There was once a poor widow woman, who had a daughter that was as
handsome as the day, and as lazy as a pig, saving your presence. The
poor mother was the most industrious person in the townland, and was a
particularly good hand at the spinning-wheel. It was the wish of her
heart that her daughter should be as handy as herself; but she'd get
up late, eat her breakfast before she'd finish her prayers, and then
go about dawdling, and anything she handled seemed to be burning her
fingers. She drawled her words as if it was a great trouble to her to
speak, or as if her tongue was as lazy as her body. Many a heart-scald
her poor mother got with her, and still she was only improving like
dead fowl in August.
Well, one morning that things were as bad as they could be, and the
poor woman was giving tongue at the rate of a mill-clapper, who should
be riding by but the king's son. "Oh dear, oh dear, good woman!" said
he, "you must have a very bad child to make you scold so terribly.
Sure it can't be this handsome girl that vexed you!" "Oh, please your
Majesty, not at all," says the old dissembler. "I was only checking
her for working herself too much. Would your majesty believe it? She
spins three pounds of flax in a day, weaves it into linen the next,
and makes it all into shirts the day after." "My gracious," says the
prince, "she's the very lady that will just fill my mother's eye, and
herself's the greatest spinner in the kingdom. Will you put on your
daughter's bonnet and cloak, if you please, ma'am, and set her behind
me? Why, my mother will be so delighted with her, that perhaps she'll
make her her daughter-in-law in a week, that is, if the young woman
herself is agreeable."
Well, between the confusion, and the joy, and the fear of being found
out, the women didn't know what to do; and before they could make up
their minds, young Anty (Anastasia) was set behind the prince, and
away he and his attendants went, and a good heavy purse was left
behind with the mother. She _pullillued_ a long time after all was
gone, in dread of something bad happening to the poor girl.
The prince couldn't judge of the girl's breeding or wit from the few
answers he pulled out of her. The queen was struck in a heap when she
saw a young country girl sitting behind her son, but when she saw her
handsome face, and heard all she could do, she didn't think she could
make too much of her. The prince took an opportunity of whispering her
that if she didn't object to be his wife she must strive to please his
mother. Well, the evening went by, and the prince and Anty were
getting fonder and fonder of one another, but the thought of the
spinning used toe send the cold to her heart every moment. When
bed-time came, the old queen went along with her to a beautiful
bedroom, and when she was bidding her good-night, she pointed to a
heap of fine flax, and said, "You may begin as soon as you like
to-morrow morning, and I'll expect to see these three pounds in nice
thread the morning after." Little did the poor girl sleep that night.
She kept crying and lamenting that she didn't mind her mother's advice
better. When she was left alone next morning, she began with a heavy
heart; and though she had a nice mahogany wheel and the finest flax
you ever saw, the thread was breaking every moment. One while it was
as fine as a cobweb, and the next as coarse as a little boy's
whipcord. At last she pushed her chair back, let her hands fall in her
lap, and burst out a-crying.
A small, old woman with surprising big feet appeared before her at the
same moment, and said, "What ails you, you handsome colleen?" "An'
haven't I all that flax to spin before to-morrow morning, and I'll never
be able to have even five yards of fine thread of it put together." "An'
would you think bad to ask poor _Colliagh Cushm[=o]r_ (Old woman
Big-foot) to your wedding with the young prince? If you promise me that,
all your three pounds will be made into the finest of thread while
you're taking your sleep to-night." "Indeed, you must be there and
welcome, and I'll honour you all the days of your life." "Very well;
stay in your room till tea-time, and tell the queen she may come in for
her thread as early as she likes to-morrow morning." It was all as she
said; and the thread was finer and evener than the gut you see with
fly-fishers. "My brave girl you were!" says the queen. "I'll get my own
mahogany loom brought into you, but you needn't do anything more to-day.
Work and rest, work and rest, is my motto. To-morrow you'll weave all
this thread, and who knows what may happen?"
The poor girl was more frightened this time than the last, and she was
so afraid to lose the prince. She didn't even know how to put the warp
in the gears, nor how to use the shuttle, and she was sitting in the
greatest grief, when a little woman, who was mighty well-shouldered
about the hips, all at once appeared to her, told her her name was
_Colliach Cromanm[=o]r_, and made the same bargain with her as
Colliach Cushm[=o]r. Great was the queen's pleasure when she found
early in the morning a web as fine and white as the finest paper you
ever saw. "The darling you were!" says she. "Take your ease with the
ladies and gentlemen to-day, and if your have all this made into nice
shirts to-morrow you may present one of them to my son, and be married
to him out of hand."
Oh, wouldn't you pity poor Anty the next day, she was now so near the
prince, and, maybe, would be soon so far from him. But she waited as
patiently as she could with scissors, needle, and thread in hand, till
a minute after noon. Then she was rejoiced to see the third old woman
appear. She had a big red nose, and informed Anty that people called
her _Shron Mor Rua_ on that account. She was up to her as good as the
others, for a dozen fine shirts were lying on the table when the queen
paid her an early visit.
Now there was nothing talked of but the wedding, and I needn't tell
you it was grand. The poor mother was there along with the rest, and
at the dinner the old queen could talk of nothing but the lovely
shirts, and how happy herself and the bride would be after the
honeymoon, spinning, and weaving, and sewing shirts and shifts without
end. The bridegroom didn't like the discourse, and the bride liked it
less, and he was going to say something, when the footman came up to
the head of the table and said to the bride, "Your ladyship's aunt,
Colliach Cushm[=o]r, bade me ask might she come in." The bride blushed
and wished she was seven miles under the floor, but well became the
prince. "Tell Mrs. Cushm[=o]r," said he, "that any relation of my
bride's will be always heartily welcome wherever she and I are." In
came the woman with the big foot, and got a seat near the prince. The
old queen didn't like it much, and after a few words she asked rather
spitefully, "Dear ma'am, what's the reason your foot is so big?"
"_Musha_, faith, your majesty, I was standing almost all my life at
the spinning-wheel, and that's the reason." "I declare to you, my
darling," said the prince, "I'll never allow you to spend one hour at
the same spinning-wheel." The same footman said again, "Your
ladyship's aunt, Colliach Cromanm[=o]r, wishes to come in, if the
genteels and yourself have no objection." Very _sharoose_ (displeased)
was Princess Anty, but the prince sent her welcome, and she took her
seat, and drank healths apiece to the company. "May I ask, ma'am?"
says the old queen, "why you're so wide half-way between the head and
the feet?" "That, your majesty, is owing to sitting all my life at the
loom." "By my sceptre," says the prince, "my wife shall never sit
there an hour." The footman again came up. "Your ladyship's aunt,
Colliach Shron Mor Rua, is asking leave to come into the banquet."
More blushing on the bride's face, but the bridegroom spoke out
cordially, "Tell Mrs. Shron Mor Rua she's doing us an honour." In came
the old woman, and great respect she got near the top of the table,
but the people down low put up their tumblers and glasses to their
noses to hide the grins. "Ma'am," says the old queen, "will you tell
us, if you please, why your nose is so big and red?" "Throth, your
majesty, my head was bent down over the stitching all my life, and all
the blood in my body ran into my nose." "My darling," said the prince
to Anty, "if ever I see a needle in your hand, I'll run a hundred
miles from you."
"And in troth, girls and boys, though it's a diverting story, I don't
think the moral is good; and if any of you _thuckeens_ go about
imitating Anty in her laziness, you'll find it won't thrive with you as
it did with her. She was beautiful beyond compare, which none of you
are, and she had three powerful fairies to help her besides. There's no
fairies now, and no prince or lord to ride by, and catch you idling or
working; and maybe, after all, the prince and herself were not so very
happy when the cares of the world or old age came on them."
Thus was the tale ended by poor old _Shebale_ (Sybilla), Father Murphy's
housekeeper, in Coolbawn, Barony of Bantry, about half a century since.