hidden the cloth. He took it home, and at once set to work. Half of it
sufficed to make a beautiful dress for the thrush. There was a skirt,
and there was a jacket with sleeves in the latest pattern. A little of
the cloth was left over, and the tailor used it to make a pretty hat for
the thrush to put on her head.
Then she was indeed delighted, and felt there was little more to desire
in the world. She put on her skirt, and her jacket with fashionable
sleeves, and the little hat, and looked at her image in a woodland pool.
What she saw pleased her greatly. In fact, she became so vain that
nothing would do but she must show herself to the king.
[Illustration]
So she flew and flew and flew until she came to the king’s palace. Right
into the great hall she winged her way and perched on a peg that was
high on the wall and began to sing. The king and the queen and all the
courtiers were sitting down below. “Oh, look!” exclaimed the queen.
“There is a thrush in a jacket and skirt and a pretty hat!”
Everybody looked at the thrush singing on her peg, and clapped their
hands.
“Come here, little bird,” said the king, “and show the queen your pretty
clothes.”
The thrush felt highly flattered, and flew down on the table, and took
off her jacket to show the queen. After the queen had looked at it she
folded it up and put it in her pocket.
“Give me my jacket,” twittered the thrush. “I shall catch cold, and
besides, it is not proper for a lady to go about without a jacket.”
All the company laughed, and the king said, “You shall have your jacket,
Mistress Thrush, if you will come nearer.”
She approached the king close enough so he was able to make a sudden
grab and catch her.
“Let me go,” squeaked the thrush, struggling to get free. But the king
would not release her.
“Greedy king!” cried the thrush, “you ought to be ashamed to covet my
little jacket!”
That made the king angry, and he took a carving knife and chopped her to
little bits. While he was doing so the thrush kept exclaiming, “The king
snips and cuts like a tailor, but he is not so honest!”
When the king had finished chopping her up, he began to wash the pieces,
and each piece as he washed it called out, “The king scours and scrubs
like a washerwoman, but he is not so honest!”
As soon as the washing was done he put the pieces into a frying-pan and
began to fry them, and all the time they cried out, “The king is doing
the work of a cook, but he is not so honest!”
After the pieces were fried, the king ate them, but even that did not
silence the wronged thrush. She continually shouted: “I am inside of the
king. It is just like the inside of any other man, only not so honest!”
The king was like a walking musical box, and he did not like it, but it
was his own fault. No matter where he went, everyone heard the cries of
the thrush proclaiming that she was inside of the king, and that his
inside was just like that of other men, only not so honest. This caused
a good deal of gossip among the king’s subjects and resulted in his
being universally despised. At last he could stand it no longer. He sent
for his doctor and said the talking bird must be removed.
“That cannot be done without causing your death,” said the doctor.
“It will cause my death if it is not done,” declared the king, “for I
cannot endure being made a fool of.”
So the doctor had to remove the thrush, and, strange to say, the pieces
had united, and as soon as the bird was released she flew away. Her
beautiful clothes were all gone, but she did not regret that. She was
quite content in future to use cotton only to make a soft lining for her
nest, and never again had a desire to ape the ways of mankind.
As for the king, he died; and it was a good riddance. His son reigned in
his stead, and he remembered his father’s miserable death and kept all
his promises to men and beasts and birds.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE BEWITCHED BOTTLES
IN the good old days, when the fairies were more frequently seen than in
these unbelieving times, a farmer named Mick Purcell rented a few acres
of barren ground in southern Ireland, about three miles from Mallow, and
twelve from the city of Cork. Mick had a wife and children, and they
helped him all they could. That, however, was very little; for none of
the children were big enough to do much work, and his wife was kept busy
taking care of them, and milking the cow, boiling the potatoes, and
carrying the eggs to market. So, though Mick was never idle from morn
till night, it was by no means easy for them to make a living. Yet by
hook or by crook they contrived to get along until there came a bad
year. The oats were all spoiled that season, the chickens died of the
pip, and the pig got the measles so that when it was sold it brought
almost nothing.
Mick was in despair. The rent had long been due, and he addressed his
wife, saying, “Molly, what shall we do?”
“My dear,” said she, “what can you do but take the cow to the fair at
Cork and sell her? Saturday is fair day, and this is Thursday. You must
start tomorrow, that the poor beast may have a night’s rest there and be
at her best when you show her at the fair.”
“And what will we do when she’s gone?” asked Mick sorrowfully.
“Never a know I know, Mick,” she replied; “but sure I am that we will be
taken care of. You remember how it was when little Billy was sick, and
we had no medicine for him to take—that good doctor gentleman at
Ballyshin came riding and asking for a drink of milk; and he gave us two
shillings and sent things for Billy, and he gave me my breakfast when I
went to his house to ask a question—so he did. He came to see Billy
again and again, and never left off his goodness till the boy was quite
well.”
“Oh! you are always that way, Molly,” said Mick; “and I believe you are
right, after all. So I won’t be sorry for selling the cow, and I’ll take
her to Cork tomorrow. But before I go you must put a needle and thread
through my coat, for you know ’tis ripped under the arm.”
Molly told him he should have everything right; and about twelve o’clock
next day he started, while Molly stood in the doorway of their cabin and
called after him not to sell the cow except at the highest price. Mick
promised to do as she bid, and went his way along the road. As he drove
his cow through the little stream that crosses the highway and runs on
beside the old walls of Mourne Abbey he glanced toward the ruinous
towers.
“I’ve often heard there is great treasure buried under you,” said he.
“Oh! if I only had that money, it isn’t driving this cow I’d be now.
What a pity such a treasure should be there covered over with earth, and
many a one wanting it besides me! Well, if it be God’s will I’ll have
some money myself when I am coming back.”
So saying, he moved on after his beast. It was a fine day, and the sun
shone brightly on the walls of the old abbey, and all the country around
looked green and pleasant. Six miles farther on he came to the top of a
high hill, and just there a man overtook him and greeted him with a
“Good morrow.”
“Good morrow kindly,” said Mick, looking at the stranger, who was such a
little man that he might almost be called a dwarf. He had a wrinkled,
yellow face, and a sharp nose, red eyes, and white hair; and he was
muffled up in a big overcoat that came down to his heels. His eyes were
never quiet, but looked at everything, and they made Mick feel quite
cold when he met their glance. In truth, he did not much like the little
man’s company, and he drove his cow on faster, but the stranger kept up
with him. It seemed to Mick that his fellow-traveler did not walk like
other men, and that instead of putting one foot before the other he
glided over the rough road like a shadow, without noise and without
effort. Mick’s heart trembled within him, and he said a prayer to
himself, wishing he had not come that day, or that he did not have the
cow to take care of, so he might run away from the mysterious stranger.
In the midst of his fears he was again addressed by his companion, who
asked him where he was going with his cow.
“To the fair at Cork,” replied Mick, trembling at the shrill and
piercing tones of the stranger’s voice.
“Are you going to sell her?” inquired the little man.
“Why, for what else could I be taking her to the fair?” was Mick’s
response.
“Will you sell her to me?” said the stranger.
Mick started—he was afraid to have anything to do with the little man;
and yet he was more afraid to say, “No.” He hesitated, and then asked,
“What will you give for her?”
“I’ll give you this bottle,” answered the little man, pulling a bottle
from under his coat.
Mick looked at him and the bottle, and, in spite of his terror, could
not help laughing.
“Laugh if you will,” said the little man, “but I tell you this bottle is
worth more to you than all the money you can get for your cow in
Cork—aye, a thousand times over.”
Mick laughed again. “Why,” said he, “do you think I am such a fool as to
give my good cow for a bottle—and an empty one, too? Indeed, I won’t.”
“You had better give me the cow and take the bottle,” said the little
man. “You’ll be sorry if you don’t.”
“But what would Molly say?” muttered Mick. “I’d never hear the end of
it; and how would I pay the rent, and what would we all do without a
penny of money?”
“This bottle of mine is better to you than money,” the little man
affirmed. “Take it, and give me the cow. I ask you for the last time,
Mick Purcell.”
“How does he know my name?” thought Mick, with increased alarm.
“I have a regard for you, Mick Purcell,” the stranger continued.
“Therefore do I warn you that unless you make the exchange I have
proposed you will be sorry for it. How do you know but your cow may die
before you get to Cork?”
“God forbid!” exclaimed Mick.
“And how do you know,” the little man went on, “but there will be so
many cattle at the fair you will get a poor price? Or you might be
robbed when you are coming home. But why need I talk more to you when
you are determined to throw away your luck?”
“Oh, no! I would not throw away my luck, sir,” Mick affirmed hastily;
“and if I was sure the bottle was as good as you say, though I never
liked an empty bottle, I’d give you the cow for it.”
“I would not tell you a lie,” declared the stranger. “Here, take the
bottle, and when you get home do what I direct, exactly.”
Mick hesitated.
“Well, then,” said the little man sharply, “good-by, I can stay no
longer. Take the bottle and be rich; or refuse it, and beg for your
living, and see your children in poverty and your wife dying of want.
That is what will happen to you, Mick Purcell!” and the little man
grinned maliciously.
“Maybe ’tis true,” said Mick, still hesitating. He did not know what to
do; and yet he could hardly help believing the old man. The latter was
turning to go when Mick in a fit of desperation seized the bottle. “Take
the cow,” said he, “and if you are telling a lie, the curse of the poor
will be on you.”
“I care neither for your curses, nor for your blessings,” retorted the
little man. “I have spoken the truth, Mick Purcell, as you will surely
know tonight after you reach home, if you do what I tell you.”
“And what’s that?” inquired Mick.
“When you go into the house,” said the little man, “never mind if your
wife is angry over the bargain you have made. Be quiet yourself, and get
her to sweep the room, and to clear off the table and spread a clean
cloth over it. Then put the bottle on the floor, saying these words,
‘Bottle, do your duty,’ and you will see what will happen.”
“Is that all?” asked Mick.
“No more,” was the stranger’s answer. “Farewell, Mick Purcell. You are a
rich man.”
“God grant it!” said Mick, as the stranger went off driving the cow.
Mick now started toward home, but he had gone only a few paces when he
turned to have one more look at the purchaser of his cow. To his
surprise neither the little man nor the cow were to be seen. “The Lord
be between us and him!” exclaimed Mick. “That little man can’t belong to
this earth;” and Mick continued on his way muttering prayers and holding
fast the bottle.
“What would I do if it broke?” thought he; “but I’ll look out for that.”
So he put the bottle into his bosom and hurried on, anxious to prove the
virtues of his treasure, and at the same time a good deal troubled over
the reception he was likely to meet from his wife. He reached home in
the evening, still much perturbed between his doubts and hopes, and
surprised his wife sitting beside a turf fire burning in the big
fireplace.
“Oh, Mick! are you come back?” she cried. “Sure, you haven’t been all
the way to Cork! What has happened to you? Where is the cow? Did you
sell her? How much money did you get for her? What is the news?”
“Molly,” said he, “if you’ll give me time, I’ll tell you all that’s
happened. But I can’t tell you where the cow is.”
“You sold her on the way, did you?” said Molly; “and where’s the money?
How is—”
“Arrah! stop a while, Molly,” he interrupted, “and I’ll tell you all
about it.”
“What bottle is that under your waistcoat?” she asked, spying the neck
of it sticking out.
“Be easy, can’t you!” begged Mick, and he put the bottle on the table
and said, “That’s what I got for the cow.”
His wife was thunderstruck. “A bottle!” she ejaculated, “an empty
bottle, and nothing more?”
“Just an empty bottle,” Mick replied. “But—”
“And what good is it?” said Molly. “Oh, Mick! I never thought you were
such a fool; and how will we pay the rent? and how—”
“Now, Molly,” said Mick, “can’t you stop a bit and hearken to reason? An
old man overtook me on the big hill, half-way to Cork, and he made me
sell him the cow, and said this bottle which he gave me in exchange
would make me rich.”
“Make you rich!” cried Molly. “We’ll see what it will do for you,” and
she snatched it up from the table, intending to break it over his head.
But Mick caught it before it had time to descend, and, recalling the old
man’s advice to keep peaceable, he gently loosened his wife’s grasp, and
placed the bottle again in his bosom. Molly sat down and wept while Mick
told her his story with many a crossing and blessing between him and
harm. The marvel of it caused his wife’s doubts to vanish, for she had
as much faith in fairies as she had in the priest, who indeed never
discouraged her belief in them—maybe he believed in them himself. She
got up and began to sweep the earthen floor with a bunch of heath. That
done, she tidied up everything, set out the long table, and spread a
clean cloth on it. Mick then placed the bottle on the floor and said,
“Bottle, do your duty.”
“Look there! look there, mammy!” exclaimed the chubby eldest son, a boy
about six years old; and he sprang to his mother’s side and clung to her
skirts in terror with his eyes on the bottle.
Two tiny men were climbing out of it, and in a few moments they had
brought plates and other dishes, all of solid gold or silver, and put
them on the table, and the dishes contained a bountiful feast of the
choicest food that ever was seen. As soon as this task was finished, the
tiny men went into the bottle, which Mick then picked up and carefully
set on the mantel. Where the little men had gone he could not tell, for
the bottle seemed to be as empty as when he first received it.
[Illustration:
Two tiny men climbed out of the bottle
]
For some time Mick and his wife stood and gazed at the table in silent
bewilderment. They had never seen such dishes before and did not think
they could ever admire them enough. In fact, the sight of all this
splendor almost took away their appetites. But at length Molly said:
“Come and sit down, Mick, and try to eat a bit. Sure, you ought to be
hungry after such a good day’s work.”
“It’s plain the little old man told no lie about the bottle,” said Mick;
and he helped the children into seats around the table. They all made a
hearty meal, though they could not eat half the food that was before
them.
“Now,” said Molly, “I wonder if these fine things are ours to do as we
please with them, or if those two good little gentlemen in the bottle
will carry them away.”
They waited to see what would happen, but the little men remained in the
bottle, and at length Molly cleared the table and put away the dishes.
“Ah, Mick,” said she, “you’ll be a rich man yet, as the stranger who
took your cow foretold.”
Before they went to sleep that night they decided that they would sell
some of their fine tableware, and with the money it brought pay what
they owed, and rent more land. So the next day Mick went to Cork laden
with a number of the gold and silver dishes, which he sold for more
money than he had ever had in his hands before. He did not return on
foot, for he bought a horse and cart so that he was able to ride. In the
weeks that followed he increased his wealth from time to time by calling
forth the imps out of the bottle, and it was soon plain to everyone that
Mick was prospering. He and his wife did all they could to keep the
source of their good fortune a secret, but their landlord presently came
to Mick and asked him where he got all his money, for he knew very well
it was not from the farm.
Mick tried to put him off with excuses. This, however, would not do, and
the landlord was so persistent that finally Mick told him about the
bottle. The landlord offered Mick a great deal of money for it, but Mick
continued to refuse until the landlord said that in addition to the
money he would give him the farm he rented. Mick surrendered the bottle,
feeling that he was now so rich he never would be in want again. But he
was mistaken, for he and his family lived as if there was no end to
their fortune. They earned little and spent much. Their wealth melted
away, and at length they became so poor they had nothing left which they
could sell but one cow.
So Mick prepared to drive the cow to Cork fair and dispose of her. It
was hardly daybreak when he left home, and he walked on at a good pace
till he reached the big hill midway in his journey. The mists were
sleeping in the valleys and curling like smoke-wreaths on the brown
heath around him. Just beside the road, as he was going along, a lark
sprang from its grassy couch and ascended into the clear blue sky
pouring forth its joyous matin-song. While Mick was watching it he was
startled and rejoiced to hear the well-remembered voice of that same old
man who had accosted him here once before. “Well, Mick Purcell,” said
the stranger, “I told you that you would be a rich man; and you found
that I was right, did you not?”
“Indeed, sir, it was the truth you spoke, and no mistake,” replied Mick.
“But it’s not rich I am now. Have you another bottle? I need it as much
at present as when I first saw you. So, if you have one, sir, here is my
cow for it.”
“And here is a bottle,” responded the little man, taking it from an
inside pocket of his coat. “You know what to do with it.”
“Sure I do,” said Mick.
“Farewell,” said the strange old man as he turned to go.
“And good-by to you, sir,” said Mick. “May your shadow never grow less.
Good-by, sir, good-by.”
Mick wasted no time looking back to see what became of the little man
and the cow, but hastened homeward. As soon as he arrived he called out,
“Molly, Molly! I have another bottle!”
“Have you?” said she, laughing joyfully. “Why, then, you’re a lucky man,
Mick Purcell, that’s what you are.”
She quickly put everything in order and set forth the table with a clean
spread on it. Then Mick placed the bottle on the floor, and said, with a
tone of exultation in his voice, “Bottle, do your duty.”
In a twinkling, two big, stout men with heavy cudgels issued from the
bottle (I do not know how there was room for them in it) and belabored
Mick and Molly and the rest of the family, including the dog and the
cat, till they sank bruised and faint to the floor. This result seemed
to satisfy the two men, and they returned to the bottle. When Mick
recovered sufficiently to get on his feet he stood and thought and
thought. At length he helped up his wife and children. But he left them
to get over their fright as best they could while he took the bottle
under his coat and went off to call on his landlord.
The landlord’s mansion was full of company when he got there, and they
were just sitting down to a magnificent feast provided by the imps of
the bottle which Mick formerly owned. He sent in word by a servant that
he wanted to speak with the master of the house on urgent business.
Pretty soon the landlord came out. “Well, what do you want now?” he
asked roughly.
“Nothing, sir, only to tell you that I have another bottle,” Mick
answered.
“Oho!” said the landlord, softening his manner and rubbing his hands
together gleefully, “and is it as good as the first?”
“Yes, sir, and better,” declared Mick. “If you like, I will show it to
you before all the ladies and gentlemen in your dining-hall.”
“Come along then,” was the landlord’s response, “and if I’m satisfied
with what you show, I will pay a good round price for the bottle.”
He conducted his former tenant into the great hall, where Mick was
interested to behold the other bottle standing high up on a shelf.
“Now,” said the landlord, “let us see what your bottle can do.”
Mick set it on the floor and said, “Bottle, do your duty.”
Immediately out came the two stout men with their big clubs, and knocked
the landlord off his feet. Then they assailed the ladies and gentlemen,
his guests, and the servants, also, and there was running and sprawling
and kicking and shrieking. Cups and plates and salvers were scattered
about in all directions, and the landlord began to call out, “Mick
Purcell, stop those two demons, or I’ll have you hanged!”
“No, no!” said Mick, “they never will be stopped by me till I get that
bottle I used to own, which I see high up on the shelf there.”
“Give it to him, give it to him before we are all killed!” beseeched the
battered ladies and gentlemen.
“Take it, and make haste,” cried the landlord.
So Mick climbed up and got the bottle that had been the source of his
former good fortune. By this time the men with the cudgels had pounded
the company to their satisfaction. They retired to their bottle, and off
went Mick with both bottles in his bosom.
As the years passed he became richer and richer, and when, in his old
age, his servants broke the bottles while fighting at a wake he was
careful not to squander his riches as he had previously. So he and his
wife lived happily to the end of their days.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A PEACE MEETING
ONCE upon a time there was a big pasture in which were kept many horses
and cattle and pigs. The pigs were very greedy, and the horses and
cattle were not on good terms with them. At last one of the horses said:
“Let us have a peace meeting and invite to it all the animals that feed
in this pasture. Perhaps it will enable us to settle our quarrels with
the pigs, and establish more friendly relations with them.”
“Yes,” said a cow, “I wish we might have peace with those pigs. They are
always taking our food, drinking our water, and rooting up our nice,
green grass. But it is also true that our own calves and colts have hurt
many of the young pigs. This trouble and fighting are not right, and we
know that our master wishes us to dwell peaceably together.”
So it was agreed that there should be a peace meeting, and a small and
gentle cow was sent to invite the pigs to attend. As she approached the
pigs’ yard, the young pigs jumped up and grunted: “What are you coming
here for? Do you want to fight?”
“No, I don’t want to fight,” responded the cow. “I was sent here to
invite you to a peace meeting. Will you come?”
The pigs talked the matter over, and one of the old pigs said: “Maybe
they will have some good things for us to eat at this meeting. I think
we should go.”
That decided them, and they told the cow they would be present at the
meeting.
The day for the gathering came, and the pigs were among the first at the
appointed place. Presently, when all was ready, the leader of the cows
addressed the pigs, saying: “We think there should be no more quarrels
in this pasture. Will you agree not to spoil our grass or eat our food?
If so, we will promise that none of the horses and cows, old or young,
shall hurt your children, and all the former enmity shall henceforth be
forgotten.”