Down in the South there lived another rich farmer and his wife, who
were both of them hated by the people for their stingy, hard-hearted
ways. Never a word of kindness was on their lips, and never a blessing
from the poor was invoked on their heads.
One day an old woman came to the door to beg a little food—a cake from
the griddle, or a few potatoes, or a handful of meal; but she was
harshly refused by the farmer’s wife and turned away.
Then she came back in a little while, and begged for a drink of milk,
for she was faint and weary, she said, and had travelled far. This was
also refused, and she was ordered to leave the place at once. But the
woman still begged hard for leave to rest herself a little, and for
even a drink of butter milk, for it was churning day and she knew there
must be plenty in the house. Then the farmer’s wife grew very angry,
and said she would turn the dogs on her if she didn’t go away, and
that no tramp should get anything from her. On this the woman muttered
some words, with her hand on the lintel of the door, and then went her
way. Soon after, being much heated by the violence of her anger, the
farmer’s wife went to the dairy for a drink; but as she poured out
the draught she saw something black in the cup, and she tried to take
it out with her finger, but it always escaped her. Then, being very
thirsty, she drank off the milk, and still another and another cup,
and in the drinking the black object disappeared. That night, however,
she felt nigh to death, for her body began to swell, and turned black
all over. Medical aid was sent for, but the doctor could make out
nothing of the cause or nature of the strange disease. Then the priest
was summoned, and he at once, having heard the story, said there was
witchcraft in it; and he proceeded to pray, and to exorcise the evil
spirit in the woman. Besides this he made her be placed in a hot bath,
into which he poured some holy water.
At first the woman uttered fierce cries, and said her body seemed rent
and torn; but gradually she became calmer, and the blackness slowly
went down from head to feet, and finally disappeared, leaving the body
fair and whole, all except one hand, and this remained still as black
as ink. The holy water was poured on it, and the priest prayed, but
nothing would remove the devil’s mark.
So the priest told her at last that the blackness would remain as a
sign and token of her sins against the poor; and from that day forth
to her death the mark of the evil spell remained on her, but she grew
kinder to the poor, for her heart was shaken by terror. And when she
came to die there was no blackness on her hand, for the tears of the
poor she had succoured and befriended had washed all the devil’s mark
away, before the moment came when her soul was to appear before God.
THE MIDNIGHT RIDE.
A PEASANT’S TALE.
One evening a man called Shawn Ruadh was out looking for a red cow that
had strayed away, when he heard voices round him, and one said “Get me
a horse,” and another cried “Get me a horse.”
“And get me a horse, too,” said Shawn, “since they seem so plenty, for
I’d like a ride along with you,” and with that he found himself on the
instant mounted on a fine grey horse beside another man who rode a
black horse. And they rode away and away till they came to a great city.
“Now, do you know where you are?” said the black horseman. “You are in
London, and whatever you want you can have.”
“Thank you kindly, my friend,” said the other, “so, with your leave,
I’ll just have a good suit of clothes, for I’m much in want of that
same. Can I have them?”
“By all means,” said the black horseman; “there, go into that
merchant’s shop and ask for what you like, and if he refuses just throw
the stone I give you on the floor and the whole place will seem on
fire. But don’t be frightened; only wait your good luck.”
So Shawn went into the biggest shop there, and he spoke to the merchant
quite stiff and proud.
“Show me the best suit of clothes you have,” said he. “Never mind the
price, that’s of no consequence, only be very particular as to the fit.”
But the shopman laughed aloud.
“We don’t make clothes for beggars like you,” he said. “Be off out of
this.”
Then Shawn threw down the stone on the floor, and immediately the whole
place seemed on fire, and the merchant ran out himself and all the
shopmen after him to get pails of water, and Shawn laughed when he saw
them all drenched.
“Now what will you give me,” said he, “if I put out the fire for you?”
“You shall have the price of the best suit of clothes in the shop,”
answered the merchant, “all paid down in gold; only help me to put out
the fire.”
So Shawn stooped down and picked up the stone, and put it quietly into
his pocket, and instantly all the flames disappeared: and the merchant
was so grateful that he paid him down all the gold for the clothes and
more. And Shawn bid him good-night, and mounted the grey steed again
quite happy in himself.
“Now,” said the black horseman, “is there anything else you desire? for
it is near ten o’clock, and we must be back by midnight; so just say
what you would like to do.”
“Well,” said Shawn Ruadh, “I would like of all things to see the Pope
of Rome, for two of our priests are disputing as to who is to get
the parish, and I want Father M’Grath to have it, for I have a great
opinion of him, and if I ask his Holiness he’ll settle it all in no
time and for ever.”
“Come then,” said the black horseman; “it is a long way to Rome,
certainly, but I think we’ll manage it in the two hours, and be back
before twelve o’clock.”
So away they rode like the wind, and in no time Shawn found himself
before the great palace of the Pope; and all the grand servants with
gold sticks in their hands stared at him, and asked him what he wanted.
“Just go in,” said he, “and tell his Holiness that Shawn Ruadh, all the
way from Ireland, is here and wants to see him very particularly.”
But the servants laughed, and struck him with their gold sticks and
hunted him away from the gate. Now the Pope hearing the rout looked out
of the window, and seeing Shawn Ruadh he came down and asked him what
he wanted.
“Just this, your Holiness,” answered Shawn, “I want a letter on behalf
of Father M’Grath bidding the Bishop give him the parish, and I’ll
wait till your Holiness writes it; and meanwhile let me have a little
supper, for it’s hungry I am after my long ride.”
Then the Pope laughed, and told the servants to drive the fellow away,
for he was evidently out of his wits.
So Shawn grew angry, and flung down the stone on the floor, and
instantly all the palace seemed on fire, and the Pope ordered the grand
servants to go for water; and they had to run about like mad getting
pails and jugs of water, whatever they could lay hands on; and all
their fine clothes were spoiled, and the beautiful gold sticks were
flung away in their fright, while they took the jugs and splashed and
dashed the water over each other.
Now it was Shawn’s turn to laugh till his sides ached, but his Holiness
looked very grave.
“Well,” said Shawn, “if I put out the fire what will you do for me?
Will you write that letter?”
“Ay, I will,” said the Pope, “and you shall have your supper also; only
help us to put out the fire, my fine fellow.”
So Shawn quietly put the stone back in his pocket, and instantly all
the flames disappeared.
“Now,” said the Pope, “you shall have supper of the best in the palace;
and I’ll write a letter to the Bishop ordering him to give Father
M’Grath the parish. And here, besides, is a purse of gold for yourself,
and take it with my blessing.”
Then he ordered all the grand servants to get supper for the excellent
young man from Ireland, and to make him comfortable. So Shawn was
mightily pleased, and ate and drank like a prince. Then he mounted his
grey steed again, and just as midnight struck he found himself at his
own door, but all alone; for the grey steed and the black horseman had
both vanished. But there stood his wife crying her eyes out and in
great trouble.
“O Shawn, Agra! I thought you were dead or that evil had fallen on you.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Shawn, “I’ve been supping with the Pope of
Rome, and look here at all the gold I’ve brought home for you, my
darlint.”
And he put his hand in his pocket to get the purse; but lo! there was
nothing there except a rough, grey stone. And from that hour to this
his wife believes that he dreamed the whole story as he lay under the
hay-rick, on his way home from a carouse with the boys.
However, Father M’Grath got the parish, and Shawn took good care to
tell him how he had spoken up boldly for him to the Pope of Rome, and
made his Holiness write the letter to the Bishop about him. And Father
M’Grath was a nice gentleman, and he smiled and told Shawn he thanked
him kindly for his good word.