Shaun O'Day of Ireland

CHAPTER IV

THE STRANGE LAND

"Shaun O'Day has been stolen by the leprechauns!" That was the whisper that buzzed all about the village the next day.

Little Eileen, with swollen eyes, told her mother how she had left the lad on the bank of the lake. She told how he had planned to put on the clothing of a boy and call the fairies. She wept as she told how brave he had been and how he had promised to write to her.

Her mother smiled sadly and said, "Och, the poor lad will never write! Never will Ireland see himself again! Sure, it's lost he is, and he standing by the banks of that lake in the clothing of a man child! For the fairies do be looking for his likes. Well pleased were they surely to find him!"

She sighed, and so did all the rest of the village folk. They all left milk upon their window sills that night.

They spoke together of the Good People and said, "God bless them!"

For, you see, they wanted to win the good will of the fairies.

Shaun's stepmother was as certain as any of the rest that the boy had been stolen.

She said, "And luck to the Good People! May they work the lazy lad and make a man of him!"

She was not sorry for Shaun. But she was sorry for herself that he was not there to work for her any more.

In a few months nobody spoke of Shaun in the village. He was forgotten. He was forgotten by all but little Eileen. She thought of him each day.

And ofttimes she went to the lake and talked to the blue waters. She asked them where the fairies had taken her Shauneen.

But the wind only blew ripples over the blue waters of the lake. And the trees sighed, and Eileen ran home crying.

She did not tell her mother. She kept her secret in her heart and kept her heart open for Shauneen.

Then one day after many months, a letter came to the town. It was for Eileen. It came from a strange land; and everyone in the village was curious about it.

Some of the old folks in the village did not know English. They spoke only Irish. But the children in the village all knew English, for they studied it in school.

The letter to Eileen was written in English. The little girl ran to the side of the blue lake. She opened the letter with trembling fingers.

This is what she read:

"Dawn O'Day, I have traveled far. The many lands I've seen and the many strange things would open wide your eyes. I am in a fairy city. The lights at night do be shining like the stars. And the noise is like a thousand thunders.

"But the shoemaker is kind. I work hard, but I am paid a handsome sum. And I study at night in a fine school. I am happy but for the sorrow of leaving you. Keep in your heart your faith, for I'll be coming back to get you.

When Eileen walked back to the village with her letter clasped in her hand, a crowd of children surrounded her.

"And what is in it?" shouted one.

"Are the fairies themselves writing to you?" laughed another.

Eileen shook her curls and would not answer.

One cried, "Och, you cannot keep it secret at all, at all! 'Tis from himself – Shaun O'Day, and 'tis from America!"

The crowd set up a loud roar. "Yes, yes, we know! From America! We saw the mark! 'Tis a fine secret you'd keep, Eileen!"

Eileen's face became red with anger.

"Stop!" she cried. "'Tis not true! He's with the fairies! He's in a fairy city! 'Tis himself says so!"

But the crowd only laughed the more loudly. "Ho! A fairy city! And why, then, is the letter marked with the mark of America?"

Eileen had wondered, too, about this. She wondered about the postmark. It said "U.S.A." And that meant United States of America.

"'Tis a trick of the fairies!" she cried, believing it herself. "A trick to put us off their track! 'Tis himself that's working for the fairy shoemaker in a fairy city!"

She then told them what Shaun had said about the lights at night and the thunder noise. She told how he was receiving pay for his work and about the school to which he went.

They stopped shouting and listened. Their jaws fell open. They were forced to believe that Shaun was truly in the land of the leprechaun!

Still, some were doubtful and went away wagging their heads and sneering.

"'Tis said that in great cities in the New World such things do be," said one.

But Eileen was happy. No matter where Shaun was, she knew that he was well. She knew that he thought of her and that they would meet again some day.

Letters came often after that. In each one were tales of great wonder. Even the most doubtful of the villagers had to admit that the boy was with the fairies.

He told of strange people, of amusements, of towers touching the sky, and of sights that dazzled his eyes.

Shaun had traveled all the way to a big American city. A bright, strong lad was he.

He could always find ways of working himself along. On ships and trains, in motors, and upon his two feet he traveled.

When he arrived in the strange city across the sea, he sold papers on the streets.

His clear Irish voice rang out with its brogue. Many persons smiled as they listened to the fresh young voice of Shaun O'Day from Connemara.

But one man stopped and spoke to the lad. He, too, was an Irishman. He spoke kindly to Shaun.

The boy told him about his trip and the strangeness he felt in this new land. So this Irishman, Pat O'Leary, took Shaun to his shop.

Pat O'Leary was a shoemaker. He had a tiny shop on a side street in the great city. Here he worked at his trade and lived in a dingy room in the back of the shop.

'Twas thus that Shaun O'Day found a home. And 'twas thus that he started to work for a shoemaker. Pat O'Leary was not a fairy shoemaker. But a good fairy was he to the Irish lad.

He was wrinkled and bent. He might have been an old leprechaun who had lost his way upon earth. He was jolly and smiling, with a joke ever upon his lips.

Shaun lived and worked with Pat and was happy. At night he went to school in the big city and learned many things.

The bright lights, flickering on and off, made him blink his eyes. The tall towers and buildings made his neck stiff with looking up.

The noise of the traffic and whistles and motors and people made his ears tingle.

But he loved it and wrote each week to his little friend in Ireland and told her of the magic of it all. He told it with a twinkle in his Irish eyes as he wrote.

He knew she would think he was with the fairies. He knew she, too, would think this big city fairyland if she were here with him.

So he smiled to himself as he wrote to her. And the smiles tumbled down from his lips to the paper on which he wrote.

And when Eileen received the letters those same smiles jumped up and settled on her own two pretty lips. She liked to think that her Shaun was in a fairy city. He knew she would like to think it.

So he went on telling her about the wonders, without ever saying he was in the city of New York.

It was a simple jest. He would not have deceived her for worlds. But that twinkle made him play with her. It made him write letters that read like fairy tales.

And sometimes he wrote verse like this:

Years went by. One day a very small girl came into the shoemaker's shop.

Shaun was growing to be a tall boy now. He was tall and manly. But the Irish bloom was still on his face, with the smile of his country.

A very small girl came into the shop with her nurse. While the nurse talked to Pat O'Leary, the little miss came over and sat upon a stool by the side of Shaun O'Day.

He gave her his Irish smile. She gave him a friendly American smile.

She was a pretty, blond baby, with teeth as white as milk and eyes the brown of tree bark.

It was not long before the Irish lad was telling her the stories of his land. She sat spellbound while he talked of the fairies. He worked upon a shoe while he talked.

He told her about the leprechaun. And she thought he might be one, from the way he looked as he worked upon that shoe.

Then her nurse called, "Come, Marjorie. We must go!" Marjorie did not want to go. She stamped her little foot.

"Come, now," begged Nurse, "and to-morrow we will be coming back."

You see, Nurse was Irish, too, and she loved to talk with Pat O'Leary.

Marjorie could twine Nurse about her little finger and make her do as she wished. Marjorie could make almost everybody do as she wished, for she was sweet and pretty, and she had dimples.

But sometimes she was very stubborn and naughty. Then she did not look so pretty. Her dimple did not seem to be a fairy ripple when she was cross.

Marjorie and Nurse left the shop. All that day, Marjorie thought of the Irish lad's tales.

The next day they came again, and the next, and the next. Marjorie loved to go to the shop each day and listen to the tales of Shaun O'Day.

But one day a frightful thing happened. Marjorie's dimple was looking more like a smudge of dirt than like a fairy ripple.

It was evening. Marjorie heard the water running for her bath.

She stamped her foot at Nurse and cried, "I won't take a bath!"

When Nurse called to her that the bath was ready, Marjorie was nowhere to be found. She had run away from her home.

Marjorie ran to the shop of Pat O'Leary, straight to Shaun O'Day.

Shaun was surprised and shocked to see the little girl alone and at such a late hour. He was just starting off for his school.

Marjorie wanted the lad to tell her tales. But he shook his head.

"Sure, 'tis the wicked child you are, Miss Marjorie," he said. "And 'tis myself will carry you back to your home."

So saying, he picked her up under his arm and took her to her home. Imagine how surprised her parents were when they saw this sight at their door.

There was Shaun, the red-haired Irish lad, standing with their wee daughter tucked under his big arm. She was kicking and squealing like a little pig.

"Begging your pardon, sir," said Shaun to Marjorie's father, "I've brought you the young lady of the house!"

Marjorie was sent upstairs to bed. I do not know whether her mother spanked her, but I think she did not. Her mother spoiled her the way everyone else did.

Downstairs, Shaun told Marjorie's father how she had come to the shop. Her father asked Shaun to sit down. He liked the boy. He asked Shaun about his life. Marjorie's father wanted to know about Ireland, too. Shaun talked with his slow brogue. His blue eyes twinkled with the truth there was in them.

Marjorie's father asked Shaun, "Would you not like to change your home? Come and work for me in this house. I will have you taught the work of a butler, if you will come here and stay. You shall tell Marjorie tales every day."

You see, her father was another who wanted to do everything in the world for this little American Princess.

So it came about that Shaun changed his home and his work. He left the shop of Pat O'Leary. And a letter came to Dawn O'Day in Ireland.

It said: "So here I am in the house of a fairy Princess. She did wave her wand, and I was brought to live here by her father. 'Tis a good man he is, too. And I love the baby Princess well and do be pleasing her with tales of old Ireland.

"I'm learning the trade of a butler. I'm after serving themselves out of golden goblets and glass plates the color of Ireland's green. The table shines with bright crystal and silver. The food is beautiful to look upon.

"Then the pay I do get is indeed grand. 'Tis all to be saved for our wedding day, mavourneen."

CHAPTER V

THE FRIGHTENED GIANT

When Marjorie's nurse went out, it was Shaun who took Marjorie to play in the park. Sometimes they stayed in the big gardens of Marjorie's home, and Shaun told stories.

But occasionally the little girl liked to go where she would meet her friends.

On such a day Shaun and Marjorie were playing ball with the children in the park. They were throwing the ball to one another.

Shaun was standing among them like a giant. He was trying to be gentle as he threw the ball. But all at once his strength let go and over the tree tops went the ball.

"O-oh, what a terrible throw!" sneered a small boy.

Shaun ran and brought back the ball. He tried to be more careful. But once he threw it into the duck pond, and at last he lost it altogether. He heard a child snickering as he came back from an unsuccessful search.

Marjorie said, "Let's go home. I'm tired, anyway."

She looked cross, but she did not say a word to Shaun on the way home.

That night Shaun was dressing to help the butler serve dinner. He looked at his big hands.

He looked at his strong arms and sighed, "Och! Shaun O'Day is too big to be the playmate of a fairy princess!"

But he did not worry until later.

Then that evening when he was helping wash dishes, the cook said, "Watch out, boy. You'll break the dishes yet, with your big, clumsy hands."

He tried so hard to be careful. He tried too hard, perhaps, for what cook had warned him of came to pass. He broke a precious cup and saucer.

The other servants said nothing, but smiled behind their hands.

Cook, however, cautioned, "Mind you don't do that again, boy."

Shaun went to his room with a heavy heart that night. What was the matter? Was he too big, too clumsy?

Would he never learn to be deft and quick like Perkins the butler? Or neat and brisk like the chauffeur Paul?

Oh, well, he could only try. He could be very careful. But anyway, Marjorie still loved his tales.

He could tell stories and amuse the Princess. That was one thing none of the others could do. He fell asleep smiling.

A few days later, Marjorie told him that she was planning a birthday party. She told him about all the amusements they were to have. Many children were to be asked.

They would have ice cream and cake and chocolate in the garden under the trees. Shaun would serve them.

They would play games, and Shaun would tell them stories. Oh, that was to be the best part of all, Marjorie thought.

Shaun and the little girl planned the party together. Shaun suggested an Irish game, and Marjorie said it would be fun to play it.

So the day arrived. It was a shiny spring day. It was a pretty sight to see the little boys and girls running about and playing together in the green garden.

Marjorie cried out, "Come now! Shaun will show you how to play his game."

And the tall lad stood among the little children. He tried to make them understand what fun it was to play an old Irish game.

It was a game that Shaun had played and that Shaun's father had played and perhaps Shaun's father's father.

But these young Americans did not like it. They said so. They turned their backs and refused to play it.

So Marjorie said, "Then Shaun will tell us a story."

The children gathered around Shaun and he began: "Once upon a time in old Ireland – "

"Will there be any wars in the story?" asked one of the children – a boy, of course.

Shaun twinkled and replied, "Perhaps."

Then he went on. He was telling a fairy tale. The boys began to realize that it was not about wild Indians and wars. They twisted and fidgeted. They dug their heels into the ground, and one boy pinched another. He squealed aloud.

"S-sh!" said one girl. "Stop making that noise!"

But the boys did not want to listen.

One boy stood up and said, "Who wants to hear about fairies?"

"I don't! I don't!" yelled the others.

Marjorie frowned.

The boys ran away, shouting, "Come on! Let's play robbers."

Marjorie said, "They would have liked Shaun's story. They should have listened. It was awf'lly 'citing! But he hardly started to tell it."

By this time the group was scattered. Even the little girls were whispering together.

Shaun got up and walked away. He walked to a bench at the other end of the garden and sat down. He was thinking very deeply.

He sat there until he heard his name called. He had to go into the house to help bring out ice cream and cake and chocolate to Marjorie's guests.

As he served little ice cream boats and flowers and animals, his thoughts were far away. The crystal and gold of the plates and goblets did not seem so lovely as before.

Everything on the table swam before Shaun's eyes. Even the children's faces seemed blurred. He heard their talk and laughter in a dream.

He was very unhappy.

"Oh, Shaun, do look what you're doing!" cried a voice in distress.

Shaun looked in horror at what he had done. He had poured hot chocolate over the tablecloth. It was trickling down over a little girl's dress.

Perkins the butler grabbed the chocolate pot out of Shaun's hand.

He muttered, "Clumsy fellow!" and started mopping up.

The little girl began to cry.

Shaun went into the kitchen for a fresh napkin. When he came out to the party again, he heard the children snickering and whispering among themselves. As he approached the table, they stopped. He knew they were making sport of his clumsiness.

He looked at Marjorie. There were tears in her brown eyes, and she was biting her lip. That night Shaun packed his few things and left a letter for Marjorie.

He told her that he was too clumsy to stay in the home of a princess any longer. He told her that he should never forget her kindness to him.

Then he wrote another letter and put a stamp on it. He walked out of the big house with the letter in one hand and his old Irish carpet bag in the other.

He walked along the bright city streets until he came to a mail box. He kissed the letter and then dropped it into the box.

Dawn O'Day read the letter a few weeks later in Ireland.

This is what it said:

"My Dawn O'Day —

"At last I am leaving the fairy folk. My fingers have grown too clumsy and my arms too big for the dainty likes of the Good People. Those elves, the children of this bright world, do not be wanting Shaun O'Day any more.

"And so, little Eileen, I am coming back to you and Ireland. And in my pocket is silver and gold to buy us a wedding and a cottage.

"But the cottage will not be in that New Island. 'Twill be in the old Emerald Isle.

Your Shaun."

Shaun sold everything he had but an old suit of clothes. He bought a ticket on a boat going to England and sailed away from New York.

As the big ship left behind her the great American city, the Irish lad saluted and murmured, "Farewell, fairyland. 'Tis too grand you are for the likes of a simple lad like me. But, och, a wonderful, great fairyland you are!"

Slowly the stately harbor disappeared from view.

PART II