The King of Ireland's Son, Illustrated Edition (Yesterday's Classics)

by Padraic Colum

  VIII

  GILLY of the Goatskin wished for wide windows in his house and he got them. He wished for a light within when there was darkness without, and he got a silver lamp that burned until he wished to sleep. He wished for the songs of birds and he had a blackbird singing upon his half-door, a lark over his chimney, a goldfinch and a green linnet within his window, and a shy wren in the evening singing from the top of his dresser. Then he wished to hear the conversation of the beasts and all the creatures of the fields and the wood and the mountain top came into his house.

  The hare used to come in early in the morning. He was always the first visitor and he never remained long, and always while he was there he kept running up and down the house, and he generally ended his visit by jumping through the open window. The martens, the beautiful wild cats of the wood, came in to see Gilly once; they were very proud and told him nothing. The little black rabbits were very much impressed by the martens, and all the time the martens were there they stayed under the bed and the chairs. Two or three times the King of the Wood himself—the Boar of the Bristles and the Long Tusks—came to see Gilly; he used to push open the door and then stand in the middle of the floor grunting and grunting. Once he brought his wife with him, and six or seven of their little pigs that went running over the floor, with their ears hanging over their eyes, came with them too. The hedgehogs used to come, but they always made themselves disagreeable. They just lay down by the fire and snored, and when they wakened up they quarrelled with each other. Everybody said that the hedgehogs' children were very badly brought up and very badly provided for. The squirrels who were so clean and careful, and so fond of their children, thought the hedgehogs were very bad creatures indeed. "It is just like them to have dirty sticky thorns around them instead of nice clean fur," said the squirrel's wife. "But, my dear," said the squirrel, "every animal can't have fur." "How well," said she, "the rabbits have fur, though dear knows they're creatures of not much account. It's all just to let us see that they're some relation of that horrible, horrible boar that goes crashing and marching through the wood."

  The deer never came into the house, and Gilly had a shed made for them outside. They would come into it and stay there for many nights and days, and Gilly used to go out and talk with them. They knew about far countries, and strange paths and passes, but they did not know so much about men and about the doings of other creatures as the Fox did.

  The Fox used to come in the evening and stay until nearly morning whether Gilly fell asleep or kept awake. The Fox was a very good talker. He used to lie down at the hearth with his paws stretched out, and tell about this one and that one, and what she said and what he did. If the Fox came to see you, and if he was in good humor for talking, you would stay up all night to listen to him. I know I should. It was the Fox who told Gilly what the Crow of Achill did to Laheen the Eagle. She had stolen the Crystal Egg that Laheen was about to hatch—the Crystal Egg that the Crane had left on a bare rock. It was the Fox who told Gilly how the first cat came into the world. And it was the Fox who told Gilly about the generations of the eel. All I say is that it is a pity the Fox cannot be trusted, for a better one to talk and tell a story it would be hard to find. He was always picking up and eating things that had been left over—a potato roasting in the ashes, an apple left upon a plate, a piece of meat under a cover. Gilly did not grudge these things to Rory the Fox and he always left something in a bag for him to take home to the young foxes.

  I had nearly forgotten to tell you about Gilly's friend, the brave Weasel. He had made a home for himself under the roof. Sometimes he would go away for a day or so and he would never tell Gilly where he had been. When he was at home he made himself the door-keeper of Gilly's house. If any of the creatures made themselves disagreeable by quarrelling amongst each other, or by being uncivil to Gilly, the Weasel would just walk over to them and look them in the eyes. Then that creature went away. Always he held his head up and if Gilly asked him for advice he would say three words, "Have no fear; have no fear."

  One day Gilly wanted to have a bunch of cherries with his dinner, and he went to find the Crystal Egg so that he might wish for it. The Crystal Egg was not in the place he had left it. He called the Weasel and the two of them searched the house. The Crystal Egg was nowhere to be found. "One of the creatures has stolen the Egg," said the Weasel, "but whoever stole it I will make bring it back. I'll soon find out who did it." The Weasel walked up to every creature that came in, looked him or her in the eye and said, "Did you steal the Crystal Egg?" And every creature that came in said, "No, Little Lion, I didn't steal it." Next day they had examined every creature except the Fox. The Fox had not been in the night before nor the night before that again. He did not come in the evening they missed the Crystal Egg nor the evening after that evening. That night the Weasel said, "As sure as there are teeth in my head the Fox stole the Crystal Egg. As soon as there is light we'll search for him and make him give the Egg back to us."

  IX

  THE Weasel was right; it was Rory the Fox who had stolen Gilly's Crystal Egg. One night, just as he was leaving Gilly's house, the moon shone full upon the Crystal Egg. In the turn of a hand Rory the Fox had made a little spring and had taken the Egg in his mouth. Then he slipped out by the door as quick and as quiet as a leaf blown in the wind.

  He couldn't help himself stealing the Egg, when the chance came. He had had a dream about it. He dreamt that the Egg had been hatched and that out of it had come the most toothsome bird that a Fox had ever taken by the neck. He snapped his teeth in his sleep when he dreamt of it. The Fox told his youngsters about the bird he had dreamt of—a bird as big as a goose and so fat on the neck and the breast that it could hardly stir from sitting. The youngsters had smacked their lips and snapped their teeth. Every time he came home now they used to say to him—"Father, have you brought us the Boobrie Bird?" No wonder that his eyes used to turn to the Crystal Egg when he sat in Gilly's house. And then because the moon shone on it just as he was leaving, and because he knew that Gilly's back was turned, he could not keep himself from making a little spring and taking the Crystal Egg softly in his mouth.

  He went amongst the dark, dark trees with the soft and easy trot of a Fox. He knew well what he should do with the Egg. He had dreamt that it had been hatched by the Spae-Woman's old rheumatic goose. This goose was called Old Mother Hatchie and the Fox had never carried her off because he knew she was always hatching out goslings for his table. He went through the trees and across the fields towards the Spae-Woman's house.

  The Spae-Woman lived by telling people their fortunes and reading them their dreams. That is why she was called the Spae-Woman. The people gave her goods for telling them their dreams and fortunes and she left her land and stock to whatever chanced. The fences of her fields were broken and rotted. Her hens had been carried off by the Fox. Her goat had gone wild. She had neither ox nor ass nor sheep nor pig. The Fox went through her fence now as lightning would go through a gooseberry bush and he came out before her barn. There was a hole in the barn-door and he went through that. And in the north-west corner of the barn, he saw Old Mother Hatchie sitting on a nest of straw and he knew that there was a clutch of eggs under her. She cackled when she saw the Fox on the floor of the barn but she never stirred off the nest. Rory left what was in his mouth on the ground. Old Mother Hatchie put her head on one side and looked at the Egg that was clear in the full moonlight.

  "This egg, Mistress Hatchie," said Rory the Fox, "is from the Hen-wife of the Queen of Ireland. The Queen asked the Hen-wife to ask me to leave it with you. She thinks there's no bird in the world but yourself that is worthy to hatch it and to rear the gosling that comes out of it."

  "That's right, that's right," said Mother Hatchie. "Put it here, put it here." She lifted her wing and the Fox put the Crystal Egg into the brood-nest.

  He went out of the barn, crossed the field again, and went amongst the dark, dark trees. He went along slowly now for he began to think that Gilly migh
t find out who stole the Crystal Egg and be vexed with him. Then he thought of the Weasel. The Fox began to think he might be sorry for himself if the Weasel was set on his track.

  Rory did not go to Gilly's house the next night nor the night after. The third night, as he was going home from a ramble, the Owl hooted at him. "Why do you hoot at me, Big Moth?" said the Fox stopping in his trot. (He always called the Owl "Big Moth" to pretend that he thought she wasn't a bird at all, but a moth. He made this pretence because he was annoyed that he could never get an owl to eat). "Why do you hoot at me, Big Moth?" said he. "The Weasel's going to have your bones for his stepping-stones and your blood for his morning dram," said the Owl balefully as she went amongst the dark, dark trees. The Fox stopped long to consider. Then he went to his burrow and told his youngsters they would have to move house. He had them stirring at the first light. He gave them a frog each for their breakfast and took them across the country. They came to a burrow that Old-Fellow Badger had just left and Rory the Fox brought his youngsters into it and told them that it would be their new house.

  X

  THE evening after when Rory the Fox was taking his nap he heard one of his youngsters give a sharp cry. They were playing outside the burrow. He looked out and he saw that his three youngsters were afraid of something that was between them and the burrow. He looked again and saw the Weasel.

  "Ahem," said Rory the Fox, "and how are we this morning?"

  The Weasel had marked one of Rory's youngsters for attack. Although Rory spoke, he never took his eyes off the youngster he had marked.

  "My dear friend," said the Fox, "I was just going to say—if you are looking for anything, perhaps I could tell you where it might be found."

  "Crystal Egg," said the Weasel without ever taking away his blood-thirsty gaze from Rory's youngster.

  "Oh, the Crystal Egg," said Rory the Fox. "Yes, to be sure. I could bring you at once to the place where the Crystal Egg is." He came out of the burrow and saw Gilly standing on the bank behind.

  "I think it is time for my children to go back to their burrow," said Rory the Fox. "Please excuse them, my friends." The Weasel took his eyes off the youngster he had marked and the three little foxes scampered into the burrow.

  "This way, friends," said the Fox, and he started off towards the Spae-Woman's house with the light and easy trot of a fox. Gilly and the Weasel went behind him. They crossed a field of flax, a field of hemp and a field of barley. They came to the broken fence before the Spae-Woman's house, and in front of the house they saw the Spae-Woman herself and she was crying and crying.

  The Fox hid behind the fence, the Weasel climbed up on the ditch and Gilly himself went to the woman.

  "What ails you at all?" said Gilly to her.

  "My goose—the only fowl left to me has been taken by robbers."

  "Ask her where the clutch of eggs is that the goose was hatching," said Rory the Fox anxiously, putting his head over the fence.

  "And where is the clutch of eggs, ma'am, that your goose was hatching?"

  "The robbers took the nest with the goose and the eggs with the nest," said the Spae-Woman.

  "And the Crystal Egg was with the other eggs," said the Fox to Gilly. He said no more. He made a quick turn and got clear away before the Weasel could spring on him. He ran back to his burrow. He told the little foxes they must change houses again. That night they lay in a wood and at the first light they crossed water and went to live on an island where the Weasel never came.

  "Where did the robbers go with the goose, the nest, and the eggs?" said Gilly of the Goatskin.

  "They went to the river," said the Spae-Woman. "I followed them every inch of the way. They got into a boat and they hoisted their sails. They rowed and they rowed, so that the hard gravel of the bottom was brought to the top, and the froth of the top was driven down to the bottom of the river. And wherever they are," said the Spae-Woman, "they are far from us now."

  "Will you come with me?" said Gilly to the Weasel, "we will track them down and take back the Crystal Egg."

  "I engaged myself to be with you for a quarter of a year," said the Weasel, "and the three months are up now, Gilly. Winter is coming on and I must see to my own affairs."

  "Then good-by, Weasel," said Gilly. "I will search for the Crystal Egg myself. But first I must ask the woman to let me rest in the house and to give me some provision for my journey."

  The Weasel looked up into Gilly's face and said good-by to him. Then Gilly followed the Spae-Woman into her house. "Ocone," she was saying to herself, "my dream told me I was to lose my poor goose, and still I never did anything to make it hard for the robbers to take her from me."

  XI

  WELL, in the Spae-Woman's house he stayed for three-quarters of a year. He often went in search of the robbers who had taken the Crystal Egg with the Spae-Woman's goose, but no trace of them nor their booty could he ever find. He met birds and beasts who were his friends, but he could not have speech with them without the Egg that let him have anything he wished. He did work for the Spae-Woman—fixed her fences and repaired her barn and brought brosna for her fire every evening from the wood. At night, before he went to sleep, the Spae-Woman used to tell him her dreams of the night before and tell him about the people who had come to her house to have their fortunes told.

  One Monday morning she said to him, "I have had an inlook, son of my heart, and I know that my gossip, the Churl of the Townland of Mischance, is going to come and take you into his service."

  "And what sort of a man is your gossip, the Churl of the Townland of Mischance?" Gilly asked.

  "An unkind man. Two youths who served me he took away, one after the other, and miserable are they made by what he did to them. I'm in dread of your being brought to the Townland of Mischance."

  "Why are you in dread of it, Spae-Woman?" said Gilly. "Sure, I'll be glad enough to see the world."

  "That's what the other two youths said," said the Spae-Woman. "Now I'll tell you what my gossip the Churl of the Townland of Mischance does: he makes a bargain with the youth that goes into his service, telling him he will give him a guinea, a groat and a tester for his three months' service. And he tells the youth that if he says he is sorry for the bargain he must lose his wages and part with a strip of his skin, an inch wide, from his neck to his heel. Oh, he is an unkind man, my gossip, the Churl of the Townland of Mischance."

  He rode on a bob-tailed, big-headed, spavined and spotted horse.

  "And is there no way to get the better of him?" asked Gilly.

  "There is, but it is a hard way," said the Spae-Woman. "If one could make him say that he, the master, is sorry for the bargain, the Churl himself would lose a strip of his skin an inch wide from his neck to his heel, and would have to pay full wages no matter how short a time the youth served him."

  "It's a bargain anyway," said Gilly, "and if he comes I'll take service with the Churl of the Townland of Mischance."

  The first wet day that came brought the Churl of the Townland of Mischance. He rode on a bob-tailed, big-headed, spavined and spotted horse. He carried an ash-plant in his hand to flog the horse and to strike at the dogs that crossed his way. He had blue lips, eyes looking crossways and eyebrows like a furze bush. He had a bag before him filled with boiled pigs' feet. Now when he rode up to the house, he had a pig's foot to his mouth and was eating. He got down off the bob-tailed, big-headed, spavined and spotted horse, and came in.

  "I heard there was a young fellow at your house and I want him to take service with me," said he to the Spae-Woman.

  "If the bargain is a good one I'll take service with you," said Gilly.

  "All right, my lad," said the Churl. "Here is the bargain, and it's as fair as fair can be. I'll give you a guinea, a groat and a tester for your three months' work with me."

  "I believe it's good wages," said Gilly.

  "It is. Howsoever, if you ever say you are sorry you made the bargain you will lose your wages, and besides that you will lose a strip
of your skin an inch wide from your neck to your heel. I have to put that in or I'd never get work done for me at all. The serving boys are always saying 'I can't do that,' and 'I'm sorry I made the bargain with you.' "

  "And if you say you're sorry you made the bargain?"

  "Oh, then I'll have to lose a strip of my skin an inch wide from my neck to my heel, and besides that I'll have to give you full wages no matter how short a time you served me."

  "Well, if that suits you it will suit me," said Gilly of the Goatskin.

  "Then walk beside my horse and we'll get back to the Townland of Mischance to-night," said the Churl. Then he swished his ash-plant towards Gilly and ordered him to get ready. The Spae-Woman wiped the tears from her face with her apron, gave Gilly a cake with her blessing, and he started off with the Churl for the Townland of Mischance.

  XII

  WHAT did Gilly of the Goatskin do in the Townland of Mischance? He got up early and went to bed late; he was kept digging, delving and ditching until he was so tired that he could go to sleep in a furze bush; he ate a breakfast that left him hungry five hours before dinner-time, and he ate a dinner that made it seem long until supper-time. If he complained the Churl would say, "Well, then you are sorry for your bargain," and Gilly would say "No," rather than lose the wages he had earned and a strip of his skin into the bargain.

  One day the Churl said to him, "Go into the town for salt for my supper, take the short way across the pasture-field, and be sure not to let the grass grow under your feet." "All right, master," said Gilly. "Maybe you would bring me my coat out of the house so that I needn't make two journeys." The Churl went into the house for Gilly's coat. When he came back he found Gilly standing in the nice grass of the pasture-field lighting a wisp of hay. "What are you doing that for?" said the Churl to him. "To burn the grass on the pasture-field," said Gilly. "To burn the grass on my pasture-field, you villain—the grass that is for my good race-horse's feeding! What do you mean, at all?" "Sure, you told me not to let the grass grow under my feet," said Gilly. "Doesn't the world know that the grass is growing every minute, and how will I prevent it from growing under my feet if I don't burn it?" With that he stooped down to put the lighted hay to the grass of the pasture-field. "Stop, stop," said the Churl, "I meant that you were to go to the town, without loitering on the way." "Well, it's a pity you didn't speak more clearly," said Gilly, "for now the grass is a-fire." The Churl had to stamp on the grass to put the fire out. He burnt his shins, and that made him very angry. "O you fool," said he to Gilly, "I'm sorry—" "Are you sorry for the bargain you made with me, Master?" "No. I was going to say I was sorry I hadn't made my meaning clear to you. Go now to the town and bring me back salt for my supper as quickly as you can."