But she knew beforehand that Jalm Riou would consent; for he had often said that only Jegu would be fit to manage the farm when he should be no more.

So the marriage took place the very next month; and it seemed as if the aged father had but waited until then to go and take his rest in Paradise; for a very few days after the marriage he died, leaving the house and land to the young folks.

It was a great responsibility for Jegu; but the Teuz came to his a.s.sistance. He became the ploughboy at the farm, and did more work alone than four hired labourers. He it was who kept the tools and harness in good order, who repaired omissions, who pointed out the proper time for sowing or for mowing. If by chance Jegu had occasion to expedite some work, the Teuz would go and tell his friends, and all the dwarfs would come with hoe, fork, or reaping-hook upon their shoulders; if teams were wanted, he would send the farmer to a town inhabited by some of his tribe, who would be out upon the common; and Jegu had only to say, "Little men, my good friends, lend me a pair of oxen, or a couple of horses, with all that is needed for their work,"

and the team would appear that very instant.

Now all the Teuz-a-pouliet asked in payment of these services was a child's portion of broth, served up in a milk-measure, every day. So Jegu loved him like his own son. Barbaik, on the contrary, hated him, and not without reason; for the very next day after marriage she saw with astonishment she was no longer a.s.sisted as before; and as she was making her complaint to Jegu, who seemed as if he did not understand her, the dwarf, bursting out in laughter, confessed that he had been the author of all these good offices, in order that the damsel might consent to marry Jegu; but that now he had other things to do, and she must once more undertake the household management.

Deceived thus in her expectations, the daughter of Jalm Riou treasured in her heart a furious rage against the dwarf. Every morning, when she had to rise before the break of day and milk the cows or go to market, and every evening, when she had to sit up till near midnight churning cream, she cursed the Teuz who had encouraged her to look forward to a life of ease and pleasure.

However, one day, being invited to a wedding at Plouezorc'h, and not being able to take the farm-mare, as it was near foaling, she asked the Teuz-a-pouliet for a steed; and he sent her to the dwarf village, telling her to explain exactly what she wanted.

So Barbaik went; and thinking she was doing for the best, she said,

"Teuz, my friends, lend me a black horse, with eyes, mouth, ears, saddle, and bridle."

The horse that she had asked for instantly appeared, and she set out on him towards Plouezorc'h.

But soon she saw that every one was laughing as she went along.

"See, see!" they cried, "the farmer's wife has sold her horse's tail."

Barbaik turned quickly round, and saw indeed that her horse had no tail. She had forgotten to ask for one; and the malicious dwarf had served her to the letter.

Disconcerted, she would have hastened on, but the horse refused to mend his pace; and so she was compelled to endure the jests of pa.s.sers-by.

The young wife came home at night more furious than ever against the Teuz-a-pouliet, accusing him of having played her this ill turn on purpose, and fully resolved to be revenged upon him at the earliest opportunity.

Well, spring drew near, and as this was the time the dwarfs held festival, the Teuz asked leave of Jegu to extend an invitation to all his friends to come and spend the night on the barn-floor, where he might give them a supper and a dance. Jegu was far too much indebted to the dwarf to think of saying no; and ordered Barbaik to spread over the barn-floor her finest fringed table-cloths, and to serve up a batch of little b.u.t.ter-cakes, all the morning and the evening milk, and as many wheaten pancakes as could be turned out in a good day's work.

Barbaik made no reply, to her husband's great surprise.

She made the pancakes, prepared the milk, cooked the b.u.t.tered cakes, and at evening-tide she took them all out to the barn; but at the same time she spread down, all round about the extended table-cloths, just where the dwarfs were going to place themselves, the ashes she had drawn smoking from the oven; so that when the Teuz-a-pouliet and his guests came in to seat themselves, they were every one severely burned, and fled away, uttering loud cries. They soon came back, however, carrying jugs of water, and so put out the fire; and then danced round the farm, all singing in an angry tone,

"Barbe Riou, with dire deceit, Has roasted our poor little feet: Adieu! far hence away we go; On this house be grief and woe!"

And, in fact, they left the country that very morning. Jegu, having lost their help, soon fell into distress and died; whilst the beautiful Barbaik became a basket-woman at Morlaix market.

Since then the Teuz have never been seen in these parts. However, there are some who say that all good work-people have to this very day ten dwarfs who toil for them, and not invisibly; and these are--their ten fingers.

THE SPECTRE LAUNDRESSES.

The Bretons are born in sin, even as other men, but never have they been wanting in care for the souls of their faithful departed. They take tender pity upon those who burn in purgatory, and earnestly strive to redeem them from their fiery trial. Every Sunday, after Ma.s.s, they kneel and plead for their suffering souls upon the very earth in which their poor bodies are mouldering away.

It is in the Black Month, [27] as they call November, that they especially attach themselves to this pious duty. When the Messenger of Winter [28] arrives, each one bethinks himself of those who are gone to the judgment-seat of G.o.d. Ma.s.ses are said for them at the altar of the Dead; in their behalf are tapers kindled, and vows made to saints in highest veneration; little children are taken to offer their innocent prayers upon the grave-stones; and after Vespers the priest comes out of church to bless the earth to which their dust has been committed.

On this night also is it that our Lord vouchsafes some respite to their sufferings, and permits them to return once more and pay a visit to the hearth-stones of their former homes. Then are the dead as numerous in the homesteads of the living as the yellow leaves that rustle in the deep dry lanes; and therefore it is that all good Christians leave the board spread and the fire blazing, that the unwonted guests may, if they will, refresh themselves.

But if it is so with all who are truly devoted to the service of the Blessed Mother and her divine Son, there are also children of the Black Angel ("l'ange noir"), who forget those that were once nearest to their hearts. Wilherm Postik was one of these. His father had died without desiring to receive the last Sacraments; and, as the proverb has it, Kadiou is his father's own son. Wilherm gave himself up, body and soul, to forbidden pleasures, dancing during Ma.s.s-time, whenever he could find an opportunity, and drinking with rascally horse-dealers when he should have been in church. Nevertheless, G.o.d had not left him without enough of warnings. Within the same year had his mother, his sisters, and his wife been carried off by a contagious disease. Many a time, too, had the good cure exposed to him his evil deeds, showing him that he was a scandal to the whole parish, and urging him to repentance; but all was in vain.

Meanwhile the fine weather went by. The feast of All Souls arrived, and all good Christians, clad in decent mourning, repaired to church to pray for the faithful departed. But for Wilherm, he dressed himself out in his best, and set out for the neighbouring town, where he was sure to find plenty of reprobate sailors and reckless women.

All the time devoted by others to the solace of the suffering souls he spent there in drinking, gambling, and singing vile songs; nor did he think of returning till close upon midnight, when every body else had gone home wearied with iniquity. For him, he had a frame of iron for sinful pleasures; and he quitted the drinking-house as well disposed for a fresh bout as when he entered it.

Heated with drink, he went along, singing at the top of his voice, though his songs were such as the boldest are apt to give out in an undertone. He pa.s.sed the wayside crosses without dropping his voice or uncovering his head, and struck out right and left with his walking-stick amongst the tufts of broom, regardless of the holy dead who thronged every path.

At last the road divided, giving him his choice of two ways homeward; the one longer about, but safer, under the blessing of G.o.d, the other more direct, but haunted by spirits. Many a one in pa.s.sing by that way had heard noises and seen sights that could be only told of in a cheerful a.s.sembly, and within arm's-length of the holy-water stoup. But Wilherm feared nothing; so he struck at once into the shorter path, at a pace that made his heavy shoes ring against the stones.

Neither moon nor stars cheered the night, the leaves trooped before the driving wind, the brooks trickled dismally adown the hill-sides, the bushes shivered like a man afraid, and through the midnight stillness the steps of Wilherm echoed like a giant's tread. Yet nothing daunted him, and on he went.

But as he pa.s.sed the ruins of the old manor-house, he plainly heard the weather-vane call to him as it creaked,

"Go back, go back, go back!"

Still Wilherm went on. He came up to the waterfall, and the water murmured,

"Cross me not, cross me not, cross me not!"

Wilherm set his foot upon the well-worn stepping stones, and crossed the stream. He came to an old hollow oak-tree, and the wind that whistled in its branches cried,

"Stay here, stay here, stay here!"

But he struck his staff against the dead tree in pa.s.sing, and hurried onwards.

At last he came into the haunted vale, and midnight struck from the three parish-church towers. Wilherm began to whistle a jovial air; but just as he came to the fourth verse, he heard the sound of tireless wheels, and saw a cart approaching covered with a funeral pall.

Wilherm knew it for a hea.r.s.e. It was drawn by six black horses, and driven by Ankou [29] himself, with an iron whip in his hand, and ever crying as he went,

"Turn aside, or I turn thee back!"

Wilherm gave him way without being disconcerted.

"What are you doing here, Squire White?" [30] he questioned boldly.

"I make prize, and by surprise," replied Ankou.

"That is to say, you're thievish and treacherous," continued Wilherm.

"I am he that strikes without distinction and without regret."