Dis à ton chat
‘Que le vieux Sure-Mûre,
(Rouâne et grond),
Est mort!’”
Aussitôt, notre chat fait une cabriole, et se dressant sur ses pieds de derrière, crie à son tour: “En ce cas-là, il faut que je décampe.””
See Lay of the Last Minstrel, Note S, and a paper on Popular Superstitions, etc., in the Saturday Magazine, Vol 10. p. 44. In Brand’s Antiquities, Vol. 3. p. 44, the following similar story is communicated by T. Quiller Couch, as relating to a Cornish pixy. “A farmer, who formerly lived on an estate in this neighbourhood, called Langreek, was returning one evening from a distant part of the farm, and, in crossing a field, saw, to his surprise, sitting on a stone in the middle of it, a miserable looking creature, human in appearance, though dwarfish in size, and apparently starving with cold and hunger. Pitying its condition, and perhaps aware that it was of elfish origin, and that good luck would amply repay him for his kind treatment of it, he took it home, placed it by the warm hearth on a stool, fed it with milk, and shewed it great kindness. Though at first lumpish and only half sensible, the poor bantling soon revived, and, though it never spoke, became lively and playful, and a general favourite in the family. After the lapse of three or four days, whilst it was at play, a shrill voice in the farm-yard or ‘town place’ was heard to call three times ‘Colman Gray!’ at which the little fellow sprang up, and, gaining voice, cried—‘Ho! Ho! Ho! My daddy is come!’ flew through the key hole, and was never afterwards heard of. A field on the estate is called “Colman Gray” to this day.”
The Fairy Bakers.
Le Grand Colin and Le Petit Colin, whose names have already been mentioned in connection with La Longue Roque and La Roque où le Coq Chante, appear to have belonged to that race of household spirits who used to take up their abode on or near the hearth, and who, although rarely making themselves visible to the human inhabitants of the house, were willing, so long as no attempt was made to pry into their secrets, to render occasional acts of kindness to those under whose roof they dwelt, especially if they were honest and industrious.
A man and his wife occupied a small cottage at St. Brioc. The man gained his living as many along the western coasts of the island do. When the weather was favourable he went out fishing. After gales of wind he was up with the first dawn of day to secure his share of the sea-weed which the waves had cast up on the shore, or perchance a spar or cordage detached from some unfortunate ship that had gone down in the storm. At other times he cultivated his own small plot of ground, or hired himself out as a day labourer to some of the neighbouring farmers who were in want of assistance. In short he was never idle.
They lived in a typical old Guernsey country farm-house, with old walls of grey granite, a thatched roof, small diamond-paned windows, and arched doorways, with its half-door or “hecq.” Inside they are all built much on the same pattern. The front door opens into an entrance hall, on one side of which is the “living” room of the house,—parlour and kitchen in one,—with a huge chimney, sometimes adorned with quaint old carvings, as at “Les Fontaines,” in the Castel parish, a low hearth stone, a smouldering vraic fire, and “trepied.” Still inside its enclosure are stone seats, a large bread oven built in the thickness of the wall, and a hook whereon to hang the “crâset” lamp.