The Wishing-Spring

by Evaleen Stein

It was Midsummer Eve, and the Irish meadows glimmered green and flowery beyond a little cabin close to a grass-grown road. It had clay walls and a roof thatched with straw, and near by were a potato-patch and a pen holding a white pig with a curly tail; in the door-yard a few hens were clucking, now and then straggling in and out of the open door as they pleased.

Within the cabin a little girl was tending a baby, while her mother stirred a pot of porridge hanging over an open fire of peat, and her father sat smoking his pipe beside the hearth. Presently, "Come now, Biddy!" said her mother. "Bring Peter here whilst we have a bite and sup. 'Tis to the bonfire soon your father would be going." And she took the baby on her lap, and dished the porridge into earthen bowls, and poured the tea from a cracked teapot.

As Biddy took up her wooden spoon, "Mother," she asked, "did ever ye see the midsummer fairies?"

"Bedad, no!" said her mother. "Not I! But folks do say the little people will be creeping out and playing of their pranks tomorrow."

"Yes," said Biddy's father, nodding his head wisely, "and some say their magic begins this night. I dare say they will soon be dancing with the young folks around the bonfire, if only we could be seeing of them."

Here Peter, who had got a spoonful of hot tea when his mother was not looking, began to scream, and cried so hard that Biddy could ask no more questions; and her father, not waiting for him to stop, took his cap and went across the meadow to a hill where a bonfire was already lighted, and young people were dancing around it and singing at the tops of their voices.

Why were they doing it? Dear me, I do not know, except that they always did so on Midsummer Eve— and perhaps do now, for all I can tell. Neither do I know why Irish folks declare that on Midsummer Day, which is the twenty-fourth of June, the fairies—or "little people," as they like to call them—will creep out from under the fields and hills, where they have beautiful palaces, and play around above ground, where they may do one a good or ill turn, according to whether they are pleased or not. Folks say, too, that the fairies swim about in certain little bubbling springs of Ireland, and that, if you sip the water from one of these on Midsummer Day and make a wish, at the same time offering some gift the fairies like, they will surely cause the wish to come true. Why they say all these things, as I told you before, I am sure I cannot tell; but, as everybody agrees that Ireland has always been a fine place for fairies, I dare say the people there know a great deal about them. It might even be that, if you look sharp on the twenty-fourth of June, you may see some fairies in this country. Mind, I do not say you will; but then, neither do I say you won't!

Now, of course Biddy had heard much of the little people, and she could not understand why, though there was a "wishing-spring" not far from the cabin, and she had tried it for two Midsummer Days, her wish had not come true. The trouble was that she did not know about taking a gift of the right kind for the fairies. But the day of our story she had found out. That afternoon a very wise old woman had chanced to come hobbling along the road by the cabin and had stopped to rest, and Biddy had brought her a drink from the spring and had fallen to talking with her. It was she who told Biddy that there were five kinds of herbs which, though just ordinary plants at other times, became magical on Midsummer Eve; and, if their flowers were gathered then under the light of a full moon, a bunch of them offered to the fairies would please them so that they would not fail to grant any wish.

When Biddy heard this, she made up her mind to get some that very night, when the moon would be full, and the next day to try the wishing-spring again. And she had a very good chance to go and gather them; for, when Peter at last stopped crying and went to sleep, her mother was so worn out with him that, throwing herself down on the bed beside him, she was soon sound asleep, too. Then, softly opening the door, Biddy ran to the meadow. The moon had risen, and it was so light that she had little trouble in finding what she wanted; for the meadow was full of wild flowers. "There," said she presently, counting to herself, "I have a rose, and vervain, and trefoil, and St. John's-wort, and meadow-rue—that's the five; and it's a sprig of honeysuckle I'll be putting in for the nice smell of it, and 'tis sure I am the little people will like it, too, even if it's not magical!" And she sniffed the sweet cluster as she tucked it into her nosegay. Then, hurrying home, she put the flowers in a pitcher of water and crept into bed.

The next morning, just as soon as she had her breakfast of porridge and before Peter had wakened up to be tended, taking her nosegay she ran to the wishing-spring and, kneeling beside it, began dabbling it in the water. Just then, "Och, Biddy!" called out a red-haired boy who had come up behind her. "Are ye after trying the wishing-spring again? The fairies won't heed ye!"

"Whisht, Pat!" said she, looking up at the boy, who was her good friend and playmate. "You just watch and see now!"

"What will ye be wishing this time, Biddy?" asked Pat, coming nearer to the spring.

"Silly!" said Biddy. "It's well enough ye know that, if I tell, 'tis spoilt the wish will be!" Here she stooped low over the spring and, loosening the nosegay, let it float about, as, scooping up some water in her hand, she sipped it and whispered softly, so Pat could not hear; "'Tis a beautiful Princess I'm wishing to be, and wearing of a velvet gown and a pearl necklace, and to be living in a grand castle and marrying of a king's son!"

Then, as she and Pat peered into the bubbling water, "Look! Look!" cried Biddy. "There is one of the little people now! See him down there in the sand playing with the bubbles? It's a red cap he's wearing and a blue coat! Oh, Pat, there's another—a little lady fairy!"

Pat stared open-mouthed, and, "Biddy," he began,—but all at once she seemed fading away from him, and on her part she could no longer see Pat. Tall stone walls began to rise around her; higher and higher they grew, into a castle tower; and soon she found herself in a large room, all hung with wonderful embroidered silk, and furnished with carved chairs and tables and chests, such as Biddy had never seen the like of before. She was sitting on a kind of throne, richly carved and cushioned with cloth of gold. Looking down at her feet, which had been bare, she saw she was wearing golden slippers worked with pearls, and, instead of her ragged dress, she had on one of purple velvet, stiff with gold thread. Around her throat was a necklace of pearls, and on her head she could feel a fine lace cap. Her hair was braided with strands of jewels, and her eyes were very bright and her cheeks glowing; though Biddy had really been pretty enough before, with her tangled black curls and eyes of Irish blue. Indeed, Pat thought her quite as beautiful as any Princess; though, to be sure, he had never seen a King's daughter.

When Biddy looked around her she saw six handsomely dressed waiting-maids standing on each side of her, and a very grand-looking lady who seemed to be directing them. Soon one of them came and, bowing very low, said, "Will Your Highness be served with breakfast now?"

Biddy, you remember, had already had her porridge; but, as Princesses are not expected to get up so early, she thought best not to mention it; so she just nodded her head, and at once they brought in a golden tray and set it before her. There was fine white bread, milk in a golden goblet, a golden bowl full of barley porridge covered with honey, and a number of other things of which Biddy did not even know the names. She awkwardly picked up a gold spoon and dipped it in the porridge, but she was staring around so hard that, instead of putting it into her mouth, it bumped against her nose, and all the porridge fell in her lap; and then, as she put down the spoon in dismay, over went the goblet of milk on top of the rest. "Musha!" she cried. "'Tis my grand velvet gown that is all spoilt! Och! Och!"

But most of the waiting-maids only stared in surprise, though some tittered a bit till frowned on by the grand lady. Then one of them, again bowing, said, "Will Your Highness have on another gown before time for lessons? The masters will soon be here."

Biddy, turning red and feeling very uncomfortable, faltered out, "Yes, mam. Bedad, and it's sorry I am to be a-spoiling of this!" And she looked down shame-facedly at the purple velvet all dripping with milk and porridge.

At this, the waiting-maids could hardly keep from laughing outright, as they led her to a fine bedroom and put on her another velvet dress—this time a crimson one and, like the other, very stiff with embroidery and reaching nearly to the floor, which was the fashion for little girl Princesses.

Then they took her back to the big room, and again she sat on the throne-like chair, which was beginning to feel rather straight and hard, in spite of its rich carving and heavy cushions.

Presently in came the spelling-master—a solemn-looking man with a large book in his hand. At the sight of this Biddy was decidedly frightened, for she had never been to school a day in her life; there were no places in Ireland then where children who lived in cabins might be taught. "Now, Your Highness," said the spelling-master, opening the book and bowing as had the others, "will you deign to spell 'cat'?"

"Oh sir!" gasped Biddy. "Is it me that must be spelling of cat? 'Tis only priests, sir, that can read the mass-book, that can do hard things like that!"

The spelling-master looked perplexed, and, after talking a few minutes with the grand lady, the latter came and said respectfully, but rather sternly, "Your Highness, if you will not learn to spell, how then can you read? And then there are your music- and drawing-masters waiting."

"Musha! Musha! ma'am!" cried Biddy in despair. "And is it all such things Princesses must be doing of? I—I didn't know, ma'am, King's daughters had to work the likes of that! Why, I'd rather—rather be a-tending of Peter!"

At Biddy's speech the grand lady looked very stern indeed, and stared very hard; but she only said, "Very well, Your Highness. I will dismiss your masters for today. And what are your commands for the morning, in place of the lessons?"

Biddy was silent a while, and then she said faintly, "If you please, ma'am, I'd—I'd like to play, I would!"

The grand lady brightened up then, and said, "Does Your Highness mean to keep your music-master here and play on your harp?"

"Oh dear, no, ma'am!" answered Biddy, frightened again. "'Tis to play outdoors I'm meaning! Tag and ball it is, and games like Pat and I know!"

The grand lady stiffened up again, and, turning to the twelve waiting-maids, said coldly, "Conduct the Princess to the garden. She wishes to play ball and tag." And Biddy's cheeks burned, the way she said it.

She followed meekly as the waiting-maids led the way down a winding stair—which made her quite dizzy, as she had never before been on stairs—and out into a large garden. There were fountains in it, and very fine flowers; but the flowers were all in straight stiff beds and did not look as if meant to be picked. As Biddy gazed at them, she could not but think she liked the meadow ones better. Then nobody but herself knew how to play tag, and the waiting-maids looked very scornful when she tried to show them; and, when she wanted to run, her long heavy dress was terribly in her way; while, as for the gold slippers, they tripped her up so she tumbled down twice, and the waiting-maids laughed out loud at her. "Bedad!" moaned Biddy to herself. "'Tis the feel of the grass under my toes that I'm wanting!" For never had she worn shoes, except thick calfskin ones in winter, and she was quite unused to the high heels of slippers for Princesses. Then, too, she soon found that in the game of tag the waiting-maids never tagged her, because it was not considered proper for Princesses to be beaten in any game; and, of course, that took all the fun away.

Biddy soon tired of playing like that, and she sat down on a stone bench to think; though it was not very easy to think with twelve tittering waiting-maids standing stiffly behind her. Biddy could hear them, and the more they tittered the angrier she grew; till presently, in quite a rage, she tore off her lace cap and—I'm sorry to tell it, but she threw it down and stamped on it. Then she kicked off the golden slippers, and pulled off her fine silk stockings, and, running to a fountain near by, flung them all in; and then she sat on the edge of it and cried. "Och! Och!" she wailed, as the tears streamed down her cheeks. "If only ye were a wishing-spring and I could wish again!"

In a moment a sweet, tinkling little voice seemed to come from under a water-lily in the fountain, and then a tiny fairy crept out and sat on the big green leaf of the lily. It was the same little lady she had seen in the wishing-spring that morning. "There, there, child!" said the fairy, smiling kindly. "I have been watching you today; for I wondered how you would like being a Princess. If you want to wish again, you may."

"Oh, ma'am," cried Biddy eagerly, "I wish I was back in the Cabin again, and—and 'tis barefooted I'm wanting to go, and to be tending of Peter and feeding of the pig, and playing in the meadow with Pat—and never, never to be a Princess again so long as ever I live!"

And, of course, the good fairy made Biddy's wish come true, and she became a ragged, happy little girl as before; and, when they grew up, she forgot all about the King's son she had once wanted to marry, and married Pat instead; and of course, too, they lived happily ever after.