The Piskeys' Revenge

Once upon a time, so the old story begins, there were an old man and
his wife called Granfer and Grannie Nankivell, who lived on a moor,
and a small grand-daughter who lived with them.

Genefer was the name of this little girl. She was a small brown
child. Brown as a Piskey, her grandfather said; but, brown as she was,
she was exceedingly pretty. Her lips were as red as the reddest of
berries, and the glow on her cheeks matched her lips.

Her grandfather was a turf-cutter, and most of his days had been
spent cutting turf on the Cornish moors.

When this old man was between sixty and seventy he cleared out a
whole bog, which happened to be a Piskey-bed.

The Piskeys never like their sleeping-places to be disturbed, and when
they found out Granfer Nankivell had done it, they were very angry,
and set up Piskey-lights to lead him astray when he came home. But
they did it in vain as far as he was concerned. The old turf-cutter
was very learned in Piskeys' wiles, and never ventured across the
moors without wearing one of his garments inside out, and this made
him Piskey-proof, which means that the Piskeys had no power to harm
him or to lead him out of his way.

But the sly Little People knew a thing or two as well as Granfer
Nankivell, and when they found out that their Piskey-lights failed,
they set their sharp little wits to work to do him harm in some
other way.

After much watching they discovered that the old turf-cutter had
a weakness for sweet things, and that the greatest treat his wife
could give him was sugar biscuits of her own making and a big plate of
junket. They also found out that Grannie Nankivell, whenever she made
these delicacies, put them overnight into her spence [21] for safety.

They made up their minds that they would punish the old turf-cutter
for taking away their nice soft green Piskey-bed by doing him out
of his junket and biscuits, and they told some distant relations of
theirs, the Fairy Moormen, to keep an eye upon the spence-window,
and whenever they saw Grannie Nankivell bring a bowl of junket and a
dish of biscuits into her spence, they must come with all speed and
tell them.

'We'll watch too,' they said; 'but in case we are away dancing or
setting up Piskey-lights, you must watch for us,' which the Tiny
Moormen were quite pleased to do.

But the moor fairies watched in vain for many a week, and just as
they were beginning to fear that Grannie Nankivell was never going
to make any more biscuits and junket for her husband, she set to and
made some, and when they were made she took them into the spence,
as she always did.

The spence opened out from the kitchen, and was quite a little room
in itself, with a tiny window facing the moors. In front of the window
was a stone bench, and near it a square oak table.

The Tiny Moormen were peeping in at the window when the old woman
put the bowl of junket on the table and the dish of sugar biscuits
on the bench, and the moment her back was turned they tore off to
the Piskeys with the news.

'A big round basin full of lovely cool junket,' they cried, 'and a
dish heaping full of round biscuits, yellow and white with eggs and
sugar, with which they are made. I heard the old woman say that she
had never made better, and all for Granfer Nankivell, 'cause 'tis
his birthday to-morrow.'

'Birthday or no birthday, Granfer Nankivell shan't taste one,' cried
the little Piskeys. 'No fy, he shan't! He turned us out of our beds,
and we'll do him out of his biscuits and junket, see if we won't!'

'That's right!' said the Fairy Moormen, who were hand and glove with
the Piskeys, 'only please save some for us.'

They and the Piskeys hastened away to the turf-cutter's cottage,
and when the turf-cutter and his wife had gone to bed, the Piskeys
got into the spence and ate up the big bowl of junket, and passed
out the biscuits to the Tiny Moormen.

When Grannie Nankivell went to her spence the next day she found the
junket-bowl empty and every biscuit gone.

She said she could not imagine who had taken the things, but looked
suspiciously at her little granddaughter Genefer.

'The cat must have got into the spence and done me out of my birthday
treat,' said the old turf-cutter. 'You must shut the spence-window
the next time you put a junket in there.'

'But the biscuits have gone as well as the junket,' said the old
woman, still looking at little Genefer. 'Cats have no liking for
sugar biscuits, that ever I heard tell of.'

The next time Grannie Nankivell took biscuits and a junket into
her spence she shut the window and also the door; but when she got
up the following morning and went to see if they were safe, lo and
behold! the junket-bowl was again empty and the biscuits were gone.

''Tis a two-legged cat who has eaten up my beautiful biscuits and
junket,' she said to her husband; and she turned and looked at
little Genefer.

'I am not the two-legged cat who ate up all the nice things you made
for Granfer,' cried the child, meeting the old woman's glance with
her honest brown eyes.

'I never said you did,' said Grannie Nankivell; 'but 'tis queer the
junket-bowl is empty and every biscuit gone from the dish.'

'I expect it was a dog which got into the spence and licked up the
junket and ate the biscuits,' put in the old turf-cutter. 'I would
lock and bar the spence-door, if I were you, the next time I put such
nice things in there.'

'I will,' she said.

The next time Grannie Nankivell made biscuits and a junket she barred
the window of the spence and locked the door, and the next morning,
before Genefer dressed, she went to see if her junket and biscuits were
all right; but the little round biscuits, which she had so carefully
made and sugared, were every one gone, and the junket-bowl was quite
empty, and as dry as a bone.

''Tis our little grandcheeld who has eaten it all!' cried Grannie
Nankivell in great anger to the old turf-cutter. 'No cat or dog could
get into a spence with door locked and window barred.'

'I don't believe it was Genefer,' said the old man stoutly.

'If it was not Genefer, who was it, pray? Biscuits and junkets don't
eat up themselves, any more than dogs and cats can get through keyholes
and barred windows.'

'That's true,' said Granfer Nankivell; 'all the same, I am certain sure
that our dear little grandcheeld would not go and eat up the things.'

'Then who did?' asked the old woman with a snap.

'The little Piskeys, I shouldn't wonder,' he answered. 'My
great-grannie told me they were little greedy-guts, and in her
days they used to skim the cream off the milk, and eat all the
cheese-cakes she used to make, unless she put some for them outside
on the doorstep. Regular little thieves the Piskeys were in her
days. P'raps they haven't learnt to be honest yet. There are plenty
about now, and Little Moormen too, by the teheeing and tehoing I have
heard lately, waiting, I dare say, to play some of their pranks on me.'

But Grannie Nankivell was still unconvinced, and still believed it
was Genefer, and not the Piskeys, who ate her biscuits and junket.

One evening the old woman put another bowl of junket and a dish of
biscuits in the spence, and was as careful as before to bar the window
and lock the door; and in the middle of the night, when her husband was
fast asleep and snoring, she got up and came downstairs to see if she
could find out for certain who it was that ate up her good things. When
she came down, whom should she see but her little grand-daughter
Genefer standing by the spence-door in her little bedgown.

'I am fine and glad you have come, Grannie,' whispered the child,
before the old woman could say anything. 'I believe it is the Piskeys
who have eaten the junket and things you made for Granfer. I saw a
dinky little fellow not much bigger than your thumb go in through
the keyhole just now. They are having a fine time in there, anyhow,'
as her grandmother looked at her oddly. 'If I were you, I would look
through the keyhole and see what they are doing.'

And through the keyhole the old woman looked, and saw, to her
amazement, scores and scores of green-coated little men, whiskered
like a man, on the oak table, standing round the junket-bowl ladling
out the rich, thick junket with their tiny little hands, and half
a dozen other little chaps were up in the window-sill passing out
her delicious sugar biscuits to the Tiny Moormen, who were even more
whiskered and bearded than their distant relations, the Piskeys.

By their faces, they were all greatly enjoying themselves, and at
the expense of Granfer Nankivell, the turf-cutter!

Grannie Nankivell was so astonished that she lost her mouth-speech,
[22] but when she found it her old voice shrilled through the keyhole:

'Filling your little bellies with the junket and biskeys I made for
my old man, be 'ee?' she cried. 'I'll wring the necks of every one
of you--iss fy, I will!'

The old woman spoke too soon to carry out her threat, for she had no
sooner spoken than the Piskeys vanished, the Tiny Moormen as well,
and where they went she never knew.

But her husband told her the little rascals were still in the spence
when she could not see them.

'They have the power to make themselves visible or invisible, whichever
is most convenient to them,' he said.

'They have done you out of your biscuits and junket a good many times,
anyhow,' cried the old woman.

'Iss,' said Granfer Nankivell, 'they have; and as I did away with
the Piskey-beds, we are quits. I only hope they will be of the same
mind, and won't come any more and eat up those nice things you make
for me. I am quite longing for a plateful of junket and one of your
sweet biscuits.'

Whether the Piskeys thought the old turf-cutter was sufficiently
punished for clearing out their sleeping-places, or whether Grannie
Nankivell's threat to wring their necks frightened them away, we
cannot tell. At all events, they and the Tiny Moormen kept away
from the cottage on the moor, and whenever the old woman made sugar
biscuits and sweet junket, and put them in the spence, no two-legged
cat, Moormen or Piskeys, ever ate up those specially-made dainties;
and little Genefer's honesty was never again doubted.