The Orange Fairy Book (8 page)

The princess stood silent, and her face grew grim. At last she said:

'An ill trick have you played me! What is this that you have done, and
whither are we going?'

'It is a queen you will be,' answered Ian Direach, 'for the king of
Erin has sent me for you, and in return he will give me his bay colt,
that I may take him to the Seven Big Women of Dhiurradh, in exchange
for the White Sword of Light. This I must carry to the giant of the
Five Heads and Five Necks and Five Humps, and, in place of it, he will
bestow on me the blue falcon, which I have promised my stepmother, so
that she may free me from the spell which she has laid on me.'

'I would rather be wife to you,' answered the princess.

By-and-by the ship sailed into a harbour on the coast of Erin, and cast
anchor there. And Gille Mairtean the fox bade Ian Direach tell the
princess that she must bide yet a while in a cave amongst the rocks,
for they had business on land, and after a while they would return to
her. Then they took a boat and rowed up to some rocks, and as they
touched the land Gille Mairtean changed himself into a fair woman, who
laughed, and said to Ian Direach, 'I will give the king a fine wife.'

Now the king of Erin had been hunting on the hill, and when he saw a
strange ship sailing towards the harbour, he guessed that it might be
Ian Direach, and left his hunting, and ran down to the hill to the
stable. Hastily he led the bay colt from his stall, and put the golden
saddle on her back, and the silver bridle over his head, and with the
colt's bridle in his hand, he hurried to meet the princess.

'I have brought you the king of France's daughter,' said Ian Direach.
And the king of Erin looked at the maiden, and was well pleased, not
knowing that it was Gille Mairtean the fox. And he bowed low, and
besought her to do him the honour to enter the palace; and Gille
Mairtean, as he went in, turned to look back at Ian Direach, and
laughed.

In the great hall the king paused and pointed to an iron chest which
stood in a corner.

'In that chest is the crown that has waited for you for many years,' he
said, 'and at last you have come for it.' And he stooped down to
unlock the box.

In an instant Gille Mairtean the fox had sprung on his back, and gave
him such a bite that he fell down unconscious. Quickly the fox took
his own shape again, and galloped away to the sea shore, where Ian
Direach and the princess and the bay colt awaited him.

'I will become a ship,' cried Gille Mairtean, 'and you shall go on
board me.' And so he did, and Ian Direach let the bay colt into the
ship and the princess went after them, and they set sail for Dhiurradh.
The wind was behind them, and very soon they saw the rocks of
Dhiurradh in front. Then spoke Gille Mairtean the fox:

'Let the bay colt and the king's daughter hide in these rocks, and I
will change myself into the colt, and go with you to the house of the
Seven Big Women.'

Joy filed the hearts of the Big Women when they beheld the bay colt led
up to their door by Ian Direach. And the youngest of them fetched the
White Sword of Light, and gave it into the hands of Ian Direach, who
took off the golden saddle and the silver bridle, and went down the
hill with the sword to the place where the princess and the real colt
awaited him.

'Now we shall have the ride that we have longed for!' cried the Seven
Big Women; and they saddled and bridled the colt, and the eldest one
got upon the saddle. Then the second sister sat on the back of the
first, and the third on the back of the second, and so on for the whole
seven. And when they were all seated, the eldest struck her side with
a whip and the colt bounded forward. Over the moors she flew, and
round and round the mountains, and still the Big Women clung to her and
snorted with pleasure. At last she leapt high in the air, and came
down on top of Monadh the high hill, where the crag is. And she rested
her fore feet on the crag, and threw up her hind legs, and the Seven
Big Women fell over the crag, and were dead when they reached the
bottom. And the colt laughed, and became a fox again and galloped away
to the sea shore, where Ian Direach, and the princess and the real colt
and the White Sword of Light were awaiting him.

'I will make myself into a ship,' said Gille Mairtean the fox, 'and
will carry you and the princess, and the bay colt and the White Sword
of Light, back to the land.' And when the shore was reached, Gille
Mairtean the fox took back his own shape, and spoke to Ian Direach in
this wise:

'Let the princess and the White Sword of Light, and the bay colt,
remain among the rocks, and I will change myself into the likeness of
the White Sword of Light, and you shall bear me to the giant, and,
instead, he will give you the blue falcon.' And Ian Direach did as the
fox bade him, and set out for the giant's castle. From afar the giant
beheld the blaze of the White Sword of Light, and his heart rejoiced;
and he took the blue falcon and put it in a basket, and gave it to Ian
Direach, who bore it swiftly away to the place where the princess, and
the bay colt, and the real Sword of Light were awaiting him.

So well content was the giant to possess the sword he had coveted for
many a year, that he began at once to whirl it through the air, and to
cut and slash with it. For a little while Gille Mairtean let the giant
play with him in this manner; then he turned in the giant's hand, and
cut through the Five Necks, so that the Five Heads rolled on the
ground. Afterwards he went back to Ian Direach and said to him:

'Saddle the colt with the golden saddle, and bridle her with the silver
bridle, and sling the basket with the falcon over your shoulders, and
hold the White Sword of Light with its back against your nose. Then
mount the colt, and let the princess mount behind you, and ride thus to
your father's palace. But see that the back of the sword is ever
against your nose, else when your stepmother beholds you, she will
change you into a dry faggot. If, however, you do as I bid you, she
will become herself a bundle of sticks.'

Ian Direach hearkened to the words of Gille Mairtean, and his
stepmother fell as a bundle of sticks before him; and he set fire to
her, and was free from her spells for ever. After that he married the
princess, who was the best wife in all the islands of the West.
Henceforth he was safe from harm, for had he not the bay colt who could
leave one wind behind her and catch the other wind, and the blue falcon
to bring him game to eat, and the White Sword of Light to pierce
through his foes?

And Ian Direach knew that all this he owed to Gille Mairtean the fox,
and he made a compact with him that he might choose any beast out of
his herds, whenever hunger seized him, and that henceforth no arrow
should be let fly at him or at any of his race. But Gille Mairtean the
fox would take no reward for the help he had given to Ian Direach, only
his friendship. Thus all things prospered with Ian Direach till he
died.

(From Tales of the West Highlands.)

It was summer in the land of Denmark, and though for most of the year
the country looks flat and ugly, it was beautiful now. The wheat was
yellow, the oats were green, the hay was dry and delicious to roll in,
and from the old ruined house which nobody lived in, down to the edge
of the canal, was a forest of great burdocks, so tall that a whole
family of children might have dwelt in them and never have been found
out.

It was under these burdocks that a duck had built herself a warm nest,
and was not sitting all day on six pretty eggs. Five of them were
white, but the sixth, which was larger than the others, was of an ugly
grey colour. The duck was always puzzled about that egg, and how it
came to be so different from the rest. Other birds might have thought
that when the duck went down in the morning and evening to the water to
stretch her legs in a good swim, some lazy mother might have been on
the watch, and have popped her egg into the nest. But ducks are not
clever at all, and are not quick at counting, so this duck did not
worry herself about the matter, but just took care that the big egg
should be as warm as the rest.

This was the first set of eggs that the duck had ever laid, and, to
begin with, she was very pleased and proud, and laughed at the other
mothers, who were always neglecting their duties to gossip with each
other or to take little extra swims besides the two in the morning and
evening that were necessary for health. But at length she grew tired
of sitting there all day. 'Surely eggs take longer hatching than they
did,' she said to herself; and she pined for a little amusement also.
Still, she knew that if she left her eggs and the ducklings in them to
die none of her friends would ever speak to her again; so there she
stayed, only getting off the eggs several times a day to see if the
shells were cracking—which may have been the very reason why they did
not crack sooner.

She had looked at the eggs at least a hundred and fifty times, when, to
her joy, she saw a tiny crack on two of them, and scrambling back to
the nest she drew the eggs closer the one to the other, and never moved
for the whole of that day. Next morning she was rewarded by noticing
cracks in the whole five eggs, and by midday two little yellow heads
were poking out from the shells. This encouraged her so much that,
after breaking the shells with her bill, so that the little creatures
could get free of them, she sat steadily for a whole night upon the
nest, and before the sun arose the five white eggs were empty, and ten
pairs of eyes were gazing out upon the green world.

Now the duck had been carefully brought up, and did not like dirt, and,
besides, broken shells are not at all comfortable things to sit or walk
upon; so she pushed the rest out over the side, and felt delighted to
have some company to talk to till the big egg hatched. But day after
day went on, and the big egg showed no signs of cracking, and the duck
grew more and more impatient, and began to wish to consult her husband,
who never came.

'I can't think what is the matter with it,' the duck grumbled to her
neighbour who had called in to pay her a visit. 'Why I could have
hatched two broods in the time that this one has taken!'

'Let me look at it,' said the old neighbour. 'Ah, I thought so; it is
a turkey's egg. Once, when I was young, they tricked me to sitting on
a brood of turkey's eggs myself, and when they were hatched the
creatures were so stupid that nothing would make them learn to swim. I
have no patience when I think of it.'

'Well, I will give it another chance,' sighed the duck, 'and if it does
not come out of its shell in another twenty-four hours, I will just
leave it alone and teach the rest of them to swim properly and to find
their own food. I really can't be expected to do two things at once.'
And with a fluff of her feathers she pushed the egg into the middle of
the nest.

All through the next day she sat on, giving up even her morning bath
for fear that a blast of cold might strike the big egg. In the
evening, when she ventured to peep, she thought she saw a tiny crack in
the upper part of the shell. Filled with hope, she went back to her
duties, though she could hardly sleep all night for excitement. When
she woke with the first steaks of light she felt something stirring
under her. Yes, there it was at last; and as she moved, a big awkward
bird tumbled head foremost on the ground.

There was no denying it was ugly, even the mother was forced to admit
that to herself, though she only said it was 'large' and 'strong.'
'You won't need any teaching when you are once in the water,' she told
him, with a glance of surprise at the dull brown which covered his
back, and at his long naked neck. And indeed he did not, though he was
not half so pretty to look at as the little yellow balls that followed
her.

When they returned they found the old neighbour on the bank waiting for
them to take them into the duckyard. 'No, it is not a young turkey,
certainly,' whispered she in confidence to the mother, 'for though it
is lean and skinny, and has no colour to speak of, yet there is
something rather distinguished about it, and it holds its head up well.'

'It is very kind of you to say so,' answered the mother, who by this
time had some secret doubts of its loveliness. 'Of course, when you
see it by itself it is all right, though it is different, somehow, from
the others. But one cannot expect all one's children to be beautiful!'

By this time they had reached the centre of the yard, where a very old
duck was sitting, who was treated with great respect by all the fowls
present.

'You must go up and bow low before her,' whispered the mother to her
children, nodding her head in the direction of the old lady, 'and keep
your legs well apart, as you see me do. No well-bred duckling turns in
its toes. It is a sign of common parents.'

The little ducks tried hard to make their small fat bodies copy the
movements of their mother, and the old lady was quite pleased with
them; but the rest of the ducks looked on discontentedly, and said to
each other:

'Oh, dear me, here are ever so many more! The yard is full already;
and did you ever see anything quite as ugly as that great tall
creature? He is a disgrace to any brood. I shall go and chase him
out!' So saying she put up her feathers, and running to the big
duckling bit his neck.

The duckling gave a loud quack; it was the first time he had felt any
pain, and at the sound his mother turned quickly.

'Leave him alone,' she said fiercely, 'or I will send for his father.
He was not troubling you.'

'No; but he is so ugly and awkward no one can put up with him,'
answered the stranger. And though the duckling did not understand the
meaning of the words, he felt he was being blamed, and became more
uncomfortable still when the old Spanish duck who ruled the fowlyard
struck in: