Before he reached the top of the hill the sun had gone down, and the moon had risen and was shedding her wavering, watery light on the ruins of the old fort. The breeze rustled the dark furze-bushes with an eerie sound, and Tom shivered with dread. But he braced up his heart, and, approaching the fort, raised his axe to cut down a big bush. Just then, near him, he heard the shriek of a small, shrill voice.
Tom, startled, let the axe fall from his grasp, and, looking up, saw perched on the furze-bush in front of him a little old man, not more than a foot and a half high. He wore a red cap. His face was the colour of a withered mushroom, while his sparkling eyes, twinkling like diamonds in the dark, illuminated his distorted face. His thin legs dangled from his fat, round body.
“Ho! Ho!” said the Little Redcap, “is that what you’re after, Tom Coghlan? What did me and mine ever do to you that you should cut down our bushes?”
“Why, then, nothing at all, your honour!” said Tom, recovering a bit from his fright, “nothing at all! Only the children were crying from hunger, and I thought I’d make bold to cut a bush or two to boil the potatoes, for we haven’t a stick in the house.”
“You mustn’t cut down these bushes, Tom!” said the Little Redcap. “But, as you are an honest man, I’ll buy them from you, though I have a better right to them than you have. So, if you’ll take my advice, carry this mill home with you, and let the bushes alone,” said the Little Redcap, holding out a tiny stone mill for grinding meal.
“Mill, indeed!” said Tom, looking with astonishment at the thing, which was so small that he could have put it with ease into his breeches pocket. “Mill, indeed! And what good will a bit of a thing like that do me? Sure, it won’t boil the potatoes for the children!”
“What good will it do you?” said the Little Redcap. “I’ll tell you what good it will do you! It will make you and your family as fat and strong as so many stall-fed bullocks. And if it won’t boil the potatoes, it will do a great deal better, for you have only to grind it, and it will give you the greatest plenty of elegant meal. But if you ever sell any of the meal, that moment the mill will lose its power.”
“It’s a bargain,” said Tom. “So give me the mill, and you’re heartily welcome to the bushes.”
“There it is for you, Tom,” said the Little Redcap, throwing the mill down to him; “there it is for you, and much good may it do you! But remember you are not to sell the meal on any account.”
“Let me alone for that!” said Tom.