Herminie Templeton Kavanagh

“ The dismal ould mountain glowered toward his Riverence, its dark look saying, plain as spoken words:
“How dare ye come here; how dare ye?”
“I wondher,” says Father Cassidy to himself, looking up at the black hill, “if the Good People are fallen angels, as some do be saying.
“Why were they banished from heaven? It must have been a great sin entirely they committed, at any rate, for at the same time they were banished the power to make a prayer was taken from them. That’s why to say a pious word to a fairy is like trowing scalding wather on him. ”

“ Howsumever, ’twas not the pelting rain, nor the lashing wind, nor yet the pitchy darkness that bothered the heart out of him as he wint splashin’ an’ stumbling along the road. A thought of something more raylentless than the storm, more mystarious than the night’s blackness put pounds of lead into the lad’s unwilling brogues; for somewhere in the shrouding darkness that covered McCarthy’s house the banshee was waiting this minute, purhaps, ready to jump out at him as soon as he came near her. ”

“ Darby’d say. “If you’re going along the lonely boreen at night and you hear, from some fairy fort, a sound of fiddles, or of piping, or of sweet woices singing, or of little feet patthering in the dance, don’t turn your head, but say your prayers an’ hould on your way. The pleasures the Good People’ll share with you have a sore sorrow hid in them, an’ the gifts they’ll offer are only made to break hearts with.” ”

“ The place of honour on the right wall was given to Darby’s fourth cousin, Phelem McFadden, an’ he was painted with a pair of handcuffs on him. Wullum O’Gill had a squint in his right eye, and his thin legs bowed like hoops on a barrel.
If you have ever at night been groping your way through a dark room, and got a sudden, hard bump on the forehead from the edge of the door, you can undherstand the feelings of the knowledgeable man. ”

“ Howsumever, in the home of the Good People—which, as you know, is the hollow heart of the great mountain Sleive-na-mon—Anthony Sullivan’s goat lives and prospers to this day, a pet and a hayro among the fairies. ”

“ Five miles down the road from Kilmartin churchyard, and thin two miles across, lived Barney Casey with Judy, his wife—known far and wide as the Couple without Childher.
Some foolish people whuspered that this lack of family was a punishment for an ould saycret crime. But that saying was nonsense, for an honester couple the sun didn’t shine on. It was only a pinance sint from Heaven as any other pinance is sint; ’twas—like poverty, sickness, or as being born a Connaught man—just to keep them humble-hearted. ”

“ The King took off his goold crown and began polishing it with his sleeve to hide his narvousness. “I’ll tell you a saycret,” he whuspered, bending over toward Darby, and speaking slow. “In Sleive-na-mon our hearts are just breaking for something we can’t get; but that’s one thing we’d give the worruld for.”
“Oh, King, what in the livin’ worruld can it be?” cried Maureen.
“I’d give the teeth out of me head if I could only own a goat,” says the King, looking as though he were going to cry.
“Man alive!” ”

“ A man’s heart-sthrings must be often stretched almost to the breaking to get good music from him. I’ll not spile you, Tom Mulligan.
“Besides,” he says, “as you are a natural-born ballad-maker, you’d kill yourself the first year thryin’ to spind all your money at wanst. But I’ll do betther for you than to make you rich. Ann Mulligan, do you clear the table an’ put my silver-topped noggin on the edge of it,” says he.
When Ann Mulligan did as she was bid the King put the green cloak on his chowlders and, raising his hand, pointed to the silver-covered noggin. Everyone grew still and frightened. ”

“ Their ould white horse bobbed up and down through the sticky morning fog, Darby and Maureen shivering on the front sate. The Ruler of the Fairies, Maureen’s shawl folded about him, was lying cuddled below in the sthraw. When they saw anyone coming, the fairy-chief would climb into Maureen’s lap, and she’d hould him as though he were a baby. ”

“ Darby felt himself goin’ into the river. Bits of the bank caved undher him, splashing into the current, an’ the lad’s heart began clunking up an’ down like a churn-dash.
“Lave off, lave off!” he cried, as soon as he could ketch his breath. “Do you take me for the banshee?” says he, giving a dusperate lurch an’ rowling himself on top of the other.
“Who are you, then? If you’re not a ghost you’re the divil, at any rate,” gasped the stone-cutter.
“Bad luck to ye!” cried Darby, clasping both arrums of the haunted man. “I’m no ghost, let lone the divil—I’m only your friend, Darby O’Gill.” ”

“ Sometimes he thought he would, then agin he was sure he wouldn’t. For Darby O’Gill was one who bint quick undher trouble like a young three before a hurrycane, but he only bint—the throuble never broke him. So, at times his courage wint down to a spark like the light of a candle in a gust of wind, but before you could turn on your heel ’twas blazing up sthrong and fiercer than before. ”

“ So fast came the King’s fairy army that the great cheer was still aychoing among the threes when the goold crown of Brian Connors sparkled up from beside the knowledgeable man’s knees. At that the parsecuted man, sobbin’ with joy, knelt down in the muddy road to shake hands with his friend, the masther of the Good People. ”

“ As they came near the first hill along its sides the evening twilight turned from purple to brown, and at the top of the Pig’s Head the darkness of a black night swooped suddenly down on them. Darby hurried on a step or two ahead, an’ resting his hand upon the large rock that crowns the hill, looked anxiously over to the Divil’s Pillow. ”

“ Although Darby was a nuntimate friend of the fairies, yet, as Margit Doyle said, he had such a black dhread of all other kinds of ghosts that to get him out on this threatening Halloween night, to walk past the churchyard, as he must do on his way to Cormac McCarthy’s cottage, was a job ayquil to liftin’ the Shannon bridge. How she was to manage it she couldn’t for the life of her tell; but if the errant was left undone she would be the laughin’-stock of every woman in the parish. ”

“ There’s nothing puts so much high courage an’ clear, steadfast purpose in a man’s heart, if it be properly given, as a kiss from the woman he loves. So, with the warmth of that kiss to cheer him, Darby set his face agin the storm. ”

“ But it wasn’t in the little man to stay long ill-natured. At the first shebeen house that they found open Maureen bought for him a bottle of spirits, and this cheered him greatly. The first dhrink warmed him, the second softened him, the third put a chune to the ind of his tongue, and by the time they raiched Tom Grogan’s public-house, which was straight two miles across from Barney Casey’s, the liquor set him singing like a nightingale. ”

“ So quick did they work, that by the time the priest and the fairy-man could walk over to the stone and sit themselves in the shelther, a thousand goold sparks were dancin’ in the wind, and the glimmer of a foine blaze fought with the darkness. ”

“ That’s what I think you raymarked and stibulated,” says he.
“Arrah, shouldn’t a woman have great praise an’ credit who’ll send her husband out on such a night as this,” his wife says. “The worse the con-ditions, the more credit she’ll get. If a ghost were to jump at ye as you go past the churchyard, oughtn’t I be the happy woman entirely?” says Bridget.
There was a kind of a tinkle in her woice, such as comes when Bridget is telling jokes, so Darby, with a sudden hope in his mind, turned quick to look at her. ”

“ All the handsomeness in Darby’s childher came from his own side of the family. Even Father Cassidy said the childher took afther the O’Gills.
“If I were rich,” said Darby, to a lazy ould bumble-bee who was droning an’ tumbling in front of him, “I’d have a castle like Castle Brophy, with a great picture-gallery in it. On one wall I’d put the picture of the O’Gills and the O’Gradys, and on the wall ferninst them I’d have the O’Hagans an’ the O’Shaughnessys.” ”

“ Sind the childher looking for him and use him kind. I’m going up the road spreading the news. Ignorant people might misthrate him,” says his riverence, moving off.
“You’ll find no ignorant person up this road,” called Tom, in a broken woice, “but Felix O’Shaughnessy, and he’s not so bad, only he don’t belave in ghosts,” cried Mulligan.
Even as the ballad-maker turned to go in the door the sun, shooting one red, angry look at the world, dhropped below the western mountains. The King jumped from the bed. ”

“ Whin it comes to animals, we can only put our come ’ither on cattle and horses, and such as are Christian animals, ye know. In his mind and in his heart a goat is a pagen. He wouldn’t ask any betther divarsion than for me to thry and lay me hands on him,” says the King, wiping his eyes.
“But,” says he agin, standing up on the stool and houlding his pipe over his head, “Anthony Sullivan’s goat is the gallusest baste that roams the fields! There’s more fun in him, and no more fear in him, than in a yallow lion. ”

“ Whin it’s the proud woman she ought to be this day to have the likes of me for a husband,” says Darby. “Ah, then, you ought to be the happy man, whatever wind blows,” he sighed again; “when you see a fat pig you like, you take it without so much as saying by your lave; if you come upon a fine cow or a good horse, in a twinkling you have it in Sleive-na-mon. A girl has a good song with her, a boy has a nimble foot for a jig, or an ould woman a smooth tongue for a tale, and, whisk! ”

“ On his way to the priest’s house he inwited the first woman he met, Ann Mulligan, the ballad-maker’s wife, to be godmother; he picked bashful Ted Murphy, the bachelor, to be godfather; and on his way home he was that excited and elayted that he also inwited big Mrs. Brophy, the proud woman, to be the boy’s godmother, forgetting altogether there was sich a parson in the world as Ann Mulligan. The next day the neighbours made ready a great bonfire to celebrayte the dispositious occasion. ”

“ An thin agin, a gossoon who’ll talk to his sweetheart about the size of the petatie crop’ll maybe bate her whin they’re both married. But this has nothing to do with your historical obserwaytions. Go on, King,” he says.
“Well, I hate foolishness, wherever it is,” says the fairy. “Howsumever, as I was saying, up there in heaven they called us the Little People,” he says; “millions of us flocked together, and I was the King of them all. We were happy with one another as birds of the same nest, till the ruction came on betwixt the black and the white angels. ”

“ I’m no less than Brian Connors, the King of the Good People,” he says, dhrawing himself up and trying to look grand. “It’s many’s the fine ballad of yours we sing in Sleive-na-mon.”
“But little Patsy,” stammered Tom; “sure your Majesty wouldn’t take him from us; he’s our twelfth and rounds out the dozen, you know.”
“Have no fear,” says the fairy; “Patsy’ll be here safe and sound at nightfall. If you stand friend to me this day the divil a friend you’ll ever need agin as long as you live!” With that the King up and tould him all the day’s happenin’s and misfortunes. ”

“ Dhressed in Maureen’s shawl, but divil a thing else, lay on the outside edge of the bed poor little Patsy Mulligan. The King, almost smothered, dhressed in Patsy’s clothes, was scrooged in to the wall with a cloth about his head wrapped round and round.
“Oh, the little jewel,” says Mrs. Brophy, picking up little Patsy Mulligan, and setting herself on the bed; “he’s the dead cut of his father.”
In that quare way women have Judy already had half a feeling that the child by some kind of magic was her own. So she spoke up sharp and said that the child was the image of her brother Mike. ”

“ To make matters more onsociable, his friend, Brian Connors, the King of the Fairies, hadn’t showed a nose inside Darby’s door for more than a fortnit; so the knowledgeable man had no one to adwise with. ”

“ Looking down, Father Cassidy saw a little cloaked figure, and caught the glint of a goold crown. ’Twas Brian Connors, the King of the Fairies, himself, that was in it.
His words had so friendly a ring in them that the clargyman smiled in answering, “Why, thin, good fortune to you, King Brian Connors!” says the good man, “an’ save you kindly. What wind brought you here?” he says. ”

“ Ever and always Chartres’ mill was a misfortunit place. It broke the heart of an’ runed and kilt the man who built it; an’ itself was a rune these last tunty years.
Many was the wild tale known throughout the counthry-side of the things that had been seen an’ heard at that same mill, but the tale that kept Darby an’ the tinker unwelcome company as the pony throtted along was what had happened there a couple of years before. ”

“ This he said to make light of what he had been telling, because he saw by Maureen’s face that she was growing sick with pity. For Maureen was thinking of the black days when she herself was a presner in Sleive-na-mon.
For an answer to the jest, the girl, with her clasped hands held up to the King, moaned, “Oh, King, King, lave the poor lad go! lave him go. Take the black spell off him and send him home. I beg you lave him go!”
“Don’t bother him,” says Darby; “what right have we to interfere with the Good People?” ”

“ The idee that the banshee was hiding an’ afeared to face him was great news to the hayro. But he only tossed his head an’ smiled shuparior as he made answer.
“’Tis yourself that knows well, Sheelah Maguire, ma’am,” answers back the proud man, slow an’ dayliberate, “that whin one does a favour for an unearthly spirit he may daymand for pay the favours of three such wishes as the spirit has power to give. The worruld knows that. Now I’ll take three good wishes, such as the banshee can bestow, or else I’ll carry the goolden comb straight to Father Cassidy. ”

“ Dark-eyed Susan was she called, and she belonged to Tom Mulligan, the one-legged ballad-maker, who had named her after the famous ballad.
Mulligan was too tindher-hearted to sell her to be kilt, and too poor to keep her in victuals, so she roamed the fields, a shameless marauder and a nimble-footed freebooter.
“Be-gorr, here’s luck!” said the little King; “since ’tis in Casey’s field, this must be Casey’s baste. I couldn’t ask betther; whinever a pig is frightened it runs to its own house ”

“ One’s own child is worth more than a hundred pounds, but other people’s childhren are plenty and full of failings. Mulligan’s family peered up into his face, and his wife Judy sarched him with hungry eyes. At last he said, very slow:
“My mind has changed,” says he. “Though peoplt always tould me that childher were a throuble, a worry and a care, yesterday I’d give the County Clare for that little one. After this day’s work I know that sayin’s thrue, so I’ll take the hundhred pounds,” he says. ”

“ Now you have a purty good ideeah what they’re like,” says he.
“While I think of it,” says the fairy-man, a vexed frown wrinkling over his forehead, “there’s three young bachelors in your own parish that have a foolish habit of callin’ their colleens angels whin they’s not the laste likeness—not the laste. If I were you, I’d preach agin it,” says he.
“Oh, I dunno about that!” says Father Cassidy, fitting a live coal on his pipe. " The crachures ⁠ say thim things. If a young bachelor only talks sensible to a sensible colleen he has a good chanst to stay a bachelor. ”

“ It wasn’t that Darby objected on his own account to takin’ him home, for a tinker or a beggar-man, mind you, has a right, the worruld over, to claim a night’s lodgin’ an’ a bit to ate wherever he goes; an’ well, these honest people pay for it in the gossip an’ news they furnish at the fireside an’ in the good rayport of your family they’ll spread through the counthry aftherwards. ”