Our Little Irish Cousin

"Oh, see! See!" cried Norah.

Mollie's brother stopped the horse to let every one see the beautiful sight before them. The lovely lakes, shut in by high mountains, were ahead of them.

"They are the jewels of Erin," cried Mollie's mother. "They are diamonds sparkling on the breast of our country."

It was no wonder she spoke as she did. It would be hard to find any spot in the world more beautiful than the Lakes of Killarney.

As the horse started up once more, they passed high stone walls covered with moss and ferns and ivy. The branches of tall trees met together over their heads, with vines wound lovingly about their trunks. The whole view was so beautiful that even the children became quiet. No one felt like talking.

"We will not spend any time in Killarney town," said Mollie's father. "This is going to be a day outdoors, childer. We'll have a rale picnic."

Mollie and Norah clapped their hands.

"We must go to Ross Castle, that's sure. And of course you want to visit Muckross Abbey and hear the echo below the Eagle's Nest," the farmer went on.

"Castle Lough and Glenna bay,Mountains Tore and Eagle's Nest;Still at Muckross you must pray,Though the monks are now at rest."

So sang the girls in answer.

You must know that Killarney is the most beautiful part of the beautiful country of Ireland. One day is not enough to see all that is worth seeing.

No one could blame the children for not wanting to spend any of their time in the little dirty town at the end of the lakes.

The horse was driven close to the shore of Lough Lean, or the Lake of Learning. This is the name given it by the people of the country because two universities once stood near its shores.

The party got out of the jaunting-car and sat down at the water's edge to eat their lunch. There were no cakes or pies, but nothing could have tasted better to the hungry children than the thick slices of bread and butter, the home-made cheese, and the rich goat's milk.

And then, every time they lifted their eyes they could see the green meadows on one side, and on the other the mountains covered with purple heather and thick forests.

Out on the clear waters of Lough Lean were many little islands, looking like so many emeralds set in the silvery bosom of the lake.

"What lovely homes they would make for the fairies," whispered Norah to Mollie. She always spoke of the fairies in a whisper. Perhaps she felt they might be provoked if she mentioned them in her usual voice.

"I believe they choose just such places to live in," answered Mollie. "I think there must be hawthorn-trees growing there."

Both Norah and Mollie believed in fairies. They had as much faith in them as many little boys and girls in America have in Santa Claus. They thought hawthorn-trees the favourite places for the midnight parties of the fairies. It was in the shade of the hawthorn-trees that these beautiful sprites feasted on dew, and danced to the music of fairy harps.

As the children sat whispering together, Molly's father began to tell the story of Lough Lean. The little girls were only too glad to listen.

He told the old legend of the time when there was no lake at all. A fine city stood here in its place, and in the city there lived a brave warrior, whose name was O'Donaghue.

Everything one could wish for was in the city except plenty of water. There was one small spring, to be sure. A great magician had given it to the people. But he had made one condition, which was this: whoever drew water from the spring must cover it with a certain silver vessel.

It happened one day that the brave O'Donaghue drank more wine than he should. It made him very bold. He ordered his servants to go to the spring and bring him the silver bowl that covered it.

"It will make a good bathtub for me," he said, and he laughed merrily.

"Pray don't make us do this," cried his frightened servants.

He laughed all the louder, and answered: "Don't be afraid. The water will be all the better for the fresh night air."

The silver bowl was brought to the daring warrior. But as the servants entered the house, they imagined they heard terrible sounds about them.

They shook with fear as they thought, "We are going to be punished for breaking the magician's command."

One of the servants was so frightened that he left the city and fled to the mountains. It was well for him that he did so, for when the morning came, he looked down into the valley and saw no city at all.

Not a sign of a house or living being was in sight. A sheet of water was stretched out before his astonished eyes. It was the beautiful Lough Lean.

As Mollie's father repeated the legend, the children bent over the lake. Perhaps they could see the roofs of palaces, or the tops of towers, still standing on the bottom of the water. They had heard of people who said they had seen them. But the children were disappointed.

Perhaps when they went rowing in the afternoon, they might yet catch a glimpse of the hidden city. Who could tell?

Mollie's father had more to tell of another man, whose name was also O'Donaghue. He pointed to a little island not far from the shore. It was Ross Island, and an old, old castle, called Ross Castle, was still standing there.

The stone walls were now in ruins. They were overgrown with moss and ivy. But hundreds and hundreds of years ago it was a great stronghold of Ireland's bravest warriors.

The chief of them all was the daring O'Donaghue. Even now he cannot rest easy in his grave. Every seven years he rises up, and, mounting a white horse, rides around Ross Castle. And as he rides every stone goes back into its old place, and the castle is once more as strong and grand as in its best days.

But this is only for the one night. When the sun shines the next morning, a heap of ruins is standing there, where the owls and bats may keep house in comfort.

"How I should like to see the knight on his white horse!" said Norah.

"Yes, but I should be afraid, I'm sure," said Mollie. "After all, the day is the best time to be outdoors, and my bed at home is the safest place after dark."

When the lunch was eaten, the whole party crossed a bridge that spanned the water to Ross Island. The children played games over the smooth lawns, picked flowers, and told fairy stories.

Then Mollie's brother rowed the girls out on the lake. Many a time he rested on his oars while the children called out and then listened for the echo to answer them.

"There it is, hark!" said Tim.

A party of travellers came rowing toward them. They had hired an Irish piper to go with them. As he played a slow tune, the answer came back.

Tim whistled, and the echo repeated it. Then Norah sang the first line of "Come Back to Erin," and the echo sang it back again.

But the afternoon was going fast, and the children could now hear Mollie's father calling to them from the shore. They must get back to land as soon as possible.

When they reached the car, they jumped in, and all started at once for Muckross Abbey, at the other end of the lake.

It had once been a great place of learning, but it was now in ruins. Ah! but such beautiful ruins, covered with mosses and creeping vines. How the ivy seemed to love the old stone walls!

Some of Ireland's greatest men were buried here. Poets and soldiers and wise men lie in their tombs. Norah and Mollie stepped softly and spoke in low tones as they walked among them, half-buried in moss and ivy.

But they did not linger long. They loved the sunshine and the brightness outside, and were glad to get back to them.

They took their places in the jaunting-car once more, and started on their homeward way.

As they drove along, they passed the grand home of a rich Englishman. A long and fine driveway led up to it from the road. It was almost hidden in a lovely grove.

Just as they drew near, a party of horsemen passed them and turned into the driveway, blowing their horns. They had been out hunting and were now returning.

"Arrah! they have a jolly life," said Mollie's mother. "Hunting and fishing and feasting. That is the way they pass their days. But, glory be to God, I have my husband and childer and our little farm, and I am content."

She might have said, also:

"I live in the most beautiful part of beautiful Ireland. I can look to my heart's content at the lovely hills and lakes, the fields filled with flowers, and the cascades rippling down the mountainsides."

Yes, let glory be to God that the poor can enjoy these blessings, and it costs them nothing.

CHAPTER VI

HALLOWE'EN

"IT'S jumping wid joy I am," said Norah.

It was the eve of the first day of November, and the little girl was putting on a new dress. Her father had been to the pig fair at Killarney. He had sold his pigs for a good price, and had brought home enough blue cloth to make gowns for both Norah and Katie.

But what is a pig fair? perhaps you are wondering. It is like any other fair in the old countries, except that little else is sold besides pigs.

Pigs! pigs! pigs! Big pigs and little pigs. Pigs rolling in fat and weighing a good three hundred pounds. Little baby pigs, pink and white, and too young to leave their mothers.

Streets full of men and pigs. Everybody talking, and many of them laughing and telling each other funny stories.

And all along the sides of the roads were horses and donkeys fastened to queer-looking wagons, in which the pigs had been brought to market.

Oh, a pig fair is a jolly sight, as Norah's brother would tell you.

The two blue dresses were made in a hurry by the mother, and now the whole family were going to a party at Mollie's house. It was to celebrate Hallowe'en. Patsy had to go, too, for there was no one to leave him with at home.

There was no baby-carriage for him. But that did not matter. He could go on his mother's broad back, after she had wrapped a big shawl over her shoulders.

The father led the procession. He felt very grand in a coat with long tails and a tall hat.

Of course, Norah and Katie felt fine in their new gowns. They walked behind their mother, looking from time to time at her new red petticoat, and then at their own dresses.

It seemed a longer walk than usual, because they were so anxious to get there and join in the sport.

"Hear the piper, hear the piper!" shouted Katie, as they at last drew near the farmhouse. And her little bare feet began to dance along the path.

A minute more, and the house door opened wide, and the visitors were made welcome.

The kitchen was not large, and it was already well filled. The big bed had been moved over into a corner to make room for dancing. The older people, who did not dance, sat on the edge of the bed, while the children nestled together on the floor against the wall.

The turf fire was glowing in the big fireplace, and giving a pleasant welcome to all. On the rafters overhead, some hens were fast asleep, not seeming to mind the music and laughter in the least.

The piper was playing his jolliest tunes, and two young people were dancing a jig when Norah arrived.

"Good! good!" cried the rest of the company, as the young girl went around and around the young man, her partner, never once losing the step. Her heavy shoes made a great clatter as they came down on the paved floor.

Her face grew redder and redder. Her breath came harder and harder, but she would not give up dancing till the piper himself left off playing.

"Let us bob for apples now," said the host. "We will give these young folks a chance to get their breath."

A big tub of water was brought in, and some apples were set floating in it. Who would duck for the apples? Every one who had a chance. It did not matter how old or how young they might be.

It was such fun! One head after another went down into the water to see who could seize an apple between his teeth without using his hands to help him.

When the company grew tired of this sport, there were other games and more lively dances.

Then there were refreshments. There was plenty of tea for the big folks, and bread and cheese and potato cakes for all.

As they sat eating, the piper began to play a soft, sad tune.

"They do say he learned it of the fairies," whispered Mollie to Norah.

Just then, the children's school-teacher came and sat down beside them. He heard the word "Fairies."

"Do you believe in fairies?" he asked Norah.

She lifted her blue eyes in surprise.

"Sure, sir. They live in the hills and caves. And there be some, I have heard, who have their homes under the waves of the sea. This night they are more lively than at most times.

"Mother was careful this morning not to drain the milk-pail. She wanted to leave a drop in case the fairy folk should come along and wish for a sup. And sure, sir, father never puts the fire out at night. He says maybe the fairies might like to rest a bit on our hearth before the morning."

The schoolmaster smiled, but did not contradict the little girl. He thought it would only trouble the child.

Norah's father had once said, "The teacher is a man of great larnin'. And, strange to say, I have heard that people of larnin' have little belief in fairy folk."

"Would you like me to tell you a story?" asked the teacher, after a moment or two.

"Oh, plaze do, indade!" said Norah and Mollie together. They loved their teacher dearly.

Their school was kept in a plain, bare little room with rough benches and desks. There was nothing bright or pretty about it. But their teacher was kind, and tried to help them learn. They were always glad to be with him and hear him talk.

"You have never been to the north of Ireland, have you?" he asked.

"Oh, no, sir. We've never been farther from home than the Lakes of Killarney," answered Mollie.

"But you know, of course, that this is an island, and if you travel to the northeastern shore of Ireland you must cross the sea if you want to go to Scotland."

"Yes, indeed, you showed that to us on the map at school."

"I will tell you of a giant named Finn McCool, who is said to have lived on that rocky shore. Do you know what a giant is?"

"Oh, yes. He's like any other man, only he's ever and ever so much bigger," answered Norah.

"Very well, then. This particular giant wished to fight another giant who lived in Scotland. He invited him to come across the sea to Ireland. But the Scotch giant was not able to swim. So he answered:

"'I would gladly come if I could, but I cannot get across.'

"'It's an aisy matter to make a road for you,' said Finn. 'It is hardly worth speaking about.'

"He set to work at once and built a road, or causeway, made of stone pillars. They were placed close together, and reached upward from the bed of the sea. Of course, the Scotch giant could not refuse to come now."

"Could we see it if we went there?" Mollie eagerly asked.

"You could see a part of it. But, according to the legend, it was broken in two by the sea. Even now, you could walk out upon it for quite a distance. But the causeway slopes downward into the water, and then seems to stop. Some people, however, believe it extends under the sea clear to Scotland.

"It is certainly a wonderful thing, and many people from other countries go to see it.

"Do you suppose it was really the work of giants, children?"

"Indade, whatever else could it be, sir? No common man could do it."

"No one knows; no one knows," said the schoolmaster, thoughtfully. "But come, let us join in the songs. We know more about them."

How sweet and clear the voices sounded, as the favourite tunes of Ireland rang through the farmhouse.

Then came fairy stories and jokes, and the party broke up just as the little wooden clock on the mantel struck the hour of midnight.

CHAPTER VII

FAIRIES

"WAKE up, me darlint. You have been dozing by the fire long enough," said Norah's father.

It was a cold evening in winter. Patsy was sound asleep in his bed. The good mother sat knitting socks for her husband; Mike was whittling a hockey stick to play with the next day. Little Katie was singing her rag doll to sleep, while Norah lay on the floor by the fireplace with eyes shut tight and breathing softly.

When her father touched her cheek and spoke to her, she sprang up with a sudden start.

"I've been dreaming. Oh, it was such a beautiful dream!" she exclaimed. "I was with the fairies in a big cave. They were having a party, and they looked just lovely. Indade, it was the sweetest dream I ever had."

"Do tell us about it," cried Katie. "Oh, do, Norah. And don't forget a single thing."

Norah's cheeks were rosy red, and her blue eyes sparkled as she painted the dream picture to the listening family.

She had been in the grand hall of a cave. It was like no other hall she had ever seen. The walls were shining with precious stones. Shining pendants hung from the ceiling and glistened in the light given by hundreds of fairy torches.

But the fairies themselves were the loveliest sight of all. Oh, they were such tiny creatures! The young lady fairies were all in white, and their soft, fair hair hung far down over their shoulders.

The young gentlemen fairies wore green jackets and white breeches.

The fairy queen had a golden crown on her head, and when she waved her golden wand, every one hastened to do her bidding.

They all had sweet, kind faces, and looked lovingly at Norah as they danced around her to the fairy music.

When Norah had got this far in her story, she turned to her father, and said:

"Then you called me, and the fairies all looked sad, and then – then – that's all I can remember."

"The fairies are wonderful people, and we must keep them for our friends, but I don't want them to call my Norah away from me. You must never turn your ears to the fairy music, my child."

Norah's father looked serious as he said these words. He had heard of a young girl who had listened to fairy music. It made her lose all love for her dearest friends. She forgot everything that had happened in her life. After that, she could only think of the fairies, and long to be with them. She died a short time afterward.

But, of course, Norah had only been dreaming of the fairies. That was quite different.

"Tell us some fairy stories, father dear. It is just the night for them," begged Katie.

Her father liked nothing better. He began at once to tell of a battle between two bands of fairies. It was in the night-time, and not far from the very place where they were living.

Norah's father had seen with his own eyes the man who told the story of the strange battle.

The fairies were no more than nine inches tall, but there were millions of them. They marched along in rows just like any other soldiers. The men of one army were in green coats, and the men of the other in red ones.

When they had drawn up and faced each other, the signal was given to begin the battle.

What a fight it was! The man who saw it became so excited he began to shout. Then, lo and behold! every fairy vanished from sight, and he found himself lying all alone on the roadside.

Had he been asleep? was it all a dream, like that of Norah's? He declared that was impossible.

The mother and children listened eagerly to the story. They believed every word of it.

The father did not stop here. He told now of a grand ball given by the fairies. A woman in Sligo saw it her very own self.

It was out in a big field, and the moon was shining on the beautiful scene. Hundreds of fireflies flew about the fairies, who were dancing like angels.

But the music! There was never anything like it in the world. A big frog played the big fiddle, and two kittens performed on the little ones. Then there were two big drums beaten by cats, while fat little pigs blew the trumpets. It must have been a wonderful sight.

"The fairies are very fond of childer," said Mrs. O'Neil. "They are that fond of them, they sometimes carry away a sleeping baby to their own home and leave a fairy child in its place. And that's the very truth. But come, husband, tell one more story before we go to bed."

"Oh, do, do, father!" cried Mike, and Norah and Katie repeated, "Do, do," after their brother.

How could any father refuse when children begged like that?

Norah took possession of one of his knees, Katie of the other, while Mike stretched himself out on the floor at his father's feet. As soon as all was quiet, they listened to the story of "Ethna, the Bride."

Once upon a time there was a great lord, who had a beautiful young wife. Her name was Ethna. Her husband was so proud of her, he held feasts every day. All the noblest people in the land came to his castle and danced and sang and took part in these feasts.

It happened one evening that, in the very midst of a dance, as the fair Ethna was whirling about through the hall in her rich garments of gauze, studded with sparkling jewels, she sank lifeless to the floor.

"She has fainted, she has fainted," cried the company.

She was carried to a couch, where she lay for hours without knowing anything happening about her.

But as the morning light began to creep in through the window, she awoke and told her husband she had been in the palace of the fairies. It was very, very beautiful. She longed to go back now and listen to the fairy music. It filled her with such joy as she had never felt before.

All that day her friends watched her closely, so she might not leave them again. It was of no use. As soon as the twilight settled down over the castle, there was the sound of soft music outside the walls. Instantly the beautiful Ethna closed her eyes and sank to sleep.

Every means was tried to wake her, but in vain. Her nurse was set to watch her, but for some reason she could not keep awake, and before the night was over, she, too, fell asleep.

When she awoke, she discovered that her charge was missing. Ah! where had she gone?

Every place about the castle was searched, but it was of no use. People were sent now in one direction, now in another, but every one brought back the same word, – there was no sign nor trace of the fair bride. Then the young lord said:

"I know where she must be. She has gone to the fairies. I will go to their king, Finvarra. He has always been a good friend to me. He will help me to get her back."

Little did he dream that the king of the fairies, even Finvarra himself, had fallen in love with Ethna, and had spirited her away from her home.

The young lord mounted his horse, and away he rode at full speed till he came to the hill of the fairies. There he stopped.

All at once he heard voices. This is what he heard:

"Finvarra is happy now. He has won the fair young Ethna. She will never leave his palace again."

"Ah!" was the reply, "it may happen yet. For if her husband digs down through this hill, he can win Ethna again."

"We shall see! We shall see!" exclaimed the lord when he heard these words.

He sent off at once for workmen to come to the fairy hill. They were to bring pickaxes and spades.

"Dig without stopping," was his command. "Dig till you come to the fairy palace."

A great company of men was soon at work. The air rang with the noise of their spades striking against the rocks and earth.

When night came they had made a tunnel into the very heart of the hill. They went home to rest, and with the first light of morning they came back to go on with their work.

But, behold! The hill looked as though no man had touched it. The dirt had all been replaced at the order of the powerful fairy king, Finvarra.

The young lord did not give up hope, however. The men were set to work again, and again the same thing happened as before. The work of the day was undone the next night. A third time the lord tried, and a third time he failed.

He was overcome by sorrow and disappointment, when he heard a soft voice speaking somewhere near him. It said:

"If you sprinkle salt over the earth the men dig up, Finvarra will have no power over it."

Once more the young lord was filled with hope. He sent out into the land in every direction to get quantities of salt from the people. And when the workmen stopped digging at nightfall, the salt was plentifully sprinkled over the earth.

How anxious the young lord was now! Had he really found a way of defeating the fairies? The next morning he eagerly hurried to the hill to see.