And then the strange thing happened: hundreds and hundreds of wee lights began dancing outside the window, making the room bright; the hands of the clock began chasing each other round the dial, and the bolt of the door drew itself out. Slowly, without a creak or a cringe, the door opened, and in there trooped a crowd of the Good People. Their wee green cloaks were folded close about them, and each carried a rush-candle.
Teig was filled with a great wonderment, entirely, when he saw the fairies, but when they saw him they laughed.
“We are takin’ the loan o’ your cabin this night, Teig,” said they. “Ye are the only man hereabouts with an empty hearth, an’ we’re needin’ one.”
Without saying more, they bustled about the room making ready. They lengthened out the table and spread and set it; more of the Good People trooped in, bringing stools and food and drink. The pipers came last, and they sat themselves around the chimneypiece a-blowing their chanters and trying the drones. The feasting began and the pipers played, and never had Teig seen such a sight in his life. Suddenly a wee man sang out:
“Clip, clap, clip, clap, I wish I had my wee red cap!”
And out of the air there tumbled the neatest cap Teig had ever laid his two eyes on. The wee man clapped it on his head, crying:
“I wish I was in Spain!” And—whist!—up the chimney he went, and away out of sight!
It happened just as I am telling it. Another wee man called for his cap, and away he went after the first. And then another and another until the room was empty and Teig sat alone again.
“By my soul,” said Teig, “I’d like to thravel like that myself! It’s a grand savin’ of tickets an’ baggage; an’ ye get to a place before ye’ve had time to change your mind. Faith, there is no harm done if I thry it.”
So he sang the fairies’ rhyme and out of the air dropped a wee cap for him. For a moment the wonder had him, but the next he was clapping the cap on his head, crying: