And now passed many years; and Aileel, of whom you first must hear, grew to be a comely young smith, wise in the lore of iron and of fire. Tall was he, broad-shouldered and very strong, yet so lithe and swift-moving withal that none in his wide land of the Blue Hills could master him in a trial of strength or speed. His favorite pastime was country wrestling, and on holiday morns you were sure to see him and his good foster father wandering down the village lanes to the day’s wrestling-match, each tricked out in his best, each with a fine blue kerchief knotted at the throat. And when Aileel, after a stirring battle of catch and turn and tug and strain would hold his rival’s shoulders to the straw and then leap up, light as air, joyful and victorious, how honest Braulio would shout and pound together his huge hands!
Their smithy stood by the village brook; of gray-green stone its walls were made, and its roof of heart-of-oak turned silvery brown. It was a brave sight, I can tell you, to see the fire rising hot and violet-white from the forge, brightening Aileel’s face as he bent to it and gazed within it at the iron turning ruddy gold; and there was a brave music, too, in the clang-clanging of the anvil ’neath his blows.
Far otherwise, alas, were the fortunes of Ailinda! Scolded to work at the earliest dawn and kept at some task till well into the night, the poor maiden had hardly a moment’s time to call her own. Whenever he could and as often, Aileel came to help her with her toil; he drew water from the well, carried in the wood, and aided her in the garden in the cool of the golden day.
In spite of this hard life, I am glad to tell you, Ailinda grew up to be as fine a lass as Aileel a lad. Her eyes were as blue as the waters of the bright September sea, the glance they gave was full of patience and courage, her long golden hair was as splendid as a queen’s. Everybody loved her and helped her—all save Tharbis’s only son, her jealous foster-brother, Potpan.
Squat, round-nosed, and leering-eyed, there was no spiteful trick in all the world which this wretch was not prepared to try. He would slyly nip the buds from flowers Ailinda had planted, so that they might not bloom; he would drive the cows at twilight back into the fields; he would roll the clean milk-pans in the mire. Left to his own counsel, Aileel would soon have taught the wretch a lasting lesson, but as Ailinda feared lest after such a battle Aileel be forbidden the house, she endured much, saying naught.
But presently came matters to a head.
Now it chanced upon a May Day, that a fair blue kerchief had been chosen as the wrestler’s prize, and this prize Aileel won gallantly, and offered to Ailinda. Gathering the kerchief together again in the folds in which it had already lain, the maiden, for fear of Potpan, hid the kerchief in a cranny of a room. Presently arrived the sunny morn of the year’s midsummer holiday. At high noon, her thankless toil for a moment o’er, Ailinda went to take the kerchief from its nook.
The kerchief was no longer there!
Suddenly she heard a loud ill-natured guffaw, and turning, found Potpan at a window, watching all. He was dressed in his best festival finery, and Ailinda’s pretty kerchief was knotted at his neck. The maiden’s heart sank; her brave eyes filled with tears, yet she ran forth and confronted the robber face to face.
“Give me my kerchief, Potpan,” said she, “Oh, give me my kerchief, Potpan!”