The next tale I shall select is composed in a lighter and more modern
spirit. All the usual elements of a fairy tale are to be found in it,
but the story is new to the nursery folk, and, if well illustrated,
would make a pleasant and novel addition to the rather worn-out legends
on which the children of many generations have been hitherto subsisting.
In old times there lived where Ballytowtas Castle now stands a poor
man named Towtas. It was in the time when manna fell to the earth with
the dew of evening, and Towtas lived by gathering the manna, and thus
supported himself, for he was a poor man, and had nothing else.
One day a pedlar came by that way with a fair young daughter.
“Give us a night’s lodging,” he said to Towtas, “for we are weary.”
And Towtas did so.
Next morning, when they were going away, his heart longed for the young
girl, and he said to the pedlar, “Give me your daughter for my wife.”
“How will you support her?” asked the pedlar.
“Better than you can,” answered Towtas, “for she can never want.”
Then he told him all about the manna; how he went out every morning
when it was lying on the ground with the dew, and gathered it, as his
father and forefathers had done before him, and lived on it all their
lives, so that he had never known want nor any of his people.
Then the girl showed she would like to stay with the young man, and
the pedlar consented, and they were married, Towtas and the fair young
maiden; and the pedlar left them and went his way. So years went on,
and they were very happy and never wanted; and they had one son, a
bright, handsome youth, and as clever as he was comely.
But in due time old Towtas died, and after her husband was buried, the
woman went out to gather the manna as she had seen him do, when the dew
lay on the ground; but she soon grew tired and said to herself, “Why
should I do this thing every day? I’ll just gather now enough to do the
week and then I can have rest.”
So she gathered up great heaps of it greedily, and went her way into
the house. But the sin of greediness lay on her evermore; and not a bit
of manna fell with the dew that evening, nor ever again. And she was
poor, and faint with hunger, and had to go out and work in the fields
to earn the morsel that kept her and her son alive; and she begged
pence from the people as they went into chapel, and this paid for her
son’s schooling; so he went on with his learning, and no one in the
county was like him for beauty and knowledge.
One day he heard the people talking of a great lord that lived up in
Dublin, who had a daughter so handsome that her like was never seen;
and all the fine young gentlemen were dying about her, but she would
take none of them. And he came home to his mother and said, “I shall go
see this great lord’s daughter. Maybe the luck will be mine above all
the fine young gentlemen that love her.”
“Go along, poor fool,” said the mother, “how can the poor stand before
the rich?”
But he persisted. “If I die on the road,” he said, “I’ll try it.”
“Wait, then,” she answered, “till Sunday, and whatever I get I’ll give
you half of it.” So she gave him half of the pence she gathered at the
chapel door, and bid him go in the name of God.
He hadn’t gone far when he met a poor man who asked him for a trifle
for God’s sake. So he gave him something out of his mother’s money and
went on. Again, another met him, and begged for a trifle to buy food,
for the sake of God, and he gave him something also, and then went on.
“Give me a trifle for God’s sake,” cried a voice, and he saw a third
poor man before him.
“I have nothing left,” said Towtas, “but a few pence; if I give them, I
shall have nothing for food and must die of hunger. But come with me,
and whatever I can buy for this I shall share with you.” And as they
were going on to the inn he told all his story to the beggar man, and
how he wanted to go to Dublin, but had now no money. So they came to
the inn, and he called for a loaf and a drink of milk. “Cut the loaf,”
he said to the beggar. “You are the oldest.”
“I won’t,” said the other, for he was ashamed, but Towtas made him.
And so the beggar cut the loaf, but though they ate, it never grew
smaller, and though they drank as they liked of the milk, it never
grew less. Then Towtas rose up to pay, but when the landlady came and
looked, “How is this?” she said. “You have eaten nothing. I’ll not take
your money, poor boy,” but he made her take some; and they left the
place, and went on their way together.
“Now,” said the beggar man, “you have been three times good to me
to-day, for thrice I have met you, and you gave me help for the sake of
God each time. See, now, I can help also,” and he reached a gold ring
to the handsome youth. “Wherever you place that ring, and wish for it,
gold will come—bright gold, so that you can never want while you have
it.”
Then Towtas put the ring first in one pocket and then in another, until
all his pockets were so heavy with gold that he could scarcely walk;
but when he turned to thank the friendly beggar man, he had disappeared.
So, wondering to himself at all his adventures, he went on, until he
came at last in sight of the lord’s palace, which was beautiful to see;
but he would not enter in until he went and bought fine clothes, and
made himself as grand as any prince; and then he went boldly up, and
they invited him in, for they said, “Surely he is a king’s son.” And
when dinner-hour came the lord’s daughter linked her arm with Towtas,
and smiled on him. And he drank of the rich wine, and was mad with
love; but at last the wine overcame him, and the servants had to carry
him to his bed; and in going into his room he dropped the ring from his
finger, but knew it not.
Now, in the morning, the lord’s daughter came by, and cast her eyes
upon the door of his chamber, and there close by it was the ring she
had seen him wear.
“Ah,” she said, “I’ll tease him now about his ring.” And she put it
in her box, and wished that she were as rich as a king’s daughter,
that so the king’s son might marry her; and, behold, the box filled up
with gold, so that she could not shut it; and she put it from her into
another box, and that filled also; and then she was frightened at the
ring, and put it at last in her pocket as the safest place.
But when Towtas awoke and missed the ring, his heart was grieved.
“Now, indeed,” he said, “my luck is gone.”
And he inquired of all the servants, and then of the lord’s daughter,
and she laughed, by which he knew she had it; but no coaxing would get
it from her, so when all was useless he went away, and set out again to
reach his old home.
And he was very mournful and threw himself down on the ferns near an
old fort, waiting till night came on, for he feared to go home in the
daylight lest the people should laugh at him for his folly. And about
dusk three cats came out of the fort talking to each other.
“How long our cook is away,” said one.
“What can have happened to him?” said another.
And as they were grumbling a fourth cat came up.
“What delayed you?” they all asked angrily.
Then he told his story—how he had met Towtas and given him the ring.
“And I just went,” he said, “to the lord’s palace to see how the young
man behaved; and I was leaping over the dinner-table when the lord’s
knife struck my tail and three drops of blood fell upon his plate, but
he never saw it and swallowed them with his meat. So now he has three
kittens inside him and is dying of agony, and can never be cured until
he drinks three draughts of the water of the well of Ballytowtas.”
So when young Towtas heard the cats talk he sprang up and went and told
his mother to give him three bottles full of the water of the Towtas
well, and he would go to the lord disguised as a doctor and cure him.
So off he went to Dublin. And all the doctors in Ireland were round
the lord, but none of them could tell what ailed him, or how to cure
him. Then Towtas came in and said, “I will cure him.” So they gave him
entertainment and lodging, and when he was refreshed he gave of the
well water three draughts to his lordship, when out jumped the three
kittens. And there was great rejoicing, and they treated Towtas like
a prince. But all the same he could not get the ring from the lord’s
daughter, so he set off home again quite disheartened, and thought to
himself, “If I could only meet the man again that gave me the ring who
knows what luck I might have?” And he sat down to rest in a wood, and
saw there not far off three boys fighting under an oak-tree.
“Shame on ye to fight so,” he said to them. “What is the fight about?”
Then they told him. “Our father,” they said, “before he died, buried
under this oak-tree a ring by which you can be in any place in two
minutes if you only wish it; a goblet that is always full when
standing, and empty only when on its side; and a harp that plays any
tune of itself that you name or wish for.”
“I want to divide the things,” said the youngest boy, “and let us all
go and seek our fortunes as we can.”
“But I have a right to the whole,” said the eldest.