THE CURMUDGEON’S SKIN
From Ireland
Itis well known in old Ireland that a Four-leaved Shamrock has the power to open a man’s eyes so that he can see all kinds of enchantments, and this is what happened to Billy Thompson:—
One misfortune after another decreased his goods. His sheep died; and his pig got the measles, so that he was obliged to sell it for little or nothing. But still he had his cow.
“Well,” said Billy to his wife, for he was a good-humoured fellow, and always made the best of things,—“Well!” said he, “it can’t be helped! Anyhow, we’ll not want the drop of milk to our potatoes, as long as the cow’s left to comfort us!”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when a neighbour came running up to tell him that his cow had fallen from a cliff, and was lying dead in the Horses’ Glen. For Billy, you must know, had sent his cow that very morning to graze on the cliff.
“Och! Ullagone!” cried Billy. “What’ll we do now! Och! you cruel, unnatural beast as to clift yourself, when you knowed as well as myself that we couldn’t do without you at all! Forsure enough now the children will be crying for the drop of milk to their potatoes!”
Such was Billy’s lament, as with a sorrowful heart he made the best of his way to the Horses’ Glen. “Anyway,” thought he, “I’ll skin the carcass, and the meat will make fine broth for the children.”
It took him some time to find where the poor beast was lying, but at last he did find her, all smashed to pieces at the foot of a big rock. And he began to skin her as fast as he could, but having no one to help him, by the time the job was finished, the sun had gone down.
Now Billy was so intent on his work that he did not perceive the lapse of time, but when he raised his head and saw the darkness coming on, and listened to the murmuring wind, all the tales he had ever heard of the Pooka, the Banshee, and Little Redcap, the mischievous Fairy, floated through his mind, and made him want to get home as fast as possible. He snatched a tuft of grass, wiped his knife, and seized hold of the hide.
It so happened that in the little tuft of grass with which Billy wiped his knife was a Four-leaved Shamrock. And whether from grief or fear, Billy, instead of throwing away the grass, put it in his pocket along with his knife. And when he stood up and turned to take a last lookat the carcass he saw, instead of his poor cow, a little old Curmudgeon sitting bolt upright, looking as if he had just been skinned alive!
“Billy Thompson! Billy Thompson,” cried the little old fellow in a shrill, squeaking voice. “You spalpeen! You’d better come back with my skin! A pretty time of day we’ve come to, when a gentleman like me cannot take a bit of sleep but a rude fellow must come and strip the hide off him! But you’d better bring it back, Billy Thompson, or I’ll make you remember how you dared to skin me, you spalpeen!”
Now Billy, though he was greatly frightened, remembered that he had a black-handled knife in his pocket, and whoever has that, ’tis said, can look all the Fairies of the world in the face without quaking. So he put his hand on the knife, and began backing away, with the skin under his arm.
“Why, then, your honour,” said he, “if it’s this skin you’re wanting, you must know it’s the skin of my poor cow that was clifted yonder there. And sore and sorrowful the children will be for the want of her little drop of milk!”
“Why, then, if that’s what you’d be after, Billy, my boy,” said the little fellow, at the same time jumping before him with the speed of a greyhound, “do you think I’m such a fool as to let you walk off with my skin? If youdon’t drop it in the turn of a hand, you’ll sup sorrow!”
“Nonsense!” said Billy, drawing out his black-handled knife, and holding it so the little man could see it. “Never a one of me will let you have this skin till you give me back my cow. I know well enough she was not clifted at all, at all, and that you and the other Curmudgeons have got hold of her!”
“You’d better keep a civil tongue in your head,” said the little fellow, who seemed to get quite soft at the sight of the knife. “But you’re a brave boy, Billy Thompson, and I’ve taken a fancy to you! I don’t say but I might get you your cow again, if you’ll give me back my skin.”
“Thank you kindly,” said Billy, winking slyly. “Give me the cow first; then I will.”
“Well, there she is for you, you unbelieving hound!” said the little Curmudgeon.
And for sure and for certain, what did Billy Thompson hear but his own cow bellowing behind him for the bare life! And when he looked back what should he see but his cow running over rocks and stones with a long rope hanging to one of her legs, and four little fellows, with red caps on them, hunting her as fast as they could!
“There’ll be a battle for her, Billy! There’ll be a battle!” laughed the little Curmudgeon.
And sure enough, the little Redcaps began tofight, and in the meantime the cow, finding herself at liberty, ran towards Billy, who lost not a minute, but, throwing the skin on the ground, seized the cow by the tail and began to drive her away.
“Not so fast, Billy!” said the little Curmudgeon, who stuck close by his side; “not so fast! Though I gave you the cow, I didn’t give you the rope that’s hanging to her leg.”
“A bargain’s a bargain,” said Billy, “so as I’ve got it, I’ll keep rope and all.”
“If you say that again,” said the little fellow, “I’ll be after calling the Redcaps that are fighting below there. But I don’t want to be too hard on you, Billy, for if you have a mind for the rope, I’ll give it to you for the little tuft of grass you have in your pocket.”
“There, take it,” said Billy, throwing down the grass with the Four-leaved Shamrock in it.
No sooner was it out of his hand than he received such a blow that it dashed him to the ground, insensible. When he came to himself, the sun was shining, and where should he be but near his own house with the cow grazing beside him? Billy Thompson could hardly believe his eyes, and thought it was all a dream, till he saw the rope hanging to his cow’s leg.
And that was a lucky rope for him! For, from that day out, his cow gave more milk than anysix cows in the parish, and Billy began to look up in the world. He took farms, and purchased cattle till he became very rich. But no one could ever get him to go to the Horses’ Glen. And to-day he never passes an old fort, or hears a blast of wind, without taking off his hat in compliment to the Good People; and ’tis only right that he should.