Celtic Fairy Tales (7 page)

"What's the matter, friends?" said he, as he saw them tearing along,
their hats knocked in, and their coats torn off, and their faces
black and blue. "Is it fighting you've been? or mayhap you met the
police, ill luck to them?"

"We'll police you, you vagabond. It's mighty smart you thought
yourself, deluding us with your lying tales."

"Who deluded you? Didn't you see the gold with your own two eyes?"

But it was no use talking. Pay for it he must, and should. There was
a meal-sack handy, and into it Hudden and Dudden popped Donald
O'Neary, tied him up tight, ran a pole through the knot, and off
they started for the Brown Lake of the Bog, each with a pole-end on
his shoulder, and Donald O'Neary between.

But the Brown Lake was far, the road was dusty, Hudden and Dudden
were sore and weary, and parched with thirst. There was an inn by
the roadside.

"Let's go in," said Hudden; "I'm dead beat. It's heavy he is for the
little he had to eat."

If Hudden was willing, so was Dudden. As for Donald, you may be sure
his leave wasn't asked, but he was lumped down at the inn door for
all the world as if he had been a sack of potatoes.

"Sit still, you vagabond," said Dudden; "if we don't mind waiting,
you needn't."

Donald held his peace, but after a while he heard the glasses clink,
and Hudden singing away at the top of his voice.

"I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!" said Donald. But
nobody heeded what he said.

"I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!" said Donald, and
this time he said it louder; but nobody heeded what he said.

"I won't have her, I tell you; I won't have her!" said Donald; and
this time he said it as loud as he could.

"And who won't you have, may I be so bold as to ask?" said a farmer,
who had just come up with a drove of cattle, and was turning in for
a glass.

"It's the king's daughter. They are bothering the life out of me to
marry her."

"You're the lucky fellow. I'd give something to be in your shoes."

"Do you see that now! Wouldn't it be a fine thing for a farmer to be
marrying a princess, all dressed in gold and jewels?"

"Jewels, do you say? Ah, now, couldn't you take me with you?"

"Well, you're an honest fellow, and as I don't care for the king's
daughter, though she's as beautiful as the day, and is covered with
jewels from top to toe, you shall have her. Just undo the cord, and
let me out; they tied me up tight, as they knew I'd run away from
her."

Out crawled Donald; in crept the farmer.

"Now lie still, and don't mind the shaking; it's only rumbling over
the palace steps you'll be. And maybe they'll abuse you for a
vagabond, who won't have the king's daughter; but you needn't mind
that. Ah! it's a deal I'm giving up for you, sure as it is that I
don't care for the princess."

"Take my cattle in exchange," said the farmer; and you may guess it
wasn't long before Donald was at their tails driving them homewards.

Out came Hudden and Dudden, and the one took one end of the pole,
and the other the other.

"I'm thinking he's heavier," said Hudden.

"Ah, never mind," said Dudden; "it's only a step now to the Brown
Lake."

"I'll have her now! I'll have her now!" bawled the farmer, from
inside the sack.

"By my faith, and you shall though," said Hudden, and he laid his
stick across the sack.

"I'll have her! I'll have her!" bawled the farmer, louder than ever.

"Well, here you are," said Dudden, for they were now come to the
Brown Lake, and, unslinging the sack, they pitched it plump into the
lake.

"You'll not be playing your tricks on us any longer," said Hudden.

"True for you," said Dudden. "Ah, Donald, my boy, it was an ill day
when you borrowed my scales."

Off they went, with a light step and an easy heart, but when they
were near home, who should they see but Donald O'Neary, and all
around him the cows were grazing, and the calves were kicking up
their heels and butting their heads together.

"Is it you, Donald?" said Dudden. "Faith, you've been quicker than
we have."

"True for you, Dudden, and let me thank you kindly; the turn was
good, if the will was ill. You'll have heard, like me, that the
Brown Lake leads to the Land of Promise. I always put it down as
lies, but it is just as true as my word. Look at the cattle."

Hudden stared, and Dudden gaped; but they couldn't get over the
cattle; fine fat cattle they were too.

"It's only the worst I could bring up with me," said Donald O'Neary;
"the others were so fat, there was no driving them. Faith, too, it's
little wonder they didn't care to leave, with grass as far as you
could see, and as sweet and juicy as fresh butter."

"Ah, now, Donald, we haven't always been friends," said Dudden,
"but, as I was just saying, you were ever a decent lad, and you'll
show us the way, won't you?"

"I don't see that I'm called upon to do that; there is a power more
cattle down there. Why shouldn't I have them all to myself?"

"Faith, they may well say, the richer you get, the harder the heart.
You always were a neighbourly lad, Donald. You wouldn't wish to keep
the luck all to yourself?"

"True for you, Hudden, though 'tis a bad example you set me. But
I'll not be thinking of old times. There is plenty for all there, so
come along with me."

Off they trudged, with a light heart and an eager step. When they
came to the Brown Lake, the sky was full of little white clouds,
and, if the sky was full, the lake was as full.

"Ah! now, look, there they are," cried Donald, as he pointed to the
clouds in the lake.

"Where? where?" cried Hudden, and "Don't be greedy!" cried Dudden,
as he jumped his hardest to be up first with the fat cattle. But if
he jumped first, Hudden wasn't long behind.

They never came back. Maybe they got too fat, like the cattle. As
for Donald O'Neary, he had cattle and sheep all his days to his
heart's content.

Up in the Black Mountains in Caermarthenshire lies the lake known as
Lyn y Van Vach. To the margin of this lake the shepherd of Myddvai
once led his lambs, and lay there whilst they sought pasture.
Suddenly, from the dark waters of the lake, he saw three maidens
rise. Shaking the bright drops from their hair and gliding to the
shore, they wandered about amongst his flock. They had more than
mortal beauty, and he was filled with love for her that came nearest
to him. He offered her the bread he had with him, and she took it
and tried it, but then sang to him:

Hard-baked is thy bread,
'Tis not easy to catch me,

and then ran off laughing to the lake.

Next day he took with him bread not so well done, and watched for
the maidens. When they came ashore he offered his bread as before,
and the maiden tasted it and sang:

Unbaked is thy bread,
I will not have thee,

and again disappeared in the waves.

A third time did the shepherd of Myddvai try to attract the maiden,
and this time he offered her bread that he had found floating about
near the shore. This pleased her, and she promised to become his
wife if he were able to pick her out from among her sisters on the
following day. When the time came the shepherd knew his love by the
strap of her sandal. Then she told him she would be as good a wife
to him as any earthly maiden could be unless he should strike her
three times without cause. Of course he deemed that this could never
be; and she, summoning from the lake three cows, two oxen, and a
bull, as her marriage portion, was led homeward by him as his bride.

The years passed happily, and three children were born to the
shepherd and the lake-maiden. But one day here were going to a
christening, and she said to her husband it was far to walk, so he
told her to go for the horses.

"I will," said she, "if you bring me my gloves which I've left in
the house."

But when he came back with the gloves, he found she had not gone for
the horses; so he tapped her lightly on the shoulder with the
gloves, and said, "Go, go."

"That's one," said she.

Another time they were at a wedding, when suddenly the lake-maiden
fell a-sobbing and a-weeping, amid the joy and mirth of all around
her.

Her husband tapped her on the shoulder, and asked her, "Why do you
weep?"

"Because they are entering into trouble; and trouble is upon you;
for that is the second causeless blow you have given me. Be careful;
the third is the last."

The husband was careful never to strike her again. But one day at a
funeral she suddenly burst out into fits of laughter. Her husband
forgot, and touched her rather roughly on the shoulder, saying, "Is
this a time for laughter?"

"I laugh," she said, "because those that die go out of trouble, but
your trouble has come. The last blow has been struck; our marriage
is at an end, and so farewell." And with that she rose up and left
the house and went to their home.

Then she, looking round upon her home, called to the cattle she had
brought with her:

Brindle cow, white speckled,
Spotted cow, bold freckled,
Old white face, and gray Geringer,
And the white bull from the king's coast,
Grey ox, and black calf,
All, all, follow me home,

Now the black calf had just been slaughtered, and was hanging on the
hook; but it got off the hook alive and well and followed her; and
the oxen, though they were ploughing, trailed the plough with them
and did her bidding. So she fled to the lake again, they following
her, and with them plunged into the dark waters.

And to this day is the furrow seen which the plough left as it was
dragged across the mountains to the tarn.

Only once did she come again, when her sons were grown to manhood,
and then she gave them gifts of healing by which they won the name
of Meddygon Myddvai, the physicians of Myddvai.

A sprightly tailor was employed by the great Macdonald, in his
castle at Saddell, in order to make the laird a pair of trews, used
in olden time. And trews being the vest and breeches united in one
piece, and ornamented with fringes, were very comfortable, and
suitable to be worn in walking or dancing. And Macdonald had said to
the tailor, that if he would make the trews by night in the church,
he would get a handsome reward. For it was thought that the old
ruined church was haunted, and that fearsome things were to be seen
there at night.

The tailor was well aware of this; but he was a sprightly man, and
when the laird dared him to make the trews by night in the church,
the tailor was not to be daunted, but took it in hand to gain the
prize. So, when night came, away he went up the glen, about half a
mile distance from the castle, till he came to the old church. Then
he chose him a nice gravestone for a seat and he lighted his candle,
and put on his thimble, and set to work at the trews; plying his
needle nimbly, and thinking about the hire that the laird would have
to give him.

For some time he got on pretty well, until he felt the floor all of
a tremble under his feet; and looking about him, but keeping his
fingers at work, he saw the appearance of a great human head rising
up through the stone pavement of the church. And when the head had
risen above the surface, there came from it a great, great voice.
And the voice said: "Do you see this great head of mine?"

"I see that, but I'll sew this!" replied the sprightly tailor; and
he stitched away at the trews.

Then the head rose higher up through the pavement, until its neck
appeared. And when its neck was shown, the thundering voice came
again and said: "Do you see this great neck of mine?"

"I see that, but I'll sew this!" said the sprightly tailor; and he
stitched away at his trews.

Then the head and neck rose higher still, until the great shoulders
and chest were shown above the ground. And again the mighty voice
thundered: "Do you see this great chest of mine?"

And again the sprightly tailor replied: "I see that, but I'll sew
this!" and stitched away at his trews.

And still it kept rising through the pavement, until it shook a
great pair of arms in the tailor's face, and said: "Do you see these
great arms of mine?"

"I see those, but I'll sew this!" answered the tailor; and he
stitched hard at his trews, for he knew that he had no time to lose.

The sprightly tailor was taking the long stitches, when he saw it
gradually rising and rising through the floor, until it lifted out a
great leg, and stamping with it upon the pavement, said in a roaring
voice: "Do you see this great leg of mine?"

"Aye, aye: I see that, but I'll sew this!" cried the tailor; and his
fingers flew with the needle, and he took such long stitches, that
he was just come to the end of the trews, when it was taking up its
other leg. But before it could pull it out of the pavement, the
sprightly tailor had finished his task; and, blowing out his candle,
and springing from off his gravestone, he buckled up, and ran out of
the church with the trews under his arm. Then the fearsome thing
gave a loud roar, and stamped with both his feet upon the pavement,
and out of the church he went after the sprightly tailor.

Down the glen they ran, faster than the stream when the flood rides
it; but the tailor had got the start and a nimble pair of legs, and
he did not choose to lose the laird's reward. And though the thing
roared to him to stop, yet the sprightly tailor was not the man to
be beholden to a monster. So he held his trews tight, and let no
darkness grow under his feet, until he had reached Saddell Castle.
He had no sooner got inside the gate, and shut it, than the
apparition came up to it; and, enraged at losing his prize, struck
the wall above the gate, and left there the mark of his five great
fingers. Ye may see them plainly to this day, if ye'll only peer
close enough.