A Fairy Thorn.

Auckland Star, Volume XXVII, Issue 271, 14 November 1896, Page 3 (Supplement)

A Fairy Thorn.

THE TREE OF THE LOST CHILDREN —A SWEET OLD IRISH LEGEND.

By Gerald Brenan.

Old Shaun and young Shaun dwelt together in their little thatched cottage, half way up the wind-swepb hill. The rushes grew thickly around the foot of their tiny farmstead, and the yellow blossomed gorse crept down to its higher bounds. On a clear day one could ccc far into the valley of the Feor from old Shaun's dikesida, aud there was nothing in all the world bo pleasant) for young Shaun as when he rested by his grandfather's door and dreamed over the prospect spread below.

He had never set foot in the valley, for he was somewhat of a cripple, and crutches do not admit of mountain climbing. Yet he knew it all by heart—every village and park and stretch of woodland. He could follow with closed eyes the white highroad, and the grey bohareen3 running into it ; the winding track of the Feor River was familiar to him, and he knew the names of all the churchspiree and great houses trom the blue northern hills to that enchanted patch of silvery misfc which told where the city lay.

But old Shaun cared nothing for the prospect. Perhaps itr had palled on him through the long, uneventful years spent up there on the hillside. Perhaps the great sorrow of his life, brought home to him as it was by every glimpse of the valley, made him shrink from gazing as his grandchild did upon that smiling Irish landscape.

Young Shaun knew full well the nature of the old farmer's sorrow. It was his sorrow, too, in a measure; but he never fully realised

its bitterness, since he was a babe in arms

when it came to paas.

In th 9 by-gone di\y3 th9ra had been another Shaun— the second of the name— olu Shaun'd only son, and the crippled boy's father. Ho, too, »had spent hours of hia youth in rapt contemplation of the bouitiful valley, and tho drudgery and confinement of farm life, so far away frotu the Imunta of man, tilled hia ioul wi&h wild, vague yearning* for travel and adventure. Ha" longed to leave the bleak mountain Bida, aud to steep himself ia the richness which the enticing valley seemed to otier. Indeed, he broached the subject to old Shaun, bub the farmer refused to let his son go forth into the unknown and dreaded world. So one day this sorely tempted Shaun wrapped up a hasty bundle, slung | it on an ash plant, and hade fatewell to the lonely cottage. Old Shaun was cruelly an^ry ab bbis disobedience ; and when, just a year later, the wanderer returned, footsore, pennilessj and entirely disillusioned regarding the alluring valley, ho drove him wrathfuily from the door. No doubt old Shaun felt certain that his son would come back ags\in and ouce more beg forgiveness Id hia heart he meanb ultimately to pardon the boy, and take him to the old niche in his heart. But he reckoned without the stern, proud nature of the bnnished Shaun. Weeka passed into months, months rolled into years, and still his son came nob to the mountain farm. Reoaorse smote old Shaun, and with it its sister, grief. Hia dark hair grew grey ; greab wrinkles enmeshed his face, and the neighbours noticed that he needed a staff to walk with when he came down the crosspath to church of a Sunday morning. j Still he laboured teeolutoly at bis little ! holding, never fertile at its best, working i for tha good of the boy who had gone out j of his life, but; for whose return hQ never ceased to hope. At last, during the early summer—'the emigrant's season ' (alas !) in poor Ireland— there came a message and a gift from the absent. The gilt was a meagre, crippled baby, and the brief message read : • Pear Father —You would nob have me. Perhaps you'll take tho child. Shaun is his name, and his mother is dead. I'm off for America, unless yon send the boy back to me by the bearer. — Your son, Shaun.' ! Old Shaun d<id not ' send the boy bade by the bearer.' He kept him, and had hiia nursed and m:ide much of. The fact thai; his charge was lame the farmer looked upon as a certain evidence of heaven's disI pleasure with himself.

And so time hastened over the stepping stones of the years and found young Shaun j gazing into we valley aa hia father had done, and old Shaun morose and silent,, j over thinking and longing for the son ha I had cast away. Ib waa on a certain fair day, when the grandfather had departed with a drove of black mountain sheep, that young Shaun, left all alone by the dikeside, first evolved his groat) project. He began as usual by an inspiring glance ab the valley ; buc the day was cloudy, and his beloved prospect proved hard to distinguish. So ho fell to thinking, instead, over his grandfather's sorrow, and wondering if there were not some way by which ib could ba assuaged. If only he were not,. lame !If only he could cast aside his crutchea and go forth to seek his father ! But such things were impossible—abaurd. The boy's meditations were broken in upon'by a hearty voice hailing him from across the dyke. He looked up to see a tail, sturdy man, dressed in what seemed to young Shaun very fine clothes indeed ; and eporting a brilliant gold watch chain across the somewhat broad expanse of his waistcoat. Shaun liked the man instinctively. Ho had an honest, good-humoured t face, and his eyes twinkled merrily under their twin thatches of bushy hair. 1 God save you,' said the stranger, to

which young Shaun answered in the quaint delightful Irish fashion, ' God save ye kindly.'

Then the stranger asked for old Shaun, and on being told that he was at the fair stepped over the dike and engaged the lad in cotsversation. He was a most entertaining man, this gorgeously dressed wayfarer, and almost before he knew it young Shaun was eagerly confiding iv him all his small trials and tribulations. The big man laughed peculiarly over the longing of hia boy friend to explore the valiey, but he looked grave' enough when told of old Shaun's sorrow, and how the aged farmer pined for his lost son. Presently he smiled again, and asked the boy why his grandfather had never visited the ' Tree of the Lost Children.1

Young Shaun started. He had never heard of a'nj ' Tree of the Lost Children.' ' What!' exclaimed the stranger. « And you a Slievecarney boy. Never heard tell of the famous tree ?'

Young Shaun shook his head. 'Tell me about it,' he whispered eagerly. ' Why,' said his'new friend, sicting beside the listening lad, * 'tis an old, old story. . . . . The tree is a fairy blackthorn, an' is stands on the very top of the hills beyond, where the iairy rath ia. They say that Saiut Patrick blessed it, and promised that if ever son or daughter came to be carried off to Fairyland, or to leave their parents' roof tree, that tree should be their tryating place. For, if the sorrowing father or mother ehould make a voyage'to fche tree, at the full o' the moon, an' call three times upon the missing child, the lost would straightway be found. ... In old timas many an1

many a lost child was found at the fairy blackthorn, but people are getting forgetful in Ireland now-a-daya, an' I suppose even your grandfather has forgotten the " Tree of the Lost Children."'

'I will tell him,' cried young Shaun. ' I'll make him go there when be comes back—this very nighb ho'll go there/

1 Aye avick ; do so,' said the stranger and it was noticeable that tha more he talked the more his accents lose the po!;ch of travel and became instinct with tho brogue of Ireland. Young Shaun insisted upon having full particulars regarding the exact position of the fairy tree,-and would, doubtless, hive kept his kindly informant by the dykeside all the afternoon, had not the latter's keen eyes discerned the figure of a man toiling up the hill road.' ' Is not thac your grandfather ?' he a3ked, and youn^ Shaun recognising the bent back and blue coat, answered that it was. Then tho stranger roae, saying that he must, perforce, continue his journey, and lett the lamo boy in a condition half of joy and half of doubt.

111. No sooner where he and his grandfather seatted overtheir dinner, than young Shaun plunged into tha great news of the day. ' Grandad, he asked, ' have yo ever heard tell o' the " Tree o' the Lost Children !" ' The old man started slightly. ' Aye,' he mumbled. ' 'Tis an ould wife's story. I had forgot it, I'm thinkin". ' There was a gendeman here to-day then,' continued young Shaun, volubly, ' chut knew al! about it. . . . He tould uau to tell you that if you went there, and called out my dad's name three times, the lost would bo found an' day, would come back to us again.' Oid Shaun had risen, and was trembling, hiu lack-lustre eyes fixed upon the boy. 1 Will yo go to the fairy tree, grandad ?' demanded the boy.

Youxo ,'Jhaux Stared, He Had Never Heard or Asv 'Trek op -the Lost Children/ For a sevjond the fanner's face seemed to light up : then the old gloom re-setfcled upon it, acid be sank back upon tha oaken eebt.ee. > ' 'Tis only am ould wife's tale, avbk,' he said. .. ". * Yer father ia gone forever, ' I'm afeard.' Young Shaan stumped across eg the settes and pab iMse arm around the sunburnt neck. ' Sure an' 'tis worth thryin', ab any rate,' ho cried. ' Say ye'K chry it, grandad. At first old Sbaun could nob be persuaded ; but the boy's simpie faith finally conquered, and ib was finally settled that feho twain should make t.he journey to tha

• Tree of thg Lost Children ' that very night. , 'Though 'tis a wild-goose chase, grumbled the old farmer; 'an' how ye re goin' to get there an' back on yor cruschea, avick, is more nor I can tell.' ' Nabocklish !' lightly answered yoang Shaun, joyous at having carried his point. • I can get there on my two crutches, gra'dad, an'—an' sure, maybe there'll be dad himself to carry me home.' But old Shann shook his head sadly, and a great tear rolled down the ridges of hi» time-worn cheek.

IV. It was about the full of the moon that night that the two Shauns, the old man and his crippled grandson, clambered over the rude etile and slowly ascended the mountain road. Young Shaun hobbled manfully onward and upward ; for hopa lent him a third crutch to aid hia sfeeps. But old Shaun walked as one in a dream, with bent head and laboured gait.

The distance was nob long; and presently they stood side by side upon the breezy heath, from which rose an ancient • rath' or deserted fort, grass-grown, and, like all rath?, reputed to be the nightly haunt of elf and fay. Overhead fcha stare twinkled blithely, and the queenly orb of night, • moving near her highest noon,' told them that the moment for their appeal to the fairy tree was at hand. Slowly—somewhat fearfully—theypaased through the protecting belt of heather, toward that) side of tha rath from which, black against the moonlighb, they could see the rugged branches of the thorn tree —the •Tree of the Lost Children. 1 Here and there a hare, startled from its faun, set young Shaun's heart thumping vigorously, or the call of a screeoh owl made him almost wish he had not come on this midnight journey. At length they reached the tree and the old farmer, removing his caubeen, and solemnly lifting his eyes to the starry heavens, repeated three times the words : • Shaun, my eon, I implore ye to return !' There was a rustling among the fureebushea on the side of the rath and a stalwart figure leaped into the open. 11 am here!' cried a voice, and two brawuy hands rested lovingly on old Shaun's shoulders. The grey - haired farmer shuddered violently, and must have fallen had nob those same strong hands held him up. Then he stared- into the face of the newcomer. •Don't ye kcow me, father?'exclaimed this very palpable apparition ; and then at last old Shaun found voico.

' 'Tis my boy !' he cried. ' !Tia my lo3b Shaun !' And falling upon hi 3 son's neck, liko the King in the old Bible etory, ho wept for very joy. But young Shaun hobbled forward and pluckod the man who held hia grandfather by the sleeve. ' Sure ye're the game that epoke to me by the dyke, beyoud !' he faltered, 'Aye, avick,' answered old Shaun's son. • 'Tvvas myself sure enough. I wanted to learn if you and ycur grandad here really wanted me back again.'

Then raiaing the old man's head tenderly, he whispered : • We'll cure his crooked leg yet, father. 'Tis plenty o' money I've been uiakin' all these years m America beyond ; but now I'm come home to spend my days an1 my dollars with you an' the .boy. 'Tia the finesb surgeons in the land he'll have ; an' a grand man we'll make of him entirely.'

Old Shaun smiled through hia tears. ' Just the yame as ever,' he said ; ' my own, ligsii-hearted Shaun !' Toung Shaun was right when he declared that his return journey would ba easy on tha. vi eventful night. His new found father cirried him all the way to tha farmhouse door, from the lucky ' Tree of the Lost Children.'