Once upon a time there dwelt in the land of Erin a young man who was
seeking a wife, and of all the maidens round about none pleased him
as well as the only daughter of a farmer. The girl was willing and the
father was willing, and very soon they were married and went to live at
the farm. By and bye the season came when they must cut the peats and
pile them up to dry, so that they might have fires in the winter. So
on a fine day the girl and her husband, and the father and his wife all
went out upon the moor.
They worked hard for many hours, and at length grew hungry, so the young
woman was sent home to bring them food, and also to give the horses
their dinner. When she went into the stables, she suddenly saw the heavy
pack-saddle of the speckled mare just over her head, and she jumped and
said to herself:
‘Suppose that pack-saddle were to fall and kill me, how dreadful it
would be!’ and she sat down just under the pack-saddle she was so much
afraid of, and began to cry.
Now the others out on the moor grew hungrier and hungrier.
‘What can have become of her?’ asked they, and at length the mother
declared that she would wait no longer, and must go and see what had
happened.
As the bride was nowhere in the kitchen or the dairy, the old woman went
into the stable, where she found her daughter weeping bitterly.
‘What is the matter, my dove?’ and the girl answered, between her sobs:
‘When I came in and saw the pack-saddle over my head, I thought how
dreadful it would be if it fell and killed me,’ and she cried louder
than before.
The old woman struck her hands together: ‘Ah, to think of it! if that
were to be, what should I do?’ and she sat down by her daughter, and
they both wrung their hands and let their tears flow.
‘Something strange must have occurred,’ exclaimed the old farmer on the
moor, who by this time was not only hungry, but cross. ‘I must go after
them.’ And he went and found them in the stable.
‘What is the matter?’ asked he.
‘Oh!’ replied his wife, ‘when our daughter came home, did she not see
the pack-saddle over her head, and she thought how dreadful it would be
if it were to fall and kill her.’
‘Ah, to think of it!’ exclaimed he, striking his hands together, and he
sat down beside them and wept too.
As soon as night fell the young man returned full of hunger, and there
they were, all crying together in the stable.
‘What is the matter?’ asked he.
‘When thy wife came home,’ answered the farmer, ‘she saw the pack-saddle
over her head, and she thought how dreadful it would be if it were to
fall and kill her.’
‘Well, but it didn’t fall,’ replied the young man, and he went off to
the kitchen to get some supper, leaving them to cry as long as they
liked.
The next morning he got up with the sun, and said to the old man and to
the old woman and to his wife:
‘Farewell: my foot shall not return to the house till I have found other
three people as silly as you,’ and he walked away till he came to the
town, and seeing the door of a cottage standing open wide, he entered.
No man was present, but only some women spinning at their wheels.
‘You do not belong to this town,’ said he.
‘You speak truth,’ they answered, ‘nor you either?’
‘I do not,’ replied he, ‘but is it a good place to live in?’
The women looked at each other.
‘The men of the town are so silly that we can make them believe anything
we please,’ said they.
‘Well, here is a gold ring,’ replied he, ‘and I will give it to the one
amongst you who can make her husband believe the most impossible thing,’
and he left them.
As soon as the first husband came home his wife said to him:
‘Thou art sick!’
‘Am I?’ asked he.
‘Yes, thou art,’ she answered; ‘take off thy clothes and lie down.’
So he did, and when he was in his bed his wife went to him and said:
‘Thou art dead.’
‘Oh, am I?’ asked he.
‘Thou art,’ said she; ‘shut thine eyes and stir neither hand nor foot.’
And dead he felt sure he was.
Soon the second man came home, and his wife said to him:
‘You are not my husband!’
‘Oh, am I not?’ asked he.
‘No, it is not you,’ answered she, so he went away and slept in the
wood.
When the third man arrived his wife gave him his supper, and after that
he went to bed, just as usual. The next morning a boy knocked at the
door, bidding him attend the burial of the man who was dead, and he was
just going to get up when his wife stopped him.
‘Time enough,’ said she, and he lay still till he heard the funeral
passing the window.
‘Now rise, and be quick,’ called the wife, and the man jumped out of bed
in a great hurry, and began to look about him.
‘Why, where are my clothes?’ asked he.
‘Silly that you are, they are on your back, of course,’ answered the
woman.
‘Are they?’ said he.
‘They are,’ said she, ‘and make haste lest the burying be ended before
you get there.’
Then off he went, running hard, and when the mourners saw a man coming
towards them with nothing on but his nightshirt, they forgot in their
fright what they were there for, and fled to hide themselves. And the
naked man stood alone at the head of the coffin.
Very soon a man came out of the wood and spoke to him.
‘Do you know me?’
‘Not I,’ answered the naked man. ‘I do not know you.’
‘But why are you naked?’ asked the first man.
‘Am I naked? My wife told me that I had all my clothes on,’ answered he.
‘And my wife told me that I myself was dead,’ said the man in the
coffin.
But at the sound of his voice the two men were so terrified that they
ran straight home, and the man in the coffin got up and followed them,
and it was his wife that gained the gold ring, as he had been sillier
than the other two.
From ‘West Highland Tales.’
The Hoodie-Crow.
Once there lived a farmer who had three daughters, and good useful girls
they were, up with the sun, and doing all the work of the house. One
morning they all ran down to the river to wash their clothes, when a
hoodie came round and sat on a tree close by.
‘Wilt thou wed me, thou farmer’s daughter?’ he said to the eldest.
‘Indeed I won’t wed thee,’ she answered, ‘an ugly brute is the hoodie.’
And the bird, much offended, spread his wings and flew away. But the
following day he came back again, and said to the second girl:
‘Wilt thou wed me, farmer’s daughter?’
‘Indeed I will not,’ answered she, ‘an ugly brute is the hoodie.’ And
the hoodie was more angry than before, and went away in a rage. However,
after a night’s rest he was in a better temper, and thought that he
might be more lucky the third time, so back he went to the old place.
‘Wilt thou wed me, farmer’s daughter?’ he said to the youngest.
‘Indeed I will wed thee; a pretty creature is the hoodie,’ answered she,
and on the morrow they were married.
‘I have something to ask thee,’ said the hoodie when they were far away
in his own house. ‘Wouldst thou rather I should be a hoodie by day and a
man by night, or a man by day and a hoodie by night?’
The girl was surprised at his words, for she did not know that he could
be anything but a hoodie at all times.
Still she said nothing of this, and only replied, ‘I would rather thou
wert a man by day and a hoodie by night,’ And so he was; and a handsomer
man or a more beautiful hoodie never was seen. The girl loved them both,
and never wished for things to be different.
By and bye they had a son, and very pleased they both were. But in the
night soft music was heard stealing close towards the house, and every
man slept, and the mother slept also. When they woke again it was
morning, and the baby was gone. High and low they looked for it, but
nowhere could they find it, and the farmer, who had come to see his
daughter, was greatly grieved, as he feared it might be thought that he
had stolen it, because he did not want the hoodie for a son-in-law.
The next year the hoodie’s wife had another son, and this time a watch
was set at every door. But it was no use. In vain they determined that,
come what might, they would not close their eyes; at the first note of
music they all fell asleep, and when the farmer arrived in the morning
to see his grandson, he found them all weeping, for while they had slept
the baby had vanished.
Well, the next year it all happened again, and the hoodie’s wife was so
unhappy that her husband resolved to take her away to another house he
had, and her sisters with her for company. So they set out in a coach
which was big enough to hold them, and had not gone very far when the
hoodie suddenly said:
‘You are sure you have not forgotten anything?’
‘I have forgotten my coarse comb,’ answered the wife, feeling in her
pocket, and as she spoke the coach changed into a withered faggot, and
the man became a hoodie again, and flew away.
The two sisters returned home, but the wife followed the hoodie.
Sometimes she would see him on a hill-top, and then would hasten after
him, hoping to catch him. But by the time she had got to the top of the
hill, he would be in the valley on the other side. When night came, and
she was tired, she looked about for some place to rest, and glad she was
to see a little house full of light straight in front of her, and she
hurried towards it as fast as she could.
At the door stood a little boy, and the sight of him filled her heart
with pleasure, she did not know why. A woman came out, and bade her
welcome, and set before her food, and gave her a soft bed to lie on. And
the hoodie’s wife lay down, and so tired was she, that it seemed to her
but a moment before the sun rose, and she awoke again. From hill to hill
she went after the hoodie, and sometimes she saw him on the top; but
when she got to the top, he had flown into the valley, and when she
reached the valley he was on the top of another hill--and so it happened
till night came round again. Then she looked round for some place to
rest in, and she beheld a little house of light before her, and fast she
hurried towards it. At the door stood a little boy, and her heart was
filled with pleasure at the sight of him, she did not know why. After
that a woman bade her enter, and set food before her, and gave her
a soft bed to lie in. And when the sun rose she got up, and left the
house, in search of the hoodie. This day everything befell as on the
two other days, but when she reached the small house, the woman bade her
keep awake, and if the hoodie flew into the room, to try to seize him.
But the wife had walked far, and was very tired, and strive as she
would, she fell sound asleep.
Many hours she slept, and the hoodie entered through a window, and let
fall a ring on her hand. The girl awoke with a start, and leant forward
to grasp him, but he was already flying off, and she only seized a
feather from his wing. And when dawn came, she got up and told the
woman.
‘He has gone over the hill of poison,’ said she, ‘and there you cannot
follow him without horse-shoes on your hands and feet. But I will help
you. Put on this suit of men’s clothes, and go down this road till you
come to the smithy, and there you can learn to make horse-shoes for
yourself.’
The girl thanked her, and put on the cloths and went down the road to
do her bidding. So hard did she work, that in a few days she was able
to make the horse-shoes. Early one morning she set out for the hill of
poison. On her hands and feet she went, but even with the horse-shoes
on she had to be very careful not to stumble, lest some poisoned thorns
should enter into her flesh, and she should die. But when at last she
was over, it was only to hear that her husband was to be married that
day to the daughter of a great lord.
Now there was to be a race in the town, and everyone meant to be there,
except the stranger who had come over the hill of poison--everyone, that
is, but the cook, who was to make the bridal supper. Greatly he loved
races, and sore was his heart to think that one should be run without
his seeing it, so when he beheld a woman whom he did not know coming
along the street, hope sprang up in him.
‘Will you cook the wedding feast in place of me?’ he said, ‘and I will
pay you well when I return from the race.’
Gladly she agreed, and cooked the feast in a kitchen that looked into
the great hall, where the company were to eat it. After that she watched
the seat where the bridegroom was sitting, and taking a plateful of the
broth, she dropped the ring and the feather into it, and set if herself
before him.
With the first spoonful he took up the ring, and a thrill ran through
him; in the second he beheld the feather and rose from his chair.
‘Who has cooked this feast?’ asked he, and the real cook, who had come
back from the race, was brought before him.
‘He may be the cook, but he did not cook this feast,’ said the
bridegroom, and then inquiry was made, and the girl was summoned to the
great hall.
‘That is my married wife,’ he declared, ‘and no one else will I have,’
and at that very moment the spells fell off him, and never more would he
be a hoodie. Happy indeed were they to be together again, and little did
they mind that the hill of poison took long to cross, for she had to go
some way forwards, and then throw the horse-shoes back for him to put
on. Still, at last they were over, and they went back the way she had
come, and stopped at the three houses in order to take their little sons
to their own home.
But the story never says who had stolen them, nor what the coarse comb
had to do with it.
From ‘West Highland Tales.’