“Long, long ago,” she began, “a lordly castle was built at Morlaix, in the midst of such pleasant surroundings that some little Dwarfs in search of a home thought that they could not do better than build their stronghold underneath it. So they set to work immediately, for they have a very wise rule that when once they decide that a thing must be done, it shall be done at once. By the time that the castle was finished, their home was completed too. Far below the ground they had fashioned a number of oval chambers, with ceilings encrusted with gleaming pearls which they found in the bay, and floors paved with precious amber. Beyond these chambers lay their treasure house, where they kept rich stores of fairy gold, and the winding passages which led to the upper world were only just wide enough to allow them to creep through. Their entrances were cunningly contrived to look like rabbit holes, so that strangers might think they led to nothing more than some sandy warren.
But the country folk knew better, for they often watched the little men run in and out, beating a faint tattoo on the silver basins in which they collected the morning dew and the evening mist, which served them for food and drink. Now and then, when the sky was a vault of blue, and the sun shone his brightest, they brought up piles of their golden coins, that they might see them glisten in the light of day. So friendly were they to mortals, that if they were surprised while thus employed, they seldom failed to share their wealth.
One very bleak autumn there was much distress on the countryside, for the harvest had failed for the third season, and many of the smaller farmers were on the verge of ruin. Jacques Bosquet—Bon Jacques—his neighbours called him, for he had never refused his help to a friend in need—was one of these. His frail old mother was weak and ailing, and he did not know how to tell her that she must leave the homestead to which she had come as a bride, full fifty years before. In his despair he tried to borrow a thousand francs from a rich merchant in the next town; but the merchant was a hard man, and his mouth closed like a cruel steel trap when he told Jacques roughly that he had no money to lend. As Jacques returned home his eyes were so dim with the tears which pride forbade him to shed, that in passing the castle of Morlaix he all but fell over three little men, who were counting out gold by a deep hole.
‘What is wrong with you, friend, that you do not see where you are going?’ cried the eldest of the three; and when Jacques told them of his fruitless errand, they at once invited him to help himself to their treasure.
‘Take all you can hold in your hand!’ they urged, and since Jacques’ hand had been much broadened with honest toil, this meant a goodly sum. The three little men had vanished before Jacques found words to express his gratitude, and he hurried away with a thankful heart. The coins were of solid gold, and stamped with curious signs; to his great joy he very soon sold them for a big price, and had now sufficient not only to pay his debts, but to carry him through the winter.
When the merchant who had received his appeal so churlishly heard of his good fortune, he was full of envy, and determined to lay in wait for the little men himself. Though blessed with ample means, he coveted more, and when at last he surprised the Dwarfs as Jacques had done, he made so piteous a tale that they generously allowed him to take two handfuls instead of one. But this did not content the greedy fellow, and pushing the wee men rudely away, he stooped to fill his pockets from the heap. As he did so, a shower of blows rained fiercely round his head and face, and so heavily did they fall that he had much ado to save his skull. When at last the blows ceased, and he dared to open his eyes, the Dwarfs had gone, with all their gold, and his pockets were empty of even that which they had contained before.”
The Wood Elf paused, for a large brown bird had perched himself on a branch which overhung the fountain. She waited until he had dipped his beak in the sparkling stream and flown away before she spoke again.
“That bird is a stranger to these woods,” she said presently under her breath, “and I wondered if it were really an Elf or a Fée. One never knows in these parts.”
“Tell me!” I urged; for I knew by her look that she was thinking of another story.