quick! Throw your coat over it or it will be away."
So the Goodman threw his coat right on the top of the little bannock,
and almost managed to smother it; but it struggled bravely, and got out,
breathless and hot, from under it. Then it ran out into the grey light
again, for night was beginning to fall, and the Goodman ran out after
it, without his coat. He chased it and chased it through the stackyard
and across a field, and in amongst a fine patch of whins. Then he lost
it; and, as he was feeling cold without his coat, he went home.
As for the poor little bannock, it thought that it would creep under a
whin bush and lie there till morning, but it was so dark that it never
saw that there was a fox's hole there. So it fell down the fox's hole,
and the fox was very glad to see it, for he had had no food for two
days.
"Oh, welcome, welcome," he cried; and he snapped it through the middle
with his teeth, and that was the end of the poor wee bannock.
And if a moral be wanted for this tale, here it is: That people should
never be too uplifted or too cast down over anything, for all the good
folk in the story thought that they were going to get the bannock, and,
lo and behold! the fox got it after all.
Footnotes:
[Footnote 1: Separating the lint from the stalk.]
[Footnote 2: Combing.]
THE ELFIN KNIGHT
There is a lone moor in Scotland, which, in times past, was said to be
haunted by an Elfin Knight. This Knight was only seen at rare intervals,
once in every seven years or so, but the fear of him lay on all the
country round, for every now and then someone would set out to cross the
moor and would never be heard of again.
And although men might search every inch of the ground, no trace of him
would be found, and with a thrill of horror the searching party would go
home again, shaking their heads and whispering to one another that he
had fallen into the hands of the dreaded Knight.
So, as a rule, the moor was deserted, for nobody dare pass that way,
much less live there; and by and by it became the haunt of all sorts of
wild animals, which made their lairs there, as they found that they
never were disturbed by mortal huntsmen.
Now in that same region lived two young earls, Earl St. Clair and Earl
Gregory, who were such friends that they rode, and hunted, and fought
together, if need be.
And as they were both very fond of the chase, Earl Gregory suggested one
day that they should go a-hunting on the haunted moor, in spite of the
Elfin King.
"Certes, I hardly believe in him at all," cried the young man, with a
laugh. "Methinks 'tis but an old wife's tale to frighten the bairns
withal, lest they go straying amongst the heather and lose themselves.
And 'tis pity that such fine sport should be lost because we--two
bearded men--pay heed to such gossip."
But Earl St. Clair looked grave. "'Tis ill meddling with unchancy
things," he answered, "and 'tis no bairn's tale that travellers have set
out to cross that moor who have vanished bodily, and never mair been
heard of; but it is, as thou sayest, a pity that so much good sport be
lost, all because an Elfin Knight choosest to claim the land as his, and
make us mortals pay toll for the privilege of planting a foot upon it.
"I have heard tell, however, that one is safe from any power that the
Knight may have if one wearest the Sign of the Blessed Trinity. So let
us bind That on our arm and ride forth without fear."
Sir Gregory burst into a loud laugh at these words. "Dost thou think
that I am one of the bairns," he said, "'first to be frightened by an
idle tale, and then to think that a leaf of clover will protect me? No,
no, carry that Sign if thou wilt; I will trust to my good bow and
arrow."
But Earl St. Clair did not heed his companion's words, for he remembered
how his mother had told him, when he was a little lad at her knee that
whoso carried the Sign of the Blessed Trinity need never fear any spell
that might be thrown over him by Warlock or Witch, Elf or Demon.
So he went out to the meadow and plucked a leaf of clover, which he
bound on his arm with a silken scarf; then he mounted his horse and rode
with Earl Gregory to the desolate and lonely moorland.
For some hours all went well; and in the heat of the chase the young men
forgot their fears. Then suddenly both of them reined in their steeds
and sat gazing in front of them with affrighted faces.
For a horseman had crossed their track, and they both would fain have
known who he was and whence he came.
"By my troth, but he rideth in haste, whoever he may be," said Earl
Gregory at last, "and tho' I always thought that no steed on earth could
match mine for swiftness, I reckon that for every league that mine
goeth, his would go seven. Let us follow him, and see from what part of
the world he cometh."
"The Lord forbid that thou shouldst stir thy horse's feet to follow
him," said Earl St. Clair devoutly. "Why, man, 'tis the Elfin Knight!
Canst thou not see that he doth not ride on the solid ground, but flieth
through the air, and that, although he rideth on what seemeth a mortal
steed, he is really craried by mighty pinions, which cleave the air like
those of a bird? Follow him forsooth! It will be an evil day for thee
when thou seekest to do that."
But Earl St. Clair forgot that he carried a Talisman which his companion
lacked, that enabled him to see things as they really were, while the
other's eyes were holden, and he was startled and amazed when Earl
Gregory said sharply, "Thy mind hath gone mad over this Elfin King. I
tell thee he who passed was a goodly Knight, clad in a green vesture,
and riding on a great black jennet. And because I love a gallant
horseman, and would fain learn his name and degree, I will follow him
till I find him, even if it be at the world's end."
And without another word he put spurs to his horse and galloped off in
the direction which the mysterious stranger had taken, leaving Earl St.
Clair alone upon the moorland, his fingers touching the sacred Sign and
his trembling lips muttering prayers for protection.
For he knew that his friend had been bewitched, and he made up his mind,
brave gentleman that he was, that he would follow him to the world's
end, if need be, and try to deliver him from the spell that had been
cast over him.
Meanwhile Earl Gregory rode on and on, ever following in the wake of the
Knight in green, over moor, and burn, and moss, till he came to the
most desolate region that he had ever been in in his life; where the
wind blew cold, as if from snow-fields, and where the hoar-frost lay
thick and white on the withered grass at his feet.
And there, in front of him, was a sight from which mortal man might well
shrink back in awe and dread. For he saw an enormous Ring marked out on
the ground, inside of which the grass, instead of being withered and
frozen, was lush, and rank, and green, where hundreds of shadowy Elfin
figures were dancing, clad in loose transparent robes of dull blue,
which seemed to curl and twist round their wearers like snaky wreaths of
smoke.
These weird Goblins were shouting and singing as they danced, and waving
their arms above their heads, and throwing themselves about on the
ground, for all the world as if they had gone mad; and when they saw
Earl Gregory halt on his horse just outside the Ring they beckoned to
him with their skinny fingers.
"Come hither, come hither," they shouted; "come tread a measure with us,
and afterwards we will drink to thee out of our Monarch's loving cup."
And, strange as it may seem, the spell that had been cast over the young
Earl was so powerful that, in spite of his fear, he felt that he must
obey the eldrich summons, and he threw his bridle on his horse's neck
and prepared to join them.
But just then an old and grizzled Goblin stepped out from among his
companions and approached him.
Apparently he dare not leave the charmed Circle, for he stopped at the
edge of it; then, stooping down and pretending to pick up something, he
whispered in a hoarse whisper:
"I know not whom thou art, nor from whence thou comest, Sir Knight, but
if thou lovest thy life, see to it that thou comest not within this
Ring, nor joinest with us in our feast. Else wilt thou be for ever
undone."
But Earl Gregory only laughed. "I vowed that I would follow the Green
Knight," he replied, "and I will carry out my vow, even if the venture
leadeth me close to the nethermost world."
And with these words he stepped over the edge of the Circle, right in
amongst the ghostly dancers.
At his coming they shouted louder than ever, and danced more madly, and
sang more lustily; then, all at once, a silence fell upon them, and they
parted into two companies, leaving a way through their midst, up which
they signed to the Earl to pass.
He walked through their ranks till he came to the middle of the Circle;
and there, seated at a table of red marble, was the Knight whom he had
come so far to seek, clad in his grass-green robes. And before him, on
the table, stood a wondrous goblet, fashioned from an emerald, and set
round the rim with blood-red rubies.
And this cup was filled with heather ale, which foamed up over the brim;
and when the Knight saw Sir Gregory, he lifted it from the table, and
handed it to him with a stately bow, and Sir Gregory, being very
thirsty, drank.
And as he drank he noticed that the ale in the goblet never grew less,
but ever foamed up to the edge; and for the first time his heart misgave
him, and he wished that he had never set out on this strange adventure.
But, alas! the time for regrets had passed, for already a strange
numbness was stealing over his limbs, and a chill pallor was creeping
over his face, and before he could utter a single cry for help the
goblet dropped from his nerveless fingers, and he fell down before the
Elfin King like a dead man.
Then a great shout of triumph went up from all the company; for if there
was one thing which filled their hearts with joy, it was to entice some
unwary mortal into their Ring and throw their uncanny spell over him, so
that he must needs spend long years in their company.
But soon their shouts of triumphs began to die away, and they muttered
and whispered to each other with looks of something like fear on their
faces.
For their keen ears heard a sound which filled their hearts with dread.
It was the sound of human footsteps, which were so free and untrammelled
that they knew at once that the stranger, whoever he was, was as yet
untouched by any charm. And if this were so he might work them ill, and
rescue their captive from them.
And what they dreaded was true; for it was the brave Earl St. Clair who
approached, fearless and strong because of the Holy Sign he bore.
And as soon as he saw the charmed Ring and the eldrich dancers, he was
about to step over its magic border, when the little grizzled Goblin who
had whispered to Earl Gregory, came and whispered to him also.
"Alas! alas!" he exclaimed, with a look of sorrow on his wrinkled face,
"hast thou come, as thy companion came, to pay thy toll of years to the
Elfin King? Oh! if thou hast wife or child behind thee, I beseech thee,
by all that thou holdest sacred, to turn back ere it be too late."
"Who art thou, and from whence hast thou come?" asked the Earl, looking
kindly down at the little creature in front of him.
"I came from the country that thou hast come from," wailed the Goblin.
"For I was once a mortal man, even as thou. But I set out over the
enchanted moor, and the Elfin King appeared in the guise of a beauteous
Knight, and he looked so brave, and noble, and generous that I followed
him hither, and drank of his heather ale, and now I am doomed to bide
here till seven long years be spent.
"As for thy friend, Sir Earl, he, too, hath drunk of the accursed
draught, and he now lieth as dead at our lawful Monarch's feet. He will
wake up, 'tis true, but it will be in such a guise as I wear, and to the
bondage with which I am bound."
"Is there naught that I can do to rescue him!" cried Earl St. Clair
eagerly, "ere he taketh on him the Elfin shape? I have no fear of the
spell of his cruel captor, for I bear the Sign of One Who is stronger
than he. Speak speedily, little man, for time presseth."
"There is something that thou couldst do, Sir Earl," whispered the
Goblin, "but to essay it were a desperate attempt. For if thou failest,
then could not even the Power of the Blessed Sign save thee."
"And what is that?" asked the Earl impatiently.
"Thou must remain motionless," answered the old man, "in the cold and
frost till dawn break and the hour cometh when they sing Matins in the
Holy Church. Then must thou walk slowly nine times round the edge of the
enchanted Circle, and after that thou must walk boldly across it to the
red marble table where sits the Elfin King. On it thou wilt see an
emerald goblet studded with rubies and filled with heather ale. That
must thou secure and carry away; but whilst thou art doing so let no
word cross thy lips. For this enchanted ground whereon we dance may look
solid to mortal eyes, but in reality it is not so. 'Tis but a quaking
bog, and under it is a great lake, wherein dwelleth a fearsome Monster,
and if thou so much as utter a word while thy foot resteth upon it, thou
wilt fall through the bog and perish in the waters beneath."
[Illustration: Two coal-black Ravens Rose in the Air]
So saying the Grisly Goblin stepped back among his companions, leaving
Earl St. Clair standing alone on the outskirts of the charmed Ring.
There he waited, shivering with cold, through the long, dark hours, till
the grey dawn began to break over the hill tops, and, with its coming,
the Elfin forms before him seemed to dwindle and fade away.
And at the hour when the sound of the Matin Bell came softly pealing
from across the moor, he began his solemn walk. Round and round the Ring
he paced, keeping steadily on his way, although loud murmurs of anger,
like distant thunder, rose from the Elfin Shades, and even the very
ground seemed to heave and quiver, as if it would shake this bold
intruder from its surface.
But through the power of the Blessed Sign on his arm Earl St. Clair went
on unhurt.
When he had finished pacing round the Ring he stepped boldly on to the
enchanted ground, and walked across it; and what was his astonishment to
find that all the ghostly Elves and Goblins whom he had seen, were lying
frozen into tiny blocks of ice, so that he was sore put to it to walk
amongst them without treading upon them.
And as he approached the marble table the very hairs rose on his head at
the sight of the Elfin King sitting behind it, stiff and stark like his
followers; while in front of him lay the form of Earl Gregory, who had
shared the same fate.
Nothing stirred, save two coal-black ravens, who sat, one on each side
of the table, as if to guard the emerald goblet, flapping their wings,
and croaking hoarsely.
When Earl St. Clair lifted the precious cup, they rose in the air and
circled round his head, screaming with rage, and threatening to dash it
from his hands with their claws; while the frozen Elves, and even their
mighty King himself stirred in their sleep, and half sat up, as if to
lay hands on this presumptuous intruder. But the Power of the Holy Sign
restrained them, else had Earl St. Clair been foiled in his quest.
As he retraced his steps, awesome and terrible were the sounds that he
heard around him. The ravens shrieked, and the frozen Goblins screamed;
and up from the hidden lake below came the sound of the deep breathing
of the awful Monster who was lurking there, eager for prey.
But the brave Earl heeded none of these things, but kept steadily
onwards, trusting in the Might of the Sign he bore. And it carried him
safely through all the dangers; and just as the sound of the Matin Bell
was dying away in the morning air he stepped on to solid ground once
more, and flung the enchanted goblet from him.
And lo! every one of the frozen Elves vanished, along with their King
and his marble table, and nothing was left on the rank green grass save
Earl Gregory, who slowly woke from his enchanted slumber, and stretched
himself, and stood up, shaking in every limb. He gazed vaguely round
him, as if he scarce remembered where he was.
And when, after Earl St. Clair had run to him and had held him in his
arms till his senses returned and the warm blood coursed through his
veins, the two friends returned to the spot where Earl St. Clair had
thrown down the wondrous goblet, they found nothing but a piece of rough
grey whinstone, with a drop of dew hidden in a little crevice which was
hollowed in its side.
[Illustration]
WHAT TO SAY TO THE NEW MUNE
New Mune, true Mune,
Tell unto me,
If my ane true love
He will marry me.
If he marry me in haste,
Let me see his bonny face;
If he marry me betide,
Let me see his bonnie side;
Gin he marry na me ava',
Turn his back and gae awa.'
HABETROT THE SPINSTRESS
In byegone days, in an old farmhouse which stood by a river, there lived
a beautiful girl called Maisie. She was tall and straight, with auburn
hair and blue eyes, and she was the prettiest girl in all the valley.
And one would have thought that she would have been the pride of her
mother's heart.
But, instead of this, her mother used to sigh and shake her head
whenever she looked at her. And why?
Because, in those days, all men were sensible; and instead of looking
out for pretty girls to be their wives, they looked out for girls who
could cook and spin, and who gave promise of becoming notable
housewives.
Maisie's mother had been an industrious spinster; but, alas! to her sore
grief and disappointment, her daughter did not take after her.
The girl loved to be out of doors, chasing butterflies and plucking wild
flowers, far better than sitting at her spinning-wheel. So when her
mother saw one after another of Maisie's companions, who were not nearly
so pretty as she was, getting rich husbands, she sighed and said:
"Woe's me, child, for methinks no brave wooer will ever pause at our
door while they see thee so idle and thoughtless." But Maisie only
laughed.
At last her mother grew really angry, and one bright Spring morning she
laid down three heads of lint on the table, saying sharply, "I will have
no more of this dallying. People will say that it is my blame that no
wooer comes to seek thee. I cannot have thee left on my hands to be
laughed at, as the idle maid who would not marry. So now thou must work;
and if thou hast not these heads of lint spun into seven hanks of thread
in three days, I will e'en speak to the Mother at St. Mary's Convent,
and thou wilt go there and learn to be a nun."
Now, though Maisie was an idle girl, she had no wish to be shut up in a
nunnery; so she tried not to think of the sunshine outside, but sat down
soberly with her distaff.
But, alas! she was so little accustomed to work that she made but slow
progress; and although she sat at the spinning-wheel all day, and never
once went out of doors, she found at night that she had only spun half a
hank of yarn.
The next day it was even worse, for her arms ached so much she could
only work very slowly. That night she cried herself to sleep; and next
morning, seeing that it was quite hopeless to expect to get her task
finished, she threw down her distaff in despair, and ran out of doors.
Near the house was a deep dell, through which ran a tiny stream. Maisie
loved this dell, the flowers grew so abundantly there.
This morning she ran down to the edge of the stream, and seated herself
on a large stone. It was a glorious morning, the hazel trees were newly
covered with leaves, and the branches nodded over her head, and showed
like delicate tracery against the blue sky. The primroses and
sweet-scented violets peeped out from among the grass, and a little
water wagtail came and perched on a stone in the middle of the stream,
and bobbed up and down, till it seemed as if he were nodding to Maisie,
and as if he were trying to say to her, "Never mind, cheer up."
But the poor girl was in no mood that morning to enjoy the flowers and
the birds. Instead of watching them, as she generally did, she hid her
face in her hands, and wondered what would become of her. She rocked
herself to and fro, as she thought how terrible it would be if her
mother fulfilled her threat and shut her up in the Convent of St. Mary,
with the grave, solemn-faced sisters, who seemed as if they had
completely forgotten what it was like to be young, and run about in the
sunshine, and laugh, and pick the fresh Spring flowers.
"Oh, I could not do it, I could not do it," she cried at last. "It would
kill me to be a nun."
"And who wants to make a pretty wench like thee into a nun?" asked a
queer, cracked voice quite close to her.
Maisie jumped up, and stood staring in front of her as if she had been
moonstruck. For, just across the stream from where she had been sitting,
there was a curious boulder, with a round hole in the middle of it--for
all the world like a big apple with the core taken out.
[Illustration: Seated on this stone was the queerest Little old Woman.]
Maisie knew it well; she had often sat upon it, and wondered how the
funny hole came to be there.
It was no wonder that she stared, for, seated on this stone, was the
queerest little old woman that she had ever seen in her life. Indeed,
had it not been for her silver hair, and the white mutch with the big
frill that she wore on her head, Maisie would have taken her for a
little girl, she wore such a very short skirt, only reaching down to her
knees.
Her face, inside the frill of her cap, was round, and her cheeks were
rosy, and she had little black eyes, which twinkled merrily as she
looked at the startled maiden. On her shoulders was a black and white
checked shawl, and on her legs, which she dangled over the edge of the
boulder, she wore black silk stockings and the neatest little shoes,
with great silver buckles.
In fact, she would have been quite a pretty old lady had it not been for
her lips, which were very long and very thick, and made her look quite
ugly in spite of her rosy cheeks and black eyes. Maisie stood and looked
at her for such a long time in silence that she repeated her question.
"And who wants to make a pretty wench like thee into a nun? More likely
that some gallant gentleman should want to make a bride of thee."
"Oh, no," answered Maisie, "my mother says no gentleman would look at me
because I cannot spin."
"Nonsense," said the tiny woman. "Spinning is all very well for old
folks like me--my lips, as thou seest, are long and ugly because I have
spun so much, for I always wet my fingers with them, the easier to draw
the thread from the distaff. No, no, take care of thy beauty, child; do
not waste it over the spinning-wheel, nor yet in a nunnery."
"If my mother only thought as thou dost," replied the girl sadly; and,
encouraged by the old woman's kindly face, she told her the whole story.
"Well," said the old Dame, "I do not like to see pretty girls weep; what
if I were able to help thee, and spin the lint for thee?"
Maisie thought that this offer was too good to be true; but her new
friend bade her run home and fetch the lint; and I need not tell you
that she required no second bidding.
When she returned she handed the bundle to the little lady, and was
about to ask her where she should meet her in order to get the thread
from her when it was spun, when a sudden noise behind her made her look
round.
She saw nothing; but what was her horror and surprise when she turned
back again, to find that the old woman had vanished entirely, lint and
all.
She rubbed her eyes, and looked all round, but she was nowhere to be
seen. The girl was utterly bewildered. She wondered if she could have
been dreaming, but no that could not be, there were her footprints
leading up the bank and down again, where she had gone for the lint, and
brought it back, and there was the mark of her foot, wet with dew, on a
stone in the middle of the stream, where she had stood when she had
handed the lint up to the mysterious little stranger.
What was she to do now? What would her mother say when, in addition to
not having finished the task that had been given her, she had to confess
to having lost the greater part of the lint also? She ran up and down
the little dell, hunting amongst the bushes, and peeping into every nook
and cranny of the bank where the little old woman might have hidden
herself. It was all in vain; and at last, tired out with the search, she
sat down on the stone once more, and presently fell fast asleep.