_ BOOK I. THE COMING OF PAN
CHAPTER IV
IT SO happened that the Leprecauns of Gort na Cloca Mora were not
thankful to the Philosopher for having sent Meehawl MacMurrachu to
their field. In stealing Meehawl's property they were quite within their
rights because their bird had undoubtedly been slain by his cat. Not
alone, therefore, was their righteous vengeance nullified, but the crock
of gold which had taken their community many thousands of years to amass
was stolen. A Leprecaun without a pot of gold is like a rose without
perfume, a bird without a wing, or an inside without an outside. They
considered that the Philosopher had treated them badly, that his action
was mischievous and unneighbourly, and that until they were adequately
compensated for their loss both of treasure and dignity, no conditions
other than those of enmity could exist between their people and the
little house in the pine wood. Furthermore, for them the situation was
cruelly complicated. They were unable to organise a direct, personal
hostility against their new enemy, because the Thin Woman of Inis
Magrath would certainly protect her husband. She belonged to the Shee of
Croghan Conghaile, who had relatives in every fairy fort in Ireland, and
were also strongly represented in the forts and duns of their immediate
neighbours. They could, of course, have called an extraordinary meeting
of the Sheogs, Leprecauns, and Cluricauns, and presented their case
with a claim for damages against the Shee of Croghan Conghaile, but
that Clann would assuredly repudiate any liability on the ground that
no member of their fraternity was responsible for the outrage, as it was
the Philosopher, and not the Thin Woman of Inis Magrath, who had done
the deed. Notwithstanding this they were unwilling to let the matter
rest, and the fact that justice was out of reach only added fury to
their anger.
One of their number was sent to interview the Thin Woman of Inis
Magrath, and the others concentrated nightly about the dwelling of
Meehawl MacMurrachu in an endeavour to recapture the treasure which
they were quite satisfied was hopeless. They found that Meehawl, who
understood the customs of the Earth Folk very well, had buried the crock
of gold beneath a thorn bush, thereby placing it under the protection of
every fairy in the world--the Leprecauns themselves included, and until
it was removed from this place by human hands they were bound to respect
its hiding-place, and even guarantee its safety with their blood.
They afflicted Meehawl with an extraordinary attack of rheumatism and
his wife with an equally virulent sciatica, but they got no lasting
pleasure from their groans.
The Leprecaun, who had been detailed to visit the Thin Woman of Inis
Magrath, duly arrived at the cottage in the pine wood and made his
complaint. The little man wept as he told the story, and the two
children wept out of sympathy for him. The Thin Woman said she was
desperately grieved by the whole unpleasant transaction, and that
all her sympathies were with Gort na Cloca Mora, but that she must
disassociate herself from any responsibility in the matter as it was her
husband who was the culpable person, and that she had no control over
his mental processes, which, she concluded, was one of the seven curious
things in the world.
As her husband was away in a distant part of the wood nothing further
could be done at that time, so the Leprecaun returned again to his
fellows without any good news, but he promised to come back early on the
following day. When the Philosopher come home late that night the Thin
Woman was waiting up for him.
"Woman," said the Philosopher, "you ought to be in bed."
"Ought I indeed?" said the Thin Woman. "I'd have you know that I'll go
to bed when I like and get up when I like without asking your or any one
else's permission."
"That is not true," said the Philosopher. "You get sleepy whether you
like it or not, and you awaken again without your permission being
asked. Like many other customs such as singing, dancing, music, and
acting, sleep has crept into popular favour as part of a religious
ceremonial. Nowhere can one go to sleep more easily than in a church."
"Do you know," said the Thin Woman, "that a Leprecaun came here to-day?"
"I do not," said the Philosopher, "and notwithstanding the innumerable
centuries which have elapsed since that first sleeper (probably with
extreme difficulty) sank into his religious trance, we can to-day sleep
through a religious ceremony with an ease which would have been a source
of wealth and fame to that prehistoric worshipper and his acolytes."
"Are you going to listen to what I am telling you about the Leprecaun?"
said the Thin Woman.
"I am not," said the Philosopher. "It has been suggested that we go
to sleep at night because it is then too dark to do anything else; but
owls, who are a venerably sagacious folk, do not sleep in the night
time. Bats, also, are a very clear-minded race; they sleep in the
broadest day, and they do it in a charming manner. They clutch the
branch of a tree with their toes and hang head downwards--a position
which I consider singularly happy, for the rush of blood to the head
consequent on this inverted position should engender a drowsiness and a
certain imbecility of mind which must either sleep or explode."
"Will you never be done talking?" shouted the Thin Woman passionately.
"I will not," said the Philosopher. "In certain ways sleep is useful.
It is an excellent way of listening to an opera or seeing pictures on
a bioscope. As a medium for day-dreams I know of nothing that can equal
it. As an accomplishment it is graceful, but as a means of spending a
night it is intolerably ridiculous. If you were going to say anything,
my love, please say it now, but you should always remember to think
before you speak. A woman should be seen seldom but never heard.
Quietness is the beginning of virtue. To be silent is to be beautiful.
Stars do not make a noise. Children should always be in bed. These are
serious truths, which cannot be controverted; therefore, silence is
fitting as regards them."
"Your stirabout is on the hob," said the Thin Woman. "You can get it for
yourself. I would not move the breadth of my nail if you were dying of
hunger. I hope there's lumps in it. A Leprecaun from Gort na Cloca Mora
was here to-day. They'll give it to you for robbing their pot of gold.
You old thief, you! you lobeared, crock-kneed fat-eye!"
The Thin Woman whizzed suddenly from where she stood and leaped into
bed. From beneath the blanket she turned a vivid, furious eye on her
husband. She was trying to give him rheumatism and toothache and lockjaw
all at once. If she had been satisfied to concentrate her attention on
one only of these torments she might have succeeded in afflicting her
husband according to her wish, but she was not able to do that.
"Finality is death. Perfection is finality. Nothing is perfect. There
are lumps in it," said the Philosopher. _