merve/folk-mythology-tales · Datasets at Hugging Face

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it to the great lord."

So they went up to the castle, but the great lord was not in it, so
they left the purse with the servant that minded the gate, and then
they went home again and lived in quiet for a time.

But one day the great lord stopped at their house for a drink of water,
and Ivan's wife said to him: "I hope your lordship found your
lordship's purse quite safe with all its money in it."

"What purse is that you are talking about?" said the lord.

"Sure, it's your lordship's purse that I left at the castle," said Ivan.

"Come with me and we will see into the matter," said the lord.

So Ivan and his wife went up to the castle, and there they pointed out
the man to whom they had given the purse, and he had to give it up and
was sent away from the castle. And the lord was so pleased with Ivan
that he made him his servant in the stead of the thief.

"Honesty's the best policy!" quoth Ivan, as he skipped about in his new
quarters. "How joyful I am!"

Then he thought of his old master's cake that he was to eat when he was
most joyful, and when he broke it, to and behold, inside it was his
wages for the three years he had been with him.




ANDREW COFFEY

My grandfather, Andrew Coffey, was known to the whole barony as a
quiet, decent man. And if the whole barony knew him, he knew the whole
barony, every inch, hill and dale, bog and pasture, field and covert.
Fancy his surprise one evening, when he found himself in a part of the
demesne he couldn't recognise a bit. He and his good horse were always
stumbling up against some tree or stumbling down into some bog-hole
that by rights didn't ought to be there. On the top of all this the
rain came pelting down wherever there was a clearing, and the cold
March wind tore through the trees. Glad he was then when he saw a light
in the distance, and drawing near found a cabin, though for the life of
him he couldn't think how it came there. However, in he walked, after
tying up his horse, and right welcome was the brushwood fire blazing on
the hearth. And there stood a chair right and tight, that seemed to
say, "Come, sit down in me." There wasn't a soul else in the room.
Well, he did sit, and got a little warm and cheered after his
drenching. But all the while he was wondering and wondering.

"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!"

Good heavens! who was calling him, and not a soul in sight? Look around
as he might, indoors and out, he could find no creature with two legs
or four, for his horse was gone.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY! tell me a story."

It was louder this time, and it was nearer. And then what a thing to
ask for! It was bad enough not to be let sit by the fire and dry
oneself, without being bothered for a story.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY!! Tell me a story, or it'll be the worse
for you."

My poor grandfather was so dumbfounded that he could only stand and
stare.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY! I told you it'd be the worse for you."

And with that, out there bounced, from a cupboard that Andrew Coffey
had never noticed before, _a man_. And the man was in a towering rage.
But it wasn't that. And he carried as fine a blackthorn as you'd wish
to crack a man's head with. But it wasn't that either. But when my
grandfather clapped eyes on him, he knew him for Patrick Rooney, and
all the world knew _he'd_ gone overboard, fishing one night long years
before.

Andrew Coffey would neither stop nor stay, but he took to his heels and
was out of the house as hard as he could. He ran and he ran taking
little thought of what was before till at last he ran up against a big
tree. And then he sat down to rest.

He hadn't sat for a moment when he heard voices.

"It's heavy he is, the vagabond." "Steady now, we'll rest when we get
under the big tree yonder." Now that happened to be the tree under
which Andrew Coffey was sitting. At least he thought so, for seeing a
branch handy he swung himself up by it and was soon snugly hidden away.
Better see than be seen, thought he.

The rain had stopped and the wind fallen. The night was blacker than
ever, but Andrew Coffey could see four men, and they were carrying
between them a long box. Under the tree they came, set the box down,
opened it, and who should they bring out but--Patrick Rooney. Never a
word did he say, and he looked as pale as old snow.

Well, one gathered brushwood, and another took out tinder and flint,
and soon they had a big fire roaring, and my grandfather could see
Patrick plainly enough. If he had kept still before, he kept stiller

it to the great lord."

So they went up to the castle, but the great lord was not in it, so

they left the purse with the servant that minded the gate, and then

they went home again and lived in quiet for a time.

But one day the great lord stopped at their house for a drink of water,

and Ivan's wife said to him: "I hope your lordship found your

lordship's purse quite safe with all its money in it."

"What purse is that you are talking about?" said the lord.

"Sure, it's your lordship's purse that I left at the castle," said Ivan.

"Come with me and we will see into the matter," said the lord.

So Ivan and his wife went up to the castle, and there they pointed out

the man to whom they had given the purse, and he had to give it up and

was sent away from the castle. And the lord was so pleased with Ivan

that he made him his servant in the stead of the thief.

"Honesty's the best policy!" quoth Ivan, as he skipped about in his new

quarters. "How joyful I am!"

Then he thought of his old master's cake that he was to eat when he was

most joyful, and when he broke it, to and behold, inside it was his

wages for the three years he had been with him.

ANDREW COFFEY

My grandfather, Andrew Coffey, was known to the whole barony as a

quiet, decent man. And if the whole barony knew him, he knew the whole

barony, every inch, hill and dale, bog and pasture, field and covert.

Fancy his surprise one evening, when he found himself in a part of the

demesne he couldn't recognise a bit. He and his good horse were always

stumbling up against some tree or stumbling down into some bog-hole

that by rights didn't ought to be there. On the top of all this the

rain came pelting down wherever there was a clearing, and the cold

March wind tore through the trees. Glad he was then when he saw a light

in the distance, and drawing near found a cabin, though for the life of

him he couldn't think how it came there. However, in he walked, after

tying up his horse, and right welcome was the brushwood fire blazing on

the hearth. And there stood a chair right and tight, that seemed to

say, "Come, sit down in me." There wasn't a soul else in the room.

Well, he did sit, and got a little warm and cheered after his

drenching. But all the while he was wondering and wondering.

"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!"

Good heavens! who was calling him, and not a soul in sight? Look around

as he might, indoors and out, he could find no creature with two legs

or four, for his horse was gone.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY! tell me a story."

It was louder this time, and it was nearer. And then what a thing to

ask for! It was bad enough not to be let sit by the fire and dry

oneself, without being bothered for a story.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY!! Tell me a story, or it'll be the worse

for you."

My poor grandfather was so dumbfounded that he could only stand and

stare.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY! I told you it'd be the worse for you."

And with that, out there bounced, from a cupboard that Andrew Coffey

had never noticed before, _a man_. And the man was in a towering rage.

But it wasn't that. And he carried as fine a blackthorn as you'd wish

to crack a man's head with. But it wasn't that either. But when my

grandfather clapped eyes on him, he knew him for Patrick Rooney, and

all the world knew _he'd_ gone overboard, fishing one night long years

before.

Andrew Coffey would neither stop nor stay, but he took to his heels and

was out of the house as hard as he could. He ran and he ran taking

little thought of what was before till at last he ran up against a big

tree. And then he sat down to rest.

He hadn't sat for a moment when he heard voices.

"It's heavy he is, the vagabond." "Steady now, we'll rest when we get

under the big tree yonder." Now that happened to be the tree under

which Andrew Coffey was sitting. At least he thought so, for seeing a

branch handy he swung himself up by it and was soon snugly hidden away.

Better see than be seen, thought he.

The rain had stopped and the wind fallen. The night was blacker than

ever, but Andrew Coffey could see four men, and they were carrying

between them a long box. Under the tree they came, set the box down,

opened it, and who should they bring out but--Patrick Rooney. Never a

word did he say, and he looked as pale as old snow.

Well, one gathered brushwood, and another took out tinder and flint,

and soon they had a big fire roaring, and my grandfather could see

Patrick plainly enough. If he had kept still before, he kept stiller