People or ghosts. So much of what you say is
right. But Donald was not honest and he got on by tricks, and I don't
want you or Kathleen to be that way. You'll not get on that way;
you'll only come to grief. But I want you to be kind and helpful to
mortals and Good People because it's right to be so, not to get any
reward. The reward you may get or you may not in this world, but it's
not that I want you to work for. And I'll tell you a story now to show
you what I mean.
"There was a poor little bit of a boy once, and he had a hump on his
back. He made his living by plaiting rushes and straw into hats and
baskets and beehives, and he could do it better than anybody else for
miles around. I don't know what his right name was, but the people
called him Lusmore, after the flower of that name. The flower, you
know, is the one that some call fairy-cap--the Lord between us and
harm!--and others call it foxglove. And they called him after it,
because he would always be wearing a sprig of it in his cap. And in
spite of having a crooked back, which often makes a body sulky, he
was a good-natured little fellow, and never had a bad word or a bad
thought for anybody.
"One day he had been at a fair to sell some of the things that he made
out of straw and rushes, and as he was coming home he felt tired with
the long walk. So he sat down to rest for a little, and he leaned his
back on a bank of earth, not thinking that it was a place that was
said to be a rath of the Good People. He sat there for a long time,
and at last he began to hear music. It was very soft at first, and he
had to listen hard to catch it at all. Then it sounded clearer, and
after a little he could tell that there were fiddlers and pipers. Then
he thought that he could hear the feet of dancers, and finally
singers, and he could hear the words of the song that they sang. And
these were the words:
Da Luan, da Mort,
Da Luan, da Mort,
Da Luan, da Mort.
"And there were no other words but these, and these the singers sang
over and over and over again. And all they mean is, 'Monday, Tuesday,
Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday.' After the singers had sung these
words they would make a little pause and then they would go on with
them. Lusmore knew now that the music came from inside the rath, and
he knew well enough that it was the Good People he was listening to.
He kept very quiet and listened, and it seemed a wonderfully sweet
song to him, only after a while he got tired of hearing no other
words. And he thought: 'Maybe they'd like the song better themselves
if there was more of it, and I wonder couldn't I help them with it.'
"But he knew he must not disturb the Good People, so he waited till
one of the little pauses, and then he sang very softly: 'Augus da
Cadine.'
"Then he kept on singing all the words, along with the singers inside
the rath, adding on his own new line every time:
Da Luan, da Mort,
Da Luan, da Mort,
Da Luan, da Mort,
Augus da Cadine.
"And that means: 'Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday,
and Wednesday too.'
"As he went on he sang a little louder and a little louder, till by
and by the Good People in the rath began to listen to hear who or what
it was that was singing their song with them, and then they caught the
line that Lusmore had added. Then they were so pleased that they
scarcely knew what to do, for they were more tired of the song than he
was, only they did not know what to do to make it any better. And when
they found it was somebody outside the rath that was singing it and
was making more out of it than they ever did, they wanted to have him
inside as soon as possible.
"So all at once Lusmore saw a door open in the rath, close beside him,
and a great light streaming out, and then there was the sound of wings
all around him, and next he saw the forms of the Good People pouring
out and flying and whirling around him like a swarm of butterflies.
They caught him up and carried him inside the rath, so lightly that he
could not tell what was holding him, and he felt as if he was floating
in the air. He was a little frightened at first, but when they had him
inside the rath they set him up above all the musicians and thanked
him for mending their song, and did him all sorts of honor.
"Then he saw some of the Good People talking together in a little
group, and presently they came up to him, and one of them said:
'Lusmore, we've been thinking what will we do for you as a reward for
mending our song, and we've decided to ask yourself what it is that
you'ld rather we'ld give you. Think, now, what it is that you'ld
rather have than anything else in the world.'
"'It's obliged to you I am for your kindness, gentlemen,' said
Lusmore, 'but if you'ld do what would please me most in all the world,
it's not giving me anything you'ld be, but taking something from me,
and that's this hump that I have on my back.'
"'That's easy done,' said the one of them that had spoken before;
'come on now and dance with us.'
"Well, Lusmore, being crooked the way he was, and always weak, had
never danced before in his life, and he never thought he could; but
when they took hold of him on both sides and led him out, he found
that he was dancing with the best of them, and he felt so light and he
moved so easily that it seemed to him as if he was no more than a
feather that the wind was blowing about. Then one of the Good People
said to him, 'Lusmore, where is your hump now?'
"And he felt behind him for it, and it was not on his back at all.
'Look down on the floor,' said the one that had spoken to him, again.
And he looked down, and there was his hump, lying on the floor before
him.
"Then they all began dancing again and Lusmore with them, till he felt
tired and then dizzy, and then he fell to the ground, and he knew
nothing more till he awoke in the morning and found himself lying on
the ground outside the rath, where he had sat down to rest the night
before. The first thing he thought was that it was a dream that he had
had, but he never had felt so well and so strong in his life as he did
that minute. So he put his hand behind him, and there was no hump
there. And, what was more, he had on a new suit of clothes that the
Good People had given him. Then he went home and told his neighbors
what had happened to him, and they could scarcely believe it. But
everyone knew that there were Good People in that rath, and there was
himself, too, the same boy as before, only without the hump, and so,
at long last, they had to believe the whole story.
"Well, the news of Lusmore's wonderful cure was told all through the
country, and at last it came to a place a long way off, where there
was another boy lived that had a hump on his back. And a different
sort of boy he was from Lusmore. His temper was as bad as his body. He
was ill-natured and spiteful and lazy, and he would always rather be
making trouble than saving it. So when his mother heard the way
Lusmore had had the hump taken off him, she thought maybe her boy
could get rid of his own in the same way.
"With that she set off with the boy and a neighbor of hers, and they
came to where Lusmore lived, and asked him would he tell them all
about how it was that he had the hump taken off him. And he went over
it all with them and told them everything that he did and everything
that happened to him. And in the end he went with them to show them
the very spot where he had sat down beside the rath, and there they
left the little hunchback, and told him to do everything just as
Lusmore had done it.
"He sat there listening for a long time and heard nothing, and so at
last he went to sleep, and then all at once he was awakened by hearing
the Good People singing in the rath. And they were singing much better
now than when Lusmore heard them first, for they had the song now as
he had improved it for them, and they were singing:
Da Luan, da Mort,
Da Luan, da Mort,
Da Luan, da Mort,
Augus da Cadine.
"And as soon as he heard it the little fellow, not waiting for time or
tune, shouted out: 'Augus da Hena.' And if it was all put together
right that would make it mean: 'Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday,
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday too, and Thursday too.' Only he didn't
trouble to put it together right, but just bawled it out any way.
"Then the music stopped all at once, and he heard the people inside
the rath shouting: 'Who is spoiling our tune? Who is spoiling our
tune?' and out they all came and caught him up and hurried him inside
the rath so that the breath nearly went out of his body. And one of
them shouted: 'What shall we do to him for spoiling our tune?' and
another said: 'Ask him what he wants us to do for him!' and another
said: 'What do you want from us, anyway?'
"And he just found breath enough to say: 'I want the same that Lusmore
had,' meaning by that he wanted them to reward him the same way they
did Lusmore.
"But one of the Good People shouted: 'You'll get what Lusmore had,
then; it was a hump on the back that Lusmore had, and we took it off
him, but we don't want it and it's easy to give it to you. Be lively
there now, some of you, and hand that hump down here.'
"And then some of the Good People got Lusmore's hump, that was hanging
up under the roof, and they clapped it on his back, on the top of his
own, and then they threw him out of the rath. And there his mother
found him in the morning, more dead than alive and with a hump twice
as big as before."
"A fine story that is, Mrs. O'Brien," Terence said, when the old woman
had finished. "And why didn't the one of them get the same reward as
the other? Sure he did the same as the other in lengthening the song
for the fairies, didn't he?"