together, they made such a noise, that a squad of fairy policemen,
dressed in club moss and armed with pistils, was sent to warn them not
to raise their voices too high; lest the farmers, especially those
that were kind to the fairies, should be awakened, and feel in bad
humor.
So the knot of learned fairies had a quiet time to talk, and, when
able to hear their own words, the harper, who was very learned,
answered their questions about Queen Mab as follows:
"Well, you know the famous children's story book, in which mortals
read about us, and which they say they enjoy so much, is named
Mabinogion, that is, The Young Folks' Treasury of Cymric Stories."
"It is well named," said another fairy savant, "since Queen Mab is the
only fairy that waits on men. She inspires their dreams, when these
are born in their brains."
The talk now turned on Puck, who was to be the president of the
meeting. They were expected to show much dignity in his presence, but
some feared he would, as usual, play his pranks. Before he arrived in
his chariot, which was drawn by dragon flies, some of his neighbors
that lived in the valley near by chatted about him, until the gossip
became quite personal. Just for the fun of it, and the amusement of
the crowd, they wanted Puck to give an exhibition, off-hand, of all
his very varied accomplishments for he could beat all rivals in his
special variety, or as musicians say, his repertoire.
"No. 'Twould be too much like a Merry Andrew's or a Buffoon's
sideshow, where the freaks of all sorts are gathered, such as they
have at those county fairs, which the mortals get up, to which are
gathered great crowds. The charge of admission is a sixpence. I vote
'no.'"
"Well, for the very reason that Puck can beat the rest of us at spells
and transformations, I should like to see him do for us as many stunts
as he can. I've heard from a mortal, named Shakespeare, that, in one
performance, Puck could be a horse, a hound, a hog, a bear without any
head, and even kindle himself into a fire; while his vocal powers, as
we know, are endless. He can neigh, bark, grunt, roar, and even burn
up things. Now, I should like to see the fairy that could beat him at
tricks. It was Puck himself, who told the world that he was in the
habit of doing all these things, and I want to see whether he was
boasting."
"Tut, tut, don't talk that way, about our king," said a fourth fairy.
All this was only chaff and fun, for all the fairies were in good
humor. They were only talking, to fill up the interval until the music
began.
Now the canny Welsh fairies had learned the trick of catching
farthings, pennies and sixpences from the folks who have more
curiosity in them than even fairies do. These human beings, cunning
fellows that they are, let the curtain fall on a show, just at the
most interesting part. Then they tell you to come next day and find
out what is to happen. Or, as they say in a story paper, "to be
continued in our next."
Or, worse than all, the story teller stops, at some very exciting
episode, and then passes the hat or collection-box around, to get the
copper or silver of his listeners, before he will go on.
This time, however, it was Puck himself who came forward and declared
that, unless everyone of the fairies would promise to attend the next
meeting, there should be no music. Now a meeting of the Welshery,
whether fairies or human, without music was a thing not to be thought
of. So, although at first some fairies grumbled and held back, and
were quite sulky about it, even muttering other grumpy words, they at
last all agreed, and Puck sent for the fiddler to make music for the
dance.
XVI
KING ARTHUR'S CAVE
In our time, every boy and girl knows about the nuts and blossoms, the
twigs and the hedges, the roots and the leaf of the common hazel bush,
and everybody has heard of the witch hazel. In old days they made use
of the forked branches of the hazel as a divining rod. With this, they
believed that they could divine, or find out the presence of treasures
of gold and silver, deep down in the earth, and hidden from human
eyes.
And, what boy or girl has never played the game, and sung the ditty,
"London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down," even
though nobody now living ever saw it fall?
Now, our story is about a hazel rod, a Welshman on London Bridge,
treasures in a cave, and what happened because of these.
It was in the days when London Bridge was not, as we see it to-day, a
massive structure of stone and iron, able to bear up hundreds of cars,
wagons, horses and people, and lighted at night with electric bulbs.
No, when this Welshman visited London, the bridge had a line of shops
on both sides of the passage way, and reaching from end to end.
Taffy was the name of this fellow from Denbigh, in Wales, and he was a
drover. He had brought, all the way from one of the richest of the
Welsh provinces, a great drove of Black Welsh cattle, such as were in
steady demand by Englishmen, who have always been lovers of roast
beef. Escaping all the risks of cattle thieves, rustlers, and
highwaymen, he had sold his beeves at a good price; so that his
pockets were now fairly bulging out with gold coins, and yet this
fellow wanted more. But first, before going home, he would see the
sights of the great city, which then contained about a hundred
thousand people.
While he was handling some things in a shop, to decide what he should
take home to his wife, his three daughters and his two little boys, he
noticed a man looking intently, not at him, but at his stick. After a
while, the stranger came up to him and asked him where he came from.
Now Taffy was not very refined in his manners, and he thought it none
of the fellow's business. He was very surly and made reply in a gruff
voice.
"I come from my own country."
The stranger did not get angry, but in a polite tone made answer:
"Don't be offended at my question. Tell me where you cut that hazel
stick, and I'll make it to your advantage, if you will take my
advice."
Even yet Taffy was gruff and suspicious.
"What business is it of yours, where I cut my hazel stick?" he
answered.
"Well it may matter a good deal to you, if you will tell me. For, if
you remember the place, and can lead me to it, I'll make you a rich
man, for near that spot lies a great treasure."
Taffy was not much of a thinker, apart from matters concerning cattle,
and his brain worked slowly! He was sorely puzzled. Here was a wizard,
who could make him rich, and he did so love to jingle gold in his
pockets. But then he was superstitious. He feared that this sorcerer
derived all his uncanny knowledge from demons, and Taffy, being rather
much of a sinner, feared these very much. Meanwhile, his new
acquaintance kept on persuading him.
Finally Taffy yielded and the two went on together to Wales.
Now in this country, there are many stones placed in position, showing
they were not there by accident, but were reared by men, to mark some
old battle, or famous event. And for this, rough stone work, no
country, unless it be Korea or China, is more famous than Wales.
On reaching one called the Fortress Rock, Taffy pointed to an old
hazel root, and said to his companion:
"There! From that stock, I cut my hazel stick. I am sure of it."
The sorcerer looked at Taffy to read his face, and to be certain that
he was telling the truth. Then he said:
"Bring shovels and we'll both dig."
These having been brought, the two began to work until the
perspiration stood out in drops on their foreheads. First the sod and
rooty stuff, and then down around the gravelly mass below, they plied
their digging tools. Taffy was not used to such toil, and his muscles
were soon weary. But, urged on by visions of gold, he kept bravely at
his task.
At last, when ready to drop from fatigue, he heard his companion say:
"We've struck it!"
A few shovelfuls more laid bare a broad flat stone. This they pried
up, but it required all their strength to lift and stand it on edge.
Just below, they saw a flight of steps. They were slippery with wet
and they looked very old, as if worn, ages ago, by many feet passing
up and down them.
Taffy shrunk back, as a draught of the close, dead air struck his
nostrils.
"Come on, and don't be afraid. I'm going to make you rich," said the
sorcerer.
At this, Taffy's eyes glistened, and he followed on down the steps,
without saying a word. At the bottom of the descent, they entered a
narrow passage, and finally came to a door.
"Now, I'll ask you. Are you brave, and will you come in with me, if I
open this door?"
By this time, Taffy was so eager for treasure, that he spoke up at
once.
"I'm not afraid. Open the door."
The sorcerer gave a jerk and the door flew open. What a sight!
There, in the faint, red light, Taffy discerned a great cave. Lying on
the floor were hundreds of armed men, but motionless and apparently
sound asleep. Little spangles of light were reflected from swords,
spears, round shields, and burnished helmets. All these seemed of very
ancient pattern. But immediately in front of them was a bell. Taffy
felt some curiosity to tap it. Would the sleeping host of men then
rise up?
Just then, the sorcerer, speaking with a menacing gesture, and in a
harsh tone, said:
"Do not touch that bell, or it's all up with us both."
Moving carefully, so as not to trip, or to stumble over the sleeping
soldiers, they went on, and Taffy, stopping and looking up beheld
before him a great round table. Many warriors were sitting at it.
Their splendid gold inlaid armor, glittering helmets and noble faces
showed that they were no common men. Yet Taffy could see only a few of
the faces, for all had their heads more or less bent down, as if sound
asleep, though sword and spear were near at hand, ready to be grasped
in a moment.
Outshining all, was a golden throne at the farther end of the table
and on it sat a king. He was of imposing stature, and august presence.
Upon his head was a crown, on which were inlaid or set precious
stones. These shone by their own light, sending out rays so brilliant
that they dazzled Taffy, who had never seen anything like them. The
king held in his right hand a mighty sword. It had a history and the
name of it was Excalibur. In Arthur's hand, it was almost part of his
own soul. Its hilt and handle were of finely chased gold, richly
studded with gems. Yet his head, too, was bent in deep sleep, as if
only thunder could wake him.
"Are they all, everyone, asleep?" asked Taffy.
"Each and all," was the answer.
"When did they fall asleep?" asked the drover.
"Over a thousand years ago," answered the sorcerer.
"Tell me who they are, and why here," asked Taffy.
"They are King Arthur's trusty warriors. They are waiting for the hour
to come, when they shall rise up and destroy the enemies of the Cymry,
and once again possess the whole island of Britain, as in the early
ages, before the Saxons came."
"And who are those sitting around the table?" asked Taffy.
The sorcerer seemed tired of answering questions, but he replied,
giving the name of each knight, and also that of his father, as if he
were a Welshman himself; but at this, Taffy grew impatient, feeling as
if a book of genealogy had been hurled at him.
Most impolitely, he interrupted his companion and cried out:
"And who is that on the throne?"
The sorcerer looked as if he was vexed, and felt insulted, but he
answered:
"It's King Arthur himself, with Excalibur, his famous sword, in his
hand."
This was snapped out, as if the sorcerer was disgusted at the
interruption of his genealogy, and he shut his mouth tight as if he
would answer no more questions, for such an impolite fellow.
Seizing Taffy by the hand, he led him into what was the storehouse of
the cave. There lay heaps upon heaps of yellow gold. Both men stuffed
their pockets, belt bags, and the inside of their clothes, with all
they could load in.
"Now we had better get out, for it is time to go," said the sorcerer
and he led the way towards the cave door.
But as Taffy passed back, and along the hall, where the host of
warriors were sleeping, his curiosity got the better of him.
He said to himself, "I must see this host awake. I'll touch that bell,
and find out whether the sorcerer spoke the truth."
So, when he came to it, he struck the bell. In the twinkling of an
eye, thousands of warriors sprang up, seized their armor, girded their
swords, or seized their spears. All seemed eagerly awaiting the
command to rush against the foe.
The ground quaked with their tramping, and shook with their tread,
until Taffy thought the cave roof would fall in and bury them all. The
air resounded with the rattle of arms, as the men, when in ranks,
marked time, ready for motion forward and out of the cave.
But from the midst of the host, a deep sounding voice, as earnest as
if in hot temper, but as deliberate as if in caution against a false
alarm, spoke. He inquired:
"Who rang that bell? Has the day come?"
The sorcerer, thoroughly frightened and trembling, answered:
"No, the day has not come. Sleep on."
Taffy, though dazzled by the increasing brilliancy of the light, had
heard another deep voice, more commanding in its tones than even a
king's, call out, "Arthur, awake, the bell has rung. The day is
breaking. Awake, great King Arthur!"
But even against such a voice, that of the sorcerer, now scared beyond
measure, lest the king and his host should discover the cheat, and
with his sword, Excalibur, chop the heads off both Taffy and himself,
answered:
"No, it is still night. Sleep on, Arthur the Great."
Erect over all, his head aloft and crowned with jewels, as with stars,
the King himself now spoke:
"No, my warriors, the day has not yet come, when the Black Eagle and
the Golden Eagle will meet in war. Sleep on, loyal souls. The morning
of Wales has not yet dawned."
Then, like the gentle soughing of the evening breeze among forest
trees, all sound died away, and in the snap of a finger, all were
asleep again. Seizing the hand of Taffy, the sorcerer hurried him out
of the cave, moved the stone back in its place and motioning to Taffy
to do the same, he quickly shoveled and kicked the loose dirt in the
hole and stamped it down: When Taffy turned to look for him, he was
gone, without even taking the trouble to call his dupe a fool.
Wearied with his unwonted labors and excitements, Taffy walked home,
got his supper, pondered on what he had seen, slept, and awoke in the
morning refreshed. After breakfast, he sallied out again with pick and
shovel.
For months, Taffy dug over every square foot of the hill. Neglecting
his business as cattle man, he spent all the money he had made in
London, but he never found that entrance to the cave. He died a poor
man and all his children had to work hard to get their bread.
XVII
THE LADY OF THE LAKE
One easily gets acquainted with the Welsh fairies, for nearly all the
good ones are very fond of music.
Or, they live down in the lakes, or up in the mountains. They are
always ready to help kind or polite people, who treat them well or
will give them a glass of milk, or a saucer of flummery.
But, oh, what tricks and mischief they do play on mean or stingy or
grumpy folks with bad tempers! They tangle up the harness of the
horses; milk the cows, letting the milk go to waste, on the stable
floor; tie knots in their tails, or keep the dog's mouth shut, when
the robbers come sneaking around. Better not offend a fairy, even
though no higher than a thimble!
A favorite place for the elfin ladies of the lake is high up in one of
the fresh water mountain ponds. They are cousins to the mermaids, that
swim in the salt water.
They say that these lake maidens love to come up close to the shore,
to smell the sweet grass and flowers, which the cows like so much.
Near one of these lakes dwelt a widow, with only one son, named Gwyn.
One day he took his lunch of barley bread and cheese, and went out, as
usual, to tend the cows. Soon he saw rising out of the water, to dress
her long and luxuriant hair, the most beautiful lady he had ever seen.
In her hand she held a golden comb, and was using the bright
lake-surface as a mirror.
At once Gwyn fell in love with her, and, like an unselfish lad, held
out his refreshments--barley bread and cheese--all he had--bidding her
to come and take.
But though the lady glided toward him, while he still held out his
hand, she shook her head, saying:
O thou of the hard baked bread,
It is not easy to catch me
Sorry enough to miss such a prize, he hurried home to tell his mother.
She, wondering also, whether fairies have teeth to chew, told him to
take soft dough next time. Then, perhaps, the strange lady would come
again.
Not much sleep did the boy get that night, and, before the sun was up,
he was down by the lake side holding out his dough.
There, hour after hour, neglecting the cows, he looked eagerly over
the water, but nothing appeared, except ripples started by the breeze.
Again and again, he gazed in hope, only to be disappointed.
[Illustration: IN A MOMENT HE FORGOT EVERY WORD HE MEANT TO SAY]
Meanwhile he thought out a pretty speech to make to her, but he kept
his dough and went hungry.
It was late in the afternoon, when the trees on the hills were casting
long shadows westward, that he gave up watching, for he supposed she
would come no more.
But just as he started to go back to his mother's cabin, he turned his
head and there was the same lady, looking more beautiful than ever. In
a moment, he forgot every word he meant to say to her. His tongue
seemed to leave him, and he only held out his hand, with the dough in
it.
But the lake lady, shaking her head, only laughed and said:
Thou of the soft bread
I will not have thee
Though she dived under the water and left him sad and lonely, she
smiled so sweetly, as she vanished, that, though again disappointed,
he thought she would come again and she might yet accept his gift.
His mother told him to try her with bread half baked, that is, midway
between hard crust and soft dough.
So, having packed his lunch, and much excited, though this time with
bright hopes, Gwyn went to bed, though not to sleep. At dawn, he was
up again and out by the lake side, with his half baked bread in his
hand.
It was a day of rain and shine, of sun burst and cloud, but no lady
appeared.
The long hours, of watching and waiting, sped on, until it was nearly
dark.
When just about to turn homewards, to ease his mother's anxiety, what
should he see, but some cows walking on the surface of the water! In a
few minutes, the lady herself, lovelier than ever, rose up and moved
towards the shore.
Gwyn rushed out to meet her, with beseeching looks and holding the
half baked bread in his hand. This time, she graciously took the gift,
placed her other hand in his, and he led her to the shore.
Standing with her on land, he could not speak for many seconds. He
noticed that she had sandals on her feet, and the one on the right
foot was tied in a way rather unusual. Under her winsome smile, at
last, he regained the use of his tongue. Then he burst out:
"Lady I love you, more than all the world besides. Will you be my
wife?"
She did not seem at all willing at first, but love begets love.
Finally yielding to his pleadings, she said, rather solemnly:
"I will be your bride but only on this condition, that if you strike
me three times, without cause, I will leave your house and you only
will be to blame, and it will be forever."
These words stuck in his mind, and he inwardly made a vow never to
give his lovely wife cause to leave him.
But not yet did happiness come, for, even while he took oath that he
would rather cut off his right hand, than offend her, she darted away
like an arrow, and, diving in the lake, disappeared.
At this sudden blow to his hopes and joy, Gwyn was so sorely
depressed, as to wish to take his own life. Rushing up to the top of a
rock, overhanging the deepest part of the lake, he was just about to
leap into the water and drown himself, when he heard a voice behind
him, saying:
"Hold rash lad, come here!"
He looked and there down on the shore of the lake, stood a grand
looking old man, with a long white beard. On either side of him was a
lovely maiden. These were his daughters.
Trembling with fear, the lad slipped down from the rock and drew near.
Then the old man spoke comfortably to him, though in a very cracked
voice.
"Mortal, do you wish to marry one of my daughters? Show me the one you
love more than the other, and I will consent."
Now the two maidens were so beautiful, yet so exactly alike, that Gwyn
could not note any difference. As he looked, he began to wonder
whether it had been a different lady, in each case, that rose out of
the water. He looked beyond the old man, to see if there were a third
lady. When he saw none more, he became more distracted. He feared lest
he might choose the wrong one, who had not promised to love him.
Almost in despair, he was about to run home, when he noticed that one
of the maidens put forward her right foot. Then he saw that her sandal
was tied in the way he had already wondered at. So he boldly went
forward and took her by the hand.
"This one is mine," said he to the father.
"You are right," answered the old man. "This is my daughter Nelferch.
Take her and you shall have as many cattle, sheep, horses, hogs, and
goats, as she can count, of each, without drawing in her breath. But I
warn you that three blows, without cause, will send her back to me."
While the old man smiled, and Gwyn renewed his vow, the new wife began
to count by fives--one, two, three, four, five.
At the end of each count drawing in a fresh breath, there rose up, out
of the lake, as many sheep, cattle, goats, pigs, and horses, as she
had counted.
So it happened that the lad, who went out of his mother's cottage, in
the morning, a poor boy, came back to her, a rich man, and leading by
the hand the loveliest creature on whom man or woman had ever looked
upon.
As for the old man and the other daughter, no one ever saw them again.
Gwyn and his wife went out to a farm which he bought, and oh, how
happy they were! She was very kind to the poor. She had the gift of
healing, knew all the herbs, which were good for medicine, and cured
sick folk of their diseases.
Three times the cradle was filled, and each time with a baby boy.
Eight long and happy years followed. They loved each other so dearly
and were so happy together, that Gwyn's vow passed entirely out of his
mind, and he thought no more of it.
On the seventh birthday of the oldest boy, there was a wedding at some
distance away, and the father and mother walked through a field where
their horses were grazing. As it was too far for Lady Nelferch to walk
all the way, her husband went back to the house, for saddle and
bridle, while she should catch the horse.
"Please do, and bring me my gloves from off the table," she called, as
he turned towards the house.
But when he returned to the field, he saw that she had not stirred.
So, before handing his wife her gloves and pointing playfully to the
horses, he gave her a little flick with the gloves.
Instead of moving, instantly, she heaved a deep sigh. Then looking up
at him with sorrowful and reproachful eyes, she said:
"Remember our vow, Gwyn. This is the first causeless blow. May there
never be another."
Days and years passed away so happily, that the husband and father
never again had to recall the promise given to his wife and her
father.
But when they were invited to the christening of a baby, every one was
full of smiles and gayety, except Nelferch. Women, especially the
older ones, often cry at a wedding, but why his wife should burst into
tears puzzled Gwyn.
Tapping her on the shoulder, he asked the reason:
"Because," said she, "this weak babe will be in pain and misery all
its days and die in agony. And, husband dear, you have once again
struck me a causeless blow. Oh, do be on your guard, and not again
break your promise."
From this time forth, Gwyn was on watch over himself, day and night,
like a sentinel over whom hangs the sentence of death, should he fall
asleep on duty. He was ever vigilant lest, he, in a moment of
forgetfulness, might, by some slip of conduct, or in a moment of
forgetfulness, strike his dear wife.
The baby, whose life of pain and death of agony Nelferch had foretold,
soon passed away; for, happily, its life was short. Then she and her
husband attended the last rites of sorrow, for Celtic folk always have
a funeral and hold a wake, even when a baby, only a span long, lies in
the coffin.
Yet in the most solemn moment of the services of burial, Nelferch the
wife, laughed out, so long and with such merriment, that everyone was
startled.
Her husband, mortified at such improper behavior, touched her gently,
saying: