"More than I can tell," replied the Elf, "but you shall hear what happened to Peric and Jean."

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The Story of Peric and Jean.

"In a beautiful valley not far from here a number of Korrigans were accustomed to gather on summer nights, for the gra.s.s was soft as velvet, and the mountains sheltered it from the breeze. None of the peasants dare cross the valley after dark, lest they might be forced to join their revels; for it was known by all that the Korrigans must dance whether they would or not, until some mortal should break the charm that had been laid upon them.

One evening, when the west was aglow with fire, a farmer was sent for to attend the sick bed of his mother, who lived on the other side of the valley. His wife and he had been at work all day in the fields, since labour was scarce and they were poor, and as both loved the old woman dearly, they hurried off without stopping to lay aside their _fourches_--little sticks which are still used in some parts of Brittany as 'plough paddles.' By the time they were half-way across the valley, the dusk had fallen, and they found themselves encircled by angry Korrigans, who shrieked with rage and made as if they would tear them to pieces. Before they had touched them, however, they all fell back, and a moment later broke into singing. This was their song:--

'Lez y, Lez hon, (_Let him go, let him go_,) Bas an arer zo gant hook; (_For he has the wand of the plough_;) Lez on, Lez y, (_Let her go, let her go_,) Bas an arer zo gant y!'

(_For she has the wand of the plough_!)

Then the dancers made way for the farmer and his wife, who reached the old mother safely, and comforted her last hours.

When they returned to their own homes they told what they had seen and heard. Some of the villagers were still too much afraid of the Korrigans to venture, but others armed themselves with _fourches_, and hastened to the valley when night had fallen. All of these witnessed the famous dance, but none felt inclined to join it.

In a neighbouring village two tailors dwelt, and they were as anxious as the rest to see the Korrigans. The elder was a tall and handsome fellow named Jean, but in spite of his inches he had no pluck, and was idle as well as vain. The other was Peric, a red-haired hunchback, so kind and lovable in spite of his looks that if ever a neighbour were in trouble, it was to Peric he went first. Though the hunchback and Jean shared the same business, the latter was always gibing at Peric, and left him to do most of the work.

'Since you're so courageous,' he sneered, one fine warm night when he and Peric had stayed behind in the valley to watch the Korrigans, 'suppose you ask them to let you join their dance. Your hump should make you safe with them, for they are not likely to fall in love with you.'

'All right,' said Peric cheerfully, though at this unkind reference to his deformity his face had flushed. And taking off his cap he approached the whirling Elves.

'May I dance with you?' he asked politely, dropping his _fourche_ to show he trusted them.

'You're more brave than good looking,' they replied, their feet still moving to the same quick measure. 'Are you not afraid that we shall work you ill?'

'Not a bit!' answered Peric, joining hands with them; and he started to sing as l.u.s.tily as they:--

'_Dilun, Dimeurs, Dimerc'her_,'

which means 'Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.' After a while he grew tired of singing these three words so often, and went on of his own accord:--

'_Ha Diriaou, ha Digwener_,'

(And Thursday and Friday!)

'_Mat! Mat!_' (Good! Good!) cried the Korrigans in chorus, and though he could not tell why they were so delighted, he was glad to have given them pleasure. When they offered him the choice of wealth or power in return for some mysterious service which he seemed to have rendered them, he only laughed, for he thought that they were poking fun at him.

'Take away my hump, then,' he cried at last, 'and make me as handsome as my friend Jean. A little maid whom I love dearly will not look at me when he is near, though she likes well enough to talk to me by the fountain if he is out of the way.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: They tossed him three times in the air.]

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'Is that all?' exclaimed the Korrigans. 'That will not give us the slightest trouble!' and catching him in their veils, they tossed him three times in the air. The third time he alighted on his feet. He was now as tall and straight as he could wish to be, with fine soft hair as black as the raven's wing.

Instead of rejoicing at his friend's good fortune, Jean was full of envy. Forgetting his fears in his greed for gain, he pushed himself into the midst of the Korrigans, who had once more begun to dance, and joined them in their singing. His voice was less melodious than Peric's, and he did not keep time so well, but they suffered him amongst them out of curiosity.

Presently he, like Peric, grew tired of the monotonous chant, and shouted:

'_Ha Disadarn, ha Disul_'

(And Sat.u.r.day and Sunday)

'What else? what else?' cried the Korrigans in great excitement, but he only looked as stupid as an owl, and repeated these words over and over. Catching him in their veils, they tossed him up as they had done Peric, and when he came down again he found he had red hair and a hump.

They were angry you see, that he had come so near to breaking the spell and had then disappointed them, for if he had only had the sense to add:

'_Ha cetu chu er sizun_,'

(And now the week is ended)

he would have broken the spell and set them free, since Peric had already sung 'And Sat.u.r.day and Sunday.'"

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Chapter IV

The Bird at the Window.

There were so many things in Brittany that Father wanted to show me--places he had seen with Mother, and curious monuments, and lovely views,--that I could not get out alone again until the day before we went on to Normandy. No Fairy would ever speak to me unless I was quite by myself, and the quaint little men who peered out from the old ruins when I ran on in front, scampered away at once when Father came in sight.

On that last morning a funny old postman in a blue cap brought him some letters from home. They were about the practice, and Father said that he must stay indoors to answer them. The patients did not seem to like the "locust" at all, according to Nancy. I don't suppose he gave them such nice-tasting medicines as Father did.

The moment he took up his pen I was off to the wood. The paths were carpeted with velvet moss, and starry flowers peeped through the green.

Some bees were buzzing round a clump of violets that grew by the side of the fountain, and sitting on the steps were two hideous old women, with bleared red eyes and wisps of faded hair. As I drew near they scowled most horribly, and vanished in the spray. I was delighted to find my Wood-Elf by the violets, for somehow the sight of those two old crones had made me shiver.

"They were Korrigans!" the Wood-Elf whispered. "That is how they look by daylight, so it is no wonder that they hate to be seen by mortals! I shouldn't advise you to come here to-night, for they will bear you a grudge, and might tempt you to dance with them!"

I thought of what had befallen Jean, and shook my head. It must be dreadful to have a hump, though I read of one once that turned into wings. But Jean's didn't seem that kind.

"I know better than to put myself in their power," I cried, and the Wood-Elf laughed.

"You think you are very wise," she said, pausing the next moment to coax a bee to give her a sip of honey, "but mortal men are not a match for Fairy Folk. The Dwarfs, or Courils, who haunt the stone tables and curious mounds you find throughout this country, compel all travellers by night who come their way to dance with them, whether they will or no.

They don't let them stop dancing until they drop to the ground, worn out with fatigue, and sometimes the poor creatures never regain their strength. Mere Gautier's husband danced with the Dwarfs when he was but eight-and-twenty, and he has not done a stroke of work from that day to this, though now he is eighty-five. Mere Gautier keeps the home together, and he sits by the fireside and tells the neighbours how the Dwarfs looked and what they said. The Cure declares that such idleness is sinful, and that he might work if he would; but one cannot be sure, and he makes himself out to be a very poor creature.

The Gorics--tiny men but three feet high, though they have the strength of giants--are little better than Courils. Near Quiberon, by the sea sh.o.r.e, is a heap of huge stones, some say no less than four thousand in number, known as 'The House of the Gorics,' and every night the Dwarfs come out and dance round it till break of day. If they spy a belated traveller, even in the distance, they compel him to join them, just as the Courils do; and when he faints from sheer exhaustion they vanish in peals of laughter."

"The Fairy I met in the South spoke of little men who gave away fairy gold," I said, trying not to let my voice sound sleepy. The sun was hot, though it was early spring, and there was a gra.s.shopper just at my elbow who had been chirping a lullaby to her babies for the last half-hour.

"If you shut your eyes you will see nothing!" the Wood-Elf pouted; and I knew that she had noticed my yawn. I sat up then, and told her how pretty I thought her frock, all brown and green, with a dainty girdle of silver. She laughed at this, and I coaxed her to tell me another story.

It was one, she said, that had been sung in verse on the Welsh hills, for in ancient times the people of Wales and those of "Little Britain"

were the closest friends.