_ BOOK I. THE COMING OF PAN
CHAPTER V
WHEN the Leprecaun came through the pine wood on the following day he
met two children at a little distance from the house. He raised his open
right hand above his head (this is both the fairy and the Gaelic form of
salutation), and would have passed on but that a thought brought him
to a halt. Sitting down before the two children he stared at them for a
long time, and they stared back at him. At last he said to the boy:
"What is your name, a vic vig O?"
"Seumas Beg, sir," the boy replied.
"It's a little name," said the Leprecaun.
"It's what my mother calls me, sir," returned the boy.
"What does your father call you," was the next question.
"Seumas Roghan Maelduin O'Carbhail Mac an Droid."
"It's a big name," said the Leprecaun, and he turned to the little girl.
"What is your name, a cailin vig O?"
"Brigid Beg, sir."
"And what does your father call you?"
"He never calls me at all, sir."
"Well, Seumaseen and Breedeen, you are good little children, and I like
you very much. Health be with you until I come to see you again."
And then the Leprecaun went back the way he had come. As he went he made
little jumps and cracked his fingers, and sometimes he rubbed one leg
against the other.
"That's a nice Leprecaun," said Seumas.
"I like him too," said Brigid.
"Listen," said Seumas, "let me be the Leprecaun, and you be the two
children, and I will ask you our names."
So they did that.
The next day the Leprecaun came again. He sat down beside the children
and, as before, he was silent for a little time.
"Are you not going to ask us our names, sir?" said Seumas.
His sister smoothed out her dress shyly. "My name, sir, is Brigid Beg,"
said she.
"Did you ever play Jackstones?" said the Leprecaun.
"No, sir," replied Seumas.
"I'll teach you how to play Jackstones," said the Leprecaun, and he
picked up some pine cones and taught the children that game.
"Did you ever play Ball in the Decker?"
"No, sir," said Seumas.
"Did you ever play 'I can make a nail with my ree-roraddy-O, I can make
a nail with my ree-ro-ray'?"
"No, sir," replied Seumas.
"It's a nice game," said the Leprecaun, "and so is Capon-the-back, and
Twenty-four yards on the Billy-goat's Tail, and Towns, and Relievo, and
Leap-frog. I'll teach you all these games," said the Leprecaun, "and
I'll teach you how to play Knifey, and Hole-and-taw, and Horneys and
Robbers.
"Leap-frog is the best one to start with, so I'll teach it to you at
once. Let you bend down like this, Breedeen, and you bend down like that
a good distance away, Seumas. Now I jump over Breedeen's back, and then
I run and jump over Seumaseen's back like this, and then I run ahead
again and I bend down. Now, Breedeen, you jump over your brother, and
then you jump over me, and run a good bit on and bend down again. Now,
Seumas, it's your turn; you jump over me and then over your sister, and
then you run on and bend down again and I jump."
"This is a fine game, sir," said Seumas.
"It is, a vic vig,--keep in your head," said the Leprecaun. "That's a
good jump, you couldn't beat that jump, Seumas."
"I can jump better than Brigid already," replied Seumas, "and I'll jump
as well as you do when I get more practice--keep in your head, sir."
Almost without noticing it they had passed through the edge of the wood,
and were playing into a rough field which was cumbered with big, grey
rocks. It was the very last field in sight, and behind it the rough,
heather-packed mountain sloped distantly away to the skyline. There was
a raggedy blackberry hedge all round the field, and there were long,
tough, haggard-looking plants growing in clumps here and there. Near
a corner of this field there was a broad, low tree, and as they played
they came near and nearer to it. The Leprecaun gave a back very close to
the tree. Seumas ran and jumped and slid down a hole at the side of the
tree. Then Brigid ran and jumped and slid down the same hole.
"Dear me!" said Brigid, and she flashed out of sight.
The Leprecaun cracked his fingers and rubbed one leg against the other,
and then he also dived into the hole and disappeared from view.
When the time at which the children usually went home had passed, the
Thin Woman of Inis Magrath became a little anxious. She had never known
them to be late for dinner before. There was one of the children whom
she hated; it was her own child, but as she had forgotten which of them
was hers, and as she loved one of them, she was compelled to love both
for fear of making a mistake and chastising the child for whom her heart
secretly yearned. Therefore, she was equally concerned about both of
them.
Dinner time passed and supper time arrived, but the children did not.
Again and again the Thin Woman went out through the dark pine trees and
called until she was so hoarse that she could not even hear herself when
she roared. The evening wore on to the night, and while she waited for
the Philosopher to come in she reviewed the situation. Her husband had
not come in, the children had not come in, the Leprecaun had not returned
as arranged.... A light flashed upon her. The Leprecaun had kidnapped
her children! She announced a vengeance against the Leprecauns which
would stagger humanity. While in the extreme centre of her ecstasy the
Philosopher came through the trees and entered the house.
The Thin Woman flew to him-"Husband," said she, "the Leprecauns of Gort
na Cloca Mora have kidnapped our children."
The Philosopher gazed at her for a moment.
"Kidnapping," said he, "has been for many centuries a favourite
occupation of fairies, gypsies, and the brigands of the East. The usual
procedure is to attach a person and hold it to ransom. If the ransom is
not paid an ear or a finger may be cut from the captive and despatched
to those interested, with the statement that an arm or a leg will follow
in a week unless suitable arrangements are entered into."
"Do you understand," said the Thin Woman passionately, "that it is your
own children who have been kidnapped?"
"I do not," said the Philosopher. "This course, however, is rarely
followed by the fairy people: they do not ordinarily steal for ransom,
but for love of thieving, or from some other obscure and possibly
functional causes, and the victim is retained in their forts or duns
until by the effluxion of time they forget their origin and become
peaceable citizens of the fairy state. Kidnapping is not by any means
confined to either humanity or the fairy people."
"Monster," said the Thin Woman in a deep voice, "will you listen to me?"
"I will not," said the Philosopher. "Many of the insectivora also
practice this custom. Ants, for example, are a respectable race living
in well-ordered communities. They have attained to a most complex and
artificial civilization, and will frequently adventure far afield on
colonising or other expeditions from whence they return with a rich
booty of aphides and other stock, who thenceforward become the servants
and domestic creatures of the republic. As they neither kill nor eat
their captives, this practice will be termed kidnapping. The same may
be said of bees, a hardy and industrious race living in hexagonal cells
which are very difficult to make. Sometimes, on lacking a queen of
their own, they have been observed to abduct one from a less powerful
neighbour, and use her for their own purposes without shame, mercy, or
remorse."
"Will you not understand?" screamed the Thin Woman.
"I will not," said the Philosopher. "Semi-tropical apes have been
rumoured to kidnap children, and are reported to use them very tenderly
indeed, sharing their coconuts, yams, plantains, and other equatorial
provender with the largest generosity, and conveying their delicate
captives from tree to tree (often at great distances from each other and
from the ground) with the most guarded solicitude and benevolence."
"I am going to bed," said the Thin Woman, "your stirabout is on the
hob."
"Are there lumps in it, my dear?" said the Philosopher.
"I hope there are," replied the Thin Woman, and she leaped into bed.
That night the Philosopher was afflicted with the most extraordinary
attack of rheumatism he had ever known, nor did he get any ease until
the grey morning wearied his lady into a reluctant slumber. _