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Page 28
VII
AND BEYOND
What happened beyond the primrose ring is, perhaps, rather a
crazy-quilt affair, having to be patched out of the squares and
three-cornered bits of Fancy which the children remembered to bring
back with them. I have tried to piece them together into a fairly
substantial pattern; but, of course, it can be easily ripped out and
raveled into nothing. So I beg of you, on the children's account, to
handle it gently, for they believe implicitly in the durability of the
fabric.
Sandy remembered the beginning of it--the plunge straight across the
primrose ring into the River of Make-Believe; and how they paddled over
like puppies--one after another. It was perfectly safe to swim, even
if you had never swum before; and the only danger was for those who
might stop in the middle of the river and say, or think, "A dinna
believe i' faeries." Whoever should do this would sink like a stone,
going down, down, down until he struck his bed with a thud and woke,
crying.
It was starlight in Tir-na-n'Og--just as Bridget had said it would
be--only the stars were far bigger and brighter. The children stood on
the white, pebbly beach and shook themselves dry; while Bridget showed
them how to pull down their nightshirts to keep them from shrinking,
and how to wring out their faery caps to keep the wishes from growing
musty or mildewed. After that they met the faery ferryman,
who--according to Sandy--"wore a wee kiltie o' reeds, an' a tammie made
frae a loch-lily pad wi' a cat-o'-nine-tail tossel, lukin' sae ilk the
brae ye wad niver ken he was a mon glen ye dinna see his legs,
walkin'." He told them how he ferried over all the "old bodies" who
had grown feeble-hearted and were too afraid to swim.
It was Pancho who remembered best about the leprechaun--how they found
him sitting cross-legged under the blackthorn-bush with a leather apron
spread over his knees, and how he had called out--just as Bridget had
said he would:
"Hello, Pancho and Susan and Sandy and all!"
"Have you any shoes got?" Pancho shouted.
The faery cobbler nodded and pointed with his awl to the branches above
his head; there hung nine pairs of little green shoes, curled at the
toes, with silver buckles, all stitched and soled and ready to wear.
"Will they fit?" asked Pancho, breathlessly.
"Faery shoes always fit. Now reach them down and hand them round."
This Pancho did with despatch. Nine pairs of little white feet were
thrust joyously into the green shoes and buckled in tight. On looking
back, Pancho was quite sure that this was the happiest moment of his
life. The children squealed and clapped their hands and cried:
"They fit fine!"
"Shoes is grand to wear!"
"I feel skippy."
"I feel dancy."
Whereupon they all jumped to their feet and with arms wide-spread, hand
clasping hand, they ringed about the cobbler and the thorn-bush. They
danced until there was not a scrap of breath left in their bodies; then
they tumbled over and rolled about like a nest of young puppies, while
the cobbler laughed and laughed until he held his sides with the aching.
It was here that everybody remembered about the faery penny; in fact,
that was the one thing remembered by all. And this is hardly strange;
if you or I ever possessed a faery penny--even in the confines of a
primrose ring--we should never forget it.
It was Bridget, however, who reminded the leprechaun. "Ye haven't by
any chance forgotten somethin' ye'd like to be rememberin', have ye?"
she asked, diplomatically.
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