Folk Tales of Scotland (17 page)

‘All right, I’ll do that,’ said Little Fox.

So Big Fox ran ahead by a short cut, lay down in the middle of the road, and pretended to be dead.

When the man with the creel came along, he was pleased to find a fine fox lying dead on the road.

‘This fox’s skin will bring me more money than twenty creels of herring,’ said he, as he flung Big Fox across his back.

That was not Big Fox’s idea at all. He settled himself comfortably on the man’s back, and then began to throw the herring out of the creel to Little Fox, who picked them up and
followed on behind.

When the creel was half empty, Little Fox stopped and cried:

‘Thank you, Big Fox! Now I’ll leave you the rest of the herring, for it’s time I was off home.’

‘You can’t do that,’ cried Big Fox. ‘It isn’t fair!’

‘Fairer than the shares you’ve always given me,’ called Little Fox, as he ran through a hedge and off to the woods.

The man felt Big Fox moving on his back, and was about to tighten his grip, when Big Fox jumped down leaving his share of the herring in the creel, for he knew he’d be lucky to get away
with his skin.

Away he ran, as fast as he could, through the hedge and off to the woods. But he never found Little Fox, who shared his herring with a fox more his own size.

NCE
upon a time there was a farmer who had three daughters. One day they were waulking
clothes by a river, when a hoodie came and said to the eldest:

‘Will you wed me, farmer’s daughter?’

‘I’ll not wed you,’ said she. ‘The hoodie is an ugly creature.’

The next day he came to the second daughter, and said:

‘Will you wed me, farmer’s daughter?’

‘I’ll not wed you,’ said she. ‘The hoodie is a horrid creature!’

The third day he came to the youngest daughter, and said:

‘Will you wed me, farmer’s daughter?’

‘Yes, I’ll marry you,’ said she. ‘The hoodie is a bonny bird.’

So next day they were married.

‘Would you prefer me to be a hoodie by day, and a man by night, or a hoodie by night and man by day?’ he asked.

‘I’d rather you were a man by day and a hoodie by night,’ said she.

After that he was a handsome young man by day, and a hoodie at night. Soon after their marriage he took her to his house.

At the end of nine months they had a little son. One night, when everyone was in bed, there came the most beautiful music ever heard, but everyone slept and the child was taken away by the
hoodie.

The young mother wept. Her husband returned in the morning, but he did not seem to know what to do when he heard that his child had been taken away.

At the end of nine months, another little son was born. Everyone kept watch. But one night the music came as before, and while everyone slept, the second child was taken
away by the hoodie.

The young mother wept. And when her husband returned home and found that his son had been taken away, he did not seem to know what to do.

At the end of nine months, yet another son was born. Watch was kept, but one night the music came as before, and while everyone slept, the child was taken away by the hoodie.

In the morning the husband returned, and took the young mother away in a coach. On the way, he said to her:

‘See if you’ve forgotten anything.’

‘I’ve forgotten my comb,’ she said. And at that instant the coach in which they were travelling became a withered stick, and the husband flew away as a hoodie.

His young wife followed him. When he was on a hilltop, she would climb the hill to catch him; but when she reached the top of the hill, he’d be down in the valley. And when she was down in
the valley, the hoodie was on another hill. Night came and she was tired. She had nowhere to
sleep. Then she saw a light in a house far away, so she went on toward the house
and was there in no time.

Looking in through the window, she saw a wee lad in the house, and her heart went out to him. The woman of the house asked her to come in and rest. So the hoodie’s wife lay down, and slept
till dawn.

She left the house, and went from hill to hill looking for the hoodie. She saw him on a hill, but when she reached the top of the hill he was down in the valley. And when she went down into the
valley, the hoodie was on another hill. When night came she had no place to sleep. She saw a light in a house in the distance and she got there in no time.

She went to the door and, peeping in, she saw a wee lad on the floor, and her heart went out to him. The woman of the house made up a bed for her, so she lay down and slept till dawn.

Next day she left and walked on searching for the hoodie, and when night came she reached another house. The woman of the house welcomed her, and told her that the hoodie had just left.

‘He will return here tonight,’ said the woman. ‘If you want to catch him you must be clever and not fall asleep.’

The hoodie’s young wife tried to keep awake, but when he came she was fast asleep. He dropped a ring on her right hand and this woke her. She tried to catch him, but all she caught was a
feather from his wing. He left the feather and flew away, and in the morning she did not know what to do.

‘He has gone over the hill of poison,’ said the woman. ‘But no one can climb that hill without a horseshoe on each hand and foot.’

The woman dressed the hoodie’s wife up as a man and told her to go to the smith where she would learn to make horseshoes for herself. The smith taught her and soon she made horseshoes for
both her hands and both her feet.

Then she went over the hill of poison, and on to the town, only to hear that her husband was about to marry the Laird’s daughter.

Now, there were races in the town that day, and everyone was to be at the races, except the stranger who had come over the hill of poison. The Laird’s cook came to
her and said:

‘As you’re not going to the races, will you take my place, and make the meal for the Laird’s family? I’d be grateful if you’ll do this, otherwise I’ll not be
able to go to the races.’

‘I’ll make the meal,’ said she. ‘I can do that.’

So the hoodie’s wife prepared the meal and watched carefully to see where the bridegroom was sitting. Then she let the ring and the feather drop into the bowl of broth that was set before
him. With the first spoonful he took up the ring, and with the second he took up the feather.

‘Bring me the cook who prepared this broth,’ said he.

They fetched the usual cook, but the bridegroom shook his head when he saw him.

‘This is not the one who cooked that broth,’ said he, ‘and I’ll not marry until she is brought to me.’

So they fetched the one who had indeed prepared the broth, and she was his own true wife, who he had thought was lost to him for ever.

He recognised her and the spell was broken. Together they returned over the hill of poison. She threw the horseshoes behind her, and he followed her. As they went home, they took with them their
three young sons from each of the three houses where she had slept on the three nights of her search. And from that day they lived happily ever after.

HE
length of the Master Stoor Worm was beyond telling, and reached out thousands and
thousands of miles in the sea.

His tongue itself was hundreds and hundreds of miles long, and with it he would sweep away whole towns, trees and hills into the sea. It was forked, and the prongs he used to seize his prey.
With it he would crush the largest ship like an egg-shell. With it he would crack the walls of the biggest castle like a nut and suck every living thing out of it.

One time the Master Stoor Worm laid his head near the shore. Every Saturday morning the people had to feed him with seven young maidens.

The people went to a wise old man for advice. He said that, if the King’s daughter was given to the Stoor Worm, the monster would leave and trouble them no more. The King was very sad, for
the Princess was his only child and heir. Nevertheless he had to agree. But first he insisted on having ten weeks’ grace. He used the time to send messengers to the countries near by,
offering his daughter and his kingdom to any man who would destroy the Stoor Worm.

On the last day of the ten weeks the Master Assipattle made his appearance. In his boat he entered the Stoor Worm’s mouth, rowed down its gullet, set fire to the monster’s liver,
rowed out of its mouth and returned to land.

The Stoor Worm’s liver, being full of oil, blazed into a terrible fire. The heat caused the monster great pain; he almost capsized the world by his struggles.

He flung out his tongue and raised it far into the heavens. By chance he caught hold of the moon, and they say he shifted it in the sky. He took hold of one of the
moon’s horns, but by good fortune his tongue slipped over the horn. Down fell the tongue and caused a great earthquake.

Where it fell, the tongue formed a channel in the face of the earth, now filled with sea, dividing Denmark from Norway and Sweden. At the inner end of the sea, they say, two bays were made by
the fork of the Stoor Worm’s tongue.

As the serpent lay struggling in great agony, he lifted up his head to the sky and let it fall violently. As he did so, he shed some of his great teeth, and they became the Orkney Isles.

The second time he did this, more teeth fell out, and they became the Shetland Isles.

While in his death throes, he threw up his head, and again it fell, striking, as it always did, the bottom of the sea. This time the teeth that were knocked out became the Faroe Isles.

Then the Stoor Worm rolled himself up, and his huge body, when he died, became the large island of Iceland. But his liver still burns, and the flames of its fire are sometimes seen rising from
the mountains of that cold land.

NE
day a mermaid rose at the side of a poor fisherman’s boat. ‘Are you
catching many fish?’ she asked.

‘I am not,’ said he.

‘What will you give me for sending you plenty of fish?’

‘Ach,’ said the old man, ‘I haven’t much to spare.’