THE RAGWEED
From Ireland
Tomwas as clean, clever, and tight looking a lad as any in the whole county Cork. One fine holiday in harvest-time, he was taking a ramble and was sauntering along the sunny side of a hedge, when suddenly he heard a crackling sound among the leaves.
“Dear me!” said he, “but isn’t it really surprising to hear the stone-chats singing so late in the season!”
And with that he stole along, going on the tips of his toes, to see if he could get sight of what was making the noise. He looked sharply under the bushes, and what should he see in a nook in the hedge but a big brown pitcher holding a gallon or more of dark looking liquor. And standing close to it was a little, diny, dony bit of an old man as big as your thumb, with a tiny cocked hat stuck on the top of his head, and a deesy, daushy, leather apron hanging down before him.
The little old man pulled a little brown stool from under the hedge, and, standing upon it, dipped a little cup into the pitcher. Then he took the cup out, full of the brown liquor, and putting it on the ground, sat down on the stoolunder the shadow of the pitcher. He began to put a heel-piece on a bit of a boot just the size for himself.
“Bless my soul!” said Tom to himself, in great surprise, “I’ve often heard tell of the Leprechauns, but I never rightly believed in them! But here’s one in real earnest! Now if I set about things right, I’m a made man! Folks say that a body must never take his eyes off them or they’ll get away.”
So Tom stole nearer, with his eyes fixed on the little man, just as a cat does with a mouse. And when he got close up to him, he said softly:—
“How goes your work, neighbour?”
The little man raised his head. “Very well, thank you kindly,” said he.
“I’m surprised that you should be working on a holiday,” said Tom.
“That’s my own business, not yours,” said the little man.
“Well, will you be civil enough to tell me what’s in your pitcher?” said Tom.
“That I will, with pleasure,” said the little man. “’Tis Elfin beer.”
“Elfin beer!” said Tom. “Thunder and fire! Where did you get it?”
“Why I made it—I made it of heath,” said the little man.
“Of heath!” said Tom bursting out laughing.“And will you give a body a taste of it?” asked he.
“I’ll tell you what it is, young man,” said the Leprechaun, “it would be fitter for you to be looking after your cows that have broken into the oats yonder, than to stand here asking honest folks foolish questions!”
Tom was so taken by surprise at this, that he was just going to turn his head to look for the cows, when he remembered not to take his eyes off the Leprechaun. Instead, he made a grab at the little man and caught him up in his hand; but, as bad luck would have it, he overturned the pitcher with his foot, and all the liquor was spilt.
“You little rogue!” cried he, shaking the Leprechaun hard, and looking very wicked and angry. “Tell me where your gold is hidden, and show me all your money!”
At that the little man was quite frightened. “Come along with me,” said he, “and I’ll show you a crock of gold in a field over there.”
So they went, Tom holding the Leprechaun very tightly, and never taking his eyes off him. They crossed hedges and ditches and a crooked bit of bog, until they came to a great field of ragweed. Then the Leprechaun pointed to one of the weeds, and said:—
“Dig under that, and you’ll get a crock full of guineas.”
As Tom had no spade with him, he thought to himself: “I’ll run home and fetch one. And so that I’ll know the place again, I’ll tie my garter around this weed.”
So he tied his red garter around the ragweed.
“I suppose,” said the Leprechaun politely, “that now you have no further use for me.”
“No,” said Tom, “you may go, if you wish. And thank you very kindly,” he said, laughing loudly, “for showing me where all your money lies!”
“Well, good-bye to you, Tom,” said the little man, “and much good may it do you, what you’ll get,” said he; and with that he jumped behind the weed, and vanished.
So Tom ran home for dear life and fetched a spade, and then back as hard as he could go to the field.
But when he got there, lo, and behold! not a ragweed in the whole field but had a red garter, just like his own, tied to it! And as for digging up that whole field, it was out of the question, for there were more than forty good Irish acres in it.
So Tom went home again with his spade, a little cooler, and, you may be sure, ashamed to tell any one about the neat turn the Leprechaun had served him.