The Fairy Latchkey

by Magdalene Horsfall

“We shall see about that,” said the apprentice, “for if I am not mistaken there is a waterfall close at hand.” And with the mannikin under his arm he made his way among the trees till he came to where the cascade ran white over the rocks. Then the fairies’ cobbler began to utter small, shrill cries of protest.

“Come away! Come away!” he cried, piteously, as the apprentice held him over the foaming torrent, “only take me back into the glade, and I will teach you all I know.”

Now the apprentice knew that the fairies are no promise-breakers, so he carried the little green mannikin back into the glade, and all that night the fairies’ cobbler taught him the utmost that may be known about the art of making and mending shoes. Therefore as soon as the sun rose, the newly-made cobbler said to the mannikin, “I am truly grateful for what you have taught me, and if there be any favour which a poor craftsman like myself can do to one of the Good People, I pray you tell it me.”

“There is one favour then which I would ask of you,” the fairies’ cobbler made reply; “promise me that you will never break off any blackthorn or bring it into your house, for it is our tree, and we are offended when it is tampered with.” This the cobbler promised faithfully, and when he had once more thanked the little green man, he went upon his way.

After some days’ journey he came to a great city, and here he remained and worked at his craft. It was not long before he discovered that it was in this city that the princess’s parents ruled as king and queen, and he soon learnt from the talk of the people about him, that the fairies were still wreaking their vengeance on the palace. Only the other day, said the gossips, the king and the queen had made ready to receive the ambassador of a foreign prince, but when the court entered the throne-room in state, all the wreaths and garlands with which it had been festooned were torn down, withered, and trampled upon. As soon as he heard this, the cobbler hastened to the palace, and begged for an audience from the king, but the haughty servants to whom he addressed himself refused admission to so humble a suitor, and the cobbler had to return to his cobbling, and bide his time till a better opportunity should offer.

All this while the princess had remained behind in the shepherd’s cottage. The good man and his wife treated her as a daughter, and even the old crone seemed glad of her company, and loved to finger with her palsied hands the princess’s beautiful embroidered cloak and sparkling gems, and more especially she fancied a certain jewelled cross that the king’s daughter wore about her neck. “Keep it, good mother, since it pleases you,” said the kind-hearted princess one day, and she laid it in the old woman’s lap, who after that would sit contented by the hour, counting the stones and holding them up to the light.

Now among the mountains in the neighbourhood of the cottage lay a deep and lonely tarn, where waterfowl made their nests, and bulrushes grew in profusion, and often the princess would go and gather these rushes, which she plaited into mats and baskets and sold in the hamlets near by. One day when she was thus picking rushes by the lakeside, she heard a plashing close at hand, and looking up she saw a beautiful black horse standing knee-deep in the water, gazing at her intently. At first she was frightened, but since the creature seemed gentle and harmless she soon regained courage, and when it waded out of the water and came and stood beside her, she began to fondle it and to stroke its glossy mane. After that the beautiful black steed came to greet her every time that she went to the tarn, but when she spoke of it to the shepherd, he said that he had heard tell of no riderless horse in those parts.

One evening when autumn was drawing on, the shepherd and his wife were absent at a fair in one of the neighbouring villages, but the princess had remained at home with the old grandmother and sat spinning in the firelight.

“Daughter, what ails you?” asked the crone from her corner by the hearth, for she had heard the princess draw a deep, sad sigh.

“I am troubled for my parents’ sake,” replied the king’s daughter; “would that I knew the cause of ill-will which the fairies have against them, and how they might be appeased.”