The King Of The Fairies

Many years ago there lived in a farm-house at a point of the high-road
from Manchester to Stockport, where Levenshulme Church now stands, a
worthy named Burton, 'Owd Dannel Burton.'[A] The farm held by Daniel
was a model one in its way, the old man raising finer crops than any
other farmer in the district. It was rumoured that Daniel was very
comfortably provided for, and that a few bad years would not harm him;
and so wonderfully did everything he took in hand prosper, that his
'luck' became proverbial. Such uniform prosperity could not long
continue without the tongue of envy and detraction being set wagging,
and the neighbours who permitted thistles to overrun their pastures
whilst they gadded about to rush-bearings and wakes, finding a
reproach to their idleness not only in the old man's success, but also
in the careful, industrious habits of his daily life, were not slow to
insinuate that there was something more than farming at the bottom of
it. 'Dannel' had sold himself to Satan, said some whose pigs had faded
away, and whose harvests had not been worth the gathering; and others
pretended to know even the terms of the contract, and how many years
the old man yet had to play on. A few of these detractors were young
men whose imaginations were not kept in sufficient control, but they
grew wonderfully reserved respecting the Satanic bargain after the
hearty Daniel had had an interview with them, and proved to them that
he had not forgotten the use of a good tough black-thorn.

[A] Mr. Burton's grandson was for many years rector of All Saints',
Manchester.

'It's nobbut luck,' philosophically remarked others, 'mebbe it'll be
my turn to-morn;' but the remainder vowed that neither luck or Evil
One had anything to do with it, for the success was due to the labours
of Puck, King of the Fairies.

They were right. It was Puck, although no one ever knew how the old
man had been able to enlist the services of so valuable an auxiliary,
Daniel being strangely reticent upon the point, although generally by
no means loth to speak of the fairies and their doings. Reserve with
reference to these things, however, would not have availed much, for
the farm labourers, the ruddy-cheeked milkmaids, and the other
women-folk about the farm-house, were fond of boasting of the exploits
of Puck--how during the night everything was 'cleaned up,' and all was
in apple-pie order when they came into the kitchen at daybreak, the
milk churned, the cows foddered, the necessary utensils filled with
water from the well, the horses ready harnessed for their day's work
at the plough, and even a week's threshing done and the barn left as
tidy as though it had just been emptied and swept. Evidently the
servant lasses had no fear of, or objection to, a hard-working
supernatural visitor of this kind, but just the reverse, and many of
their listeners found themselves wishing that their house, too, had
its Boggart.

For so long a period did this state of things continue, each morning
revealing an astounding amount of work performed by the willing and
inexpensive workman, that at length the assistance was taken for
granted, and as a matter of course, offering no food for surprise,
although it did not cease to be a cause of envy to the neighbours.

On one occasion, however, as old Daniel was despatching a hearty and
substantial breakfast, a heated labourer brought word that all the
corn had been housed during the past night. The strange story was true
enough, for when the old man reached the field, where on the previous
evening the golden sheaves of wheat had stood, he found the expanse
quite bare, and as clean as though reapers, leaders, gleaners, and
geese had been carefully over it. The harvest was in the barn, but not
content with this, Daniel, illustrating the old proverb that 'much
would have more,' suddenly exclaimed, 'I wonder whose horses Puck{4}
used in this work. If yon of mine, I daresay he sweated them rarely;'
and away he strode towards the stable. He had not reached the fold,
however, when he met Puck coming towards him, and in a fever of greedy
anxiety he cried, 'Puck, I doubt thou'st spoiled yon horses!' No
sooner were the words out of his mouth, however, than he saw that for
once in his life he had made a mistake, for the fairy went pale with
anger as he shouted in a shrill treble:--

Sheaf to field, and horse to stall,
I, the Fairy King, recall!
Never more shall drudge of mine
Stir a horse or sheaf of thine.

After which vow he at once vanished.

The old man walked home in a sorrowful mood, and actually forgot to go
to the stable; but next morning early he was disturbed by a knocking
at his chamber door. 'Mesthur, ger up,' cried the messenger, who on
the previous day had brought the news of the housing of the corn,
'Mesthur, ger up, th' corn's back i'th' fielt.' With a groan of
anguish Daniel arose, and hastily made his way to the barn. All the
pile was gone, and the floor littered with straw, exactly as it was
before the fairy labour had so transformed the place.

It did not take the farmer long to get over the ground between his
barn and the corn-field, and arrived there he found the expanse once
more covered with yellow sheaves, on which the beams of the rising sun
were beginning to fall. Here and there a sheaf had fallen upon the
ground, and everywhere straw and ears of corn were scattered about as
though the reapers had not long before left the place. The old man
turned away in despair.

From that time forward there was no more work done about the farm, or
the shippons, and stables; but in the house, however, the maids
continued to find their tasks performed as usual.

Great were the rejoicings in the locality when the story of the
sheaves became known, and it got noised about that 'Dannel's' fairy
had 'fown eawt' with him. The old man became very dejected, for
although he did not clearly perceive that the rupture was entirely due
to his own selfish greed, he could not go about the farm without
observing how much he had lost.

One summer evening in a thoughtful mood he was walking homewards, and
wishing that the meadows were mown. Plunged in such reflections, he
met a neighbour, who at once asked the cause of his trouble. Daniel
turned to point to the meadows, and as he did so he saw the fairy, in
an attitude of rapt attention, stooping behind the hedgerow as though
anxious to overhear the conversation. 'Yo' miss your neet-mon?' said
the neighbour. The old man thought that the time was come to make his
peace with offended royalty, and with a cunning glance in the
direction of the hiding-place, he answered, 'I do, Abrum, and may God
bless Puck, th' King o'th' Fayrees.'{5} There was a startled cry from
behind the hedgerow, and both men turned in that direction, but there
was nothing to be observed. The fairy had vanished, never again to be
seen in Daniel Burton's fields. That night the work was left undone
even inside the farm-house, and thenceforward when the kitchen needed
cleaning, water was wanted from the well, or when milk had to be
churned, the maids had to get up early and do the work, for Puck, King
of the Fairies, would not touch either mop or pail.