_Fittletetot._
There was a good woman of Kittleroopit, but where Kittleroopit is
exactly I cannot tell you; so it's of no use pretending to more than
one knows. Her husband was a vagabondizing sort of a body, and he went
to a fair one day, from which he not only never returned, but never was
anything more heard of him.
Some said that he enlisted, and others that he had fallen into the
hands of the press-gang; certain it is, anyhow, that the press-gang was
about the country ready to snap up anyone, for our good dame's eldest
brother, Sandy, was all but smothered in the meal-tub, hiding from
these man-stealers; and after they had gone he was pulled out from the
meal wheezing and sneezing, and was as white as any ghost. His mother
had to pick the meal out of his mouth with the handle of a spoon.
Well, when her husband was gone the good woman of Kittleroopit had
little left but her baby, and there was not much of that; for it was
only a wee thing of a few weeks old. Everybody said they were sorry for
her, but no one helped her, which is a case of constant occurrence, as
you know. The good woman, however, had still something left, which was
a sow; and it was, moreover, near littering time.
But we all know that fortune is uncertain; for one day, when the dame
went into the sty to fill the trough, what should she find but the sow
lying on her back groaning and grunting, and ready to give up the ghost.
This was a blow to the poor woman, so she sat down with the child on
her knee and fretted more sorely than ever she had done for the loss of
her husband.
I must tell you that the cottage of Kittleroopit was built on the slope
of a hill, with a small fir-wood behind it; and as the good woman
happened to look down the hill she saw an old woman coming up the
footpath, dressed almost like a lady. She had on a green dress, and
wore a black velvet hood and steeple-crowned hat. She carried a staff
in her hand as long as herself--the sort of staff that old men and old
women used to help themselves along with long ago. They seem to be out
of fashion now.
Well, when the good woman saw the green lady near her she rose up and
began courtesying, and said, "Madam, I am one of the most misfortunate
women alive, for I have lost--" But the green woman interrupted her,
saying--
"I don't wish to hear piper's news and fiddler's tales, my good woman.
I know that you have lost the good man of the house, but that is no
such great loss; and I know that your sow is very ill, which is worse;
but that can be remedied. Now, what will you give me if I cure your
sow?"
"Anything your good Ladyship likes," answered the good Woman, for she
little knew whom she had to deal with.
"Let's shake hands on that bargain," said the green Lady; so they shook
hands, and madam then marched into the sty.
She looked peeringly at the sow, and then began to mutter something
which the good woman could not well understand, but she said it
sounded like--
"Pitter patter,
Holy water."
Then she took a little bottle out of her pocket, with something like
oil in it, and rubbed the sow about the snout and on the tip of the
tail. "Get up, beast," said the green woman; and no sooner said than
done, for up jumps the sow with a grunt and goes off to the trough for
her breakfast.
The good woman of Kittleroopit was now as happy as need be, and would
have kissed the very hem of the green madam's gown-tail, but she
wouldn't let her, and said, "I'm not fond of any such nonsense; but now
that I have set your sick beast on its legs again let us settle our
agreement. You'll not find me over unreasonable. I like to do a good
turn for a small reward. Now all I ask, and will have, is the baby at
your breast!"
The good woman of Kittleroopit, who now knew her customer, gave a
scream like a screech-owl, and falls to begging and praying, but it
wouldn't do. "You may spare yourself all this trouble and screeching as
if I were as deaf as a door-post; but this I'll tell you, by our laws
I cannot take your child till the third day from this day, and not then
if you can tell me my right name." Hereupon the green lady goes her
way, round the back of the pig-sty, and the good woman fell down in a
swoon where she stood.
That night she could not sleep for fretting, and the next day she could
do nothing but hug her baby, that she nearly squeezed the breath out
of it; but the second day she thought a walk would do her good, so
she went into the fir-wood I told you of. She walked on far among the
trees, with her baby in her arms, till she came to an old quarry hole
all over-grown with grass. Before she came close up to it she heard the
"bizzing" of a spinning-wheel and a voice singing, so she crept quietly
among the bushes and peeped down into the hole.
What should she see, but the green Fairy spinning away as fast as
possible and singing awhile--
"Little knows the good old dame
That Fittletetot is my name."
"Ah, ha!" laughed our good Woman, and she was fit to jump for joy, when
she thought how the green old Fairy would be cheated.
[Illustration: _The good Woman discovering the Fairy._]
She was a merry woman when there was nothing to weigh too heavily on
her heart, so she determined to have some sport with the Fairy when
she came the next day, as she little doubted she would. That night she
slept well, and found herself laughing in the morning when she woke.
When she saw the green Fairy coming up the hill, neither lazy nor lame
this time, she put the baby under her stool on which she sat so as to
hide it, and turning one leg over the other she put her elbow on her
knee, resting her head in her hand as if she were fretting.
Up came the old Fairy, and said, "You know what I have come for, so let
us waste no time." The good woman pretends to grieve more than ever,
and wringing her hands as she fell on her knees, "Good, kind Madam,"
she cried, "spare my only child, and take the old sow."
"The foul fiend take the sow," the Fairy said; "I came not here for
swine flesh. Now don't be troublesome, but give me the child at once."
"Oh! my good Lady," the good Woman again said, "leave my dear child and
take myself."
"What does the old jade mean?" the Fairy cried, this time in a passion.
"Why, you old fool, who do you think would have anything to do with the
like of you, you ugly old cat?"
This, I promise you, put the good dame's back up; for though she had
blear eyes, and a long red nose, she thought herself no less engaging
than the vainest; so up she jumped, and making a courtesy down to the
ground, she said--
"We cannot all be as beautiful as your own sweet self, and I might have
known that I should not be thought fit to tie even the shoes of the
high and mighty Princess Fittletetot."
The old Fairy could not have jumped higher if she had been blown up;
but down she came again, and roaring with rage ran down the hill,
followed by the laughter of the good dame of Kittleroopit.