Mr. H---- R----, when he was alive, used to live a good deal in
Dublin, and he was once a great while out of the country on account of
the "ninety-eight" business. But the servants kept on in the big house
at Rath---- all the same as if the family was at home. Well, they used
to be frightened out of their lives after going to their beds with the
banging of the kitchen-door, and the clattering of fire-irons, and the
pots and plates and dishes. One evening they sat up ever so long,
keeping one another in heart with telling stories about ghosts and
fetches, and that when--what would you have of it?--the little
scullery boy that used to be sleeping over the horses, and could not
get room at the fire, crept into the hot hearth, and when he got tired
listening to the stories, sorra fear him, but he fell dead asleep.
Well and good, after they were all gone and the kitchen fire raked up,
he was woke with the noise of the kitchen door opening, and the
trampling of an ass on the kitchen floor. He peeped out, and what
should he see but a big ass, sure enough, sitting on his curabingo and
yawning before the fire. After a little he looked about him, and began
scratching his ears as if he was quite tired, and says he, "I may as
well begin first as last." The poor boy's teeth began to chatter in
his head, for says he, "Now he's goin' to ate me;" but the fellow with
the long ears and tail on him had something else to do. He stirred the
fire, and then he brought in a pail of water from the pump, and
filled a big pot that he put on the fire before he went out. He then
put in his hand--foot, I mean--into the hot hearth, and pulled out the
little boy. He let a roar out of him with the fright, but the pooka
only looked at him, and thrust out his lower lip to show how little he
valued him, and then he pitched him into his pew again.
Well, he then lay down before the fire till he heard the boil coming
on the water, and maybe there wasn't a plate, or a dish, or a spoon on
the dresser that he didn't fetch and put into the pot, and wash and
dry the whole bilin' of 'em as well as e'er a kitchen-maid from that
to Dublin town. He then put all of them up on their places on the
shelves; and if he didn't give a good sweepin' to the kitchen, leave
it till again. Then he comes and sits foment the boy, let down one of
his ears, and cocked up the other, and gave a grin. The poor fellow
strove to roar out, but not a dheeg 'ud come out of his throat. The
last thing the pooka done was to rake up the fire, and walk out,
giving such a slap o' the door, that the boy thought the house
couldn't help tumbling down.
Well, to be sure if there wasn't a hullabullo next morning when the
poor fellow told his story! They could talk of nothing else the whole
day. One said one thing, another said another, but a fat, lazy
scullery girl said the wittiest thing of all. "Musha!" says she, "if
the pooka does be cleaning up everything that way when we are asleep,
what should we be slaving ourselves for doing his work?" "_Shu gu
dheine_,"[14] says another; "them's the wisest words you ever said,
Kauth; it's meeself won't contradict you."
So said, so done. Not a bit of a plate or dish saw a drop of water
that evening, and not a besom was laid on the floor, and every one
went to bed soon after sundown. Next morning everything was as fine as
fine in the kitchen, and the lord mayor might eat his dinner off the
flags. It was great ease to the lazy servants, you may depend, and
everything went on well till a foolhardy gag of a boy said he would
stay up one night and have a chat with the pooka.
He was a little daunted when the door was thrown open and the ass
marched up to the fire.
"An then, sir," says he, at last, picking up courage, "if it isn't
taking a liberty, might I ax who you are, and why you are so kind as
to do half of the day's work for the girls every night?" "No liberty
at all," says the pooka, says he: "I'll tell you, and welcome. I was a
servant in the time of Squire R.'s father, and was the laziest rogue
that ever was clothed and fed, and done nothing for it. When my time
came for the other world, this is the punishment was laid on me--to
come here and do all this labour every night, and then go out in the
cold. It isn't so bad in the fine weather; but if you only knew what
it is to stand with your head between your legs, facing the storm,
from midnight to sunrise, on a bleak winter night." "And could we do
anything for your comfort, my poor fellow?" says the boy. "Musha, I
don't know," says the pooka; "but I think a good quilted frieze coat
would help to keep the life in me them long nights." "Why then, in
troth, we'd be the ungratefullest of people if we didn't feel for you."
To make a long story short, the next night but two the boy was there
again; and if he didn't delight the poor pooka, holding up a fine warm
coat before him, it's no mather! Betune the pooka and the man, his
legs was got into the four arms of it, and it was buttoned down the
breast and the belly, and he was so pleazed he walked up to the glass
to see how he looked. "Well," says he, "it's a long lane that has no
turning. I am much obliged to you and your fellow-servants. You have
made me happy at last. Good-night to you."
So he was walking out, but the other cried, "Och! sure your going too
soon. What about the washing and sweeping?" "Ah, you may tell the
girls that they must now get their turn. My punishment was to last
till I was thought worthy of a reward for the way I done my duty.
You'll see me no more." And no more they did, and right sorry they
were for having been in such a hurry to reward the ungrateful pooka.
[Footnote 13: _Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts._--Macmillan.]
[Footnote 14: Meant for _seadh go deimhin_--_i.e._, yes, indeed.]