The fairies have a great objection to the fairy raths, where they meet
at night, being built upon by mortal man. A farmer called Johnstone,
having plenty of money, bought some land, and chose a beautiful green
spot to build a house on, the very spot the fairies loved best.
The neighbours warned him that it was a fairy rath; but he laughed and
never minded (for he was from the north), and looked at such things
as mere old-wives’ tales. So he built the house and made it beautiful
to live in; and no people in the country were so well off as the
Johnstones, so that the people said the farmer must have found a pot of
gold in the fairy rath.
But the fairies were all the time plotting how they could punish the
farmer for taking away their dancing ground, and for cutting down the
hawthorn bush where they held their revels when the moon was full. And
one day when the cows were milking, a little old woman in a blue cloak
came to Mrs. Johnstone and asked her for a porringer of milk.
“Go away,” said the mistress of the house, “you shall have no milk from
me. I’ll have no tramps coming about my place.” And she told the farm
servants to chase her away.
Some time after, the best and finest of the cows sickened and gave no
milk, and lost her horns and teeth and finally died.
Then one day as Mrs. Johnstone was sitting spinning flax in the
parlour, the same little woman in the blue cloak suddenly stood before
her.
“Your maids are baking cakes in the kitchen,” she said; “give me some
off the griddle to carry away with me.”
“Go out of this,” cried the farmer’s wife, angrily; “you are a wicked
old wretch, and have poisoned my best cow.” And she bade the farm
servants drive her off with sticks.
Now the Johnstones had one only child; a beautiful bright boy, as
strong as a young colt, and as full of life and merriment. But soon
after this he began to grow queer and strange, and was disturbed in
his sleep; for he said the fairies came round him at night and pinched
and beat him, and some sat on his chest and he could neither breathe
nor move. And they told him they would never leave him in peace unless
he promised to give them a supper every night of a griddle cake and a
porringer of milk. So to soothe the child the mother had these things
laid every night on a table beside his bed, and in the morning they
were gone.
But still the child pined away, and his eyes got a strange, wild look,
as if he saw nothing near or around him, only something far, far away
that troubled his spirit. And when they asked him what ailed him, he
said the fairies carried him away to the hills every night, where he
danced and danced with them till the morning, when they brought him
back and laid him again in his bed.
At last the farmer and his wife were at their wits’ end from grief and
despair, for the child was pining away before their eyes, and they
could do nothing for him to help him. One night he cried out in great
agony—
“Mother! mother! send for the priest to take away the fairies, for they
are killing me; they are here on my chest, crushing me to death,” and
his eyes were wild with terror.
Now the farmer and his wife believed in no fairies, and in no priest,
but to soothe the child they did as he asked and sent for the priest,
who prayed over him and sprinkled him with holy water.
The poor little fellow seemed calmer as the priest prayed, and he said
the fairies were leaving him and going away, and then he sank into a
quiet sleep. But when he woke in the morning he told his parents that
he had a beautiful dream and was walking in a lovely garden with the
angels; and he knew it was heaven, and that he would be there before
night, for the angels told him they would come for him.
Then they watched by the sick child all through the night, for they
saw the fever was still on him, but hoped a change would come before
morning; for he now slept quite calmly with a smile on his lips.
But just as the clock struck midnight he awoke and sat up, and when his
mother put her arms round him weeping, he whispered to her—“The angels
are here, mother,” and then he sank back, and so died.
Now after this calamity the farmer never held up his head. He ceased
to mind his farm, and the crops went to ruin and the cattle died, and
finally before a year and a day were over he was laid in the grave by
the side of his little son; and the land passed into other hands, and
as no one would live in the house it was pulled down. No one, either,
would plant on the rath; so the grass grew again all over it, green
and beautiful, and the fairies danced there once more in the moonlight
as they used to do in the old time, free and happy; and thus the evil
spell was broken for evermore.
But the people would have nothing to do with the childless mother,
so she went away back to her own people, a broken-hearted, miserable
woman—a warning to all who would arouse the vengeance of the fairies by
interfering with their ancient rights and possessions and privileges.
FAIRY HELP.
THE PHOUKA.
The Phouka is a friendly being, and often helps the farmer at his work
if he is treated well and kindly. One day a farmer’s son was minding
cattle in the field when something rushed past him like the wind; but
he was not frightened, for he knew it was the Phouka on his way to the
old mill by the moat where the fairies met every night. So he called
out, “Phouka, Phouka! show me what you are like, and I’ll give you my
big coat to keep you warm.” Then a young bull came to him lashing his
tail like mad; but Phadrig threw the coat over him, and in a moment he
was quiet as a lamb, and told the boy to come to the mill that night
when the moon was up, and he would have good luck.
So Phadrig went, but saw nothing except sacks of corn all lying about
on the ground, for the men had fallen asleep, and no work was done.
Then he lay down also and slept, for he was very tired: and when he
woke up early in the morning there was all the meal ground, though
certainly the men had not done it, for they still slept. And this
happened for three nights, after which Phadrig determined to keep awake
and watch.
Now there was an old chest in the mill, and he crept into this to hide,
and just looked through the keyhole to see what would happen. And
exactly at midnight six little fellows came in, each carrying a sack
of corn upon his back; and after them came an old man in tattered rags
of clothes, and he bade them turn the mill, and they turned and turned
till all was ground.
Then Phadrig ran to tell his father, and the miller determined to watch
the next night with his son, and both together saw the same thing
happen.
“Now,” said the farmer, “I see it is the Phouka’s work, and let him
work if it pleases him, for the men are idle and lazy and only sleep.
So I’ll pack the whole set off to-morrow, and leave the grinding of the
corn to this excellent old Phouka.”
After this the farmer grew so rich that there was no end to his money,
for he had no men to pay, and all his corn was ground without his
spending a penny. Of course the people wondered much over his riches,
but he never told them about the Phouka, or their curiosity would have
spoiled the luck.
Now Phadrig went often to the mill and hid in the chest that he might
watch the fairies at work; but he had great pity for the poor old
Phouka in his tattered clothes, who yet directed everything and had
hard work of it sometimes keeping the little Phoukas in order. So
Phadrig, out of love and gratitude, bought a fine suit of cloth and
silk and laid it one night on the floor of the mill just where the old
Phouka always stood to give his orders to the little men, and then he
crept into the chest to watch.
“How is this?” said the Phouka when he saw the clothes. “Are these for
me? I shall be turned into a fine gentleman.”
And he put them on, and then began to walk up and down admiring
himself. But suddenly he remembered the corn and went to grind as
usual, then stopped and cried out—
“No, no. No more work for me. Fine gentlemen don’t grind corn. I’ll go
out and see a little of the world and show my fine clothes.” And he
kicked away the old rags into a corner, and went out.
No corn was ground that night, nor the next, nor the next; all the
little Phoukas ran away, and not a sound was heard in the mill. Then
Phadrig grew very sorry for the loss of his old friend, and used to go
out into the fields and call out, “Phouka, Phouka! come back to me. Let
me see your face.” But the old Phouka never came back, and all his life
long Phadrig never looked on the face of his friend again. However, the
farmer had made so much money that he wanted no more help; and he sold
the mill, and reared up Phadrig to be a great scholar and a gentleman,
who had his own house and land and servants. And in time he married a
beautiful lady, so beautiful that the people said she must be daughter
to the king of the fairies.
A strange thing happened at the wedding, for when they all stood up to
drink the bride’s health, Phadrig saw beside him a golden cup filled
with wine. And no one knew how the golden cup had come to his hand; but
Phadrig guessed it was the Phouka’s gift, and he drank the wine without
fear and made his bride drink also. And ever after their lives were
happy and prosperous, and the golden cup was kept as a treasure in the
family, and the descendants of Phadrig have it in their possession to
this day.