FAIRY SERVANTS IN THE HOUSE
Their dwellings be
In corners of old houses least frequented
Or beneath stacks of wood; and these convented
Make fearful noise in butteries and in dairies;
Robin Goodfellows some, some call them Fairies.
In solitary rooms, these uproars keep;
And beat at doors to wake men from their sleep.
Pots, glasses, trenchers, dishes, pans, and kettles,
They will make dance about the shelves and settles,
As if about the kitchen tossed and cast,
Yet in the morning nothing found misplaced!
From the Hierarchie of the Blessed Angells (1635)
THE FAIRY’S SERVANTS
From the Basque
Once upon a time there was a poor woman who had three daughters.
One day the youngest said: “Mother, now that I am old enough, I wish to go out to service.”
The mother thought to herself: “If this one goes, why, there will be more to eat for the rest of us,” so she said: “Very well, good luck go with you.”
The girl set out, and after she had walked a long way she came to a beautiful city. A handsome lady met her, and asked:—
“Where are you going, my child?”
“I am going out to service,” replied the girl.
“Will you come with me to my home?” asked the lady.
“Yes, indeed,” said the girl, “and I’ll try to serve you faithfully.”
The lady led her to a large and fine house, and told her what work she should do that day.
“We are Fairies,” said she. “I must go away for a short time, but do you work in the kitchen while I am gone. Dig up the kitchen floor, smash the pitcher, break the plates. Whip the children, throw dirt in their faces, and rumple their hair.” Then the lady went away.
The girl, who thought these orders very strange, began to feed the children. Just then a little dog came creeping up to her, wagging his tail.
“Bow! Bow! Bow!” said he. “I, too, want something to eat!”
So the girl gave him a plateful of breakfast, and when he had eaten all he wished, he said:—
“You are a good girl, and I will tell you what to do to please my mistress. What she really meant was for you to sweep the kitchen floor, fill the pitcher, wash the dishes, and dress and feed the children. Do all this well, and she will give you the choice of a beautiful star on your forehead or a donkey’s tail hanging from your nose. Then she will offer you a sack of gold or a bag of charcoal. You must choose the donkey’s tail and the bag of charcoal.”
Well, the girl did all as the little dog told her, and when the mistress came home she smiled and said:—
“Choose which you will have, a beautiful star on your forehead, or a donkey’s tail hanging from your nose.”
“A donkey’s tail is the same to me,” said the girl.
“Will you have a sack of gold or a bag of charcoal?” asked the lady.
“The bag of charcoal is the same to me,” said the girl.
Then the lady placed a beautiful star on her forehead, and gave her a big sackful of gold, and told her she might go back to her mother.
The girl thanked the lady, and leaving the house hastened home. When her mother and sisters saw how pretty she was with the star on her forehead, and when they felt the big sack of gold on her shoulder, they were astonished.
Then the eldest sister began to cry and say: “Mother, I will go out and be a servant, too!”
“No! no! my child,” said the mother, “I will not let you go.”
But the girl wept, and would not leave her mother in peace until she said, “Go”; then she set off and walked until she came to the Fairy city.
The handsome lady met her and asked:—
“Where are you going, my child?”
“I am going out to service,” said the girl.
“Will you come with me to my home?” asked the lady.
The girl said she would, so the lady led her to the large and fine house and told her what work she should do that day.
“Dig up the kitchen floor,” said she, “smash the pitcher, break the plates. Whip the children, throw dirt in their faces, and rumple their hair.” Then she went away.
As soon as the lady was gone, the girl began to eat up all the good things in the pantry. Just then the little dog came creeping up to her, wagging his tail.
“Bow! Bow! Bow! I, too, want something to eat,” he said.
“Go away, you horrid little beast,” answered the girl, and she gave him a kick.
But the little dog would not leave her, and followed her about until she drove him from the kitchen with blows. Then she dug up the kitchen floor, smashed the pitcher, broke all the plates, whipped the children, threw dirt in their faces, and rumpled their hair.
By and by the mistress came home, and when she saw what the girl had been doing she frowned and said:—
“Choose which you will have, a beautiful star on your forehead or a donkey’s tail hanging from your nose.”
“A star on my forehead for me,” said the girl.
“Will you have a sack of gold or a bag of charcoal?” asked the lady.
“A sack of gold for me,” said the girl.
Then the lady hung a donkey’s tail on the end of her nose, and gave her a big bag of charcoal, and sent her back to her home. And when her mother saw her she was so ashamed that she locked her in the cellar.
As for the youngest girl, she shared her sack of gold with her mother and other sister, and then she married a fine young man, and lived happily ever after.
THE PIXIES
From England
There was once a little cottage in the middle of a flower garden. Its walls were covered with roses, and its porch was twined with clematis. The bees buzzed over the flowers, and the butterflies fluttered about the porch. And a hundred little green Pixies lived in the wood near by.
In this cottage two orphan sisters dwelt all alone. One morning the elder sister, Mary, got up at break of day. She milked the cow, churned the butter, swept the hearth, and made the breakfast. Then she sat on the porch to spin, and sang:—
“How merrily the wheel goes round,
With a whirring, humming sound!”
But the younger sister, Alice, lay in bed asleep. Then Mary put her spinning aside, and called:—
“Wake, Alice, wake! There is much for you to do while I go to the market-town. I must sell our yarn, and buy your new dress. While I am gone, don’t forget to bring in the firewood, drain the honeycomb, and fill the Pixies’ water-pail.”
But Alice did not answer. So Mary put on her hood and took her basket full of yarn. She walked all the way to the market-town and sold her yarn, and bought the new dress. Then she walked home again.
The sun was set when she reached the cottage, and Alice was sitting idle on the porch. The honeycomb was not drained, the firewood was not brought in, the bed was not made, and the supper was uncooked. And although Mary was tired and hungry, she had to cook the supper and make the bed. Then the sisters went to sleep.
By and by, the hundred little green Pixies came creeping, creeping into the kitchen. They pattered softly about and whispered so that the sisters should not hear them. Some ran to the spinning-wheel and began to spin, others built a fire under the oven, and mixed and kneaded the bread. One took a broom and swept the floor, and another brought in the firewood.
When all the yarn was spun, the bread baked, and the kitchen tidy, the Pixies ran to the water-pail to get a drink. But there was not a drop of water in it! And, oh! how angry they were!
Then Mary awoke, and cried: “Alice! Alice! Don’t you hear those angry buzzings? Surely you did not forget to fill the Pixies’ water-pail!”
But Alice answered: “I did not draw the water to-day. And I will not leave my bed now to fetch it for any little Pixy!” Then she went to sleep again.
But Mary got up, and, though her feet were tired and sore, she took the pail and ran through the garden to the spring. And as she stooped she saw a hundred little faces laughing at her from the water. She dipped her pail, and they were gone. She lifted the full pail, and felt little hands seize it and bear it along. It was carried to the door, and into the kitchen, and set down by the hearth. But she could see no one, so she went to bed again.
The next morning early, Mary got up. She ran to the pail and looked into it. Then she clapped her hands and called:—
“Come, Alice, come! See the silver pennies shining at the bottom of the clear water! There must be a hundred of them! Come, sister, dear!”
Then Alice, waking, tried to sit up. But she screamed with fright, for she could not move her hands and feet. Indeed, she could not rise at all! And that day, and the next, and for many days after, she lay helpless on her bed, and Mary fed and comforted her.
And every night the hundred little green Pixies came creeping, creeping into the kitchen. They swept, they baked, they sewed, they spun, and they drank from Mary’s water-pail. And every night they left one piece of silver there.
And so a whole year passed, and Alice lay and thought, and thought, and thought about her idle ways. And one night she called Mary to her, and wept and said:—
“Oh, sister, if only I could get up to-morrow, and feel the warm sunshine and play among the flowers! And if only I were strong enough to work for you, as you have worked for me!”
And Mary kissed and comforted her.
The next morning came, and Mary got up at break of day. She ran and looked into the water-pail. Then she clapped her hands and called:—
“Come, Alice, come! See the silver pennies shining at the bottom of the clear water! There must be a hundred of them! Come, sister, dear!”
And Alice forgot that she could not move. She sprang lightly out of bed and ran into the kitchen. And she was all well and happy again!
And oh, how glad the sisters were! How they kissed each other and laughed with joy! They milked the cow, and churned, and baked, and cooked, and sat spinning on the porch. And the bees buzzed, and the butterflies fluttered, and the sisters sang:—
“How merrily the wheels go round,
With a whirring, humming sound!”
THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH
From Scotland
OLD MADGE’S TALE
Have you ever heard of the Brownie, Aiken-Drum? No? Well, I will tell you how he came to Blednoch. It was in the Autumn time. The red sun was setting, when through our town he passed crying, oh! so wearily:—
“Have ye work for Aiken-Drum?
Have ye work for Aiken-Drum?”
He tirled at the pin, and entered in. I trow the boldest there stood back! You should have heard the children scream. The black dog barked, the lasses shrieked, at the sight of Aiken-Drum.
His matted head lay on his breast. A long blue beard fell to his waist. Around his hairy form was wrapped a cloth of woven rushes green. His long, thin arms trailed on the ground. His hands were claws; his feet had no toes. Oh, fearful to see was Aiken-Drum! And all the time he cried so wearily, so drearily:—
“Have ye work for Aiken-Drum?
Have ye work for Aiken-Drum?”
Then the brave goodman stood forth, and said: “What would you? Whence come you by land or sea?”
Then what a groan gave Aiken-Drum! “I come from a land where I never saw the sky! But now I’ll bide with you, if ye have work for Aiken-Drum! I’ll watch your sheep and tend your kine, each night till day. I’ll thresh your grain by the light of the moon. I’ll sing strange songs to your bonny bairns, if ye’ll but keep poor Aiken-Drum! I’ll churn the cream, I’ll knead the bread, I’ll tame the wildest colts ye have, if ye’ll but keep poor Aiken-Drum! No clothes nor gold is wage for me. A bowl of porridge on the warm hearthstone is wage enough for Aiken-Drum!”
“The Brownie speaks well,” said the old housewife. “Our workers are scarce. We have much to do. Let us try this Aiken-Drum.”
Then should you have seen the Brownie work! By night he swept the kitchen clean. He scoured the pots until they shone. By the light of the moon he threshed the grain. He gathered the crops into the barn. He watched the sheep and tended the kine. By day he played with the bonny bairns, and sang them strange songs of the land without sky. So passed the months away, and all farm-things throve for the goodman and the old housewife.
But when the cold night winds blew hard, a lass, who saw the Brownie’s clothes woven all of rushes green, made him a suit of sheep’s wool warm. She placed it by his porridge bowl. And that night was heard a wailing cry, so weary and so dreary:—
“Long, long may I now weep and groan!
Wages of clothes are now my own!
O luckless Aiken-Drum!”
And down the street and through the town, his voice came back upon the wind:—
“Farewell to Blednoch!
Farewell! Farewell!”
And never again in all that land was seen the Brownie Aiken-Drum!
ELSA AND THE TEN ELVES
From Sweden
Once upon a time a little girl named Elsa lived on a farm. She was pretty, sweet-tempered, and generous, but she did not like to work. Her father was very proud of her, and sent her to school in the city. She learned to read, write, sing, and dance, but still she did not know how to cook, sew, or care for a house.
When she grew older, she was so good and beautiful that many young men wished her for a wife, but she said “No” to all except to her neighbour, Gunner, a handsome, industrious young farmer. Soon they were married, and went to live on his farm.
At first all was happiness, but as the days passed, and Elsa did not direct the servants or look after the house, everything went wrong. The storerooms were in disorder, the food was stolen, and the house dirty. Poor Gunner was at his wits’ end; he loved Elsa too much to scold her.
The day before Christmas came, the sun had been up for a long time, and still Elsa lay in bed. A servant ran into her room, saying:—
“Dear mistress, shall we get ready the men’s luncheon so that they may go to the woods?”
“Leave the room,” said Elsa sleepily, “and do not waken me again!”
Another servant came running in. “Dear mistress,” she cried, “the leaven is working, and if you come quickly the bread will be better than usual.”
“I want candlewicks, dear mistress,” called a third.
“And what meat shall we roast for to-morrow’s feast?” shouted a fourth.
And so it was; servant after servant came running into the room asking for orders, but Elsa would neither answer nor get up.
Last of all came Gunner, impatient because his men had not yet started for the woods.
“Dear Elsa,” he said gently, “my mother used to prepare things the night before, so that the servants might begin work early. We are now going to the woods, and shall not be back until night. Remember there are a few yards of cloth on the loom waiting to be woven.” Then Gunner went away.
As soon as he was gone, Elsa got up in a rage, and, dressing herself, ran through the kitchen to the little house where the loom was kept. She slammed the door behind her, and threw herself down on a couch.
“No!” she screamed. “I won’t!—I won’t endure this drudgery any more! Who would have thought that Gunner would make a servant of me, and wear my life out with work? Oh, me! Oh, me! Is there no one from far or near to help me?”
“I can,” said a deep voice.
And Elsa, raising her head with fright, saw standing close to her an old man wrapped in a gray cloak and wearing a broad-brimmed hat.
“I am Old Man Hoberg,” he said, “and have served your family for many generations. You, my child, are unhappy because you are idle. To love work is a joy. I will now give you ten obedient servants who shall do all your tasks for you.”
He shook his cloak, and out of its folds tumbled ten funny little men. They capered and pranced about, making faces. Then they swiftly put the room in order and finished weaving the cloth on the loom. After all was done they ran and stood in an obedient row before Elsa.
“Dear child, reach hither your hands,” said the old man.
And Elsa, trembling, gave him the tips of her fingers.
Then he said:—
“Hop-o’-My-Thumb,
Lick-the-Pot,
Long-Pole,
Heart-in-Hand,
Little-Peter-Funny-Man,
Away all of you to your places!”
And in the twinkling of an eye the little men vanished into Elsa’s fingers, and the old man disappeared.
Elsa could hardly believe what had happened, and sat staring at her hands. Suddenly a wonderful desire to work came over her. She could sit still no longer.
“Why am I idling here?” cried she cheerfully. “It is late in the morning and the house is not in order! The servants are waiting.” And up she jumped and hastened into the kitchen, and was soon giving orders and singing while she prepared the dinner.
And when Gunner came home that night all was clean and bright to welcome him, and the smell of good things to eat filled the house.
And after that day Elsa rose early each morning, and went about her work sweet-tempered and happy. No one was more pleased and proud than she to see how the work of the farmhouse prospered under her hands. And health, wealth, and happiness came and stayed with Elsa and Gunner.
PISKEY FINE! AND PISKEY GAY!
From Cornwall
’Tis told in the west country, how the Piskey threshed the corn, and did other odd jobs for Farmer Boslow as long as the old man lived. And after his death the Piskey worked for his widow. And this is how she lost the little fellow.
One night, when the hills were covered with snow, and the wind was blowing hard, the Widow Boslow left in the barn, for the Piskey, a larger bowl than usual full of milk thickened with oatmeal. It was clear moonlight, and she stopped outside the door, and peeped in to see if the Piskey would come to eat his supper while it was hot.
The moonlight shone through a little window on to the barn floor; and there, sitting on a sheaf of oats, she saw the Piskey greedily eating his thickened milk. He soon emptied the bowl and scraped it as clean with the wooden spoon as if it had been washed. Then he placed them both in a corner, and stood up and patted and stroked his stomach, and smacked his lips, as if to say: “That’s good of the old dear! See if I don’t thresh well for her to-night!”
But when the Piskey turned around, the widow saw that he had nothing on but rags, and very few of them.
“How the poor Piskey must suffer!” thought she. “He has to pass most of his time out among the rushes in the boggy moor, and his legs are naked, and his breeches are full of holes. I’ll make the poor fellow a good warm suit of home-spun, at once!”
No sooner thought than she went home and began the suit. In a day or two she had made a coat and breeches, and knitted a long pair of sheep’s wool stockings, with garters and a nightcap all nicely knitted, too.
When night came, the widow placed the Piskey’s new clothes and a big bowl of thickened milk on the barn floor, just where the moonlight fell brightest. Then she went outside, and peeped through the door.
Soon she saw the Piskey eating his supper, and squinting at the new clothes. Laying down his empty bowl, he took the things, and put them on over his rags. Then he began capering and jumping around the barn, singing:—
“Piskey fine! and Piskey gay!
Piskey now will run away!”
And sure enough, he bolted out of the door, and passed the widow, without so much as “I wish you well till I see you again!” And he never came back to the farm.
THE FAIRY WEDDING
From Sweden
Once upon a time there was a lovely young girl, daughter of rich parents, who was known for her gentleness and goodness.
One night, while she was lying awake in her bed, watching the moonbeams dance on the floor, her door was softly opened. Then in tripped a little Fairy man clad in a gray jacket and red cap. He came lightly toward her bed, nodding in a most friendly way.
“Do not be afraid, dear lady,” he said. “I have come to ask a favour of you.”
“And I will do it willingly, if I can,” answered the girl, who had begun to recover from her fright.
“Oh, it will not be difficult!” said the Fairy man. “For many years I and mine have lived under the floor of your kitchen, just where the water-cask stands. But the cask has become old and leaky, so that we are continually annoyed by the dripping of water. Our home is never dry.”
“That shall be seen to in the morning,” said the girl.
“Thank you, dear lady,” said the Fairy man, and making an elegant bow, he disappeared as softly as he had come.
The next day, at the girl’s request, her parents had the water-cask removed. And after that, to the surprise of the servants, the kitchen-work was done at night when all slept, and never a pitcher or glass was broken in the house from that day forth. So the Fairies showed their gratitude.
Well, a few months after this, the pretty young girl was again lying awake in her bed, watching the moonbeams dance on the floor, when again her door was opened softly, and the Fairy man stole in.
“Dear lady,” said he, smiling and bowing, “now I have another request to make, which, in your kindness, you will surely not refuse to grant.”
“What is it?” asked she.
“Will you honour me and my house, to-night,” he replied, “and stand at the christening of my newly born daughter?”
The girl arose and dressing herself, followed the Fairy man through many passages and rooms that she had never known existed. At last they entered a small but elegant apartment, in which a host of Fairies were assembled. They immediately christened the Fairy baby. And as the little man was about to conduct the girl again to her room, the Fairies filled her pockets with what looked like shavings.
The little man then led her back through the same winding passages, and as soon as she was safely in her room, he said:—
“If we should meet at another time, you must never laugh at me and mine. We love you for your goodness and modesty, but if you laugh at us, you and I shall never see each other again.”
When he was gone the girl threw all the shavings into the fireplace, and lay down, and went to sleep. And, lo, the next morning when the maid came in to build the fire, she found in the ashes the most beautiful jewelry, all of pure gold set with gems, and of the finest workmanship!
Now, it happened, some time after this, that the girl’s wedding day arrived. There was great bustling, and preparations for a splendid feast. At length the wedding hour came. The bride, beautifully dressed and wearing her Fairy jewels and a crown on her golden hair, was conducted to the hall where the guests were waiting.
During the ceremony she chanced to glance around the hall. She saw, near the fireplace, all her friends the Fairies gathered for a wedding feast. The bridegroom was a little Elf, and the bride was her goddaughter, and the feast was spread on a golden table.
No one but the girl could see the Fairies. Just at that moment one of the Elves, who was acting as waiter at the Fairy bridal, stumbled over a twig that lay on the floor, and fell. Forgetting the caution that the little man had given her, the girl burst into a hearty laugh.
Instantly the golden table, the Elfin bridegroom and bride, and all the Fairy guests vanished. And from that day to this, no work was ever done at night in that kitchen, nor were any Fairies ever seen about that house.
THE TOMTS
From Sweden
Every child knows—or ought to know if he does not know—that the Tomt is a queer little Elfin man, old and wizen, and clad in gray clothes and red cap. He lives in the pantry or in the barn. At night he washes the dishes and sweeps the kitchen floor, or threshes the farmer’s corn and looks after his sheep. Oh, the Tomt is a very friendly Elf, but his feelings are easily hurt! And if any one is impolite to him, he runs away, and is never seen again.
Now, it happened, once upon a time, that there was a farmer whose crops and flocks and herds prospered so well that all knew he was aided by a Tomt. In fact he became the richest farmer in his neighbourhood. Although he had few servants, his house was always in order, and his grain nicely threshed. But he never saw the Elf who did all these things for him.
One night he decided to watch and see who worked in his barn. He hid behind a door. By and by he saw, not one Tomt, but a multitude of Tomts come into the barn. Each carried a stalk of rye; but the littlest Tomt of all, not bigger than a thumb, puffed and breathed very hard, although he carried but a straw on his shoulder.
“Why do you puff so hard?” cried the farmer from his hiding-place. “Your burden is not so great!”
“His burden is according to his strength, for he is but one night old,” answered one of the Tomts. “Hereafter you shall have less!”
And with that all the little men vanished, and the grain lay unthreshed on the barn floor.
And from that day all luck disappeared from the farmer’s house, and he was soon reduced to beggary.
SONG OF THE ELFIN MILLER
Full merrily rings the millstone round,
Full merrily rings the wheel,
Full merrily gushes out the grist—
Come, taste my fragrant meal!
As sends the lift its snowy drift,
So the meal comes in a shower;
Work, Fairies, fast, for time flies past—
I borrowed the mill an hour.
The miller he’s a worldly man,
And maun hae double fee;
So draw the sluice of the churl’s dam,
And let the stream come free.
Shout, Fairies, shout! see, gushing out,
The meal comes like a river:
The top of the grain on hill and plain
Is ours, and shall be ever.
One Elf goes chasing the wild bat’s wing
And one the white owl’s horn;
One hunts the fox for the white o’ his tail,
And we winna hae him till morn.
One idle Fay, with the glow-worm’s ray,
Runs glimmering ’mong the mosses:
Another goes tramp wi’ the Will-o-wisps’ lamp,
To light a lad to the lasses.
Oh, haste, my brown Elf, bring me corn
From Bonnie Blackwood plains;
Go, gentle Fairy, bring me grain
From green Dalgona mains;
But, pride of a’ at Closeburn ha’,
Fair is the corn and fatter;
Taste Fairies, taste, a gallanter grist
Has never been wet with water.
Hilloah! my hopper is heaped high;
Hark to the well-hung wheels!
They sing for joy; the dusty roof
It clatters and it reels.
Haste, Elves, and turn yon mountain burn—
Bring streams that shine like siller;
The dam is down, the moon sinks soon,
And I maun grind my miller.
Ha! bravely done, my wanton Elves,
That is a foaming stream:
See how the dust from the mill flies,
And chokes the cold moon-beam.
Haste, Fairies, fleet come baptized feet,
Come sack and sweep up clean,
And meet me soon, ere sinks the moon,
In thy green vale, Dalreen.
Allan Cunningham