It was in the good days when the little people, most commonly called fairies, were more frequently seen than they are in these unbelieving times, that a farmer, named Mick Purcell, rented a few acres of barren ground in the neighborhood of the once celebrated abbey of Mourne, about thirteen miles from the city of Cork. Mick had a wife and family. They all did what they could, and that was but little, for the poor man had no child grown up big enough to help him in his work; and all the poor woman could do was to mind the children, and to milk the one cow, and to boil the potatoes, and carry the eggs to market to Mallow; but with all they could do, 'twas hard enough on them to pay the rent. Well, they did manage it for a good while; but at last came a bad year, and the little grain of oats was all spoiled, and the chickens died of the pip, and the pig got the measles-she was sold in Mallow and brought almost nothing-and poor Mick found that he hadn't enough to half pay his rent, and the payment was due.

"Why, then, Molly," says he, "what'll we do?"

"Well, then, what would you do but take the cow to the fair of Cork and sell her?" says she. "And Monday is fair day, and so you must go tomorrow, that the poor beast may be rested again the fair."

"And what'll we do when she's gone?" says Mick, sorrowfully.

"I don't know at all, Mick; but sure God won't leave us; and you know how good He was to us when poor little Billy was sick, and we had nothing at all. That good doctor gentleman come riding and asking for a drink of milk; and he gave us two shillings; and he sent the things and bottles for the child, and gave me my breakfast when I went over to ask him a question, so he did; and he came to see Billy, and never left off his goodness till he was quite well?"

"Oh! You are always seein' the bright side, Molly, and I believe you are right after all, so I won't be sorry for selling the cow; but I'll go tomorrow."

Molly told him he should have everything right; and about twelve o'clock next day he left her, promising not to sell his cow except for the highest penny. Mick went his way along the road, and drove his cow slowly through the little stream which crosses it and runs under the old walls of the abbey.

"Oh, then, if I only had half of the money that's buried in you, 'tisn't driving this poor cow I'd be now! Why, then, isn't it too bad that it should be there covered over with earth, and many a one besides me wanting? Well, if it's God's will, I'll have some money myself coming back."

So saying he moved on after his beast. 'Twas a fine day, and the sun shone brightly on the walls of the old abbey as he passed under them. He then crossed a large mountainous area, and after six long miles he came to the top of that hill, and just there a man overtook him.

"Good morrow," says he.

"Good morrow, kindly," says Mick, looking at the stranger, who was a little man, you'd almost call him a dwarf, only he wasn't quite so little neither; he had a bit of an old wrinkled, yellow face, for all the world like a dried cauliflower, only he had a sharp little nose, and red eyes, and white hair, and his lips were not red, but all his face was one color, and his eyes were never quiet, but looking at everything, and although they were red they made Mick feel quite cold when he looked at them. In truth, he did not much like the little man's company; and he couldn't see one bit of his legs nor his body, for though the day was warm, he was all wrapped up in a big greatcoat. Mick drove his cow something faster, but the little man kept up with him. Mick didn't know how he walked, for he was almost afraid to look at him, and to cross himself, for fear the old man would be angry. Yet he thought his fellow traveler did not seem to walk like other men, nor to put one foot before the other, but to glide over the rough road-and rough enough it was-like a shadow, without noise and effort. Mick's heart trembled within him, and he said a prayer to himself, wishing he hadn't come out that day, or that he was on Fair Hill, or that he hadn't the cow to mind, that he might run away from the bad thing-when, in the midst of his fears, he was again addressed by his companion.

"Where are you going with the cow, honest man?"

"To the fair of Cork, then," says Mick, trembling at the shrill and piercing tones of the voice. "Are you going to sell her?" said the stranger.

"Why, then, what else am I going for but to sell her?"

"Will you sell her to me?"

Mick started; he was afraid to have anything to do with the little man, and he was more afraid to say no.

"What'll you give for her?" at last says he.

"I'll tell you what, I'll give you this bottle," says the little one, pulling the bottle from under his coat.

Mick looked at him and the bottle, and, in spite of his terror, he could not help bursting into a loud fit of laughter.

"Laugh if you will," said the little man, "but I tell you this bottle is better for you than all the money you will get for the cow in Cork-ay, than ten thousand times as much." Mick laughed again.

"Why, then," says he, "do you think I am such a fool as to give my good cow for a bottle-and an empty one, too? Indeed, then, I won't."

"You had better give me the cow, and take the bottle-you'll not be sorry for it."

"Why then, and what would Molly say? I'd never hear the end of it; and how would I pay the rent? And what should we do without a penny of money?"

"I tell you this bottle is better to you than money-take it, and give me the cow. I ask you for the last time, Mick Purcell."

Mick started. "How does he know my name?" thought he.

The stranger proceeded: "Mick Purcell, I know you, and I have regard for you; therefore, do as I warn you, or you may be sorry for it. How do you know but your cow will die before you go to Cork?"

Mick was going to say "God forbid!" but the little man went on (and he was too attentive to say anything to stop him; for Mick was a civil man, and he knew better than to interrupt a gentleman, and that's more than many people know now).

"And how do you know but there will be much cattle at the fair, and you will get a bad price, or maybe you might be robbed when you are coming home; but what need I talk more to you when you are determined to throw away your luck, Mick Purcell ."

"Oh, no, I would not throw away my luck, sir," said Mick; "and if I was sure the bottle was as good as you say, though I never liked an empty bottle, although I had drank the contents of it, I'd give you the cow in the name..."

"Never mind names," said the stranger, "but give me the cow; I would not tell you a lie. Here, take the bottle, and when you go home do what I direct exactly."

Mick hesitated.

"Well, then, goodbye, I can stay no longer; once more, take it, and be rich; refuse it, and beg for your life, and see your children in poverty, and your wife dying for want-that will happen to you, Mick Purcell!" said the little man with a malicious grin, which made him look ten times more ugly than ever.
关键字:小说寓言
生词表: