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If I may I'd like to tell ye on old Irish Story, about a Lepracaun.
It's called "The Field of Boliauns"
One Fine day in harvest -it was indeed Ladyday in Harvest, that everybody
knows to be one of the greatest holidays in the year-
Tom Fitzpatrick was taking a ramble throught the grounds, and went along the
sunny side of a hede; when all of sudden he heard a clackind sort of noise a
little before himin the hedge. "dear me," said Tom, "but isn't it suprising
to hear the stonechtters sining so late in the season?" So Tom Stole on,
going on the tops of his toes to try if he could get a sight of what was
making the noise, to see if he was right in his guess.
The noise stoped; but as Tom looked sharply throught the bushes, what should
he see in a nook of the hedge but a brown pitcher, that might hold about a
gallon and a half of Brown liquor; and by-and-by a little wee tiny bit of an
old man, with a little motty of a cocked hat stuck upon the top of his head,
a deeshy daushy leather apron hanging before him, pulled out a little wooden
stool, and stood up on it, and dipped a little piggin into the pitcher, and
took out the full of it, and put it beside the stool, and then sat down
under the pitcher, and begain to work at putting a heel-pice on a bit of
brogue just fit for himself.
" Well by the powers," said Tom to himself, "I often heard tell of the
Lepracauns, and to tell God's truth, I never rightly believed in them -but
here's one of them in real earnest. If I go Knowingly to work, I'm a made
man. They say a body must never take their eyes off them, or they'll
escape."
Tom now stole on a little further, with his eyes fixed on the little man
just as a cat dose with a mouse. So when he got up quite close to him, "God
bless your work, neighbour," said Tom.
The little man raised his head, and "Thank you Kindly," said he.
"I wonder you'd be working on the holiday!" said Tom.
"Thats my own business, not yours," was the reply.
"Well, may be you'd be civil enough to tell us what you've got in the
pitcher there?" said Tom.
" that I'l do with pleasure," said he; "it's good beer."
"Beer!" said Tom. "Tunder and Fire! Where did you get it?"
"where did I get it, is it? Why, I made it. And what do you think I made it
of?"
"Devil a one of me knows," said Tom; "but of malt I suppose, what else?"
"There you're out. I made it of heath."
"of heath!" said Tom, bursting out laughing; "sure you don't think me such a
fool as to Believe that?"
"Do as you please," said he, "but what I tell you is the truth. Did you
never Hear tell of the Danes?"
"Well, what about them?" said Tom.
"Why, all about them there is, is that when they were here They taught us to
make beer out of the heath, and the secret's in my famialy ever since."
"Will you give a body a tase of your beer?" said Tom.
"I'll tell you what it is, young man, it would be fitter for you to be
looking after your farther's property than to be bothering decent quite
people with your Foolish questions. There now, while you're idling away your
time here, there's the cows have broke into the oats, and are knocking the
corn all about."
Tom was taken so by surpise with this that he was just an the very point of
turning round when he recollected himself; so, afraid that the like might
happen again, he made a grab at the Lepracaun, and caught him up in his
hand; but in his hurry he over set the pitcher, and spilt all the beer, so
that he could not get a taste of it to tell what sort it was. He then swore
that he would kill him if he did not show him where his money was. Tom
looked so wicked and so bloodyminded that the little man was quite
frightened; so says he, "Come along with me a couple of fields off, and I'l
show you a crock of gold."
So they went, and Tom held the Lepracaun fast in his hand and never took his
eyes off him, though they had to cross hedges and ditches, and a crooked bit
of bog, till at last they came to a great field all full of boliauns, and
the Lepracaun pointed to a big boliaun, and says he, "Dig under that
boliaun, and you'll get the great crock all full of guineas."
Tom in his hurry had never thought of bring a spade with him, so he made up
his mind to run home and fetch one; and that he might know the place again
he took off one of his red garters, and tied it round the boliaun.
Then he said to the Lepracaun, "Swear ye'll not take that Garter away from
that Boliaun."
And the Lepracaun swore right away not to touch it.
"I suppose," said the Lepracaun, very civilly, "you have no further occasion
for me?"
"No," says Tom; "you may Go away now, if You please, and God speed you, and
may good luck attend you wherever you go."
"Well, good-bye to you, Tom Fitzpatrick," said the Lepracaun; "and much good
may it do you when you get it."
So Tom ran for dear life, till he came home and got a spade, and then away
with him, as hard as he could go, back to the field of Boliauns; but when he
got there, lo and behold! not a boliaun in the field but had a red garter,
the very modle of his own, tied about it; and as to digging up the hole
field, that was all nonsense, for there were more than forty good acres in
it. So Tom came home again with his spade on his sholder, a little cooler
than he went, and many's the hearty curse he gave the Lepracaun every time
he thought of the neet turn he had served him.
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