Toto's Merry Winter

She parted the boughs, and entered the deep wood, where she was to gather faggots for her mother. Holding up her blue apron carefully, the little girl stepped lightly here and there, picking up the dry brown sticks, and talking to herself all the while, – to keep herself company, as she thought.

"Thin I makes a low curchy," she was saying, "loike that wan Mother made to the lord's lady yistherday, and the Green Man he gi'es me a nod, and —

"'What's yer name, me dear?' says he.

"'Eileen Macarthy, yer Honor's Riverence!' says I. – No! I mustn't say 'Riverence,' bekase he's not a priest, ava'. 'Yer Honor's Grace' wud do better.

"'And what wud ye loike for a prisint, Eily?' says he.

"And thin I'd say – lit me see! what wud I have first? Oh, I know! I'd ask him – Och! what's that? A big green grasshopper, caught be his leg in a spider's wib. Wait a bit, poor crathur, oi'll lit ye free agin."

Full of pity for the poor grasshopper, Eily stooped to lift it carefully out of the treacherous net into which it had fallen. But what was her amazement on perceiving that the creature was not a grasshopper, but a tiny man, clad from head to foot in light green, and with a scarlet cap on his head. The little fellow was hopelessly entangled in the net, from which he made desperate efforts to free himself, but the silken strands were quite strong enough to hold him prisoner.

For a moment Eileen stood petrified with amazement, murmuring to herself, "Howly Saint Bridget! what will I do now at all? Sure, I niver thought I'd find wan really in loife!" but the next moment her kindness of heart triumphed over her fear, and stooping once more she very gently took the little man up between her thumb and finger, pulled away the clinging web, and set him respectfully on the top of a large toadstool which stood conveniently near.

The little Green Man shook himself, dusted his jacket with his red cap, and then looked up at Eileen with twinkling eyes.

"Thank ye, my maiden!" he said kindly. "Ye have saved my life, and ye shall not be the worse for it, if ye did take me for a grasshopper."

Eily was rather abashed at this, but the little man looked very kind; so she plucked up her courage, and when he asked, "What is yer name, my dear?" ("jist for all the wurrld the way I thought of," she said to herself) answered bravely, with a low courtesy, "Eileen Macarthy, yer Honor's Riverence – Grace, I mane!" and then she added, "They calls me Eily, most times, at home."

"Well, Eily," said the Green Man, "I suppose ye know who I am?"

"A fairy, plaze yer Honor's Grace!" said Eily, with another courtesy. "Sure, I've aften heerd av yer Honor's people, but I niver thought I'd see wan of yez. It's rale plazed I am, sure enough. Manny's the time Docthor O'Shaughnessy's tell't me there was no sich thing as yez; but I niver belaved him, yer Honor!"

"That's right!" said the Green Man, heartily, "that's very right. Never believe a word he says! And now, Eily, alanna, I'm going to do ye a fairy's turn before I go. Ye shall have yer wish of whatever ye like in the world. Take a minute to think about it, and then make up yer mind."

Eily fairly gasped for breath. Her dreams had then come true; she was to have a fairy wish! Could it possibly be true? And what should she wish for? The magic carpet? The goose that laid eggs of gold? The invisible cloak? Eily had all the old fairy-stories at her tongue's end, for her mother told her one every night as she sat at her spinning. Jack and the Beanstalk, the Sleeping Beauty, the Seven Swans, the Elves that stole Barney Maguire, the Brown Witch, and the Widdy Malone's Pig, – she knew them all, and scores of others besides. Her mother always began the stories with, "Wanst upon a time, and a very good time it was;" or, "Long, long ago, whin King O'Toole was young, and the praties grew all ready biled in the ground;" or, "Wan fine time, whin the fairies danced, and not a poor man lived in Ireland." In this way, the fairies seemed always to be thrown far back into a remote past, which had nothing in common with the real work-a-day world in which Eily lived. But now – oh, wonder of wonders! – now, here was a real fairy, alive and active, with as full power of blessing or banning as if the days of King O'Toole had come again, – and what was more, with good-will to grant to Eileen Macarthy whatever in the wide world she might wish for! The child stood quite still, with her hands clasped, thinking harder than she had ever thought in all her life before; and the Green Man sat on the toadstool and watched her, with eyes which twinkled with some amusement, but no malice.

"Take yer time, my dear," he said, "take yer time! Ye'll not meet a Green Man every day, so make the best o' your chance!"

Suddenly Eily's face lighted up with a sudden inspiration. "Och!" she cried, "sure I have it, yer Riverence's Grace – Honor, I shud say! I have it! it's the di'monds and pearrls I'll have, iv ye plaze!"

"Diamonds and pearls?" repeated the fairy, "what diamonds and pearls? There are a great many in the world. You don't want them all, surely?"

"Och, no, yer Honor!" said Eily. "Only wan of aich to dhrop out o' me mouth ivery time I shpake, loike the girrl in the sthory, ye know. Whiniver she opened her lips to shpake, a di'mond an' a pearrl o' the richest beauty dhropped from her mouth. That's what I mane, plaze yer Honor's Grace. Och! wudn't it be beautiful, entirely?"

"Humph!" said the fairy, looking rather grave. "Are ye quite sure that this is what you wish for most, Eileen? Don't decide hastily, or ye may be sorry for it."

"Sorry!" cried Eileen, "what for wud I be sorry? Sure I'd be richer than the Countess o' Kilmoggen hersilf, let alone the Queen, be the time I'd talked for an hour. An' I loove to talk!" she added softly, half to herself.

The Green Man laughed outright at this. "Well, Eily," he said, "ye shall have yer own way. Stoop down to me here!"

Eileen bent down, and he touched her lips three times with the scarlet tassel of his cap. "Slanegher Banegher!" he said. "The charm is worked. Now go home, Eileen Macarthy, and the good wishes of the Green Men go with ye. Ye will have yer own wish fulfilled as soon as ye cross the threshold of yer home. But hark ye now!" he added, impressively. "A day may come when ye will wish with all yer heart to have the charm taken away. If that ever happens, come to this same place with a sprig of holly in yer hand. Strike this toadstool three times, and say, 'Slanegher Banegher, Skeen na Lane!' And now good-by to ye!" and clapping his scarlet cap on his head, the little man leaped from the toadstool, and instantly disappeared from sight among the ferns and mosses.

Eileen stood still for some time, lost in a dream of wonder and delight. Finally rousing herself, she gave a long, happy sigh, and hastily filling her apron with sticks, turned her steps homeward.

The sun was sinking low when she came in sight of the little cabin, at the door of which her mother was standing, looking anxiously in every direction.

"Is it yersilf, Eily?" cried the good woman in a tone of relief, as she saw the child approaching. "And where have ye been at all? It's a wild colleen y'are, to be sprankin' about o' this way, and it nearly sundown. Where have ye been, I'm askin' ye?"

Eily held up her apronful of sticks with a beaming smile, but answered never a word till she stood on the threshold of the cottage. ("Sure I might lose some," she had been saying to herself, "and that 'ud niver do.") But as soon as she had entered the little room which was kitchen, hall, dining-room, and drawing-room for the Macarthy family, she dropped her bundle of faggots, and clasping her hands together, cried, "Och, mother! what do ye think? Sure ye'll niver belave me whin I till ye – "

Here she suddenly stopped, for hop! pop! two round shining things dropped from her mouth, and rolled away over the floor of the cabin.

"Howly Michael be me guide!" cried Mrs. Macarthy; "phwhat's that?"

"It's marvels! [marbles]" shouted little Phelim, jumping up from his seat by the fire and running to pick up the shining objects. "Eily's got her mouf full o' marvels! Hurroo!"

"They aren't marvels!" said Eily, indignantly. "Wait till I till ye, mother asthore! I wint to the forest as ye bade me, to gather shticks, an' – " hop! pop! out flew two more shining things from her mouth and rolled away after the others.

Mrs. Macarthy uttered a piercing shriek, and clapped her hand over Eileen's mouth. "She's bewitched!" she cried. "Me choild's bewitched, an' shpakin' buttons! Och, wirra! wirra! what'll I do at all? Run, Phelim," she added, "an' call yer father. He's in the praty-patch, loikely. An' ye kape shtill!" she said to Eily, who was struggling vainly to free herself from her mother's powerful grasp. "Kape shtill, I'm tillin' ye, an' don't open yer lips! It's savin' yer body an' sowl I may be this minute. Saint Bridget, Saint Michael, an' blissid Saint Patrick!" she ejaculated piously, "save me choild, an' I'll serve ye on me knees the rist o' me days."

Poor Eily! This was a sad beginning of all her glory. She tried desperately to open her mouth, sure that in a moment she could make her mother understand the whole matter. But Honor Macarthy was a stalwart woman, and Eily's slender fingers could not stir the massive hand which was pressed firmly upon her lips.

At this moment her father entered hastily, with Phelim panting behind him.

"Phwhat's the matther, woman?" he asked anxiously. "Here's Phelim clane out o' his head, an' shcramin' about Eily, an' marvels an' buttons, an' I dunno what all. Phwhat ails the choild?" he added in a tone of great alarm, as he saw Eileen in her mother's arms, flushed and disordered, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Och, Dinnis!" cried Honor, "it's bewitched she is, – clane bewitched out o' her sinses, an shpakes buttons out av her mouth wid ivery worrd she siz. Och, me choild! me poor, misfortunate choild! Who wud do ye sich an ill turn as this, whin ye niver harmed annybody since the day ye were born?"

"Buttons!" said Dennis Macarthy; "what do ye mane by buttons? How can she shpake buttons, I'm askin' ye? Sure, ye're foolish yersilf, Honor, woman! Lit the colleen go, an' she'll till me phwhat 'tis all about."

"Och, av ye don't belave me!" cried Honor. "Show thim to yer father, Phelim! Look at two av thim there in the corner, – the dirrty things!"

Phelim took up the two shining objects cautiously in the corner of his pinafore and carried them to his father, who examined them long and carefully. Finally he spoke, but in an altered voice.

"Lit the choild go, Honor," he said. "I want to shpake till her. Do as I bid ye!" he added sternly; and very reluctantly his wife released poor Eily, who stood pale and trembling, eager to explain, and yet afraid to speak for fear of being again forcibly silenced.

"Eileen," said her father, "'tis plain to be seen that these things are not buttons, but jew'ls."

"Jew'ls!" exclaimed Honor, aghast.

"Ay!" said Dennis; "jew'ls, or gims, whichiver ye plaze to call thim. Now, phwhat I want to know is, where did ye get thim?"

"Oh, Father!" cried Eily; "don't look at me that a-way! Sure, I've done no harrum! I only – " hop! pop! another splendid diamond and another white, glistening pearl fell from her lips; but she hurried on, speaking as quickly as she could: "I wint to the forest to gather shticks, and there I saw a little Grane Man, all the same loike a hoppergrass, caught be his lig in a spidher's wib; and whin I lit him free he gi' me a wish, to have whativer I loiked bist in the wurrld; an' so I wished, an' I sid – " but by this time the pearls and diamonds were hopping like hail-stones all over the cabin-floor; and with a look of deep anger and sorrow Dennis Macarthy motioned to his wife to close Eileen's mouth again, which she eagerly did.

"To think," he said, "as iver a child o' mine shud shtale the Countess's jew'ls, an' thin till me a pack o' lies about thim! Honor, thim is the beads o' the Countess's nickluss that I was tillin' ye about, that I saw on her nick at the ball, whin I carried the washin' oop to the Castle. An' this misfortunate colleen has shwallied 'em."

"Shwallied 'em!" echoed Honor, incredulously. "How wud she shwally 'em, an' have 'em in her mouth all the toime? An' how wud she get thim to shwally, an' the Countess in Dublin these three weeks, an' her jew'ls wid her? Shame an ye, Dinnis Macarthy! to suspict yer poor, diminted choild of shtalin'! It's bewitched she is, I till ye! Look at the face av her this minute!"

Just at that moment the sound of wheels was heard; and Phelim, who was standing at the open door, exclaimed, —

"Father! here's Docthor O'Shaughnessy dhrivin' past. Will I shtop him? Maybe he wud know."

"Ay, shtop him! shtop him, lad!" cried both mother and father in a breath.

Phelim darted out, and soon returned, followed by the doctor, – a tall, thin man with a great hooked nose, on which was perched a pair of green spectacles.

Eileen had never liked Dr. O'Shaughnessy; and now a cold shiver passed over her as he fixed his spectacled eyes on her and listened in silence to the confused accounts which her father and mother poured into his ear.

"Humph!" he said at last. "Bewitched? 'tis very loikely. I've known many so of late. Let me see the jew'ls, as ye call thim."

The pearls and diamonds were brought, – a whole handful of them, – and poured into the doctor's hand, which closed suddenly over them, while his dull black eyes shot out a quick gleam under the shading spectacles. The next moment, however, he laughed good-humoredly and turned them carelessly over one by one.

"Why, Dinnis," he said, "'tis aisy to see that ye've not had mich expeerunce o' jew'ls, me bye, or ye'd not mistake these bits o' glass an' sich fer thim. No! no! there's no jew'ls here, wheriver the Countess's are. An' these bits o' trash dhrop out o' the choild's mouth, ye till me, ivery toime she shpakes?"

"Ivery toime, yer Anner!" said Honor. "Out they dhrops, an' goes hoppin' an' leppin' about the room, loike they were aloive."

"I see!" said the doctor. "I understand. This is a very sirrious case, Misther Macarthy, – a very sirrious case indade, sirr; an' I'll be free to till ye that I know but wan way av curin' it."

"Och, whirrasthru!" cried Mrs. Macarthy. "What is it at all, Docthor alanna? Is it a witch has overlooked her, or what is it? Och, me choild! me poor, diminted choild! will I lose ye this-a-way? Ochone! ochone!" and in her grief she loosed her hold of Eileen and clapped her hands to her own face, sobbing aloud. But before the child could open her lips to speak, she found herself seized in another and no less powerful grasp, while another hand covered her mouth, – not warm and firm like her mother's, but cold, bony, and frog-like. Holding her as in a vice, Dr. O'Shaughnessy spoke once more to her parents.

"I'll save her loife," said he, "and mebbe her wits as well, av the thing's poassible. But it's not here I can do ut at all. I'll take the choild home wid me to me house, and Misthress O'Shaughnessy will tind her as if she wuz her own; and thin I will try th' ixpirimint which is the ownly thing on airth can save her."

"Spirimint?" said Honor. "Sure, there's two, three kinds o' mint growin' here in oor own door-yard, but I dunno av there's anny o' that kind. Will ye make a tay av it, Docthor, or is it a poultuss ye'll be puttin' an her, to dhraw out the witchcraft, loike?"

"Whisht, whisht, woman!" said Dennis, impatiently. "Howld yer prate, can't ye, an' the docthor waitin'? Is there no way ye cud cure her, an' lave her at home thin, Docthor? Faith, I'd be loth to lave her go away from uz loike this, let alone the throuble she'll be to yez!"

"No throuble at all!" said the doctor, briskly. "At laste," he added more gravely, "naw moor thin I'd gladly take for ye an' yer good woman, Dinnis! Come, help me wid the colleen, now. Aisy does it! Now, thin, oop wid ye, Eily!"

And the next moment Eileen found herself in the doctor's narrow gig, wedged tightly between him and the side of the vehicle.

"Ye can sind her bits o' clothes over by Phelim," said Dr. O'Shaughnessy, as he gathered up the reins, apparently in great haste. "I'll not shtop now. Good-day t' ye, Dinnis! My respicts to ye, Misthress Macarthy. Ye'll hear av the choild in a day or two!" And whistling to his old pony, they started off at as brisk a trot as the latter could produce on such short notice.

Poor Eileen! Was this the result of the fairy's gift? She sat still, half-paralyzed with grief and terror, for she made no doubt that the hated doctor was going to do something very, very dreadful to her.

Seeing that she made no effort to free herself, or to speak, her captor removed his hand from her mouth; but not until they were well out of sight and hearing of her parents.

"Now, Eileen," he said, not unkindly, "av ye'll be a good colleen, and not shpake a wurrd, I'll lave yer mouth free. But av ye shpake, so much as to say, 'Bliss ye!' I'll tie up yer jaw wid me pock'-handkercher, so as ye can't open ut at all. D' ye hear me, now?"

Eileen nodded silently. She had not the slightest desire to say "Bliss ye!" to Dr. O'Shaughnessy; nor did she care to fill his rusty old gig, or to sprinkle the high road, with diamonds and pearls.

"That's roight!" said the Doctor, "that's a sinsible gyurrl as ye are. See, now, what a foine bit o' sweet-cake Misthress O'Shaughnessy 'ull be givin' ye, whin we git home."

The poor child burst into tears, for the word 'home' made her realize more fully that she was going every moment farther and farther away from her own home, – from her kind father, her anxious and loving mother, and dear little Phelim. What would Phelim do at night, without her shoulder to curl up on and go to sleep, in the trundle-bed which they had shared ever since he was a tiny baby? Who would light her father's pipe, and sing him the little song he always liked to hear while he smoked it after supper? These, and many other such thoughts, filled Eileen's mind as she sat weeping silently beside the green-spectacled doctor, who cared nothing about her crying, so long as she did not try to speak.

After a drive of some miles, they reached a tall, dark, gloomy-looking house, which was not unlike the doctor himself, with its small greenish window-panes and its gaunt chimneys. Here the pony stopped, and the doctor, lifting Eileen out of the gig, carried her into the house. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and stared in amazement at the burden in her husband's arms.

"Honor Macarthy's Eily!" she exclaimed. "The Saints protict uz! Is she kilt, or what's the matther?"

"Open the door o' the best room!" said the doctor, briefly. "Open it, woman, I'm tillin' ye!" and entering a large bare room, he set Eileen down hastily on a stool, and then drew a long breath and wiped his brow. "I've got ye!" he said. "Safe and sound I've got ye now, glory for ut! And ye'll not lave this room until ye've made me King av Ireland!"

Eileen stared at the man, thinking he had gone mad; for his face was red, and his eyes, from which he had snatched the green spectacles, glittered with a strange light. The same idea flashed into his wife's mind, and she crossed herself devoutly, exclaiming, —

"Howly St. Pathrick, he's clane diminted. 'King,' indade! will ye hear um?"

The doctor turned on her sharply. "Diminted?" he said; "ye'll soon see av I'm diminted. I till ye I'll be King av Ireland before the month's oot. Shpake, now, Eileen! Open yer mouth, alanna, and make yer manners to Misthress O'Shaughnessy."

Thus adjured, Eileen dropped a courtesy, and said, timidly, "Good day t' ye, Ma'm! I houp ye're well!"

Hop! pop! down dropped a pearl and a diamond, and the doctor, pouncing on them, held them up in triumph before the eyes of his astonished wife.

"Div ye see that?" he cried. "That's a dimind! There's no sich in Queen Victory's crownd this day. And look a' that! That's a pearrl, an' as big as a marrowfat pay. The loike of ut's not in Ireland, I till ye. Woman, there's a fortin' in ivery wurrd this colleen shpakes! And she's goin' to shpake," he added, grimly, "and to kape an shpakin', till Michael O'Shaughnessy is rich enough to buy all Ireland, – ay, and England too, av he'd a mind to!"

"But – but," cried Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, utterly bewildered by her husband's wild talk, and by the sight of the jewels, "what does it all mane? Has the choild swallied 'em? And won't she die av 'em, av it's that manny in her stumick?"

"Whisht wid yer foolery!" said her husband, contemptuously. "Swallied 'em, indade! The gyurrl has met a Grane Man, that's the truth of ut; and he's gi'n her a wish, and she's got ut, – and now I've got her." And he chuckled, and rubbed his bony hands together, while his eyes twinkled with greed.

"A Grane Man! The saints be good to uz!" cried Mrs. O'Shaughnessy. "Sure, ye always till't me there was no sich thing ava'."

"I lied, thin!" shouted the doctor. "I lied, an' that's all there is to say about ut. Do ye think I'm obleeged to shpake the thruth ivery day in the week to an ignor'nt crathur like yersilf? It's worn out I'd be, body and sowl, at that rate. Now, Eileen Macarthy," he continued, turning to his unhappy little prisoner, "ye are to do as I till ye, an' no harrum'll coom to ye, an' maybe good. Ye are to sit in this room and talk; and ye'll kape an talkin' till the room is full-up! d'ye hear me, now?"

"Full-up?" exclaimed Eileen, faintly.

"Full-up!" repeated the doctor. "No less'll satisfy me, and it's the laste ye can do for all the throuble I've taken forr ye. Misthress O'Shaughnessy an' mesilf 'ull take turns sittin' wid ye, so 'at ye'll have some wan to talk to. Ye'll have plinty to ate an' to dhrink, an' that's more than manny people have in Ireland this day. So lit me hear no complainin'."

With this, the worthy man proceeded to give strict injunctions to his wife to keep the child talking, and not to leave her alone for an instant; and finally he departed, shutting the door behind him, and leaving the captive and her jailer alone together.

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy immediately poured forth a flood of questions, to which Eileen replied by telling the whole pitiful story from beginning to end. It was a relief to be able to speak at last, and to rehearse the whole matter to understanding, if not sympathetic, ears. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy listened and looked, looked and listened, with open mouth and staring eyes. With her eyes shut, she would not have believed her ears; but the double evidence was too much for her.

The diamonds and pearls kept on falling, falling, fast and faster. They filled Eileen's lap, they skipped away over the floor, while the doctor's wife pursued them with frantic eagerness. Each diamond was clear and radiant as a drop of dew, each pearl lustrous and perfect; but they gave no pleasure now to the fairy-gifted child. She could only think of the task that lay before her, – to FILL this great, empty room; of the millions and millions, and yet again millions of gems that must fall from her lips before the floor would be covered even a few inches deep; of the weeks and months, – perhaps the years, – that must elapse before she would see her parents and Phelim again. She remembered the words of the fairy: "A day may come when you will wish with all your heart to have the charm removed." And then, like a flash, came the recollection of those other words: "When that day comes, come here to this spot," and do so and so.

In fancy, Eileen was transported again to the pleasant green forest; was looking at the Green Man as he sat on the toadstool, and begging him to take away this fatal gift, which had already, in one day, brought her so much misery. Harshly on her reverie broke in the voice of Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, asking, —

"And has yer father sold his pigs yit?"

She started, and came back to the doleful world of reality. But even as she answered the woman's question, she made in her heart a firm resolve, – somehow or other, somehow, she would escape; she would get out of this hateful house, away from these greedy, grasping people; she would manage somehow to find her way to the wood, and then – then for freedom again! Cheered by her own resolution, she answered the woman composedly, and went into a detailed account of the birth, rearing, and selling of the pigs, which so fascinated her auditor that she was surprised, when the recital was over, to find that it was nearly supper-time.