The Little Cake-Bird

On the Tregoss Moors, where in the long-ago King Arthur and his Noble
Knights went a-hunting, was a quaint old thatched cottage built of
moorstone, and in it lived an old woman called Tamsin Tredinnick and
her little grand-daughter Phillida; it stood between Castle-an-Dinas--a
great camp-crowned hill--and the far-famed Roche Rocks.

It possessed only one room, which, fortunately, was fairly large, for
it had to contain most of old Tamsin's possessions, including a low
wooden bedstead, an old oak dresser, a hutch for the grail--a coarse
flour of which she made bread for herself and little Phillida--and
her spinning-wheel.

At the side of the cottage was a small linhey, or outhouse, the door
of which the old woman always kept open in inclement weather that the
wild creatures of the moors might take shelter from the cold and from
the storms that swept over the great exposed moorland spaces.

Tamsin was very poor, and could only earn enough to pay the rent of her
cottage and to keep herself and little grandchild, who was an orphan,
in grail-bread and coarse clothes. This she did by spinning wool,
which she sold to a wool-merchant at St. Columb, a small market-town
some miles away. She was advanced in years, and getting more unfit
to spin every year, she told herself; and the less wool she spun
the less money she had to spend on food and clothes for herself
and Phillida. But, poor as she was, she was honest and good, and so
was her little orphaned grandchild. They seldom complained, and when
things were at their worst, and there was no grail left to make bread,
or money to buy any, they told each other they had what bettermost
people had not--wide moors to look out upon, and pure moorland air,
fragrant with moor-flowers, to breathe into their lungs, little birds
to sing to them most of the year, and dear little Piskeys to laugh
outside their window in the dusk when they were very wisht. [10]

Tamsin was a child of Nature, and she loved the big, lonely moors,
gorgeous with broom and gorse in the spring-time and fading bracken
in the autumn months, with all her simple heart, and so did little
Phillida. They loved all the moor-flowers--even the duller blossoms
of the mint and nettle tribes--that made those great, lonely spaces
so wonderful and so full of charm. There was not a flower that broke
into beautiful life on the moors but had a place in their hearts. They
were their near and dear relations, they said, and as for the birds
and other creatures that lived on the moorland, they were to them, as
to St. Francis, their brothers and sisters, and even the Piskeys--the
Cornish fairies--had a warm place in their affections.

Not a great way from Tamsin's cottage was a large Piskey Circle where
the Tregoss Piskeys danced when the nights were fine and the moon
was up, and often when they danced the old grandmother and her little
grandmaid would come out on the step of their door and watch them.

They could see the Piskey Circle quite distinctly from the doorstep,
and the Piskey-lights which the Piskeys held in their hands when
they danced. But they never saw the Piskeys, for the Dinky Men, as
Phillida called them, were very shy, and did not often let themselves
be seen by human eyes. The old woman and the child never ventured
near their Circle when the Small People were having their high flings,
partly from a feeling of delicacy, and partly for fear of driving them
away. The Dinky Men were as touchy as nesting-birds, Tamsin declared,
and said that if either she or Phillida spied upon them when they
were having their frolics they would, perhaps, forsake Tregoss Moor,
which would have been a great misfortune. It was lucky, she said, to
have the Small People living near a house. So she and her grandchild
were content to watch them dancing from a respectable distance.

The place where the Piskeys made their Circle was very smooth and
soft with grass, and the Circle lay upon the close, thick turf like
a red-gold ring. Behind the Circle was a small granite boulder, and
above the boulder a big furze-bush, which burnt like a fire when the
furze was in bloom, and there little yellow-hammers sang their little
songs year in and year out.

The Tregoss Moor Piskeys were quite nice for Piskeys, and took a
great interest in Phillida and her old grandmother. They never tried
to Piskey-lead them into the bogs and stream-works, of which there
were many on the moors, nor set up Piskey-lights to slock [11] them
into the Piskey Circle, which, we must confess, they did to their
betters when they had the chance. They were ever so sorry when they
knew the grail-hutch was getting empty, which somehow they always did,
and that Grannie Tredinnick, as they called her, because Phillida did,
had no money to buy grail to fill it; and they hastened to the cottage
and peeped through the window and keyhole to see if they were looking
wisht, and if they were they would begin to laugh in order to cheer
them up and make them forget how hungry and sad they were.

A Piskey's laugh is a gay little laugh, and as unfettered as the song
of a lark, and anybody hearing it is bound to feel happy and gay,
no matter how wisht he happens to be before. Perhaps that is the
reason the old saying 'laughing like a Piskey' is so often quoted in
the Cornish land.

Old Tamsin and little Phillida always felt better when the Dinky Men
came and laughed outside their door. Their laugh acted like a charm
on the old woman, and often after the Piskeys came and laughed she
laughed too, because she could not help it, and she would forget her
aches and her pains, and would go to the spinning-wheel and try to
spin. She generally found she could, and soon spun enough wool to
buy grail to fill the grail-hutch.

Tamsin suffered from rheumatism, and when the weather was very wet
and raw on the moors her hands and feet were crippled with pain; she
could not spin at all, and not even the Piskeys' gay little laughs
could charm the pain out of them.

One autumn and the beginning of the following winter were unusually
wet, and the old woman's rheumatism was very bad, and, what was worse
still, the Dinky Men went away from the moors. Where they had gone
she did not know, and fervently hoped that she and Phillida had not
offended them in any way.

The hum of the spinning-wheel was silent as the grave, the grail-hutch
was empty, and they had had to feed on berries like the birds. When
things were at their worst the clouds left off raining, the weather
brightened, the sun shone out, and the little brown Piskeys came back
to the moors. Finding out how matters were in the little moorland
cottage, they came outside the door and laughed their gay little laugh
once more. They laughed so much and so funnily that Grannie Tredinnick,
weak as she was, couldn't help laughing to save her life; and when
they saw her rise up from her chair and go over to the spinning-wheel
and make the wheel whirl, they were delighted and laughed again.

The weather not only changed for the better, but warm soft days came,
and the yellow-hammers and the black and white stone-chats must have
thought summer had come again, and they sang their bright little
songs, and the larks went up singing into the blue of the winter
sky. Tamsin felt better than she had been for months, and became so
well and cheerful, what with the brighter weather, the music of the
birds, and the free laughter of the Dinky Men, that she was able to
spin from morning shine till evening dark, and very soon she had spun
all the wool she had. She sent it in a farmer's cart to St. Columb,
and the farmer's man who took it for her brought back a great big bag
of flour and some more wool to spin. But when that was all paid for,
and the rent money put aside, all her earnings were gone, which made
the good old woman very sad, for she wanted to make a little Christmas
cake for Phillida.

Christmas was on its way, and Phillida, like most children, looked
forward to it; why, she could hardly have told, except that it was
the Great Festival of the Nativity, and that Grannie always told
her of the nice Christmasses she had had when she was a croom [12]
of a cheeld, and that her mother always made her a Christmas cake,
with a little bird on top, to remind her of the Great White Birds
which sang when the Babe was born.

When Christmas drew near Phillida could think and talk of nothing
else but the beautiful Christmasses Grannie had had when she was a
little maid, and of the Christmas cake with the little bird on top her
mother had made for her. A few days before Christmas, as she and her
grandmother were sitting down to their dinner of grail-bread, she said:

'Christmas Eve will soon be here now, Grannie. Do you think you can
make me a little Christmas cake with a little cake-bird on top like
those you had? Ever such a dinky cake and ever such a dinky bird will
do, Grannie,' she added, as the old woman shook her head, 'just to see
what a Christmas cake tastes like and the little cake-bird looks like.'

'I would gladly make 'ee a cake and a little bird,' said Tamsin,
'if only I was rich; but I am afraid I can't afford to make 'ee even
a dinky one. You can't buy sugar and spice and other things to make
a cake without money, and I ent a got no money, not even a farthing.'

'Haven't you?' cried little Phillida, her sweet child eyes full of
tears. 'I am so disappointed, Grannie; I did so hope you could afford
just a dinky cake.'

'I had hoped so, too, cheeld,' said the kind old woman. 'Never mind,
I'll ask the Piskeys to come in and order you a little dream-cake an'
a little dream-bird.'

'What is a little dream-cake, Grannie, and a little dream-bird?' asked
the child.

'The Piskeys used to come in through the keyhole to pass over the
bridges of children's noses, when I was a little maid like you,
to order their dreams. It would be ever so nice if they passed over
the bridge of your nose and ordered you a little dream-cake and a
little dream-bird.'

'But you can't eat cakes in your dreams,' said little Phillida,
'and you can't hold little dream-birds in your hands.'

'Can't you?' cried Grannie. 'That's all you know about it. I will
ask the Dinky Men to come through our keyhole to order your dreams
the very next time they are outside our cottage.'

'They are outside now,' said Phillida. 'I hear them laughing. Listen,
Grannie!' And the old woman listened, and she knew that the child
was right, and that the Piskeys were outside their window, for she
too heard their laughter.

'The Dinky Men be there right enough,' said Tamsin, 'an' they are
tickled about something, by the way they are laughing.'

'P'raps they heard what you said about asking them to come in and
order me a little dream-cake and a little dream-bird,' suggested the
little maid.

'I shouldn't wonder,' laughed Grannie; 'an' I'm sure they'll
be willing. I'll ask them now;' and getting up from her wooden
arm-chair, she went to the door and called softly: 'Little Piskeys,
are you there?'

But the Piskeys made no response to the old woman's question save by
a gay little laugh.

'If you be there, an' can hear me,' said Tamsin, 'I want 'ee to be so
good as to come through my keyhole on the evening of Christmas Eve
an' pass over the bridge of Phillida's nose, an' order her a little
dream-cake with a little dream-bird on top. I shall be so obliged to
'ee if you will, for I am too poor to make the cheeld a real cake an'
a little cake-bird.'

When the old woman had said all this, such a burst of laughter broke
on the winter air outside the cottage that Phillida rushed to the
door and looked out.

She could not see the Dinky Men, but their laughter was more than
enough to tell her that they were there, and Grannie said she was
sure they had heard what she asked, and would do it gladly.

As they stood on their doorstep they heard the sound of tiny tripping
feet going away from the cottage in the direction of the Piskey
Circle; and as they followed the sound they noticed how bright the
Circle was on the soft green turf.

It was a perfect day--one of those very rare days we are privileged
to have once or twice in December month--and the moors were full
of charm. The many pools on it were full of light, the boulder near
the Piskey Circle was diamond bright in the sunshine, and above it
the furze was already breaking into golden blossom. The purple had
'pulsed' out of the heath and the pink from the ling, but each little
sprig was a marvel of brown, and showed up the silver lichen that
splashed the brown. The bracken was brilliant in warm tones of orange
and gold, the brambles were every shade of crimson and red, and the
haze on the moors was like the bloom of the hurts, [13] which still
supplied food for the birds on the hills. In the direction of Roche,
where the great Roche Rocks stand in lonely solitude, six hundred and
eighty feet above the level of the sea, with the ruins of the little
chapel dedicated to holy St. Michael on their summit, a lark went up
singing into the blue, for larks, as most observers of nature know,
are seldom out of song. The yellow-hammers were as bright as the
brightly-coloured bracken, and sang their cheerful little lays from
bramble and bush, and the streams rippled over the moors.

The old grandmother and her little grandmaid stood on the doorstep
taking in the quiet beauty of the moors. They even went out on to
the moor, and turned their gaze towards the Roche Rocks to see if
they could see the little sky-bird. After listening ten minutes or
longer to the lark and other birds, and to the Piskeys laughing,
they returned to the cottage.

Fine weather seldom lasts long in winter-time, and when Christmas
Eve came it was bitterly cold. A bitter wind blew over the moors
from the north, which brought snow in its wake, and Phillida said
the Old Woman was up in the sky picking her goose and throwing down
the feathers as fast as she could throw them.

The child, who was healthy and strong, did not mind the cold, and she
liked watching the feathers of the great Sky Goose whirling down on
the hills and moors; but she was somewhat afraid the Dinky Men would
not come over the snow to order her dreams. But her grandmother told
her that she was certain the Small People no more minded the cold
than she did, and would be sure to come in through the keyhole when
they were in bed and asleep.

If Phillida did not mind the severe weather, Tamsin did. She could
hardly keep herself warm in spite of a great fire that blazed on the
hearthstone. Whatever else she and the child lacked, they always had
a good fire to sit by, for the moors supplied them with furze and
other firewood.

As it grew towards evening the old grandmother told her little
grandchild about Christmas, as was her wont whenever Christmas Eve came
round, and why they were told to keep it as a hallowed time. She also
told her of the Christmas cakes taken hot out of the oven on Christmas
Eve, and Christmas birds on top of them, which had made her Christmas
so bright in those far-away years when she was young like Phillida.

Grannie's tales of the long ago were of absorbing interest to the
child, who almost forgot that the Dinky Men were coming to order her
dreams that night.

When the day had gone, and night had come, Tamsin banked up the fire
on the hearthstone, and then she and Phillida went to bed. The old
woman knew that the Piskeys would not come in through the keyhole
until they were in bed and asleep.

The child and the old grandmother slept in the same bed, the latter
at the head and Phillida at the foot. The head of the bed was against
the wall by the side of the hearthplace, and Tamsin as she lay was in
deep shadow, and only her white nightcap could be seen; but Phillida's
charming little face was towards the hearth, and the fireshine fell
full upon it.

The child had a fair, smooth skin and clear-cut features, and her
nose had a beautiful bridge! Her hair was thick and wavy, and of a
deep red gold--only a little redder than the Piskey Circle--and her
eyes, when they were open, were the soft sweet blue of the Cornish
Tors when the skies were grey.

The red peat and furze fire, like a Master of Magic, made the interior
of the poor little moorland cottage look quite beautiful. The rough
walls that went up to the brown of the thatch, where they caught the
fireshine, glowed like the Small People's lanterns; the old dresser,
which stood by the wall facing the hearth, looked as if it were painted
in fairy colours, and the china on it glittered like the boulder
near the Piskey Circle; and even the grail-hutch, a unique piece of
furniture often seen in Cornish cottages, was turned into a thing of
beauty. It was painted orange colour, and its little knobs were black,
to which the shine of the fire gave depths and tones and undertones.

By the side of the bed where Phillida slept was a fiddle-back chair,
and on its seat lay her little blue weekaday frock, that added to
the quaint and beautiful picture. Only a small part of the cottage
was in shadow, and this intensified the brightness of the room where
the firelight held sway.

The cottage was looking its brightest, and was as warm as a zam [14]
oven, when a gay little laugh came through the keyhole, and a merry
little face peeped into the room. In another minute a Dinky Man came
out of the keyhole and sat on the wooden latch of the door and gazed
curiously about him.

He was ever so dinky, but as cheerful-looking as a robin, in his
bright red cloak and his quaint steeple hat; the face under the hat
was almost as brown as an apple-pip, and only a shade or two lighter
than his whiskers and beard, and his queer little eyes were full of
laughter and fun.

'Are the little maid and her grannie asleep?' called a voice through
the keyhole as the Dinky Man sat on the latch surveying the room.

'I think so,' he answered. 'They are still as mice when Madam Puss
is close to their hole. You are safe to come in.'

'Then in we'll come,' cried the little voice; and in the twinkling of
an eye a tiny little fellow dressed in green came through the keyhole
and pushed off the Dinky Man sitting on the latch, who fell on his
head on old Tamsin's lime-ash floor.

Scores of little whiskered Piskeys--some in steeple hats and red
flowing cloaks, some in green coats and red caps--came through the
keyhole, and when they had swung themselves down by the durn [15]
of the door, they looked towards the bed.

'I'll get up on the bed and see if the little maid is really
asleep,' said one of the Piskeys; and he climbed up to the top of
the fiddle-back chair close to the bed and looked down on the child.

'Is she asleep?' asked the other little Piskeys eagerly.

'As sound asleep as a seven-sleeper,' [16] answered the Dinky Man,
'and so is Grannie Tredinnick,' sending his glance to the head of the
bed. 'Get up on to the bed as soon as you like, to order the little
maid's dreams--the sooner the better. We are powerless to do harm
after twelve o'clock, being the night of the Birth.'

'But we have come to do good, not to do harm,' cried the Piskeys one
and all, 'and we will begin at once.'

They scrambled up the legs and back of the old fiddle-back chair,
and were on the bed in a quick-stick, and took their places near the
sleeping child. Some sat all in a row on the edge of the patchwork
quilt; some sat, or stood, on the pillow behind the child's bright
little head; others were low down on the pillow; and one winking,
blinking little Piskey perched himself on her arm and sat cross-legged
like a tailor.

'I will be the first to order the little maid's dream,' said one of the
Piskeys sitting on the edge of the quilt, and scrambling up, he stepped
on to Phillida's nose as light as the feathers which the old Sky Woman
had flung down on the moors, and as he walked over the bridge he said:

'Dream, little maid--dream that you are wide awake, and that you and
Grannie Tredinnick are sitting at a table covered with a cloth as
white as Piskey-wool, [17] and that in the middle of the table is a
lovely cake made


'"Of the finest of flour
And fairy cow's cream--
As sweet as your dream--
And Small People's spice,
And everything nice,
Kneaded and mixed,
And done in a trix
In a little dream-bower,"


and on the top of the cake is a dinky bird with wings spread out all
ready to fly.'

Phillida dreamt as she was ordered, and in her dream she saw the
cake, and that it was a beautiful cake, and the little cake-bird was
a sweet little bird!

'What a handsome cake!' she cried out aloud in her sleep; 'and the
little cake-bird is a dear little bird, and it looks as if it can fly
and sing:' and she laughed so heartily that the Piskeys laughed too,
and one of the Dinky Men turned head over heels on the patchwork
quilt out of sheer delight that the child was so pleased with her
beautiful dream-cake and the little dream-bird.

'Dream that Grannie Tredinnick is as pleased with the cake and the
cake-bird as you are,' said another little Piskey, stepping on to the
bridge of Phillida's nose, 'and that she thinks it is even better than
the cakes which were made for her when she was a croom of a cheeld,
and the little cake-bird is more like a real bird than those that
were on top of her Christmas cakes.'

The child dreamt as the Piskey ordered, and much beside that the
Dinky Man never thought of ordering. In her dream she not only
heard her grandmother say what a beautiful cake it was, and that
the little cake-bird looked like a real bird, but that she said:
'We must cut and eat the cake, but spare the little cake-bird.' In
her sleep she saw the old woman, dressed in her Sunday gown and cap,
lean over the small oak table and cut her such a big slice of the
cake that she cried out in amazed delight:

'What a great big piece you have given me, Grannie!' and her laugh
was as happy and gay as a Piskey's laugh. 'But I must not eat all this
myself; I must crumble some of it for the little moor-birds, and put
a piece out on the doorstep for the Dinky Men. It isn't a dream-cake,
Grannie, but a Christmas cake, and it has a little Christmas bird
on top!'

The Piskeys looked at one another with a peculiar expression in
their round little eyes when the child spoke of putting a bit of her
Christmas cake on the step of the door for them, and one said, 'Dear
little maid!' and another said 'Pretty child!' and one little fellow,
with a beard reaching to his feet, cried, 'How kind of her to want us
poor little Piskeys to have part in the Christmas joy!' One little
Dinky Man whispered: 'Perhaps it is not true what the old whiddle
[18] says, after all--that we are not good enough for heaven nor bad
enough for hell. The child does not think so, evidently, or she would
not be so anxious for us to share her little Christmas cake.'

The Piskey who sat cross-legged on Phillida's arm uncrossed his lean
little legs, rose up and stepped on to her nose, and as he walked
over its bridge he said ever so tenderly:

'Dream, sweet little Phillida--dream that you shared your cake with
the dicky-birds, and put a piece of it on the doorstep for the Dinky
Men, which they will treasure as long as there are any Dinky Men.'

The child dreamt as she was ordered, and when she had put a bit of
the cake on the doorstep for the Piskeys, she saw in her dream a
crowd of Dinky Men in quaint little green coats, and caps as red as
bryony berries, and tiny fellows in red cloaks and green hats, come
and take up the cake with solemn faces and bent heads, and carry it
away over the moors towards the Piskey Circle. When they had gone,
she stood on the doorstep looking out over the moors, white with
the feathers the old Sky Woman had thrown down; then she lifted her
sweet little face to the sky, and saw that it was free from clouds
and full of stars, which, she thought, were chiming the wonderful
news of the Nativity. She was so happy listening to the music of the
Christmas stars that she forgot she had not tasted her cake till a
little Piskey sprang on to her nose to turn her dream.

'Dream that you are come over to the table and eating your cake,'
he said, slowly passing over the bridge of her nose.

'How can I dream that when I am out here on the doorstep listening to
the ringing of the star-bells?' murmured the child in her sleep. 'I
wonder if the Dinky Men like listening to the star-bells' music? They
are ringing up there in the dark because the Babe was born and laid
in the cratch.'

'We shall never get her to dream our dreams if we let her stay there on
the doorstep,' cried the Piskeys, looking strangely at one another. 'We
never had such trouble to make a cheeld dream our dreams before.'

'Dream your poor old Grannie feels the cold from the open door,' said
a Dinky Man, jumping on to Phillida's nose with all his weight, which
caused her to jerk her head in her sleep, and made the Dinky Man lose
his balance, and over he toppled on the heads of his tiny companions
sitting at the bottom of the pillow near the child's soft white neck,
much to the amusement of the other Piskeys and his own. They laughed
so much, including the wee fellow who was heavy-heeled, that he could
not order the dream, and a Piskey, when he could stop laughing for a
minute, jumped up and stepped on to Phillida's nose, and as he passed
over its bridge he said:

'Dream that you shut the door on the cold and the Sky Goose's feathers,
and come back to the table.' And Phillida reluctantly dreamt as the
Dinky Man ordered, and in her dream she saw herself sitting at the
table facing her grandmother, who was munching a bit of the cake and
smacking her withered old lips.

'This is a lovely cake, cheeld-vean. [19] We must eat every crumb of
it, for we shall never have such another.'

Phillida was glad her Grannie liked the cake, and she began to eat
the generous slice the old woman had given her, and as she ate it she
thought it was so delicious that she must go on eating cake for ever
and ever. 'I shan't want to eat grail-bread after this,' she said,
laughing out loud in her sleep. 'I shall always eat cake made


'"Of fairy cow's cream
And every good thing."'


She was enjoying her dream-cake so very very much in her sleep that
the Dinky Men would have liked her to go on eating it; but the quick
ticking of Tamsin's clock told them that time was flying, and they
had not yet finished ordering her dreams.

'Dream, little Phillida--dream that you and Grannie Tredinnick
have eaten all the cake, and there is nothing left but the little
cake-bird,' said one of the Dinky Men passing over the bridge of her
nose; 'and that Grannie says the little cake-bird is yours.'

Phillida dreamt all that, and in her dream her grandmother said, in
her kind old voice: 'The little bird on the top of the cake belongs
to the cheeld of the house, and Phillida is the only cheeld in my
little house. Take the cake-bird, Phillida, my dear;' and Phillida
took it and held it in her little warm hand.

As she was holding it thus a Piskey stepped lightly as a ladybird on
to her nose, and as he passed over its bridge he said:

'Dream, Phillida, dream that your little cake-bird is alive and wants
to fly and sing;' and the child dreamt that the little cake-bird was
alive, and was fluttering in her little warm hand, and then it flew
out of her hand up to the thatch, and began to sing a wonderful song.

'What is my little cake-bird singing?' asked Phillida in her sleep.

'It is singing it is a fairy-bird,' said a Dinky Man, passing over
the bridge of her nose, 'and that it is going to sing with other
little fairy-birds in the Dinky People's land.'

'I don't think my little cake-bird is singing it is a fairy-bird
and going to sing in the Dinky People's country,' said the child in
her sleep. 'Its song is much too happy and beautiful for that. What
is it singing? Please tell me. I do want to know. Can't you tell
me?' she asked as the Piskeys looked at one another. 'Ah! I know now
what its song is about. My little cake-bird is singing a little song
because it is a little Christmas bird, and was on top of a Christmas
cake! Isn't it a lovely song? It has changed its tune now, and it
is singing a golden song about the Babe who was born on Christmas
Day in the morning. I am a little Christian cheeld and know! Listen,
listen!' she cried, clasping her hands and lifting her sweet child-face
to the thatch. 'Isn't it wonderful? It thinks it is a little golden
bird, and one day will sing with the Great White Angel Birds Grannie
told me about.'

'Somebody far greater than we little Piskeys is ordering Phillida's
dreams,' said the Dinky Men one to another, 'which are much more
beautiful than we can order.'

Just then old Tamsin's clock struck the midnight hour, and the Piskeys
got off the bed, went across the room, climbed up the durn of the door
and out through the keyhole on to the moors, and in a little while
they were hastening over the snow-covered turf to the Piskey Circle,
which was a big round door to the Dinky People's land under the moors.