GREEN JACKET.
"'It's Green Men, it's Green Men,
All in the wood together;
And, oh! we're feared o' the Green Men
In all the sweet May weather,'--
"ON'Y I'm _not_ feared o' thim mesilf!" said Eileen, breaking off her
song with a little merry laugh. "Wouldn't I be plazed to meet wan o'
thim this day, in the wud! Sure, it 'ud be the lookiest day o' me
loife."
She parted the boughs, and entered the deep wood, where she was to
gather faggots for her mother. Holding up her blue apron carefully, the
little girl stepped lightly here and there, picking up the dry brown
sticks, and talking to herself all the while,--to keep herself company,
as she thought.
"Thin I makes a low curchy," she was saying, "loike that wan Mother made
to the lord's lady yistherday, and the Green Man he gi'es me a nod,
and--
"'What's yer name, me dear?' says he.
"'Eileen Macarthy, yer Honor's Riverence!' says I.--No! I mustn't say
'Riverence,' bekase he's not a priest, ava'. 'Yer Honor's Grace' wud do
better.
"'And what wud ye loike for a prisint, Eily?' says he.
"And thin I'd say--lit me see! what wud I have first? Oh, I know! I'd
ask him-- Och! what's that? A big green grasshopper, caught be his leg
in a spider's wib. Wait a bit, poor crathur, oi'll lit ye free agin."
Full of pity for the poor grasshopper, Eily stooped to lift it carefully
out of the treacherous net into which it had fallen. But what was her
amazement on perceiving that the creature was not a grasshopper, but a
tiny man, clad from head to foot in light green, and with a scarlet cap
on his head. The little fellow was hopelessly entangled in the net, from
which he made desperate efforts to free himself, but the silken strands
were quite strong enough to hold him prisoner.
For a moment Eileen stood petrified with amazement, murmuring to
herself, "Howly Saint Bridget! what will I do now at all? Sure, I niver
thought I'd find wan really in loife!" but the next moment her kindness
of heart triumphed over her fear, and stooping once more she very gently
took the little man up between her thumb and finger, pulled away the
clinging web, and set him respectfully on the top of a large toadstool
which stood conveniently near.
The little Green Man shook himself, dusted his jacket with his red cap,
and then looked up at Eileen with twinkling eyes.
"Thank ye, my maiden!" he said kindly. "Ye have saved my life, and ye
shall not be the worse for it, if ye _did_ take me for a grasshopper."
Eily was rather abashed at this, but the little man looked very kind; so
she plucked up her courage, and when he asked, "What is yer name, my
dear?" ("jist for all the wurrld the way I thought of," she said to
herself) answered bravely, with a low courtesy, "Eileen Macarthy, yer
Honor's Riverence--Grace, I mane!" and then she added, "They calls me
Eily, most times, at home."
"Well, Eily," said the Green Man, "I suppose ye know who I am?"
"A fairy, plaze yer Honor's Grace!" said Eily, with another courtesy.
"Sure, I've aften heerd av yer Honor's people, but I niver thought I'd
see wan of yez. It's rale plazed I am, sure enough. Manny's the time
Docthor O'Shaughnessy's tell't me there was no sich thing as yez; but I
niver belaved him, yer Honor!"
"That's right!" said the Green Man, heartily, "that's very right. Never
believe a word he says! And now, Eily, alanna, I'm going to do ye a
fairy's turn before I go. Ye shall have yer wish of whatever ye like in
the world. Take a minute to think about it, and then make up yer mind."
Eily fairly gasped for breath. Her dreams had then come true; she was to
have a fairy wish! Could it possibly be true? And what should she wish
for? The magic carpet? The goose that laid eggs of gold? The invisible
cloak? Eily had all the old fairy-stories at her tongue's end, for her
mother told her one every night as she sat at her spinning. Jack and the
Beanstalk, the Sleeping Beauty, the Seven Swans, the Elves that stole
Barney Maguire, the Brown Witch, and the Widdy Malone's Pig,--she knew
them all, and scores of others besides. Her mother always began the
stories with, "Wanst upon a time, and a very good time it was;" or,
"Long, long ago, whin King O'Toole was young, and the praties grew all
ready biled in the ground;" or, "Wan fine time, whin the fairies danced,
and not a poor man lived in Ireland." In this way, the fairies seemed
always to be thrown far back into a remote past, which had nothing in
common with the real work-a-day world in which Eily lived. But now--oh,
wonder of wonders!--now, here was a real fairy, alive and active, with
as full power of blessing or banning as if the days of King O'Toole had
come again,--and what was more, with good-will to grant to Eileen
Macarthy whatever in the wide world she might wish for! The child stood
quite still, with her hands clasped, thinking harder than she had ever
thought in all her life before; and the Green Man sat on the toadstool
and watched her, with eyes which twinkled with some amusement, but no
malice.
"Take yer time, my dear," he said, "take yer time! Ye'll not meet a
Green Man every day, so make the best o' your chance!"
Suddenly Eily's face lighted up with a sudden inspiration. "Och!" she
cried, "sure I have it, yer Riverence's Grace--Honor, I shud say! I have
it! it's the di'monds and pearrls I'll have, iv ye plaze!"
"Diamonds and pearls?" repeated the fairy, "what diamonds and pearls?
There are a great many in the world. You don't want them _all_, surely?"
"Och, no, yer Honor!" said Eily. "Only wan of aich to dhrop out o' me
mouth ivery time I shpake, loike the girrl in the sthory, ye know.
Whiniver she opened her lips to shpake, a di'mond an' a pearrl o' the
richest beauty dhropped from her mouth. That's what I mane, plaze yer
Honor's Grace. Och! wudn't it be beautiful, entirely?"
"Humph!" said the fairy, looking rather grave. "Are ye _quite_ sure that
this is what you wish for most, Eileen? Don't decide hastily, or ye may
be sorry for it."
"Sorry!" cried Eileen, "what for wud I be sorry? Sure I'd be richer than
the Countess o' Kilmoggen hersilf, let alone the Queen, be the time I'd
talked for an hour. An' I _loove_ to talk!" she added softly, half to
herself.
The Green Man laughed outright at this. "Well, Eily," he said, "ye shall
have yer own way. Stoop down to me here!"
Eileen bent down, and he touched her lips three times with the scarlet
tassel of his cap. "Slanegher Banegher!" he said. "The charm is worked.
Now go home, Eileen Macarthy, and the good wishes of the Green Men go
with ye. Ye will have yer own wish fulfilled as soon as ye cross the
threshold of yer home. But hark ye now!" he added, impressively. "A day
may come when ye will wish with all yer heart to have the charm taken
away. If that ever happens, come to this same place with a sprig of
holly in yer hand. Strike this toadstool three times, and say,
'Slanegher Banegher, Skeen na Lane!' And now good-by to ye!" and
clapping his scarlet cap on his head, the little man leaped from the
toadstool, and instantly disappeared from sight among the ferns and
mosses.
Eileen stood still for some time, lost in a dream of wonder and delight.
Finally rousing herself, she gave a long, happy sigh, and hastily
filling her apron with sticks, turned her steps homeward.
The sun was sinking low when she came in sight of the little cabin, at
the door of which her mother was standing, looking anxiously in every
direction.
"Is it yersilf, Eily?" cried the good woman in a tone of relief, as she
saw the child approaching. "And where have ye been at all? It's a wild
colleen y'are, to be sprankin' about o' this way, and it nearly sundown.
Where have ye been, I'm askin' ye?"
Eily held up her apronful of sticks with a beaming smile, but answered
never a word till she stood on the threshold of the cottage. ("Sure I
might lose some," she had been saying to herself, "and that 'ud niver
do.") But as soon as she had entered the little room which was kitchen,
hall, dining-room, and drawing-room for the Macarthy family, she dropped
her bundle of faggots, and clasping her hands together, cried, "Och,
mother! what do ye think? Sure ye'll niver belave me whin I till ye--"
Here she suddenly stopped, for hop! pop! two round shining things
dropped from her mouth, and rolled away over the floor of the cabin.
"Howly Michael be me guide!" cried Mrs. Macarthy; "phwhat's that?"
"It's marvels! [marbles]" shouted little Phelim, jumping up from his
seat by the fire and running to pick up the shining objects. "Eily's
got her mouf full o' marvels! Hurroo!"
"They aren't marvels!" said Eily, indignantly. "Wait till I till ye,
mother asthore! I wint to the forest as ye bade me, to gather shticks,
an'--" hop! pop! out flew two more shining things from her mouth and
rolled away after the others.
Mrs. Macarthy uttered a piercing shriek, and clapped her hand over
Eileen's mouth. "She's bewitched!" she cried. "Me choild's bewitched,
an' shpakin' buttons! Och, wirra! wirra! what'll I do at all? Run,
Phelim," she added, "an' call yer father. He's in the praty-patch,
loikely. An' ye kape shtill!" she said to Eily, who was struggling
vainly to free herself from her mother's powerful grasp. "Kape shtill,
I'm tillin' ye, an' don't open yer lips! It's savin' yer body an' sowl I
may be this minute. Saint Bridget, Saint Michael, an' blissid Saint
Patrick!" she ejaculated piously, "save me choild, an' I'll serve ye on
me knees the rist o' me days."
Poor Eily! This was a sad beginning of all her glory. She tried
desperately to open her mouth, sure that in a moment she could make her
mother understand the whole matter. But Honor Macarthy was a stalwart
woman, and Eily's slender fingers could not stir the massive hand which
was pressed firmly upon her lips.
At this moment her father entered hastily, with Phelim panting behind
him.
"Phwhat's the matther, woman?" he asked anxiously. "Here's Phelim clane
out o' his head, an' shcramin' about Eily, an' marvels an' buttons, an'
I dunno what all. Phwhat ails the choild?" he added in a tone of great
alarm, as he saw Eileen in her mother's arms, flushed and disordered,
the tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Och, Dinnis!" cried Honor, "it's bewitched she is,--clane bewitched out
o' her sinses, an shpakes buttons out av her mouth wid ivery worrd she
siz. Och, me choild! me poor, misfortunate choild! Who wud do ye sich an
ill turn as this, whin ye niver harmed annybody since the day ye were
born?"
"_Buttons!_" said Dennis Macarthy; "what do ye mane by buttons? How can
she shpake buttons, I'm askin' ye? Sure, ye're foolish yersilf, Honor,
woman! Lit the colleen go, an' she'll till me phwhat 'tis all about."
"Och, av ye don't belave me!" cried Honor. "Show thim to yer father,
Phelim! Look at two av thim there in the corner,--the dirrty things!"
Phelim took up the two shining objects cautiously in the corner of his
pinafore and carried them to his father, who examined them long and
carefully. Finally he spoke, but in an altered voice.
"Lit the choild go, Honor," he said. "I want to shpake till her. Do as I
bid ye!" he added sternly; and very reluctantly his wife released poor
Eily, who stood pale and trembling, eager to explain, and yet afraid to
speak for fear of being again forcibly silenced.
"Eileen," said her father, "'tis plain to be seen that these things are
not buttons, but jew'ls."
"Jew'ls!" exclaimed Honor, aghast.
"Ay!" said Dennis; "jew'ls, or gims, whichiver ye plaze to call thim.
Now, phwhat I want to know is, where did ye get thim?"
"Oh, Father!" cried Eily; "don't look at me that a-way! Sure, I've done
no harrum! I only--" hop! pop! another splendid diamond and another
white, glistening pearl fell from her lips; but she hurried on, speaking
as quickly as she could: "I wint to the forest to gather shticks, and
there I saw a little Grane Man, all the same loike a hoppergrass, caught
be his lig in a spidher's wib; and whin I lit him free he gi' me a wish,
to have whativer I loiked bist in the wurrld; an' so I wished, an' I
sid--" but by this time the pearls and diamonds were hopping like
hail-stones all over the cabin-floor; and with a look of deep anger and
sorrow Dennis Macarthy motioned to his wife to close Eileen's mouth
again, which she eagerly did.
"To think," he said, "as iver a child o' mine shud shtale the Countess's
jew'ls, an' thin till me a pack o' lies about thim! Honor, thim is the
beads o' the Countess's nickluss that I was tillin' ye about, that I saw
on her nick at the ball, whin I carried the washin' oop to the Castle.
An' this misfortunate colleen has shwallied 'em."
"Shwallied 'em!" echoed Honor, incredulously. "How wud she shwally 'em,
an' have 'em in her mouth all the toime? An' how wud she get thim to
shwally, an' the Countess in Dublin these three weeks, an' her jew'ls
wid her? Shame an ye, Dinnis Macarthy! to suspict yer poor, diminted
choild of shtalin'! It's bewitched she is, I till ye! Look at the face
av her this minute!"
Just at that moment the sound of wheels was heard; and Phelim, who was
standing at the open door, exclaimed,--
"Father! here's Docthor O'Shaughnessy dhrivin' past. Will I shtop him?
Maybe he wud know."
"Ay, shtop him! shtop him, lad!" cried both mother and father in a
breath.
Phelim darted out, and soon returned, followed by the doctor,--a tall,
thin man with a great hooked nose, on which was perched a pair of green
spectacles.
Eileen had never liked Dr. O'Shaughnessy; and now a cold shiver passed
over her as he fixed his spectacled eyes on her and listened in silence
to the confused accounts which her father and mother poured into his
ear.
"Humph!" he said at last. "Bewitched? 'tis very loikely. I've known many
so of late. Let me see the jew'ls, as ye call thim."
The pearls and diamonds were brought,--a whole handful of them,--and
poured into the doctor's hand, which closed suddenly over them, while
his dull black eyes shot out a quick gleam under the shading spectacles.
The next moment, however, he laughed good-humoredly and turned them
carelessly over one by one.
"Why, Dinnis," he said, "'tis aisy to see that ye've not had mich
expeerunce o' jew'ls, me bye, or ye'd not mistake these bits o' glass
an' sich fer thim. No! no! there's no jew'ls here, wheriver the
Countess's are. An' these bits o' trash dhrop out o' the choild's mouth,
ye till me, ivery toime she shpakes?"
"Ivery toime, yer Anner!" said Honor. "Out they dhrops, an' goes hoppin'
an' leppin' about the room, loike they were aloive."
"I see!" said the doctor. "I understand. This is a very sirrious case,
Misther Macarthy,--a very sirrious case _in_dade, sirr; an' I'll be free
to till ye that I know but _wan_ way av curin' it."
"Och, whirrasthru!" cried Mrs. Macarthy. "What is it at all, Docthor
alanna? Is it a witch has overlooked her, or what is it? Och, me choild!
me poor, diminted choild! will I lose ye this-a-way? Ochone! ochone!"
and in her grief she loosed her hold of Eileen and clapped her hands to
her own face, sobbing aloud. But before the child could open her lips to
speak, she found herself seized in another and no less powerful grasp,
while another hand covered her mouth,--not warm and firm like her
mother's, but cold, bony, and frog-like. Holding her as in a vice, Dr.
O'Shaughnessy spoke once more to her parents.
"I'll save her loife," said he, "and mebbe her wits as well, av the
thing's poassible. But it's not here I can do ut at all. I'll take the
choild home wid me to me house, and Misthress O'Shaughnessy will tind
her as if she wuz her own; and thin I will try th' ixpirimint which is
the ownly thing on airth can save her."
"Spirimint?" said Honor. "Sure, there's two, three kinds o' mint growin'
here in oor own door-yard, but I dunno av there's anny o' that kind.
Will ye make a tay av it, Docthor, or is it a poultuss ye'll be puttin'
an her, to dhraw out the witchcraft, loike?"
"Whisht, whisht, woman!" said Dennis, impatiently. "Howld yer prate,
can't ye, an' the docthor waitin'? Is there no way ye cud cure her, an'
lave her at home thin, Docthor? Faith, I'd be loth to lave her go away
from uz loike this, let alone the throuble she'll be to yez!"
"No throuble at all!" said the doctor, briskly. "At laste," he added
more gravely, "naw moor thin I'd gladly take for ye an' yer good woman,
Dinnis! Come, help me wid the colleen, now. Aisy does it! Now, thin, oop
wid ye, Eily!"
And the next moment Eileen found herself in the doctor's narrow gig,
wedged tightly between him and the side of the vehicle.
"Ye can sind her bits o' clothes over by Phelim," said Dr.
O'Shaughnessy, as he gathered up the reins, apparently in great haste.
"I'll not shtop now. Good-day t' ye, Dinnis! My respicts to ye,
Misthress Macarthy. Ye'll hear av the choild in a day or two!" And
whistling to his old pony, they started off at as brisk a trot as the
latter could produce on such short notice.
Poor Eileen! Was this the result of the fairy's gift? She sat still,
half-paralyzed with grief and terror, for she made no doubt that the
hated doctor was going to do something very, very dreadful to her.
Seeing that she made no effort to free herself, or to speak, her captor
removed his hand from her mouth; but not until they were well out of
sight and hearing of her parents.
"Now, Eileen," he said, not unkindly, "av ye'll be a good colleen, and
not shpake a wurrd, I'll lave yer mouth free. But av ye shpake, so much
as to say, 'Bliss ye!' I'll tie up yer jaw wid me pock'-handkercher, so
as ye can't open ut at all. D' ye hear me, now?"
Eileen nodded silently. She had not the slightest desire to say "Bliss
ye!" to Dr. O'Shaughnessy; nor did she care to fill his rusty old gig,
or to sprinkle the high road, with diamonds and pearls.
"That's roight!" said the Doctor, "that's a sinsible gyurrl as ye are.
See, now, what a foine bit o' sweet-cake Misthress O'Shaughnessy 'ull be
givin' ye, whin we git home."
The poor child burst into tears, for the word 'home' made her realize
more fully that she was going every moment farther and farther away from
her own home,--from her kind father, her anxious and loving mother, and
dear little Phelim. What would Phelim do at night, without her shoulder
to curl up on and go to sleep, in the trundle-bed which they had shared
ever since he was a tiny baby? Who would light her father's pipe, and
sing him the little song he always liked to hear while he smoked it
after supper? These, and many other such thoughts, filled Eileen's mind
as she sat weeping silently beside the green-spectacled doctor, who
cared nothing about her crying, so long as she did not try to speak.
After a drive of some miles, they reached a tall, dark, gloomy-looking
house, which was not unlike the doctor himself, with its small greenish
window-panes and its gaunt chimneys. Here the pony stopped, and the
doctor, lifting Eileen out of the gig, carried her into the house. Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron,
and stared in amazement at the burden in her husband's arms.
"Honor Macarthy's Eily!" she exclaimed. "The Saints protict uz! Is she
kilt, or what's the matther?"
"Open the door o' the best room!" said the doctor, briefly. "Open it,
woman, I'm tillin' ye!" and entering a large bare room, he set Eileen
down hastily on a stool, and then drew a long breath and wiped his brow.
"I've got ye!" he said. "Safe and sound I've got ye now, glory for ut!
And ye'll not lave this room until ye've made me _King av Ireland_!"
Eileen stared at the man, thinking he had gone mad; for his face was
red, and his eyes, from which he had snatched the green spectacles,
glittered with a strange light. The same idea flashed into his wife's
mind, and she crossed herself devoutly, exclaiming,--
"Howly St. Pathrick, he's clane diminted. 'King,' indade! will ye hear
um?"
The doctor turned on her sharply. "Diminted?" he said; "ye'll soon see
av I'm diminted. I till ye I'll be King av Ireland before the month's
oot. Shpake, now, Eileen! Open yer mouth, alanna, and make yer manners
to Misthress O'Shaughnessy."
Thus adjured, Eileen dropped a courtesy, and said, timidly, "Good day t'
ye, Ma'm! I houp ye're well!"
Hop! pop! down dropped a pearl and a diamond, and the doctor, pouncing
on them, held them up in triumph before the eyes of his astonished wife.
"Div ye see that?" he cried. "That's a dimind! There's no sich in Queen
Victory's crownd this day. And look a' that! That's a pearrl, an' as big
as a marrowfat pay. The loike of ut's not in Ireland, I till ye. Woman,
there's a fortin' in ivery wurrd this colleen shpakes! And she's goin'
to shpake," he added, grimly, "and to kape an shpakin', till Michael
O'Shaughnessy is rich enough to buy all Ireland,--ay, and England too,
av he'd a mind to!"
"But--but," cried Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, utterly bewildered by her
husband's wild talk, and by the sight of the jewels, "what does it all
mane? Has the choild swallied 'em? And won't she die av 'em, av it's
that manny in her stumick?"
"Whisht wid yer foolery!" said her husband, contemptuously. "Swallied
'em, indade! The gyurrl has met a Grane Man, that's the truth of ut; and
he's gi'n her a wish, and she's got ut,--and now I've got _her_." And he
chuckled, and rubbed his bony hands together, while his eyes twinkled
with greed.
"A Grane Man! The saints be good to uz!" cried Mrs. O'Shaughnessy.
"Sure, ye always till't me there was no sich thing ava'."
"I lied, thin!" shouted the doctor. "I lied, an' that's all there is to
say about ut. Do ye think I'm obleeged to shpake the thruth ivery day in
the week to an ignor'nt crathur like yersilf? It's worn out I'd be, body
and sowl, at that rate. Now, Eileen Macarthy," he continued, turning to
his unhappy little prisoner, "ye are to do as I till ye, an' no
harrum'll coom to ye, an' maybe good. Ye are to sit in this room and
_talk_; and ye'll kape an talkin' till the room is _full-up_! d'ye hear
me, now?"
"Full-up?" exclaimed Eileen, faintly.
"Full-up!" repeated the doctor. "No less'll satisfy me, and it's the
laste ye can do for all the throuble I've taken forr ye. Misthress
O'Shaughnessy an' mesilf 'ull take turns sittin' wid ye, so 'at ye'll
have some wan to talk to. Ye'll have plinty to ate an' to dhrink, an'
that's more than manny people have in Ireland this day. So lit me hear
no complainin'."
With this, the worthy man proceeded to give strict injunctions to his
wife to keep the child talking, and not to leave her alone for an
instant; and finally he departed, shutting the door behind him, and
leaving the captive and her jailer alone together.
Mrs. O'Shaughnessy immediately poured forth a flood of questions, to
which Eileen replied by telling the whole pitiful story from beginning
to end. It was a relief to be able to speak at last, and to rehearse the
whole matter to understanding, if not sympathetic, ears. Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy listened and looked, looked and listened, with open mouth
and staring eyes. With her eyes shut, she would not have believed her
ears; but the double evidence was too much for her.
The diamonds and pearls kept on falling, falling, fast and faster. They
filled Eileen's lap, they skipped away over the floor, while the
doctor's wife pursued them with frantic eagerness. Each diamond was
clear and radiant as a drop of dew, each pearl lustrous and perfect; but
they gave no pleasure now to the fairy-gifted child. She could only
think of the task that lay before her,--to FILL this great, empty room;
of the millions and millions, and yet again millions of gems that must
fall from her lips before the floor would be covered even a few inches
deep; of the weeks and months,--perhaps the years,--that must elapse
before she would see her parents and Phelim again. She remembered the
words of the fairy: "A day may come when you will wish with all your
heart to have the charm removed." And then, like a flash, came the
recollection of those other words: "When that day comes, come here to
this spot," and do so and so.
In fancy, Eileen was transported again to the pleasant green forest; was
looking at the Green Man as he sat on the toadstool, and begging him to
take away this fatal gift, which had already, in one day, brought her so
much misery. Harshly on her reverie broke in the voice of Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy, asking,--
"And has yer father sold his pigs yit?"
She started, and came back to the doleful world of reality. But even as
she answered the woman's question, she made in her heart a firm
resolve,--somehow or other, _somehow_, she would escape; she would get
out of this hateful house, away from these greedy, grasping people; she
would manage somehow to find her way to the wood, and then--then for
freedom again! Cheered by her own resolution, she answered the woman
composedly, and went into a detailed account of the birth, rearing, and
selling of the pigs, which so fascinated her auditor that she was
surprised, when the recital was over, to find that it was nearly
supper-time.
The doctor now entered, and taking his wife's place, began to ply Eily
with questions, each one artfully calculated to bring forth the longest
possible reply:--
"How is it yer mother is related to the Countess's auld housekeeper,
avick; and why is it, that wid sich grand relations she niver got into
the castle at all?"
"Phwhat was that I h'ard the other day about the looky bargain yer
father--honest man!--made wid the one-eyed peddler from beyant
Inniskeen?" and--
"Is it thrue that yer mother makes all her butther out av skim-milk just
by making the sign of the cross--God bless it!--over the churn?"
Although she did not like the doctor, Eily did, as she had said to the
Green Man, "_loove_ to talk;" so she chattered away, explaining and
disclaiming, while the diamonds and pearls flew like hail-stones from
her lips, and her host and jailer sat watching them with looks of greedy
rapture.
Eily paused, fairly out of breath, just as Mrs. O'Shaughnessy entered,
bringing her rather scanty supper. There was quite a pile of jewels in
her lap and about her feet, while a good many had rolled to a distance;
but her heart sank within her as she compared the result of three hours'
steady talking with the end to which the rapacious doctor aspired.
She was allowed to eat her supper in peace, but no sooner was it
finished than the questioning began again, and it was not until ten
o'clock had struck that the exhausted child was allowed to lay her head
down on the rude bed which Mrs. O'Shaughnessy had hastily made up for
her.
The next day was a weary one for poor Eily. From morning till night she
was obliged to talk incessantly, with only a brief space allowed for her
meals. The doctor and his wife mounted guard by turns, each asking
questions, until to the child's fancy they seemed like nothing but
living interrogation points. All day long, no matter what she was
talking about,--the potato-crop, or the black hen that the fox stole, or
Phelim's measles,--her mind was fixed on one idea, that of escaping from
her prison. If only some fortunate chance would call them both out of
the room at once! But, alas! that never happened. There was always a
pair of greedy eyes fixed on her, and on the now hated jewels which
dropped in an endless stream from her lips; always a harsh voice in her
ears, rousing her, if she paused for an instant, by new questions as
stupid as they were long.
Once, indeed, the child stopped short, and declared that she could not
and would not talk any more; but she was speedily shown the end of a
birch rod, with the hint that the doctor "would be loth to use the likes
av it on Dinnis Macarthy's choild; but her parints had given him charge
to dhrive out the witchcraft be hook or be crook; and av a birch rod
wasn't first cousin to a crook, what was it at all?" and Eily was forced
to find her powers of speech again.
By nightfall of this day the room was ankle-deep in pearls and diamonds.
A wonderful sight it was, when the moon looked in at the window, and
shone on the lustrous and glittering heaps which Mrs. O'Shaughnessy
piled up with her broom. The woman was fairly frightened at the sight of
so much treasure, and she crossed herself many times as she lay down on
the mat beside Eileen's truckle-bed, muttering to herself, "Michael
knows bist, I suppose; but sorrow o' me if I can feel as if there was a
blissing an it, ava'!"
The third day came, and was already half over, when an urgent summons
came for Doctor O'Shaughnessy. One of his richest patrons had fallen
from his horse and broken his leg, and the doctor must come on the
instant. The doctor grumbled and swore, but there was no help for it; so
he departed, after making his wife vow by all the saints in turn, that
she would not leave Eileen's side for an instant until he returned.
When Eily heard the rattle of the gig and the sound of the pony's feet,
and knew that the most formidable of her jailers was actually _gone_,
her heart beat so loud for joy that she feared its throbbing would be
heard. Now, at last, a loop-hole seemed to open for her. She had a plan
already in her head, and now there was a chance for her to carry it out.
But an Irish girl of ten has shrewdness beyond her years, and no gleam
of expression appeared in Eileen's face as she spoke to Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy, who had been standing by the window to watch her
husband's departure, and who now returned to her seat.
"We'll be missin' the docthor this day, ma'm, won't we?" she said. "He's
so agrayable, ain't he, now?"
"He is that!" replied Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, with something of a sigh.
"He's rale agrayable, Michael is--whin he wants to be," she added. "Yis,
I'll miss um more nor common to-day, for 'tis worn out I am intirely
wid shlapin so little these two nights past. Sure, I _can't_ shlape, wid
thim things a-shparklin' an' a-glowerin' at me the way they do; and now
I'll not get me nap at all this afthernoon, bein' I must shtay here and
kape ye talkin' till the docthor cooms back. Me hid aches, too, mortial
bad!"
"Do it, now?" said Eily, soothingly. "Arrah, it's too bad, intirely!
Will I till ye a little shtory that me grandmother hed for the hidache?"
"A shtory for the hidache?" said Mrs. O'Shaughnessy. "What do ye mane by
that, I'm askin' ye?"
"I dunno roightly how ut is," replied Eily, innocently, "but Granny used
to call this shtory a cure for the hidache, and mebbe ye'd find ut so.
An' annyhow it 'ud kape me talkin'," she added meekly, "for 'tis mortial
long."
"Go an wid it, thin!" said Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, settling herself more
comfortably in her chair. "I loove a long shtory, to be sure. Go an,
avick!"
And Eily began as follows, speaking in a clear, low monotone:--
"Wanst upon a toime there lived an owld, owld woman, an' her name was
Moira Magoyle; an' she lived in an owld, owld house, in an owld, owld
lane that lid through an owld, owld wood be the side of an owld, owld
shthrame that flowed through an owld, owld shthrate av an owld, owld
town in an owld, owld county. An' this owld, owld woman, sure enough,
she had an owld, owld cat wid a white nose; an' she had an owld, owld
dog wid a black tail, an' she had an owld, owld hin wid wan eye, an' she
had an owld, owld cock wid wan leg, an' she had--"
Mrs. O'Shaughnessy yawned, and stirred uneasily on her seat. "Seems to
me there's moighty little goin' an in this shtory!" she said, taking up
her knitting, which she had dropped in her lap. "I'd loike somethin' a
bit more loively, I'm thinkin', av I had me ch'ice."
"Jist wait, ma'm!" said Eily, with quiet confidence, "ownly wait till I
coom to the parrt about the two robbers an' the keg o' gunpowdther, an'
its loively enough ye'll foind ut. But I must till ut the same way 'at
Granny did, else it 'ull do no good, ava. Well, thin, I was sayin' to
ye, ma'm, this owld woman (Saint Bridget be good to her!) she had an
owld, owld cow, an' she had an owld, owld shape, an' she had an owld,
owld kitchen wid an owld, owld cheer an' an owld, owld table, an' an
owld, owld panthry wid an owld, owld churn, an' an owld, owld sauce-pan,
an' an owld, owld gridiron, an' an owld, owld--"
Mrs. O'Shaughnessy's knitting dropped again, and her head fell forward
on her breast. Eileen's voice grew lower and softer, but still she went
on,--rising at the same time, and moving quietly, stealthily, towards
the door,--
"An' she had an owld, owld kittle, an' she had an owld, owld pot wid an
owld, owld kiver; an' she had an owld, owld jug, an' an owld, owld
platther, an' an owld, owld tay-pot--"
Eily's hand was on the door, her eyes were fixed on the motionless form
of her jailer; her voice went on and on, its soft monotone now
accompanied by another sound,--that of a heavy, regular breathing which
was fast deepening into a snore.
"An' she had an owld, owld shpoon, an' an owld, owld fork, an' an owld,
owld knife, an' an owld, owld cup, an' an owld, owld bowl, an' an owld,
owld, owld--"
The door is open! The story is done! Two little feet go speeding down
the long passage, across the empty kitchen, out at the back door, and
away, away! Wake, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy! wake! the story is done and the
bird is flown!
Surely it was the next thing to flying, the way in which Eily sped
across the meadows, far from the hated scene of her imprisonment. The
bare brown feet seemed scarcely to touch the ground; the brown locks
streamed out on the wind; the little blue apron fluttered wildly, like a
banner of victory. On! on! on! with panting bosom, with parted lips,
with many a backward glance to see if any one were following; on went
the little maid, over field and fell, through moss and through mire,
till at last--oh, happy, blessed sight!--the dark forest rose before
her, and she knew that she was saved.
Quite at the other end of the wood lay the spot she was seeking; but she
knew the way well, and on she went, but more carefully now,--parting the
branches so that she broke no living twig, and treading cautiously lest
she should crush the lady fern, which the Green Men love. How beautiful
the ferns were, uncurling their silver-green fronds and spreading their
slender arms abroad! How sweetly the birds were singing! How pleasant,
how kind, how friendly was everything in the sweet green wood!
And here at last was the oak-tree, and at the foot of it there stood the
yellow toadstool, looking as if it did not care about anything or
anybody, which in truth it did not: Breathless with haste and eagerness,
Eileen tapped the toadstool three times with a bit of holly, saying
softly, "Slanegher Banegher! Skeen na lane!" And, lo! and, behold! there
sat the Green Man, just as if he had been there all the time, fanning
himself with his scarlet cap, and looking at her with a comical twinkle
in his sharp little eyes.
"Well, Eily," he said, "is it back so soon ye are? Well, well, I'm not
surprised! And how do ye like yer gift?"
"Oh, yer Honor's Riverence--Grace, I mane!" cried poor Eily, bursting
into tears, "av ye'll plaze to take it away! Sure it's nearly kilt I am
along av it, an' no plazure or coomfort in ut at all at all! Take it
away, yer Honor, take it away, and I'll bliss ye all me days!" and, with
many sobs, she related the experiences of the past three days. As she
spoke, diamonds and pearls still fell in showers from her lips, and
half-unconsciously she held up her apron to catch them as they fell, so
that by the time she had finished her story she had more than a quart of
splendid gems, each as big as the biggest kind of pea.
The Green Man smiled, but not unkindly, at the recital of Eileen's
woes. "Faith, it's a hard time ye've had, my maiden, and no mistake! But
now 'tis all over. Hold fast the jewels ye have there, for they're the
last ye'll get." He touched her lips with his cap, and said, "Cabbala
ku! the charm is off."
Eily drew a long breath of relief, and the fairy added,--
"The truth is, Eily, the times are past for fairy gifts of this kind.
Few people believe in the Green Men now at all, and fewer still ever see
them. Why, ye are the first mortal child I've spoken to for a matter of
two hundred years, and I think ye'll be the last I ever speak to. Fairy
gifts are very pretty things in a story, but they're not convenient at
the present time, as ye see for yourself. There's one thing I'd like to
say to ye, however," he added more seriously; "an' ye'll take it as a
little lesson-like, me dear, before we part. Ye asked me for diamonds
and pearls, and I gave them to ye; and now ye've seen the worth of that
kind for yourself. But there's jewels and jewels in the world, and if
ye choose, Eily, ye can still speak pearls and diamonds, and no harm to
yourself or anybody."
"How was yer Honor maning?" asked Eily, wondering. "Sure, I don't
undershtand yer Honor at all."
"Likely not," said the little man, "but it's now I'm telling ye. Every
gentle and loving word ye speak, child, is a pearl; and every kind deed
done to them as needs kindness, is a diamond brighter than all those
shining stones in your apron. Ye'll grow up a rich woman, Eily, with the
treasure ye have there; but it might all as well be frogs and toads, if
with it ye have not the loving heart and the helping hand that will make
a good woman of ye, and happy folk of yer neighbors. And now good-by,
mavourneen, and the blessing of the Green Men go with ye and stay with
ye, yer life long!"
"Good-by, yer Honor," cried Eily, gratefully. "The saints reward yer
Honor's Grace for all yer kindness to a poor silly colleen like me! But,
oh, wan minute, yer Honor!" she cried, as she saw the little man about
to put on his cap. "Will Docthor O'Shaughnessy be King av Ireland? Sure
it's the wicked king he'd make, intirely. Don't let him, plaze, yer
Honor!"
Green Jacket laughed long and heartily. "Ho! ho! ho!" he cried. "_King_,
is it? Nothing less would suit him, sure enough! Have no fears, Eily,
alanna! Dr. O'Shaughnessy has come into his kingdom by this time, and I
wish him joy of it."
With these words he clapped his scarlet cap on his head, and vanished
like the snuff of a candle.
* * * * *
Now, just about this time Dr. Michael O'Shaughnessy was dismounting from
his gig at his own back door, after a long and weary drive. He thought
little, however, about his bodily fatigue, for his heart was full of joy
and triumph, his mind absorbed in dreams of glory. He could not even
contain his thoughts, but broke out into words, as he unharnessed the
rusty old pony.
"An' whin I coom to the palace, I'll knock three times wid the knocker;
or maybe there'll be a bell, loike the sheriff's house (bad luck to um!)
at Kilmagore. And the gossoon'll open the dure, and--
"'Phwhat's yer arrind?' says he.
"'It's Queen Victory I'm wantin',' says I. 'An' ye'll till her King
Michael av Ireland is askin' for her,' I says.
"Thin whin Victory hears that, she'll coom roonnin' down hersilf, to bid
me welkim; an' she'll take me oop to the best room, an'--
"'Sit down an the throne, King Michael,' says she. 'The other cheers
isn't good enough for the loikes of ye,' says she.
"'Afther ye, ma'm,' says I, moinding me manners.
"'An' is there annythin' I can du for ye, to-day, King Michael?' says
she, whin we've sat down an the throne.
"An' I says, loight and aisy loike, all as if I didn't care, 'Nothin' in
loife, ma'm, I'm obleeged to ye, widout ye'd lind me the loan o' yer
Sunday crownd,' says I, 'be way av a patthern,' says I.
"An' says she--"
But at this moment the royal meditations were rudely broken in upon by a
wild shriek which resounded from the house. The door was flung violently
open, and Mrs. O'Shaughnessy rushed out like a mad woman.
"She's gone!" she cried wildly. "The colleen's gone, an' me niver
shtirrin' from her side! Och, wirra, wirra! what'll I do? It must be the
witches has taken her clane up chimley."
Dr. O'Shaughnessy stood for a moment transfixed, glaring with speechless
rage at the unhappy woman; then rushing suddenly at her, he seized and
shook her till her teeth chattered together.
"Ye've been ashlape!" he yelled, beside himself with rage and
disappointment. "Ye've fell ashlape, an' laved her shlip out! Sorrow
seize ye, ye're always the black bean in me porridge!" Then flinging her
from him, he cried, "I don't care! I'll _be_ it! I'll be king wid
what's in there now!" and dashed into the house.
He paused before the door of the best room, lately poor Eily's prison,
to draw breath and to collect his thoughts. The door was closed, and
from within--hark! what was that sound? Something was stirring, surely.
Oh, joy! was his wife mistaken? Waking suddenly from her nap, had she
failed to see the girl, who had perhaps been sleeping, too? At all
events the jewels were there, in shining heaps on the floor, as he had
last seen them, with thousands more covering the floor in every
direction,--a king's ransom in half a handful of them. He would be king
yet, even if the girl were gone. Cautiously he opened the door and
looked in, his eyes glistening, his mouth fairly watering at the thought
of all the splendor which would meet his glance.
What did Dr. O'Shaughnessy see? Oh, horror! Oh, dismay, terror, anguish!
What did he see? Captive was there none, yet the room was not empty.
Jewels were there none, yet the floor was covered; covered with living
creatures,--toads, snakes, newts, all hideous and unclean reptiles that
hop or creep or wriggle. And as the wretched man stared, with open mouth
and glaring eye-balls, oh, horror! they were all hopping, creeping,
wriggling towards the open door,--towards him! With a yell beside which
his wife's had been a whisper, O'Shaughnessy turned and fled; but after
him--through the door, down the passage and out of the house--came
hopping, creeping, wriggling his myriad pursuers.
Fly, King Michael! stretch your long legs, and run like a hunted hare
over hill and dale, over moss and moor. They are close behind you; they
are catching at your heels; they come from every side, surrounding you!
Fly, King O'Shaughnessy! but you cannot escape. The Green Men are
hunting you, if you could but know it, in sport and in revenge; and
three times they will chase you round County Kerry, for thrice three
days, till at last they suffer you to drop exhausted in a bog, and
vanish from your sight.
And Eily? Eily went home with her apron full of pearls and diamonds, to
tell her story again, and this time to be believed. And she grew up a
good woman and a rich woman; and she married the young Count of
Kilmoggan, and spoke diamonds and pearls all her life long,--at least
her husband said she did, and he ought to know.