“Well,” said she, “it’s from the Good Folk I come, and they bade me tell Four Feet to carry me to No Feet at all.”
“That’s another story,” said he; “jump up and ride with me.”
So they rode and they rode and they rode, till they got out of the forest and found themselves at the edge of the sea. And on the water in front of them was a wide glistening path running straight out towards a beautiful thing that rose out of the water and went up into the sky, and was all the colours in the world, blue and red and green, and wonderful to look at.
“Now get you down,” said the horse; “I’ve brought ye to the end of the land, and that’s as much as Four Feet can do. I must away home to my own folk.”
“But,” said the lassie, “where’s No Feet at all, and where’s the stair without steps?”
“I know not,” said the horse, “it’s none of my business neither. So goode’en to ye, my bonny lassie;” and off he went.
So the lassie stood still and looked at the water, till a strange kind of fish came swimming up to her feet.
“Goode’en to ye, big Fish,” says she, “I’m looking for the stars in the sky, and for the stairs that climb up to them. Will ye show me the way?”
“Nay,” said the Fish, “I can’t unless you bring me word from the Good Folk.”
“Yes, indeed,” said she. “They said Four Feet would bring me to No Feet at all, and No Feet at all would carry me to the stairs without steps.”
“Ah, well,” said the Fish; “that’s all right then. Get on my back and hold fast.”
And off he went—Kerplash!—into the water, along the silver path, towards the bright arch. And the nearer they came the brighter the sheen of it, till she had to shade her eyes from the light of it.
And as they came to the foot of it, she saw it was a broad bright road, sloping up and away into the sky, and at the far, far end of it she could see wee shining things dancing about.
“Now,” said the Fish, “here you are, and yon’s the stair; climb up, if you can, but hold on fast. I’ll warrant you find the stair easier at home than by such a way; ’t was ne’er meant for lassies’ feet to travel;” and off he splashed through the water.
So she clomb and she clomb and she clomb, but ne’er a step higher did she get: the light was before her and around her, and the water behind her, and the more she struggled the more she was forced down into the dark and the cold, and the more she clomb the deeper she fell.
But she clomb and she clomb, till she got dizzy in the light and shivered with the cold, and dazed with the fear; but still she clomb, till at last, quite dazed and silly-like, she let clean go, and sank down—down—down.
And bang she came on to the hard boards, and found herself sitting, weeping and wailing, by the bedside at home all alone.
News!
MR. G. Ha! Steward, how are you, my old boy? How do things go on at home?
STEWARD. Bad enough, your honour; the magpie’s dead!
MR. G. Poor mag! so he’s gone. How came he to die?
STEWARD. Over-ate himself, Sir.
MR. G. Did he indeed? a greedy dog. Why, what did he get that he liked so well?
STEWARD. Horseflesh; he died of eating horseflesh.
MR. G. How came he to get so much horseflesh?
STEWARD. All your father’s horses, Sir.
MR. G. What! are they dead too?
STEWARD. Ay, Sir; they died of over-work.
MR. G. And why were they over-worked?
STEWARD. To carry water, Sir.
MR. G. To carry water, and what were they carrying water for?
STEWARD. Sure, Sir, to put out the fire.
MR. G. Fire! what fire?
STEWARD. Your father’s house is burned down to the ground.
MR. G. My father’s house burnt down! and how came it to be on fire?
STEWARD. I think, Sir, it must have been the torches.
MR G. Torches! what torches?
STEWARD. At your mother’s funeral.
MR. G. My mother dead?
STEWARD. Ay, poor lady, she never looked up after it.
MR. G. After what?
STEWARD. The loss of your father.
MR. G. My father gone too?
STEWARD. Yes, poor gentleman, he took to his bed as soon as he heard of it.
MR. G. Heard of what?
STEWARD. The bad news, an’ it please your honour.
MR. G. What? more miseries, more bad news!
STEWARD. Yes, Sir, your bank has failed, your credit is lost and you’re not worth a shilling in the world. I make bold, Sir, to come and wait on you about it; for I thought you would like to hear the news.
Puddock, Mousie, and Ratton
The Little Bull-Calf
Centuries of years ago, when almost all this part of the country was wilderness, there was a little boy, who lived in a poor bit of property and his father gave him a little bull-calf, and with it he gave him everything he wanted for it.
But soon after his father died, and his mother got married again to a man that turned out to be a very vicious step-father, who couldn’t abide the little boy. So at last the step-father said: “If you bring that bull-calf into this house, I’ll kill it.” What a villain he was, wasn’t he?