Folk Tales of Scotland (27 page)

‘Ah, now, let me see, there was a wee lad with yellow hair on the hillside as I came by,’ said the old wife. ‘Maybe he can help me.’

So off she went to the hillside. It was growing dark, and she saw a shaft of light shining faintly from behind rocks. The old wife crept up and peered round. There was an entrance to a cave and
inside she could see a crowd of Wee Folk busy working with a heap of wool. Some were washing it, some combing and spinning it, while others were weaving it into cloth. Running here and there, among
them, was a wee lad with yellow hair, singing:

‘Well now, there’s a good piece of news worth a night’s shelter and a bite of food,’ said the old wife to herself, as she hurried back to the Giant’s house.

When the Princess heard what the old wife had to tell her, she opened the door wide, gave her a large bowl of porridge and a soft bed in a safe place, well out of
sight.

When the wee lad arrived with a roll of woollen cloth over his shoulder, he refused to leave it before the Princess guessed his name.

‘You can have three guesses,’ said he.

‘Grey Whaup,’ said she.

‘It is not,’ said he.

‘Willie Buck,’ said she.

‘Willie Buck, me! That’s a good one! No, you’re wrong, bonny lass, you’re wrong, and you’ve only one guess left!’

And he rocked with laughter.

‘Peerie Fool,’ said the Princess. ‘P
EERIE
F
OOL
!’

At this, the wee lad threw down the roll of cloth, and ran off into the darkness.

The Giant was pleased to see his supper ready on the table when he returned that night.

‘Have you milked the cow and taken her to graze?’ he asked.

‘I have,’ said the Princess, ‘and here’s the cloth from the heap of wool you left for me.’

‘Well, I
have
found a bonny lass,’ said the Giant, and gave her a chuck under the chin with his forefinger that knocked her over, although he meant it kindly enough.
‘You must stay with me always and in return, I’ll grant you three wishes.’

Next day, while the Giant was away, the Princess looked for her sisters. She searched every room, cupboard and corner but they were nowhere to be found. She was about to give up in despair when
she heard a great commotion and clatter coming from the hen-house outside. She thought a fox must have got in and was worrying the hens, so she ran out and unlocked the hen-house and there she
found her two miserable sisters. They were frozen and very, very hungry. The Princess took them
into the house, sat them by the fire and gave each of them a bowl of hot
porridge. They told her all that had happened to them and begged her to help them escape.

‘We’ll find a way,’ said the youngest Princess.

‘The Giant will see us and with two strides, he’ll catch us,’ said her sisters.

‘Then he’ll have to carry you home himself!’ said the youngest. ‘You, elder sister shall go first. You must hide in the bottom of this basket and I’ll cover you
with grass. This night I’ll ask the Giant to take the basket of grass and leave it at our mother’s door. He’ll do this for me.’

‘What shall I do?’ asked the second sister.

‘I’ll hide you in this other basket,’ said the Princess, ‘and the Giant will carry you home tomorrow night.’

The two sisters curled themselves up in the bottom of the baskets and the Princess covered them with grass. Then she prepared the Giant’s supper, but before it was cooked he came in and
said:

‘Well, bonny lass, what’s the first of your three wishes?’

‘I wish you would carry this basket over the hills and leave it outside my mother’s door. It’s grass to feed her cow. But haste you back, for your supper’s nearly
ready.’

‘I’ll do that,’ said the Giant, and off he went.

Seven strides and he was at the cottage door, where he left the basket. Seven strides more and he was back again, ready for his supper.

Next day, the Princess said that her second wish was the same as her first. So the Giant took the second basket over the hills and left it at the mother’s door, and strode seven steps home
again, and the supper the Princess had ready for him was tastier than ever.

The following day, before the Giant went off, the Princess told him that she would have another basket full of grass for the cow ready for him to carry to her mother.

‘It’s my third and last wish, so please take it for me,’ she said. ‘I’ll not be here myself for I’ll be gathering fresh herbs for your
supper, which will be ready when you return.’

‘I’ll do that,’ said the Giant.

That evening there was a basket ready for the Giant to carry to the cottage door. Seven strides and he put it down beside the door. But this time the widow Queen was at the door waiting for
him.

‘It’s kind of you to bring grass for my cow,’ said she, ‘but how are my daughters and when shall I see them?’

‘Well, that depends! As for your youngest daughter,’ said the Giant, ‘she’s a grand wee cook. I’ll not part with her.’

‘A grand cook is she,’ said the widow Queen. ‘She’s not as good as I am. Wait till you taste the stew I’m cooking.’

‘Let me try it, old wife,’ said the Giant. ‘I’m hungry enough for two suppers.’

The widow Queen brought out a pot of steaming stew and handed a ladleful to the Giant.

‘Taste that,’ she said. He tasted it and asked for more.

‘You’re a good cook,’ said the Giant, ‘but not as good as your youngest daughter!’ And away he went.

He had only taken three strides, when the Giant fell down dead, for the deadly death-cap toadstools had been cooked in that stew. So that was the end of the Giant and the beginning of happiness
for the widow Queen and her three bonny daughters.

HERE
was once a poor woman who gave birth to a hen instead of a baby. The Hen grew big
and looked after her mother. Every day she went to the King’s house to beg for left-over food. One day the King came to the door, and when he saw the Hen there, he said:

‘What do you want, you nasty little creature? Go away!’

‘I may be a nasty little creature,’ said the Hen, ‘but I can do something your wife, the Queen, can’t do.’

‘And what may that be?’ asked the King.

‘I can spring from rafter to rafter, with a pot-hook tied to one leg and tongs tied to the other.’

The King fetched the Queen, and when she saw the Hen, she said:

‘I’d like to see anything that little creature can do that I can’t!’

So the Hen, with a pot-hook tied to one leg and tongs to the other, without any bother sprang from one rafter in the roof to another. Then the Queen with a pot-hook tied to one leg and tongs
tied to the other, clambered on to the rafters. She stood there, wobbling, then sprang with all her might. But she slipped. The pot-hook caught on the rafter, the tongs cut her legs, and she fell
to the ground, breaking her head.

The King had four more wives and the Hen got rid of them all in this way.

‘You’d be better off if you married my mother,’ she said to the King. ‘She’s a very fine woman.’

‘Avoid me, you nasty little creature!’ said the King. ‘You’ve caused me enough trouble already.’

‘You’d better marry her,’ insisted the Hen.

‘Send your mother here!’ said the King.

So the Hen fetched her mother and the King married her.

Now, one day, when the King and the Queen were out, the Hen was left alone in the house with the King’s eldest son, who spied on her and saw her remove her hen disguise. He was amazed to
see that she was really a beautiful young woman and, when she was out of the room, he took her hen disguise and flung it on the fire. It blazed up and in a few minutes was a little pile of white
ashes.

When she saw that her disguise had disappeared, the young woman was furious. She seized a sword and threatened the Prince with it.

‘Give me back my hen disguise, or I’ll cut off your head,’ said she.

The Prince was afraid when he saw the sword, but there was nothing he could do, for he’d burnt the skin. It had gone for ever.

‘I don’t really want to kill you,’ said she, ‘but I don’t know what will become of me without my hen disguise. If I make another for myself, you’ll burn me as
a witch, so I must stay as I am.’

When the King came home and saw the fine young woman going about his house, he wanted to know who she was, where she had come from and what sort of woman she was. She told him all that had
happened to her and that she was indeed his new Queen’s daughter, who had been under a spell from the moment she was born.

‘I feel strange as a woman,’ she said, ‘and I love my mother who did not abandon me.’

The beautiful young woman was welcome in the King’s house, and they all were happy together. After a while she married the King’s son who had burned her hen disguise. There were
great wedding feasts and celebrations that went on for a year and a day in the King’s house.

OON
after the young King of Easaidh Ruadh had ascended the throne, he decided to gamble
with the Gruagach, the long-haired, bearded Brownie who lived near by. So he went to the soothsayer.

‘I’ve made up my mind to gamble with the Gruagach,’ he said.

‘Are you that kind of man?’ said the soothsayer. ‘Are you rash enough to gamble with the Gruagach? My advice to you is to change your mind, and not go at all.’

‘I’ll not do that,’ said the young King.

‘Then my advice to you, if you win against the Gruagach, is to ask as your winnings the maid with the rough skin and the cropped hair who stands behind the door.’

If the sun rose early, the young King rose earlier still to gamble with the Gruagach. When they met, they blessed each other.

‘Oh, young King of Easaidh Ruadh, what has brought you here? Do you want to gamble with me?’

‘I do,’ said the young King.

So they played, and the young King won.

‘Name your stake,’ said the Gruagach.

‘My stake is the girl with the rough skin and the cropped hair who stands behind the door.’

‘I’ve fairer women than she,’ said the Gruagach.

‘I’ll take no other,’ said the King.

The Gruagach showed the young King twenty bonny girls.

‘Choose one of these,’ he said.

And they came out, one after the other, and each one said:

‘I am she. You are foolish not to take me with you.’

But the soothsayer had advised him to take none but the last one. When the last girl came, he said:

‘That one is mine!’

She went with him, and when they were some distance from the house of the Gruagach, she changed into the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. They went together to the castle, and were
married.

If it was early when the sun rose, the King rose earlier still to gamble with the Gruagach.

‘I must gamble with the Gruagach today,’ he said to his wife.

‘He is my father,’ said she. ‘If you gamble with him, take nothing for your winnings but the shaggy filly with the wooden saddle.’

The young King went to meet the Gruagach.

‘Well,’ said the Gruagach, ‘how did your young bride please you?’

‘She pleased me very well.’

‘Have you come to gamble with me again today?’

‘I have,’ said the young King.

They gambled and the King won.

‘Name your stake, and be sharp about it!’

‘My stake is the shaggy filly with the wooden saddle,’ said the young King.

The Gruagach took the shaggy filly out of the stable. The young King mounted her, and how swift she was! His wife welcomed him home, and how merry they were together that night.

‘I would rather you did not gamble with the Gruagach any more,’ said his young wife, ‘for if he wins he will bring you trouble.’

‘I’ll play with him once more,’ said the King.