IN the good old days, when the fairies were more frequently seen than in these unbelieving times, a farmer named Mick Purcell rented a few acres of barren ground in southern Ireland, about three miles from Mallow, and twelve from the city of Cork. Mick had a wife and children, and they helped him all they could. That, however, was very little; for none of the children were big enough to do much work, and his wife was kept busy taking care of them, and milking the cow, boiling the potatoes, and carrying the eggs to market. So, though Mick was never idle from morn till night, it was by no means easy for them to make a living. Yet by hook or by crook they contrived to get along until there came a bad year. The oats were all spoiled that season, the chickens died of the pip, and the pig got the measles so that when it was sold it brought almost nothing.
Mick was in despair. The rent had long been due, and he addressed his wife, saying, “Molly, what shall we do?”
“My dear,” said she, “what can you do but take the cow to the fair at Cork and sell her? Saturday is fair day, and this is Thursday. You must start tomorrow, that the poor beast may have a night’s rest there and be at her best when you show her at the fair.”
“And what will we do when she’s gone?” asked Mick sorrowfully.
“Never a know I know, Mick,” she replied; “but sure I am that we will be taken care of. You remember how it was when little Billy was sick, and we had no medicine for him to take—that good doctor gentleman at Ballyshin came riding and asking for a drink of milk; and he gave us two shillings and sent things for Billy, and he gave me my breakfast when I went to his house to ask a question—so he did. He came to see Billy again and again, and never left off his goodness till the boy was quite well.”
“Oh! you are always that way, Molly,” said Mick; “and I believe you are right, after all. So I won’t be sorry for selling the cow, and I’ll take her to Cork tomorrow. But before I go you must put a needle and thread through my coat, for you know ’tis ripped under the arm.”
Molly told him he should have everything right; and about twelve o’clock next day he started, while Molly stood in the doorway of their cabin and called after him not to sell the cow except at the highest price. Mick promised to do as she bid, and went his way along the road. As he drove his cow through the little stream that crosses the highway and runs on beside the old walls of Mourne Abbey he glanced toward the ruinous towers.
“I’ve often heard there is great treasure buried under you,” said he. “Oh! if I only had that money, it isn’t driving this cow I’d be now. What a pity such a treasure should be there covered over with earth, and many a one wanting it besides me! Well, if it be God’s will I’ll have some money myself when I am coming back.”
So saying, he moved on after his beast. It was a fine day, and the sun shone brightly on the walls of the old abbey, and all the country around looked green and pleasant. Six miles farther on he came to the top of a high hill, and just there a man overtook him and greeted him with a “Good morrow.”
“Good morrow kindly,” said Mick, looking at the stranger, who was such a little man that he might almost be called a dwarf. He had a wrinkled, yellow face, and a sharp nose, red eyes, and white hair; and he was muffled up in a big overcoat that came down to his heels. His eyes were never quiet, but looked at everything, and they made Mick feel quite cold when he met their glance. In truth, he did not much like the little man’s company, and he drove his cow on faster, but the stranger kept up with him. It seemed to Mick that his fellow-traveler did not walk like other men, and that instead of putting one foot before the other he glided over the rough road like a shadow, without noise and without effort. Mick’s heart trembled within him, and he said a prayer to himself, wishing he had not come that day, or that he did not have the cow to take care of, so he might run away from the mysterious stranger. In the midst of his fears he was again addressed by his companion, who asked him where he was going with his cow.
“To the fair at Cork,” replied Mick, trembling at the shrill and piercing tones of the stranger’s voice.
“Are you going to sell her?” inquired the little man.
“Why, for what else could I be taking her to the fair?” was Mick’s response.
“Will you sell her to me?” said the stranger.
Mick started—he was afraid to have anything to do with the little man; and yet he was more afraid to say, “No.” He hesitated, and then asked, “What will you give for her?”
“I’ll give you this bottle,” answered the little man, pulling a bottle from under his coat.
Mick looked at him and the bottle, and, in spite of his terror, could not help laughing.
“Laugh if you will,” said the little man, “but I tell you this bottle is worth more to you than all the money you can get for your cow in Cork—aye, a thousand times over.”
Mick laughed again. “Why,” said he, “do you think I am such a fool as to give my good cow for a bottle—and an empty one, too? Indeed, I won’t.”
“You had better give me the cow and take the bottle,” said the little man. “You’ll be sorry if you don’t.”
“But what would Molly say?” muttered Mick. “I’d never hear the end of it; and how would I pay the rent, and what would we all do without a penny of money?”
“This bottle of mine is better to you than money,” the little man affirmed. “Take it, and give me the cow. I ask you for the last time, Mick Purcell.”
“How does he know my name?” thought Mick, with increased alarm.
“I have a regard for you, Mick Purcell,” the stranger continued. “Therefore do I warn you that unless you make the exchange I have proposed you will be sorry for it. How do you know but your cow may die before you get to Cork?”
“God forbid!” exclaimed Mick.
“And how do you know,” the little man went on, “but there will be so many cattle at the fair you will get a poor price? Or you might be robbed when you are coming home. But why need I talk more to you when you are determined to throw away your luck?”
“Oh, no! I would not throw away my luck, sir,” Mick affirmed hastily; “and if I was sure the bottle was as good as you say, though I never liked an empty bottle, I’d give you the cow for it.”
“I would not tell you a lie,” declared the stranger. “Here, take the bottle, and when you get home do what I direct, exactly.”
Mick hesitated.
“Well, then,” said the little man sharply, “good-by, I can stay no longer. Take the bottle and be rich; or refuse it, and beg for your living, and see your children in poverty and your wife dying of want. That is what will happen to you, Mick Purcell!” and the little man grinned maliciously.
“Maybe ’tis true,” said Mick, still hesitating. He did not know what to do; and yet he could hardly help believing the old man. The latter was turning to go when Mick in a fit of desperation seized the bottle. “Take the cow,” said he, “and if you are telling a lie, the curse of the poor will be on you.”
“I care neither for your curses, nor for your blessings,” retorted the little man. “I have spoken the truth, Mick Purcell, as you will surely know tonight after you reach home, if you do what I tell you.”
“And what’s that?” inquired Mick.
“When you go into the house,” said the little man, “never mind if your wife is angry over the bargain you have made. Be quiet yourself, and get her to sweep the room, and to clear off the table and spread a clean cloth over it. Then put the bottle on the floor, saying these words, ‘Bottle, do your duty,’ and you will see what will happen.”
“Is that all?” asked Mick.
“No more,” was the stranger’s answer. “Farewell, Mick Purcell. You are a rich man.”
“God grant it!” said Mick, as the stranger went off driving the cow.
Mick now started toward home, but he had gone only a few paces when he turned to have one more look at the purchaser of his cow. To his surprise neither the little man nor the cow were to be seen. “The Lord be between us and him!” exclaimed Mick. “That little man can’t belong to this earth;” and Mick continued on his way muttering prayers and holding fast the bottle.
“What would I do if it broke?” thought he; “but I’ll look out for that.”
So he put the bottle into his bosom and hurried on, anxious to prove the virtues of his treasure, and at the same time a good deal troubled over the reception he was likely to meet from his wife. He reached home in the evening, still much perturbed between his doubts and hopes, and surprised his wife sitting beside a turf fire burning in the big fireplace.
“Oh, Mick! are you come back?” she cried. “Sure, you haven’t been all the way to Cork! What has happened to you? Where is the cow? Did you sell her? How much money did you get for her? What is the news?”
“Molly,” said he, “if you’ll give me time, I’ll tell you all that’s happened. But I can’t tell you where the cow is.”
“You sold her on the way, did you?” said Molly; “and where’s the money? How is—”
“Arrah! stop a while, Molly,” he interrupted, “and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“What bottle is that under your waistcoat?” she asked, spying the neck of it sticking out.
“Be easy, can’t you!” begged Mick, and he put the bottle on the table and said, “That’s what I got for the cow.”
His wife was thunderstruck. “A bottle!” she ejaculated, “an empty bottle, and nothing more?”
“Just an empty bottle,” Mick replied. “But—”
“And what good is it?” said Molly. “Oh, Mick! I never thought you were such a fool; and how will we pay the rent? and how—”
“Now, Molly,” said Mick, “can’t you stop a bit and hearken to reason? An old man overtook me on the big hill, half-way to Cork, and he made me sell him the cow, and said this bottle which he gave me in exchange would make me rich.”
“Make you rich!” cried Molly. “We’ll see what it will do for you,” and she snatched it up from the table, intending to break it over his head.
But Mick caught it before it had time to descend, and, recalling the old man’s advice to keep peaceable, he gently loosened his wife’s grasp, and placed the bottle again in his bosom. Molly sat down and wept while Mick told her his story with many a crossing and blessing between him and harm. The marvel of it caused his wife’s doubts to vanish, for she had as much faith in fairies as she had in the priest, who indeed never discouraged her belief in them—maybe he believed in them himself. She got up and began to sweep the earthen floor with a bunch of heath. That done, she tidied up everything, set out the long table, and spread a clean cloth on it. Mick then placed the bottle on the floor and said, “Bottle, do your duty.”
“Look there! look there, mammy!” exclaimed the chubby eldest son, a boy about six years old; and he sprang to his mother’s side and clung to her skirts in terror with his eyes on the bottle.
Two tiny men were climbing out of it, and in a few moments they had brought plates and other dishes, all of solid gold or silver, and put them on the table, and the dishes contained a bountiful feast of the choicest food that ever was seen. As soon as this task was finished, the tiny men went into the bottle, which Mick then picked up and carefully set on the mantel. Where the little men had gone he could not tell, for the bottle seemed to be as empty as when he first received it.
Two tiny men climbed out of the bottle
For some time Mick and his wife stood and gazed at the table in silent bewilderment. They had never seen such dishes before and did not think they could ever admire them enough. In fact, the sight of all this splendor almost took away their appetites. But at length Molly said: “Come and sit down, Mick, and try to eat a bit. Sure, you ought to be hungry after such a good day’s work.”
“It’s plain the little old man told no lie about the bottle,” said Mick; and he helped the children into seats around the table. They all made a hearty meal, though they could not eat half the food that was before them.
“Now,” said Molly, “I wonder if these fine things are ours to do as we please with them, or if those two good little gentlemen in the bottle will carry them away.”
They waited to see what would happen, but the little men remained in the bottle, and at length Molly cleared the table and put away the dishes. “Ah, Mick,” said she, “you’ll be a rich man yet, as the stranger who took your cow foretold.”
Before they went to sleep that night they decided that they would sell some of their fine tableware, and with the money it brought pay what they owed, and rent more land. So the next day Mick went to Cork laden with a number of the gold and silver dishes, which he sold for more money than he had ever had in his hands before. He did not return on foot, for he bought a horse and cart so that he was able to ride. In the weeks that followed he increased his wealth from time to time by calling forth the imps out of the bottle, and it was soon plain to everyone that Mick was prospering. He and his wife did all they could to keep the source of their good fortune a secret, but their landlord presently came to Mick and asked him where he got all his money, for he knew very well it was not from the farm.
Mick tried to put him off with excuses. This, however, would not do, and the landlord was so persistent that finally Mick told him about the bottle. The landlord offered Mick a great deal of money for it, but Mick continued to refuse until the landlord said that in addition to the money he would give him the farm he rented. Mick surrendered the bottle, feeling that he was now so rich he never would be in want again. But he was mistaken, for he and his family lived as if there was no end to their fortune. They earned little and spent much. Their wealth melted away, and at length they became so poor they had nothing left which they could sell but one cow.
So Mick prepared to drive the cow to Cork fair and dispose of her. It was hardly daybreak when he left home, and he walked on at a good pace till he reached the big hill midway in his journey. The mists were sleeping in the valleys and curling like smoke-wreaths on the brown heath around him. Just beside the road, as he was going along, a lark sprang from its grassy couch and ascended into the clear blue sky pouring forth its joyous matin-song. While Mick was watching it he was startled and rejoiced to hear the well-remembered voice of that same old man who had accosted him here once before. “Well, Mick Purcell,” said the stranger, “I told you that you would be a rich man; and you found that I was right, did you not?”
“Indeed, sir, it was the truth you spoke, and no mistake,” replied Mick. “But it’s not rich I am now. Have you another bottle? I need it as much at present as when I first saw you. So, if you have one, sir, here is my cow for it.”
“And here is a bottle,” responded the little man, taking it from an inside pocket of his coat. “You know what to do with it.”
“Sure I do,” said Mick.
“Farewell,” said the strange old man as he turned to go.
“And good-by to you, sir,” said Mick. “May your shadow never grow less. Good-by, sir, good-by.”
Mick wasted no time looking back to see what became of the little man and the cow, but hastened homeward. As soon as he arrived he called out, “Molly, Molly! I have another bottle!”
“Have you?” said she, laughing joyfully. “Why, then, you’re a lucky man, Mick Purcell, that’s what you are.”
She quickly put everything in order and set forth the table with a clean spread on it. Then Mick placed the bottle on the floor, and said, with a tone of exultation in his voice, “Bottle, do your duty.”
In a twinkling, two big, stout men with heavy cudgels issued from the bottle (I do not know how there was room for them in it) and belabored Mick and Molly and the rest of the family, including the dog and the cat, till they sank bruised and faint to the floor. This result seemed to satisfy the two men, and they returned to the bottle. When Mick recovered sufficiently to get on his feet he stood and thought and thought. At length he helped up his wife and children. But he left them to get over their fright as best they could while he took the bottle under his coat and went off to call on his landlord.
The landlord’s mansion was full of company when he got there, and they were just sitting down to a magnificent feast provided by the imps of the bottle which Mick formerly owned. He sent in word by a servant that he wanted to speak with the master of the house on urgent business.
Pretty soon the landlord came out. “Well, what do you want now?” he asked roughly.
“Nothing, sir, only to tell you that I have another bottle,” Mick answered.
“Oho!” said the landlord, softening his manner and rubbing his hands together gleefully, “and is it as good as the first?”
“Yes, sir, and better,” declared Mick. “If you like, I will show it to you before all the ladies and gentlemen in your dining-hall.”
“Come along then,” was the landlord’s response, “and if I’m satisfied with what you show, I will pay a good round price for the bottle.”
He conducted his former tenant into the great hall, where Mick was interested to behold the other bottle standing high up on a shelf. “Now,” said the landlord, “let us see what your bottle can do.”
Mick set it on the floor and said, “Bottle, do your duty.”
Immediately out came the two stout men with their big clubs, and knocked the landlord off his feet. Then they assailed the ladies and gentlemen, his guests, and the servants, also, and there was running and sprawling and kicking and shrieking. Cups and plates and salvers were scattered about in all directions, and the landlord began to call out, “Mick Purcell, stop those two demons, or I’ll have you hanged!”
“No, no!” said Mick, “they never will be stopped by me till I get that bottle I used to own, which I see high up on the shelf there.”
“Give it to him, give it to him before we are all killed!” beseeched the battered ladies and gentlemen.
“Take it, and make haste,” cried the landlord.
So Mick climbed up and got the bottle that had been the source of his former good fortune. By this time the men with the cudgels had pounded the company to their satisfaction. They retired to their bottle, and off went Mick with both bottles in his bosom.
As the years passed he became richer and richer, and when, in his old age, his servants broke the bottles while fighting at a wake he was careful not to squander his riches as he had previously. So he and his wife lived happily to the end of their days.