Whippety-stourie

: The Scottish Fairy Book

I am going to tell you a story about a poor young widow woman, who lived

in a house called Kittlerumpit, though whereabouts in Scotland the house

of Kittlerumpit stood nobody knows.



Some folk think that it stood in the neighbourhood of the Debateable

Land, which, as all the world knows, was on the Borders, where the old

Border Reivers were constantly coming and going; the Scotch stealing

from the English,
and the English from the Scotch. Be that as it may,

the widowed Mistress of Kittlerumpit was sorely to be pitied.



For she had lost her husband, and no one quite knew what had become of

him. He had gone to a fair one day, and had never come back again, and

although everybody believed that he was dead, no one knew how he died.



Some people said that he had been persuaded to enlist, and had been

killed in the wars; others, that he had been taken away to serve as a

sailor by the press-gang, and had been drowned at sea.



At any rate, his poor young wife was sorely to be pitied, for she was

left with a little baby-boy to bring up, and, as times were bad, she had

not much to live on.



But she loved her baby dearly, and worked all day amongst her cows, and

pigs, and hens, in order to earn enough money to buy food and clothes

for both herself and him.



Now, on the morning of which I am speaking, she rose very early and went



out to feed her pigs, for rent-day was coming on, and she intended to

take one of them, a great, big, fat creature, to the market that very

day, as she thought that the price that it would fetch would go a long

way towards paying her rent.



And because she thought so, her heart was light, and she hummed a little

song to herself as she crossed the yard with her bucket on one arm and

her baby-boy on the other.



But the song was quickly changed into a cry of despair when she reached

the pig-stye, for there lay her cherished pig on its back, with its legs

in the air and its eyes shut, just as if it were going to breathe its

last breath.



"What shall I do? What shall I do?" cried the poor woman, sitting down

on a big stone and clasping her boy to her breast, heedless of the fact

that she had dropped her bucket, and that the pig's-meat was running

out, and that the hens were eating it.



"First I lost my husband, and now I am going to lose my finest pig. The

pig that I hoped would fetch a deal of money."



Now I must explain to you that the house of Kittlerumpit stood on a

hillside, with a great fir wood behind it, and the ground sloping down

steeply in front.



And as the poor young thing, after having a good cry to herself, was

drying her eyes, she chanced to look down the hill, and who should she

see coming up it but an Old Woman, who looked like a lady born.



She was dressed all in green, with a white apron, and she wore a black

velvet hood on her head, and a steeple-crowned beaver hat over that,

something like those, as I have heard tell, that the women wear in

Wales. She walked very slowly, leaning on a long staff, and she gave a

bit hirple now and then, as if she were lame.



As she drew near, the young widow felt it was becoming to rise and

curtsey to the Gentlewoman, for such she saw her to be.



"Madam," she said, with a sob in her voice, "I bid you welcome to the

house of Kittlerumpit, although you find its Mistress one of the most

unfortunate women in the world."



"Hout-tout," answered the old Lady, in such a harsh voice that the young

woman started, and grasped her baby tighter in her arms. "Ye have little

need to say that. Ye have lost your husband, I grant ye, but there were

waur losses at Shirra-Muir. And now your pig is like to die--I could,

maybe, remedy that. But I must first hear how much ye wad gie me if I

cured him."



"Anything that your Ladyship's Madam likes to ask," replied the widow,

too much delighted at having the animal's life saved to think that she

was making rather a rash promise.



"Very good," said the old Dame, and without wasting any more words she

walked straight into the pig-sty.



She stood and looked at the dying creature for some minutes, rocking to

and fro and muttering to herself in words which the widow could not

understand; at least, she could only understand four of them, and they

sounded something like this:



"Pitter-patter,

Haly water."



Then she put her hand into her pocket and drew out a tiny bottle with a

liquid that looked like oil in it. She took the cork out, and dropped

one of her long lady-like fingers into it; then she touched the pig on

the snout and on his ears, and on the tip of his curly tail.



No sooner had she done so than up the beast jumped, and, with a grunt of

contentment, ran off to its trough to look for its breakfast.



A joyful woman was the Mistress of Kittlerumpit when she saw it do this,

for she felt that her rent was safe; and in her relief and gratitude she

would have kissed the hem of the strange Lady's green gown, if she

would have allowed it, but she would not.



"No, no," said she, and her voice sounded harsher than ever. "Let us

have no fine meanderings, but let us stick to our bargain. I have done

my part, and mended the pig; now ye must do yours, and give me what I

like to ask--your son."



Then the poor widow gave a piteous cry, for she knew now what she had

not guessed before--that the Green-clad Lady was a Fairy, and a Wicked

Fairy too, else had she not asked such a terrible thing.



It was too late now, however, to pray, and beseech, and beg for mercy;

the Fairy stood her ground, hard and cruel.



"Ye promised me what I liked to ask, and I have asked your son; and your

son I will have," she replied, "so it is useless making such a din about

it. But one thing I may tell you, for I know well that the knowledge

will not help you. By the laws of Fairy-land, I cannot take the bairn

till the third day after this, and if by that time you have found out my

name I cannot take him even then. But ye will not be able to find it

out, of that I am certain. So I will call back for the boy in three

days."



And with that she disappeared round the back of the pig-sty, and the

poor mother fell down in a dead faint beside the stone.



All that day, and all the next, she did nothing but sit in her kitchen

and cry, and hug her baby tighter in her arms; but on the day before

that on which the Fairy said that she was coming back, she felt as if

she must get a little breath of fresh air, so she went for a walk in the

fir wood behind the house.



Now in this fir wood there was an old quarry hole, in the bottom of

which was a bonnie spring well, the water of which was always sweet and

pure. The young widow was walking near this quarry hole, when, to her

astonishment, she heard the whirr of a spinning-wheel and the sound of a

voice lilting a song. At first she could not think where the sound came

from; then, remembering the quarry, she laid down her child at a tree

root, and crept noiselessly through the bushes on her hands and knees to

the edge of the hole and peeped over.



She could hardly believe her eyes! For there, far below her, at the

bottom of the quarry, beside the spring well, sat the cruel Fairy,

dressed in her green frock and tall felt hat, spinning away as fast as

she could at a tiny spinning-wheel.



And what should she be singing but--



"Little kens our guid dame at hame,

Whippety-Stourie is my name."



The widow woman almost cried aloud for joy, for now she had learned the

Fairy's secret, and her child was safe. But she dare not, in case the

wicked old Dame heard her and threw some other spell over her.



So she crept softly back to the place where she had left her child;

then, catching him up in her arms, she ran through the wood to her

house, laughing, and singing, and tossing him in the air in such a state

of delight that, if anyone had met her, they would have been in danger

of thinking that she was mad.



Now this young woman had been a merry-hearted maiden, and would have

been merry-hearted still, if, since her marriage, she had not had so

much trouble that it had made her grow old and sober-minded before her

time; and she began to think what fun it would be to tease the Fairy for

a few minutes before she let her know that she had found out her name.



So next day, at the appointed time, she went out with her boy in her

arms, and seated herself on the big stone where she had sat before; and

when she saw the old Dame coming up the hill, she crumpled up her nice

clean cap, and screwed up her face, and pretended to be in great

distress and to be crying bitterly.



The Fairy took no notice of this, however, but came close up to her, and

said, in her harsh, merciless voice, "Good wife of Kittlerumpit, ye ken

the reason of my coming; give me the bairn."



Then the young mother pretended to be in sorer distress than ever, and

fell on her knees before the wicked old woman and begged for mercy.



"Oh, sweet Madam Mistress," she cried, "spare me my bairn, and take, an'

thou wilt, the pig instead."



"We have no need of bacon where I come from," answered the Fairy coldly;

"so give me the laddie and let me begone--I have no time to waste in

this wise."



"Oh, dear Lady mine," pleaded the Goodwife, "if thou wilt not have the

pig, wilt thou not spare my poor bairn and take me myself?"



The Fairy stepped back a little, as if in astonishment. "Art thou mad,

woman," she cried contemptuously, "that thou proposest such a thing? Who

in all the world would care to take a plain-looking, red-eyed, dowdy

wife like thee with them?"



Now the young Mistress of Kittlerumpit knew that she was no beauty, and

the knowledge had never vexed her; but something in the Fairy's tone

made her feel so angry that she could contain herself no longer.



"In troth, fair Madam, I might have had the wit to know that the like of

me is not fit to tie the shoe-string of the High and Mighty Princess,

WHIPPETY-STOURIE!"



If there had been a charge of gunpowder buried in the ground, and if it

had suddenly exploded beneath her feet, the Wicked Fairy could not have

jumped higher into air.



And when she came down again she simply turned round and ran down the

brae, shrieking with rage and disappointment, for all the world, as an

old book says, "like an owl chased by witches."



More

;