"Do you remember when you were digging in the field near the river, three months ago, you found a robin redbreast caught in a net?"
"Yes," answered Jegu, "I remember it very well, and I opened the net and let him go."
"Well, I was that robin redbreast, and ever since I have vowed to be your friend, and as you want to marry Barbak, I will prove the truth of what I say by helping you to do so."
"Ah! my little brownie, if you can do that, there is nothing I won"t give you, except my soul."
"Then let me alone," rejoined the dwarf, "and I promise you that in a very few months you shall be master of the farm and of Barbak."
"But how are you going to do it?" exclaimed Jegu wonderingly.
"That is my affair. Perhaps I may tell you later. Meanwhile you just eat and sleep, and don"t worry yourself about anything."
Jegu declared that nothing could be easier, and then taking off his hat, he thanked the dwarf heartily, and led his horses back to the farm.
Next morning was a holiday, and Barbak was awake earlier than usual, as she wished to get through her work as soon as possible, and be ready to start for a dance which was to be held some distance off. She went first to the cow-house, which it was her duty to keep clean, but to her amazement she found fresh straw put down, the racks filled with hay, the cows milked, and the pails standing neatly in a row.
"Of course, Jegu must have done this in the hope of my giving him a dance," she thought to herself, and when she met him outside the door she stopped and thanked him for his help. To be sure, Jegu only replied roughly that he didn"t know what she was talking about, but this answer made her feel all the more certain that it was he and n.o.body else.
The same thing took place every day, and never had the cow-house been so clean nor the cows so fat. Morning and evening Barbak found her earthen pots full of milk and a pound of b.u.t.ter freshly churned, ornamented with leaves. At the end of a few weeks she grew so used to this state of affairs that she only got up just in time to prepare breakfast.
Soon even this grew to be unnecessary, for a day arrived when, coming downstairs, she discovered that the house was swept, the furniture polished, the fire lit, and the food ready, so that she had nothing to do except to ring the great bell which summoned the labourers from the fields to come and eat it. This, also, she thought was the work of Jegu, and she could not help feeling that a husband of this sort would be very useful to a girl who liked to lie in bed and to amuse herself.
Indeed, Barbak had only to express a wish for it to be satisfied. If the wind was cold or the sun was hot and she was afraid to go out lest her complexion should be spoilt, she need only to run down to the spring close by and say softly, "I should like my churns to be full, and my wet linen to be stretched on the hedge to dry," and she need never give another thought to the matter.
If she found the rye bread too hard to bake, or the oven taking too long to heat, she just murmured, "I should like to see my six loaves on the shelf above the bread box," and two hours after there they were.
If she was too lazy to walk all the way to market along a dirty road, she would say out loud the night before, "Why am I not already back from Morlaix with my milk pot empty, my b.u.t.ter bowl inside it, a pound of wild cherries on my wooden plate, and the money I have gained in my ap.r.o.n pocket?" and in the morning when she got up, lo and behold! there were standing at the foot of her bed the empty milk pot with the b.u.t.ter bowl inside, the black cherries on the wooden plate, and six new pieces of silver in the pocket of her ap.r.o.n. And she believed that all this was owing to Jegu, and she could no longer do without him, even in her thoughts.
When things had reached this pa.s.s, the brownie told the young man that he had better ask Barbak to marry him, and this time the girl did not turn rudely away, but listened patiently to the end. In her eyes he was as ugly and awkward as ever, but he would certainly make a most useful husband, and she could sleep every morning till breakfast time, just like a young lady, and as for the rest of the day, it would not be half long enough for all she meant to do. She would wear the beautiful dresses that came when she wished for them, and visit her neighbours, who would be dying of envy all the while, and she would be able to dance as much as she wished. Jegu would always be there to work for her, and save for her, and watch over her. So, like a well-brought-up girl, Barbak answered that it should be as her father pleased, knowing quite well that old Riou had often said that after he was dead there was no one so capable of carrying on the farm.
The marriage took place the following month, and a few days later the old man died quite suddenly. Now Jegu had everything to see to himself, and somehow it did not seem so easy as when the farmer was alive. But once more the brownie stepped in, and was better than ten labourers. It was he who ploughed and sowed and reaped, and if, as happened occasionally, it was needful to get the work done quickly, the brownie called in some of his friends, and as soon as it was light a host of little dwarfs might have been seen in the fields, busy with hoe, fork or sickle. But by the time the people were about all was finished, and the little fellows had disappeared.
And all the payment the brownie ever asked for was a bowl of broth.
From the very day of her marriage Barbak had noted with surprise and rage that things ceased to be done for her as they had been done all the weeks and months before. She complained to Jegu of his laziness, and he only stared at her, not understanding what she was talking about. But the brownie, who was standing by, burst out laughing, and confessed that all the good offices she spoke of had been performed by him, for the sake of Jegu, but that now he had other business to do, and it was high time that she looked after her house herself.
Barbak was furious. Each morning when she was obliged to get up before dawn to milk the cows and go to market, and each evening when she had to sit up till midnight in order to churn the b.u.t.ter, her heart was filled with rage against the brownie who had caused her to expect a life of ease and pleasure. But when she looked at Jegu and beheld his red face, squinting eyes, and untidy hair, her anger was doubled.
"If it had not been for _you_, you miserable dwarf!" she would say between her teeth, "if it had not been for _you_ I should never have married that man, and I should still have been going to dances, where the young men would have brought me presents of nuts and cherries, and told me that I was the prettiest girl in the parish. While _now_ I can receive no presents except from my husband. I can never dance, except with my husband. Oh, you wretched dwarf, I will never, never forgive you!"
In spite of her fierce words, no one knew better than Barbak how to put her pride in her pocket when it suited her, and after receiving an invitation to a wedding, she begged the brownie to get her a horse to ride there. To her great joy he consented, bidding her set out for the city of the dwarfs and to tell them exactly what she wanted. Full of excitement, Barbak started on her journey. It was not long, and when she reached the town she went straight to the dwarfs, who were holding counsel in a wide green place, and said to them, "Listen, my friends! I have come to beg you to lend me a black horse, with eyes, a mouth, ears, bridle and saddle."
She had hardly spoken when the horse appeared, and mounting on his back she started for the village where the wedding was to be held.
At first she was so delighted with the chance of a holiday from the work which she hated, that she noticed nothing, but very soon it struck her as odd that as she pa.s.sed along the roads full of people they all laughed as they looked at her horse. At length she caught some words uttered by one man to another, "Why, the farmer"s wife has sold her horse"s tail!" and turned in her saddle. Yes; it was true. Her horse had no tail! She had forgotten to ask for one, and the wicked dwarfs had carried out her orders to the letter!
"Well, at any rate, I shall soon be there," she thought, and shaking the reins, tried to urge the horse to a gallop. But it was of no use; he declined to move out of a walk; and she was forced to hear all the jokes that were made upon her.
In the evening she returned to the farm more angry than ever, and quite determined to revenge herself on the brownie whenever she had the chance, which happened to be very soon.
It was the spring, and just the time of year when the dwarfs held their fete, so one day the brownie asked Jegu if he might bring his friends to have supper in the great barn, and whether he would allow them to dance there. Of course, Jegu was only too pleased to be able to do anything for the brownie, and he ordered Barbak to spread her best table-cloths in the barn, and to make a quant.i.ty of little loaves and pancakes, and, besides, to keep all the milk given by the cows that morning. He expected she would refuse, as he knew she hated the dwarfs, but she said nothing, and prepared the supper as he had bidden her.
When all was ready, the dwarfs, in new green suits, came bustling in, very happy and merry, and took their seats at the table. But in a moment they all sprang up with a cry, and ran away screaming, for Barbak had placed pans of hot coals under their feet, and all their poor little toes were burnt.
"You won"t forget that in a hurry," she said, smiling grimly to herself, but in a moment they were back again with large pots of water, which they poured on the fire. Then they joined hands and danced round it, singing:
Wicked traitress, Barbe Riou, Our poor toes are burned by you; Now we hurry from your hall-- Bad luck light upon you all.
That evening they left the country for ever, and Jegu, without their help, grew poorer and poorer, and at last died of misery, while Barbak was glad to find work in the market of Morlaix.
From "Le Foyer Breton," par E. Souvestre
_THE WINNING OF OLWEN_
THERE was once a king and queen who had a little boy, and they called his name Kilwch. The queen, his mother, fell ill soon after his birth, and as she could not take care of him herself she sent him to a woman she knew up in the mountains, so that he might learn to go out in all weathers, and bear heat and cold, and grow tall and strong. Kilwch was quite happy with his nurse, and ran races and climbed hills with the children who were his playfellows, and in the winter, when the snow lay on the ground, sometimes a man with a harp would stop and beg for shelter, and in return would sing them songs of strange things that had happened in the years gone by.
But long before this, changes had taken place in the court of Kilwch"s father. Soon after she had sent her baby away the queen became much worse, and at length, seeing that she was going to die, she called her husband to her and said:
"Never again shall I rise from this bed, and by and bye thou wilt take another wife. But lest she should make thee forget thy son, I charge thee that thou take not a wife until thou see a briar with two blossoms upon my grave." And this he promised her. Then she further bade him to see to her grave that nothing might grow thereon. This likewise he promised her, and soon she died, and for seven years the king sent a man every morning to see that nothing was growing on the queen"s grave, but at the end of seven years he forgot.
One day when the king was out hunting he rode past the place where the queen lay buried, and there he saw a briar growing with two blossoms on it.
"It is time that I took a wife," said he, and after long looking he found one. But he did not tell her about his son; indeed he hardly remembered that he had one till she heard it at last from an old woman whom she had gone to visit. And the new queen was very pleased, and sent messengers to fetch the boy, and in his father"s court he stayed, while the years went by till one day the queen told him that a prophecy had foretold that he was to win for his wife Olwen the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr.
When he heard this Kilwch felt proud and happy. Surely he must be a man now, he thought, or there would be no talk of a wife for him, and his mind dwelt all day upon his promised bride, and what she would be like when he beheld her.
"What aileth thee, my son?" asked his father at last, when Kilwch had forgotten something he had been bidden to do, and Kilwch blushed red as he answered:
"My stepmother says that none but Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr, shall be my wife."
"That will be easily fulfilled," replied his father. "Arthur the king is thy cousin. Go therefore unto him and beg him to cut thy hair, and to grant thee this boon."