Folk Tales of Scotland (13 page)

‘Aren’t they silly, running after you,’ said the Cock. ‘They’ll never catch you!’

The Fox nodded with pleasure. He was glad the Cock was so willing to go along with him, but he didn’t say a word.

‘Oh, clever Fox, won’t you say to those farm-hands, “This is my good friend, the Cock”? Then they’ll turn back.’

‘Fiddlesticks! You stupid fellow!’ said the Fox, determined not to be taken in by the Cock’s flattery.

But as soon as he opened his mouth, the Cock flew away. It was a long, long time before the Fox had the face to go back to that farm, where everyone was waiting to laugh at him.

EARS
ago there lived in Crossbrig a smith called MacEachern. His only child was a strong
healthy lad about fourteen years old. Suddenly he fell ill, and nobody knew what was wrong with him. He became thin, old and yellow. His father was afraid he would die, although he had an enormous
appetite.

One day an old man, well known for his knowledge of the out-of-the-way things, walked into the smiddy, and MacEachern told him about the lad. The old man looked very grave, and said:

‘That is not your son. Your lad has been carried away by the fairies, and they have left a changeling in his place.’

‘What am I to do?’ asked the smith. ‘How am I ever going to see my lad again?’

‘I will tell you how,’ said the old man. ‘But first, make sure it is not your own son. Take as many egg-shells as you can find. Take them into his room, and spread them out
carefully where he can see them. Then fetch water in them, carrying them two by two in your hands as if they were very heavy. When they are full, arrange them round the fire as if it were very
important.’

The smith did this.

He had not been long at work when there came a shout of crazy laughter from the bed, and a voice said:

‘I’m now eight hundred years old, and I’ve never seen anything like that before!’

The smith told this to the old man, who said:

‘Get rid of this changeling as soon as possible, and I think I can promise you your son. First of all, you must light a very big fire by the changeling’s bed. Then you must seize him
and throw him into the middle of it. Then he’ll fly through the roof.’

The smith took the old man’s advice. He kindled a big fire, and seizing the changeling, flung him into the fire without hesitation. The changeling gave a terrible yell, and sprang up
through the roof, leaving a hole that let out the smoke.

Then the old man told the smith that his son was inside the green hill of the fairies.

‘Go there tonight when it is dark,’ said the old man, ‘and take a sleeping cock with you. You’ll find your son.’

So that night the smith, with a sleeping cock in his arms, went out into the darkness. When he got to the hill of the fairies, he saw a light and heard sounds of piping, dancing and other
merriment. Boldly he approached the entrance to the fairies’ cave and went in. There he saw his son working at a forge. The fairies saw him and asked him what he wanted.

‘I want my son,’ said he, ‘and I’ll not go away without him!’

The fairies roared with laughter. This wakened the cock. It leapt up on the smith’s shoulder, clapped its wings and crowed loud and long.

Now fairies cannot bear the crowing of a cock, for when they hear it the power of magic leaves them. Mad with anger, these fairies seized the smith and his son and threw them out of the green
hill, into the darkness.

For a year and a day the lad did no work and seldom spoke. One day he was sitting by the fire watching the smith finish a sword he was making for a chief. It was to be a very special sword.

‘That’s not the way to make it,’ said the lad.

Taking the tools from his father, he set to work and made a sword, the like of which had never been seen before in the country.

From that day, the lad worked constantly with his father. The fame of the special sword and the skill that had made it, spread far and wide. It kept the smith and his son busy and made them
wealthy. They were never again troubled by the fairies.

NCE
a young Gael fell in love with a lady he saw in a dream. He told his father about
her.

‘I will marry no one else,’ said he, ‘though I have to search the whole world for her.’

‘Go, if you must,’ said his father, ‘and I’ll give you a hundred pounds to take with you. When it is spent, come home, and I’ll give you another hundred.’

So the lad took the hundred pounds, and went to France, to Spain, and all over the world, but he could not find her anywhere. By the time he arrived in London, he had spent his money, his
clothes were worn, and he did not know what he was going to do for a night’s lodging. As he wandered along the streets, he told his story to an old woman, who offered to help him.

‘I’m from the Highlands of Scotland, too,’ she said, ‘and I’d be pleased to give you hospitality.’

She took him to her house, gave him some clean clothes, a good supper and a comfortable bed to lie on.

‘Go out into the city,’ she said next day, ‘and maybe you’ll meet the one you’re looking for.’

The lad was walking along a city street when he saw a beautiful young woman at a window. He knew at once that she was the one he had seen
in his dream, but he was too shabby
to approach her. So he went back to the old woman and told her everything.

‘That was the London Baillie’s daughter. I was her nurse, so perhaps I can help you. I’ll give you fine Highland clothes. When you see her walking along the High Street, you
must tread on her gown. When she turns round, speak to her.’

The lad thanked her, and did this. He went out, saw the beautiful young woman, and stepped on the edge of her gown. At once she turned round.

‘I ask your pardon,’ he said, bowing.

‘It was not your fault,’ she said, ‘the gown is too long. You are a stranger here. Will you not come home and dine with us?’

As they dined, he told her his story, and how he had seen her in a dream, and had searched for her ever since.

‘I saw you in a dream on the same night,’ she said.

‘Will you marry me?’ said he.

‘Come back here in a year and a day. In this city the Baillie, my father, must put my hand in yours before we can marry.’

So the lad returned to Scotland, and told his father all that had happened. When the year was nearly spent, he set off for London. His father had given him another hundred pounds and some good
oatmeal bannocks.

On the road he met a Sassenach.

‘What’s your business in London?’ said the Saxon.

‘When I was there last I planted a lint-seed in a street, and I’m going back to see how it is growing,’ said the lad, ‘If it is ripe, I’ll take it back with me, if
not I’ll leave it.’

‘Well,’ said the Saxon, ‘that’s a stupid thing to do. As for me, I’m going to marry the London Baillie’s only daughter.’

They walked on together. At last the Saxon felt hungry. He had no food with him, and there was no house near. So he turned to the lad:

‘Will you give me some of your food?’

‘I’ve only some oatcakes,’ said the lad, ‘but you’re welcome to share them. If I was a gentleman like you, I’d never travel without my
mother.’

‘What a foolish idea!’ said the Saxon, as he took a bannock and ate it. Then they went on their way.

They had not gone far when it began to rain. The Gael had a rough plaid to protect him, but the Saxon had nothing.

‘Lend me your plaid!’ said he.

‘I’ll lend you part of it,’ said the lad, ‘but if I were a gentleman like you, I’d never travel without my house.’

‘You are a fool!’ laughed the Saxon. ‘My house is four storeys high, so how could I bring it with me?’

Then he wrapped one end of the Highlander’s plaid about his shoulders, and on they went.

They had not gone far when they came to a river. There was no bridge over it, and the Saxon would not wet his feet.

‘Will you carry me over?’ he said to the lad.

‘I’ll do that,’ he said, ‘but if I were a gentleman like you, I’d never travel without my own bridge.’

‘You certainly are a silly fellow,’ laughed the Saxon. But he got on to the lad’s back for all that, and on they went. At last they came to London town.

The Saxon went to the Baillie’s house, and told this story:

‘On the way, I met a Gael, a most stupid fellow! He was coming to London for lint he had planted a year ago. He told me I should never travel without my mother, my house and my bridge!
However, he was a good-natured fool. He shared his food and his plaid, and carried me over a river.’

‘He would appear to be wiser than the man he spoke to,’ said the Baillie. ‘The lint was the maid he left in London. If her love had grown, he would take her with him. By your
mother he meant the food you should have had with you, for she was your first nourishment. By your house he meant a coach, and the bridge was your saddle-horse. A gentleman should
not travel without these things and then ask help from others. A smart lad indeed, and I’d like to meet him.’

Next day the Highlander visited the Baillie, and was warmly welcomed.

‘I’d like to help a smart lad like you!’ said the Baillie.

‘I hear it is the custom in this city,’ said the lad, ‘that no man can marry unless the Baillie gives him the bride by the hand. Will you give me the hand of the lass
I’ve come to marry?’

‘I’ll do that,’ said the Baillie.

Next day the Baillie’s daughter went disguised to her old nurse. The Baillie, when he came, did not recognise her.

‘It’s an honour for you to marry such a fine lad,’ said he. ‘Put your hand in his, lass!’ Then he placed his daughter’s hand into the lad’s and they
were betrothed.

The Baillie went home, feeling well pleased with himself. He remembered that he would be giving his daughter’s hand to the Saxon gentleman. But his daughter was nowhere to be found.

‘I’ll lay a wager that young Gael has got her after all!’ he said.

Just then, in came the Gael with his daughter, and they told him all that had happened.

‘Well, I’ve given you my daughter’s hand,’ said he, ‘and I’m glad she has such a smart lad for a husband!’

The London Baillie’s daughter and the young Gael were married and had a wedding that lasted a year and a day.

HERE
lived an old man and his old wife at the side of a burn. They had two cows, five
hens and a cock, a cat and two kittens. The old man looked after the cows, and the old wife span on the distaff. The kittens often clawed at the old wife’s spindle as it danced over the
hearth-stone.