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The Field of Boliauns ne fine day in harvest — it
was indeed
Lady-day in harvest, that everybody knows to be one of the greatest
holidays in
the year — Tom Fitzpatrick was taking a ramble through the ground, and
went along
the sunny side of a hedge; when all of a sudden he heard a clacking
sort of noise
a little before him in the hedge. "Dear me," said Tom, "but isn't
it surprising to hear the stonechatters singing so late in the season?"
So
Tom stole on, going on the tops of his toes to try if he could get a
sight of what
was making the noise, to see if he was right in his guess. The noise
stopped; but
as Tom looked sharply through the bushes, what should he see in a nook
of the hedge
but a brown pitcher, that might hold about a gallon and a half of
liquor; and by-and-by
a little wee teeny tiny bit of an old man, with a little motty
of a cocked
hat stuck upon the top of his head, a deeshy daushy leather apron
hanging before
him, pulled out a little wooden stool, and stood up upon it, and dipped
a little
piggin into the pitcher, and took out the full of it, and put it beside
the stool,
and then sat down under the pitcher, and began to work at putting a
heel-piece on
a bit of a brogue just fit for himself. "Well, by the powers," said Tom
to himself, "I often heard tell of the Lepracauns, and, to tell God's
truth,
I never rightly believed in them — but here's one of them in real
earnest. If I
go knowingly to work, I'm a made man. They say a body must never take
their eyes
off them, or they'll escape." Tom now
stole on a little further, with his eye fixed on the little man just as
a cat does
with a mouse. So when he got up quite close to him, "God bless your
work, neighbour,"
said Tom. The little
man raised up his head, and "Thank you kindly," said he. "I
wonder you'd be working on the holiday!" said Tom. "That's
my own business, not yours," was the reply. "Well,
may be you'd be civil enough to tell us what you've got in the
pitcher there?"
said Tom. "That
I will, with pleasure," said he; "it's good beer." "Beer!"
said Tom. "Thunder and fire! where did you get it?" "Where
did I get it, is it? Why, I made it. And what do you think I made it
of?" "Devil
a one of me knows," said Tom; "but of malt, I suppose, what else?" "There
you're out. I made it of heath." "Of
heath!" said Tom, bursting out laughing; "sure you don't think me to be
such a fool as to believe that?" "Do
as you please," said he, "but what I tell you is the truth. Did you
never
hear tell of the Danes?" "Well,
what about them?" said Tom. "Why,
all the about them there is, is that when they were here they taught us
to make
beer out of the heath, and the secret's in my family ever since." "Will
you give a body a taste of your beer?" said Tom. "I'll
tell you what it is, young man, it would be fitter for you to be
looking after your
father's property than to be bothering decent quiet people with your
foolish questions.
There now, while you're idling away your time here, there's the cows
have broke
into the oats, and are knocking the corn all about." Tom was
taken so by surprise with this that he was just on the very point of
turning round
when he recollected himself; so, afraid that the like might happen
again, he made
a grab at the Lepracaun, and caught him up in his hand; but in his
hurry he overset
the pitcher, and spilt all the beer, so that he could not get a taste
of it to tell
what sort it was. He then swore that he would kill him if he did not
show him where
his money was. Tom looked so wicked and so bloody-minded that the
little man was
quite frightened; so says he, "Come along with me a couple of fields
off, and
I'll show you a crock of gold." So they
went, and Tom held the Lepracaun fast in his hand, and never took his
eyes from
off him, though they had to cross hedges and ditches, and a crooked bit
of bog,
till at last they came to a great field all full of boliauns, and the
Lepracaun
pointed to a big boliaun, and says he, "Dig under that boliaun, and
you'll
get the great crock all full of guineas." Tom in
his hurry had never thought of bringing a spade with him, so he made up
his mind
to run home and fetch one; and that he might know the place again he
took off one
of his red garters, and tied it round the boliaun. Then he
said to the Lepracaun, "Swear ye'll not take that garter away from that
boliaun."
And the Lepracaun swore right away not to touch it. "I
suppose," said the Lepracaun, very civilly, "you have no further
occasion
for me?" "No,"
says Tom; "you may go away now, if you please, and God speed you, and
may good
luck attend you wherever you go." "Well,
good-bye to you, Tom Fitzpatrick," said the Lepracaun; "and much good
may it do you when you get it." So Tom ran for dear life, till he came home and got a spade, and then away with him, as hard as he could go, back to the field of boliauns; but when he got there, lo and behold! not a boliaun in the field but had a red garter, the very model of his own, tied about it; and as to digging up the whole field, that was all nonsense, for there were more than forty good Irish acres in it. So Tom came home again with his spade on his shoulder, a little cooler than he went, and many's the hearty curse he gave the Lepracaun every time he thought of the neat turn he had served him. |