Celtic Fairy Tales (20 page)

"An' sure to mend the path as you told me. Says you, 'Jack, make a
path with the foot of the sheep.'"

"Oh, you fool, I meant make good the path for the sheep's feet."

"It's a pity you didn't say so, master. Hand me out one pound
thirteen and fourpence if you don't like me to finish my job."

"Divel do you good with your one pound thirteen and fourpence!"

"It's better pray than curse, master. Maybe you're sorry for your
bargain?"

"And to be sure I am—not yet, any way."

The next night the master was going to a wedding; and says he to
Jack, before he set out: "I'll leave at midnight, and I wish you, to
come and be with me home, for fear I might be overtaken with the
drink. If you're there before, you may throw a sheep's eye at me,
and I'll be sure to see that they'll give you something for
yourself."

About eleven o'clock, while the master was in great spirits, he felt
something clammy hit him on the cheek. It fell beside his tumbler,
and when he looked at it what was it but the eye of a sheep. Well,
he couldn't imagine who threw it at him, or why it was thrown at
him. After a little he got a blow on the other cheek, and still it
was by another sheep's eye. Well, he was very vexed, but he thought
better to say nothing. In two minutes more, when he was opening his
mouth to take a sup, another sheep's eye was slapped into it. He
sputtered it out, and cried, "Man o' the house, isn't it a great
shame for you to have any one in the room that would do such a nasty
thing?"

"Master," says Jack, "don't blame the honest man. Sure it's only
myself that was thrown' them sheep's eyes at you, to remind you I
was here, and that I wanted to drink the bride and bridegroom's
health. You know yourself bade me."

"I know that you are a great rascal; and where did you get the
eyes?"

"An' where would I get em' but in the heads of your own sheep? Would
you have me meddle with the bastes of any neighbour, who might put
me in the Stone Jug for it?"

"Sorrow on me that ever I had the bad luck to meet with you."

"You're all witness," said Jack, "that my master says he is sorry
for having met with me. My time is up. Master, hand me over double
wages, and come into the next room, and lay yourself out like a man
that has some decency in him, till I take a strip of skin an inch
broad from your shoulder to your hip."

Every one shouted out against that; but, says Jack, "You didn't
hinder him when he took the same strips from the backs of my two
brothers, and sent them home in that state, and penniless, to their
poor mother."

When the company heard the rights of the business, they were only
too eager to see the job done. The master bawled and roared, but
there was no help at hand. He was stripped to his hips, and laid on
the floor in the next room, and Jack had the carving knife in his
hand ready to begin.

"Now you cruel old villain," said he, giving the knife a couple of
scrapes along the floor, "I'll make you an offer. Give me, along
with my double wages, two hundred guineas to support my poor
brothers, and I'll do without the strap."

"No!" said he, "I'd let you skin me from head to foot first."

"Here goes then," said Jack with a grin, but the first little scar
he gave, Churl roared out, "Stop your hand; I'll give the money."

"Now, neighbours," said Jack, "you mustn't think worse of me than I
deserve. I wouldn't have the heart to take an eye out of a rat
itself; I got half a dozen of them from the butcher, and only used
three of them."

So all came again into the other room, and Jack was made sit down,
and everybody drank his health, and he drank everybody's health at
one offer. And six stout fellows saw himself and the master home,
and waited in the parlour while he went up and brought down the two
hundred guineas, and double wages for Jack himself. When he got
home, he brought the summer along with him to the poor mother and
the disabled brothers; and he was no more Jack the Fool in the
people's mouths, but "Skin Churl Jack."

Print Llewelyn had a favourite greyhound named Gellert that had been
given to him by his father-in-law, King John. He was as gentle as a
lamb at home but a lion in the chase. One day Llewelyn went to the
chase and blew his horn in front of his castle. All his other dogs
came to the call but Gellert never answered it. So he blew a louder
blast on his horn and called Gellert by name, but still the
greyhound did not come. At last Prince Llewelyn could wait no longer
and went off to the hunt without Gellert. He had little sport that
day because Gellert was not there, the swiftest and boldest of his
hounds.

He turned back in a rage to his castle, and as he came to the gate,
who should he see but Gellert come bounding out to meet him. But
when the hound came near him, the Prince was startled to see that
his lips and fangs were dripping with blood. Llewelyn started back
and the greyhound crouched down at his feet as if surprised or
afraid at the way his master greeted him.

Now Prince Llewelyn had a little son a year old with whom Gellert
used to play, and a terrible thought crossed the Prince's mind that
made him rush towards the child's nursery. And the nearer he came
the more blood and disorder he found about the rooms. He rushed into
it and found the child's cradle overturned and daubed with blood.

Prince Llewelyn grew more and more terrified, and sought for his
little son everywhere. He could find him nowhere but only signs of
some terrible conflict in which much blood had been shed. At last he
felt sure the dog had destroyed his child, and shouting to Gellert,
"Monster, thou hast devoured my child," he drew out his sword and
plunged it in the greyhound's side, who fell with a deep yell and
still gazing in his master's eyes.

As Gellert raised his dying yell, a little child's cry answered it
from beneath the cradle, and there Llewelyn found his child unharmed
and just awakened from sleep. But just beside him lay the body of a
great gaunt wolf all torn to pieces and covered with blood. Too
late, Llewelyn learned what had happened while he was away. Gellert
had stayed behind to guard the child and had fought and slain the
wolf that had tried to destroy Llewelyn's heir.

In vain was all Llewelyn's grief; he could not bring his faithful
dog to life again. So he buried him outside the castle walls within
sight of the great mountain of Snowdon, where every passer-by might
see his grave, and raised over it a great cairn of stones. And to
this day the place is called Beth Gellert, or the Grave of Gellert.

There were formerly a man and a woman living in the parish of
Llanlavan, in the place which is called Hwrdh. And work became
scarce, so the man said to his wife, "I will go search for work, and
you may live here." So he took fair leave, and travelled far toward
the East, and at last came to the house of a farmer and asked for
work.

"What work can ye do?" said the farmer. "I can do all kinds of
work," said Ivan. Then they agreed upon three pounds for the year's
wages.

When the end of the year came his master showed him the three
pounds. "See, Ivan," said he, "here's your wage; but if you will
give it me back I'll give you a piece of advice instead."

"Give me my wage," said Ivan.

"No, I'll not," said the master; "I'll explain my advice."

"Tell it me, then," said Ivan.

Then said the master, "Never leave the old road for the sake of a
new one."

After that they agreed for another year at the old wages, and at the
end of it Ivan took instead a piece of advice, and this was it:
"Never lodge where an old man is married to a young woman."

The same thing happened at the end of the third year, when the piece
of advice was: "Honesty is the best policy."

But Ivan would not stay longer, but wanted to go back to his wife.

"Don't go to-day," said his master; "my wife bakes to-morrow, and
she shall make thee a cake to take home to thy good woman."

And when Ivan was going to leave, "Here," said his master, "here is
a cake for thee to take home to thy wife, and, when ye are most
joyous together, then break the cake, and not sooner."

So he took fair leave of them and travelled towards home, and at
last he came to Wayn Her, and there he met three merchants from Tre
Rhyn, of his own parish, coming home from Exeter Fair. "Oho! Ivan,"
said they, "come with us; glad are we to see you. Where have you
been so long?"

"I have been in service," said Ivan, "and now I'm going home to my
wife."

"Oh, come with us! you'll be right welcome." But when they took the
new road Ivan kept to the old one. And robbers fell upon them before
they had gone far from Ivan as they were going by the fields of the
houses in the meadow. They began to cry out, "Thieves!" and Ivan
shouted out "Thieves!" too. And when the robbers heard Ivan's shout
they ran away, and the merchants went by the new road and Ivan by
the old one till they met again at Market-Jew.

"Oh, Ivan," said the merchants, "we are beholding to you; but for
you we would have been lost men. Come lodge with us at our cost, and
welcome."

When they came to the place where they used to lodge, Ivan said, "I
must see the host."

"The host," they cried; "what do you want with the host? Here is the
hostess, and she's young and pretty. If you want to see the host
you'll find him in the kitchen."

So he went into the kitchen to see the host; he found him a weak old
man turning the spit.

"Oh! oh!" quoth Ivan, "I'll not lodge here, but will go next door."

"Not yet," said the merchants, "sup with us, and welcome."

Now it happened that the hostess had plotted with a certain monk in
Market-Jew to murder the old man in his bed that night while the
rest were asleep, and they agreed to lay it on the lodgers.

So while Ivan was in bed next door, there was a hole in the pine-end
of the house, and he saw a light through it. So he got up and
looked, and heard the monk speaking. "I had better cover this hole,"
said he, "or people in the next house may see our deeds." So he
stood with his back against it while the hostess killed the old man.

But meanwhile Ivan out with his knife, and putting it through the
hole, cut a round piece off the monk's robe. The very next morning
the hostess raised the cry that her husband was murdered, and as
there was neither man nor child in the house but the merchants, she
declared they ought to be hanged for it.

So they were taken and carried to prison, till a last Ivan came to
them. "Alas! alas! Ivan," cried they, "bad luck sticks to us; our
host was killed last night, and we shall be hanged for it."

"Ah, tell the justices," said Ivan, "to summon the real murderers."

"Who knows," they replied, "who committed the crime?"

"Who committed the crime!" said Ivan. "if I cannot prove who
committed the crime, hang me in your stead."

So he told all he knew, and brought out the piece of cloth from the
monk's robe, and with that the merchants were set at liberty, and
the hostess and the monk were seized and hanged.

Then they came all together out of Market-Jew, and they said to him:
"Come as far as Coed Carrn y Wylfa, the Wood of the Heap of Stones
of Watching, in the parish of Burman." Then their two roads
separated, and though the merchants wished Ivan to go with them, he
would not go with them, but went straight home to his wife.

And when his wife saw him she said: "Home in the nick of time.
Here's a purse of gold that I've found; it has no name, but sure it
belongs to the great lord yonder. I was just thinking what to do
when you came."

Then Ivan thought of the third counsel, and he said "Let us go and
give it to the great lord."

So they went up to the castle, but the great lord was not in it, so
they left the purse with the servant that minded the gate, and then
they went home again and lived in quiet for a time.

But one day the great lord stopped at their house for a drink of
water, and Ivan's wife said to him: "I hope your lordship found your
lordship's purse quite safe with all its money in it."

"What purse is that you are talking about?" said the lord.

"Sure, it's your lordship's purse that I left at the castle," said
Ivan.

"Come with me and we will see into the matter," said the lord.

So Ivan and his wife went up to the castle, and there they pointed
out the man to whom they had given the purse, and he had to give it
up and was sent away from the castle. And the lord was so pleased
with Ivan that he made him his servant in the stead of the thief.

"Honesty's the best policy!" quoth Ivan, as he skipped about in his
new quarters. "How joyful I am!"

Then he thought of his old master's cake that he was to eat when he
was most joyful, and when he broke it, to and behold, inside it was
his wages for the three years he had been with him.

My grandfather, Andrew Coffey, was known to the whole barony as a
quiet, decent man. And if the whole barony knew him, he knew the
whole barony, every inch, hill and dale, bog and pasture, field and
covert. Fancy his surprise one evening, when he found himself in a
part of the demesne he couldn't recognise a bit. He and his good
horse were always stumbling up against some tree or stumbling down
into some bog-hole that by rights didn't ought to be there. On the
top of all this the rain came pelting down wherever there was a
clearing, and the cold March wind tore through the trees. Glad he
was then when he saw a light in the distance, and drawing near found
a cabin, though for the life of him he couldn't think how it came
there. However, in he walked, after tying up his horse, and right
welcome was the brushwood fire blazing on the hearth. And there
stood a chair right and tight, that seemed to say, "Come, sit down
in me." There wasn't a soul else in the room. Well, he did sit, and
got a little warm and cheered after his drenching. But all the while
he was wondering and wondering.