The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1907-02-23

not held Tor score OF years gone,
creatin' full and plenty throughout
the country, Patsy Rogan was .
blacksmith living all by his lee-alone
in little cabin at the cross roads in
Mullinafad.
He was, one night dhrawin' on mid
night, sittin' in his bare soles by the
| fire, after he had put from him his
shoes and socks, and was smoking his
last pipe as he warmed his toes afore
turning into bed-of all nights in the
year it was Hallow eve night-on
which the fairies wander most and
have the greatest power-when Pat
sy hears, coming over the hard road
without, the sound Of pony gallop-
ing at odious rate, an with one
shoe clinkin', clinkin' as it come.
The galloping suddenly stopped fair
In front of his own house, and
horse whinnied, and a hurried step
came to the door, and then the knock
of some one in mighty haste entirely.
and a voice said:
PATSY Rogan, is it in bed you are
--or out of it,"
Me brave Patsy was at the door
in a jiffy, and had it opened, and was
looking out In the dark. and re-
plying: TN troth, and it's out of it
1 am. Won't you step in and light
your pine, whoever you are, an tell
me what / can do for your
mo, no." said the voice In the dark
without, Il have no time for that.
! am on q life and death arrant, an
my pony is losing his shoe, and can
not carry me farther without it's fas-
tened. Can you bring out q candle
and drive a nail in it for me?"
Il can that" said Patsy, running to
the dresser for candle. Two nails.
II you want them"
Make haste, make haste" says the
voice. cor I'll be late"
Poor Patsy lost no time till he was
out with lit candle, and had his
hammer and his shoe-box out of the
smiddy, ready for his work. And as
the pony was led up to him he was
nabbergasted at the wonderful small
size of the little red-haired man, and
the wonderful small size Of his pony,
too.
Make haste" says the little man,
says he. Make haste, or Ill be late"
mot II i can help it, my good
man." says Patsy, says he. an he had
the animals right fore foot between
his knees fore We could say knife,
an was fittin' into the shoe the
finest nails he could pick from his
box
He finished ffxin' the shoe, an
Nov, me man. says he, droppin' the
pony's foot, that shoe II carry you
a good hundred miles without both
erin another blacksmith.
It'll need to-" says the little red
fellow, says he, "for that's the dis
lance l have to cover between now
an an hour after midnight. How
much is the damage?" says he.
ME charger says Patsy, says he.
For what would l be maxim
charger" says he, then, scornfully
that way, for Patsy was manly fel-
low rs it to charge strangers that's
late on the road, for dhrfvin' a few
nails in loose shoe, / would? Don't
speak about charges il you don't
mean to offend me, but jump on your
horse, peor fellow; for If you are on
life and death arrant, and have a
hundred miles to make afore an hour
after midnight, l admire your grit"
says he, but pity your plight, an
wish to God" says he, that every
dozen miles of them was only one"
When Patsy mentioned the name,
he noticed that the little fellow start
ed, and trembled to his toes, and:
Don't mention that name" says he,
''as you pity me-" This took a square
rise out of Patsy. an only he found
himself glued to the ground he would
have staggered. The little fellow
jumped on his pony's back, and put
ting his hand to his waistcoat pocket,
he drew something from it that jim
gled, and threw them on the ground
at Patsy's feet, and, says he: me
as to make no charge to q stranger,
you Will De pa1o ten fold; there Is
ten sovereigns, and word Of advice
with them is, Lose no time gettin'
them changed"
Patsy Rogan, you are a decent
man-decent out of the ordinary, an
I'd be sorry you'd think me short or
surly about the affair I'm bent on.
For long years now, as We know"
says he, the herrings In their thou
sands of shoals have been film the
Irish bays fetchin' with them full and
plenty to the land. and all the while
the bays OF Scotland have been fish
less; and on account Of how things
have been, the fairies of Ireland were
glad and happy, and all the fairies
of Scotland were unhappy and jeal-
GUS, and their jealousy grew greater
and greater. bitterer and bitterer,
year by wear till now il has coma