all, but she tried to reassure herself by thinking that nothing could
happen to her in broad daylight such as it was then. Besides which, she
did not know of anyone who wished to harm her, for she was a favourite
with everyone in the village. She waited anxiously, though, to see what
would happen next.
She went on with her knitting, seemingly paying no heed to anything, but
her ears were strained to catch the least sound, and when, after a little
while, the garden gate was softly opened and closed again, she heard it
distinctly, and glancing up to see who was coming, she saw to her
astonishment, not Tom, or anyone else she knew, but six little pisky
gentlemen, handsome little creatures, with pleasant smiles and brilliantly
shining eyes.
To her astonishment they did not seem at all disturbed at seeing her, but
came up and ranged themselves in a row before her and bowed to the ground.
They were all dressed alike in green knickerbockers and tunics, edged with
scarlet, and tiny green caps, and one, the handsomest of the lot, had a
beautiful red waving feather at one side of his. They stood and looked at
Anne and smiled, and Anne, not at all frightened now, but pleased, smiled
back at them. Then he with the red feather stepped in front of the
others, and bowing to her in the most courtly manner, addressed her with a
charming friendliness which set her at ease at once.
Whether this strange little gentleman was really attracted by her charms,
or whether he acted in the same way to every pretty girl he met, one
cannot say, but he certainly looked at Anne very affectionately and
admiringly, and poor Anne's heart was captured at once. She was certain
there never had been such a charming little gentleman before, nor ever
could be again, nor one with such good taste.
Stooping down she held out her hand, whereupon the little gentleman
stepped into it, and Anne lifted him to her lap. From her lap he soon
climbed to her shoulder, and then he kissed her, and not only kissed her
once, but many times, and Anne thought him more charming than ever.
Presently he called his companions, and they climbed up and kissed Anne,
too, and patted her rosy cheeks, and smoothed her hair. But while one of
them was patting her cheek, he ran his finger across her eyes, and Anne
gave a terrible scream, for with his touch she felt as though a needle had
been run through her eyeballs, and when she tried to open them again she
found she was blind.
At the same moment she felt herself caught up in the air, and for what
seemed to her a very long time she was carried through it at a tremendous
rate. At last they came to a stop, whereupon one of the Little Men said
something which Anne could not understand, and, behold, her eyesight at
once came back!
And now, indeed, she had something to use it on, for she found herself in
what seemed to be a perfectly gorgeous palace, or rather two or three
palaces joined together, all built of gold and silver, with arches and
pillars of crystal, large halls with walls of burnished copper, and
beautiful rooms inlaid with precious marbles. Outside was a perfect
paradise of a garden, filled with lovely flowers, and trees laden with
fruit or blossom. Birds were singing everywhere, such rare birds, too!
Some were all blue and gold, others a bright scarlet, then again others
shone like silver or steel. There were large lakes full of gold and
silver fish, and marble fountains throwing jets of water high into the
air. Here and there were dainty bowers covered with roses, and filled
within with soft moss carpets and luxurious couches. Walking about
everywhere in this lovely place were scores of little ladies and
gentlemen, dressed in rich silks and velvets, and with precious stones
sparkling and flashing from their fingers, their hair, their shoes, indeed
they seemed to sparkle all over, like flowers covered with dewdrops.
Some strolled along the walks, others reclined in the bowers, some floated
in little scarlet or ivory boats on the lakes, others sat under the
blossoming trees. There seemed, indeed, no end to them, and to Anne's
great astonishment, neither they nor her six companions seemed small now,
also, to her great delight, she was dressed as beautifully as any of them,
and wore as beautiful jewels. Though she did not know it, she had shrunk
to their size, and a very lovely little fairy she made.
Her gown was of white silk, with a long train bordered all round with
trails of green ivy, and over her shoulders she wore a long green silk
cloak with a little scarlet hood. Her hair looked as though it had been
dressed by a Court hairdresser, and amidst the puffs and curls sparkled
emeralds and diamonds, like trembling stars. Her little green slippers
had silver heels, and diamond buckles on the toes, round her waist hung a
diamond girdle, on her neck, too, and fingers gems sparkled and flashed
with every movement.
Oh, how proud and delighted Anne did feel, and how eagerly she hoped that
she might always live like this! Instead of having one cavalier as most
of the ladies had, she had six, but the one with the red feather was her
favourite, and hour by hour he and Anne grew more deeply in love with one
another.
Unfortunately, though, the other five began to grow very jealous, and they
kept such a watch on Anne and her friend, that the poor lovers had no
chance to get away and talk by themselves, or exchange even a look, or a
kiss, or a handclasp.
However, when people are determined they usually succeed in the end,
and one day Anne and her handsome lover managed to slip away unobserved.
Hand in hand they ran to a garden which lay at some little distance from
the others, one that was seldom used, too, and where the flowers grew so
tall and in such profusion that they soon were completely hidden amongst
them.
Here they made their home, and here they lived for a time as happily as
any two people could who loved each other more than all the world beside.
Alas, though, their happiness was too great to last! They had not been in
their beautiful retreat very long, when one day they heard a great noise
and disturbance, and to Anne's dismay the five little men followed by a
crowd of fairies, equally angered, burst in on them. They had traced the
lovers to the garden, and even to the lily-bell in which they had made
their home. With drawn swords and faces full of anger, they surrounded
the lily and commanded the lovers to come down. Nearly mad with jealousy
as they were, they heaped the most cruel and insulting speeches on the
poor little pair.
Furious with indignation Anne's lover sprang down, sword in hand, and
faced his attackers, but what could one do against such odds? His sword
was knocked out of his hand, he himself was overpowered by the numbers who
hurled themselves on him. For a while he fought desperately, his back to
the wall, his courage unfailing, but the blows fell on him so fast and
furious, that in a few minutes he lay bleeding and lifeless at poor Anne's
feet.
What happened next Anne never knew. She remembered looking down on her
dead lover through eyes almost blind with tears, she remembered seeing his
blood staining her dainty green slippers, and splashing her gown, then
someone passed a hand over her eyes, and she could see nothing. She was
as blind as she had been once before.
All about her she heard strange noises, like the whirring and buzzing of
numberless insects; she felt herself being carried through the air at a
terrific rate, until her breath was quite taken away,--then she was placed
on a seat, and in a moment her sight came back to her.
She was back in the arbour where she had first seen the fairies, but,
instead of six little men, she now saw about six-and-twenty big men and
women all staring at her with frightened eyes and open mouths.
"She's very bad," they were whispering, "poor maid, she do look ill!
'Tis a fit she's had, and no mistake!" Then seeing her open her eyes and
look about her, they crowded nearer. "Why, Anne, child, you've been in a
fit, haven't 'ee?"
Anne lifted her arm and looked at it and her hand; there was not a
single jewel on either. She glanced down over her gown,--it was of
linsey-woolsey, not silk or velvet. She closed her eyes again that they
might not see the tears that sprang to them.
"I don't know if I've been in a fit," she said wearily, but to herself she
added sadly, "I know, though, that I've been in love."
BARKER AND THE BUCCAS.
Perhaps some of you have never heard about the 'Buccas,' or 'Knockers,'
as some people call them, the busy little people about the same size as
piskies, who are said to be the souls of the Jews who used to work in the
tin mines in Cornwall.
The Buccas live always in rocks, mines, or wells, and they work
incessantly pickaxing, digging, sifting, etc., from one year's end to the
other, except on Christmas Day, Easter Day, All Saints' Day, and the Jews'
Sabbath. On those days their little tools are laid aside, and all is
quiet, but on every other you can, if you listen, hear them hammer,
hammer, dig, dig, and their tongues chattering all the time.
A lot of these little people lived and worked within the sides of a well
in one particular part of Cornwall, the name of which I will not tell you,
for in the first place you would not be able to pronounce it if I did;
and in the second, you might be tempted to go there and disturb them,
which would make them angry, and bring all kinds of ill-luck and trouble
upon yourself.
The story I am going to tell you is of someone who did disturb them, and
pried upon them after laughing at them. The name of the youth was Barker,
a great, idle, hulking fellow, who lived in the neighbourhood of the well
where these little Buccas dwelt.
Now this Barker often heard the neighbours talking about the Buccas, and
praising their industry, and, like most idle people, he disliked hearing
others praised for doing what he knew he ought to do but would not.
So, to annoy the neighbours, and the Buccas, too, he declared he "didn't
believe there wasn't no such things. Seeing was believing, and when they
showed him a Bucca 'twould be soon enough for him to b'lieve there was
such things." And he repeated this every time the little men were
mentioned.
"'Tis nowt but dreams," he sneered, "there ba'nt no Buccas in Fairy Well,
no more nor I'm a Bucca."
"You a Bucca!" cried the neighbours, "why, they wouldn't own such a lazy
good-for-nothing. They does more work in a morning than you'd get through
in a year, you who never does a hand's-turn for anybody and haven't sense
enough to earn your own bread!"
"I've sense enough to find out if there's any such things as Buccas in
that there well, and I'll go there and watch and listen till I finds out
something, and if there's Buccas there I'll catch one!"
So away he went to spend his time idly lying amidst the tall grass and
ferns which grew thickly around the well. This sort of job suited him to
a nicety, for the sun was warm and pleasant, and he did no work, for, said
he, if he was to work he wouldn't be able to hear any sounds that might
come from below. And for once he spoke the truth.
Day after day Barker went and lay by the Fairy Well, and at first he heard
never a sound but the birds singing, and the bees humming, and his own
breathing. By and by, though, other sounds began to make themselves heard
by him, noises of digging and hammering, and numbers of little voices
talking and laughing merrily.
Barker could not at first make out what they said, but he could understand
that they were always busy. Instead, though, of taking them as an
example, the lazy fellow only said to himself gleefully that if others
worked so hard, there was the less need for him to do so!
Having discovered that his neighbours were right, and that there really
were such people as Buccas, you would have thought that he would have
hurried home to tell of his discoveries; but no, he liked the lazy life,
lying in the sun by the well, doing nothing. So he kept quiet about his
discovery, and every day started off for his favourite spot, making the
excuse that he was still watching for Buccas.
As the days passed by he began to understand what the little workmen said,
and he gathered from their talk that they worked in sets, and that each
set worked for eight hours,--which was, of course, the origin of the Eight
Hours Day we hear so much about. He also found that when they had
finished they hid away their tools, and every day in a fresh place.
I cannot tell you why they hid them, or from whom, unless it was those
other 'little people,' the Fairies and Piskies, who love to be up to
mischief when they are not doing good. It could not have been from each
other that they hid the things, for they talked together about the
hiding-places.
One evening, when the day's work was coming to an end, Barker heard the
usual discussion begin. "I shall hide mine in this cleft in the rock,"
said one.
"Very well, then I will hide mine under the ferns."
"Oh," said a third, "I shall leave mine _on Barker's knee_."
You may be sure it gave Barker quite a shock to hear his own name spoken
in those mysterious regions, it frightened him, too, but before he could
stir his big, lazy body and run away,--as he meant to do,--he felt three
hard blows, bang! whack! bang! and then a heavy weight fell crash upon his
knee.
Barker roared and bellowed like a great calf, for the pain was very great,
and he was a big coward.
"Take it away! take it away!" he cried, but the only answer was peal upon
peal of mocking laughter. "Oh my poor knee, oh my poor knee, I'm lame for
life! Take away them tools! Oh my, oh my!" but the more he screamed,
the more the Buccas laughed. They laughed and laughed until they were
tired, then they vanished, and Master Barker was left to make his way home
as best he could. He did not want to tell the neighbours how he got his
stiff knee, but pretended he had had a fall; the neighbours, though,
soon found out, and pretty well he was laughed at for a long time wherever
he went.
Never again did Barker doubt the existence of the Buccas, never again did
he speak disrespectfully of them, nor could he forget the lesson he had
been taught, for to his dying day he had a stiff knee, and nothing would
cure it.
Now, if ever you hear of anyone having 'Barker's knee' you will know that
he has spoken rudely of the Buccas, and that the Buccas have paid him out.
LUTEY AND THE MERMAID.
One lovely summer evening many, many years ago, an old man named Lutey was
standing on the seashore not far from that beautiful bit of coast called
the Lizard.
On the edge of the cliff above him stood a small farm, and here he lived,
spending his time between farming, fishing, and, we must admit it,
smuggling, too, whenever he got a chance. This summer evening he had
finished his day's work early, and while waiting for his supper he
strolled along the sands a little way, to see if there was any wreckage to
be seen, for it was long since he had had any luck in that way, and he was
very much put out about it.
This evening, though, he was no luckier than he had been before, and he
was turning away, giving up his search as hopeless, when from somewhere
out seaward came a long, low, wailing cry. It was not the melancholy cry
of a gull, but of a woman or child in distress.
Lutey stopped, and listened, and looked back, but, as far as he could see,
not a living creature was to be seen on the beach but himself.
Even though while he listened the sound came wailing over the sand again,
and this time left no doubt in his mind. It was a voice. Someone was in
trouble, evidently, and calling for help.
Far out on the sands rose a group of rocks which, though covered at high
water, were bare now. It was about half ebb, and spring tide, too, so the
sea was further out than usual, so far, in fact, that a wide bar of sand
stretched between the rocks and the sea. It was from these rocks that the
cry seemed to come, and Lutey, feeling sure that someone was out there in
distress, turned and walked back quickly to see if he could give any help.
As he drew near he saw that there was no one on the landward side, so he
hurried round to the seaward,--and there, to his amazement, his eyes met a
sight which left him almost speechless!
Lying on a ledge at the base of the rock, partially covered by the long
seaweed which grew in profusion over its rough sides, and partially by her
own hair, which was the most glorious you can possibly imagine, was the
most beautiful woman his eyes had ever lighted upon. Her skin was a
delicate pink and white, even more beautiful than those exquisite little
shells one picks up sometimes on the seashore, her clear green eyes
sparkled and flashed like the waves with the sun on them, while her hair
was the colour of rich gold, like the sun in its glory, and with a ripple
in it such as one sees on the sea on a calm day.
This wonderful creature was gazing mournfully out at the distant sea,
and uttering from time to time the pitiful cry which had first attracted
Lutey's attention. She was evidently in great distress, but how to offer
her help and yet not frighten her he knew not, for the roar of the sea had
deadened the sound of his footsteps on the soft sand, and she was quite
unconscious of his presence.
Lutey coughed and hem'd, but it was of no use--she could not or did not
hear; he stamped, he kicked the rock, but all in vain, and at last he had
to go close to her and speak.
"What's the matter, missie?" he said. "What be doing all out here by
yourself?" He spoke as gently as possible, but, in spite of his
gentleness, the lovely creature shrieked with terror, and diving down into
the deep pool at the base of the rock, disappeared entirely.
At first Lutey thought she had drowned herself, but when he looked closely
into the pool, and contrived to peer through the cloud of hair which
floated like fine seaweed all over the top of it, he managed to
distinguish a woman's head and shoulders underneath, and looking closer he
saw, he was sure, a fish's tail! His knees quaked under him, at that
sight, for he realized that the lovely lady was no other than a mermaid!
She, though, seemed as frightened as he was, so he summoned up his courage
to speak to her again, for it is always wise to be kind to mermaids, and
to avoid offending them, for if they are angry there is no knowing what
harm they may do to you.
"Don't be frightened, lady," he said coaxingly; "I wouldn't hurt 'ee for
the world, I wouldn't harm a living creature. I only wants to know what
your trouble is."
While he was speaking, the maiden had raised her head slightly above the
water, and now was gazing at him with eyes the like of which he had never
seen before. "I 'opes she understands Carnish," he added to himself,
"for 'tis the only langwidge I'm fluent in."
"Beautiful sir," she replied in answer to his thoughts, "we sea-folk can
understand all languages, for we visit the coast of every land, and all
the tribes of the world sail over our kingdom, and oft-times come down
through the waters to our home. The greatest kindness you can do me is to
go away. You are accustomed to women who walk, covered with silks and
laces. We could not wear such in our world, sporting in the waves,
swimming into caverns, clambering into sunken ships. You cannot realize
our free and untrammelled existence."
"Now, my lovely lady," said old Lutey, who did not understand a half of
what she was saying, "don't 'ee think anything about such trifles,
but stop your tears and tell me what I can do for 'ee. For, for sure,
I can help 'ee somehow. Tell me how you come'd here, and where you wants
to get to."
So the fair creature floated higher in the water, and, gradually growing
braver, she presently climbed up and perched herself on the rock where
Lutey had first seen her. Her long hair fell about her like a glorious
mantle, and she needed no other, for it quite covered her. Holding in her
hand her comb and mirror, and glancing from time to time at the latter,
she told the old man her story.
"Only a few hours ago," she said sadly, "I was sporting about with my
husband and children, as happy as a mermaiden could be. At length,
growing weary, we all retired to rest in one of the caverns at Kynance,
and there on a soft couch of seaweed my husband laid himself down to
sleep. The children went off to play, and I was left alone. For some
time I watched the crabs playing in the water, or the tiny fish at the
bottom of the pools, but the sweet scent of flowers came to me from the
gardens of your world, borne on the light breeze, and I felt I must go and
see what these flowers were like whose breath was so beautiful, for we
have nothing like it in our dominions. Exquisite sea-plants we have, but
they have no sweet perfume.
"Seeing that my husband was asleep, and the children quite happy and safe,
I swam off to this shore, but when here I found I could not get near the
flowers; I could see them on the tops of the cliffs far, far beyond my
reach, so I thought I would rest here for a time, and dress my hair, while
breathing in their sweetness.
"I sat on, dreaming of your world and trying to picture to myself what it
was like, until I awoke with a start to find the tide far out, beyond the
bar. I was so frightened I screamed to my husband to come and help me,
but even if he heard me he could not get to me over that sandy ridge; and
if he wakes before I am back, and misses me, he will be so angry, for he
is very jealous. He will be hungry, too, and if he finds no supper
prepared he will eat some of the children!"
"Oh, my dear!" cried Lutey, quite horrified, "he surely wouldn't never do
such a dreadful thing!"
"Ah, you do not know Mermen," she said sorrowfully. "They are such
gluttons, and will gobble up their children in a moment if their meals are
a little late. Scores of my children have been taken from me. That is
how it is," she explained, "that you do not oftener see us sea-folk.
Poor children, they never learn wisdom! Directly their father begins to
whistle or sing, they crowd about him, they are so fond of music, and he
gets them to come and kiss his cheek, or whisper in his ear, then he opens
wide his mouth, and in they go.--Oh dear, what shall I do! I have only
ten little ones left, and they will all be gone if I don't get home before
he wakes!"
"Don't 'ee take on so, my dear. The tide will soon be in, and then you
can float off as quick as you like."
"Oh, but I cannot wait," she cried, tears running down her cheeks.
"Beautiful mortal, help me! Carry me out to sea, give me your aid for ten
minutes only, and I will make you rich and glorious for life. Ask of me
anything you want, and it shall be yours."
Lutey was so enthralled by the loveliness of the mermaid, that he stood
gazing at her, lost in wonder. Her voice, which sounded like a gentle
murmuring stream, was to him the most lovely music he had ever heard.
He was so fascinated that he would have done anything she asked him.
He stooped to pick her up.
"First of all, take this," she said, giving him her pearl comb, "take
this, to prove to you that you have not been dreaming, gentle stranger,
and that I will do for you what I have said. When you want me, comb the
sea three times with this, and call me by my name, 'Morwenna,' and I will
come to you. Now take me to the sea."
Stooping again he picked her up in his arms. She clung tightly to him,
twining her long, cool arms around his neck, until he felt half
suffocated. "Tell me your wishes," she said sweetly, as they went along;
"you shall have three. Riches will, of course, be one."
"No, lady," said Lutey thoughtfully, "I don't know that I'm so set on
getting gold, but I'll tell 'ee what I should like. I'd dearly love to be
able to remove the spells of the witches, to have power over the spirits
to make them tell me all I want to know, and I'd like to be able to cure
diseases."
"You are the first unselfish man I have met," cried the mermaid
admiringly, "you shall have your wishes, and, in addition, I promise you
as a reward, that your family shall never come to want."
In a state of great delight, Lutey trudged on with his lovely burthen,
while she chatted gaily to him of her home, of the marvels and the riches
of the sea, and the world that lay beneath it.