Hudden and Dudden and Donald O'Neary
There was once upon a time two farmers,
and their names were Hudden
and Dudden. They had poultry in their yards, sheep on the
uplands,
and scores of cattle in the meadowland alongside the river.
But for
all that they weren't happy. For just between their two
farms there
lived a poor man by the name of Donald O'Neary. He had
a hovel over
his head and a strip of grass that was barely enough to
keep his one
cow, Daisy, from starving, and, though she did her best,
it was but
seldom that Donald got a drink of milk or a roll of butter
from
Daisy. You would think there was little here to make Hudden
and
Dudden jealous, but so it is, the more one has the more
one wants,
and Donald's neighbours lay awake of nights scheming how
they might
get hold of his little strip of grass-land. Daisy, poor
thing, they
never thought of - she was just a bag of bones.
One day Hudden met Dudden, and they were soon grumbling
as usual,
and all to the tune of "If only we could get that
vagabond Donald
O'Neary out of the country."
"Let's kill Daisy," said Hudden at last. "if
that doesn't make him
clear out, nothing will."
No sooner said than agreed, and it wasn't dark before
Hudden and
Dudden crept up to the little shed where lay poor Daisy
trying her
best to chew the cud, though she hadn't had as much grass
in the day
as would cover your hand. And when Donald came to see if
Daisy was
all snug for the night, the poor beast had only time to
lick his
hand once before she died.
Well, Donald was a shrewd fellow, and downhearted though
he was,
began to think if he could get any good out of Daisy's
death. He
thought and he thought, and the next day you could have
seen him
trudging off early to the fair, Daisy's hide over his shoulder,
every penny he had jingling in his pockets. Just before
he got to
the fair, he made several slits in the hide, put a penny
in each
slit, walked into the best inn of the town as bold as if
it belonged
to him, and, hanging the hide up to a nail in the wall,
sat down.
"Some of your best whisky," says
he to the landlord.
But the landlord didn't like
his looks. "Is it fearing
I won't pay
you, you are?" says Donald. "why I have a hide
here that gives me
all the money I want." And with that he hit it a whack
with his
stick and out hopped a penny. The landlord opened his eyes,
as you
may fancy.
"What'll you take for that
hide?"
"It's not for sale, my good
man."
"Will you take a gold piece?"
"It's not for sale, I tell
you. Hasn't it kept me and mine for
years?" and with that Donald hit the hide another
whack and out
jumped a second penny.
Well, the long and the short of it was that Donald let
the hide go,
and, that very evening, who but he should walk up to Hudden's
door?
"Good-evening, Hudden. Will
you lend me your best pair of scales?"
Hudden stared and Hudden scratched his head, but he lent
the scales.
When Donald was safe at home, he pulled out his pocketful
of bright
gold and began to weigh each piece in the scales. But Hudden
had put
a lump of butter at the bottom, and so the last piece of
gold stuck
fast to the scales when he took them back to Hudden.
If Hudden had stared before, he stared ten times more
now, and no
sooner was Donald's back turned, than he was of as hard
as he could
pelt to Dudden's.
"Good-evening, Dudden. That
vagabond, bad luck to him--"
"You mean Donald O'Neary?"
"And who else should I mean?
He's back here weighing out sackfuls of
gold."
"How do you know that?"
"Here are my scales that
he borrowed, and here's a gold piece still
sticking to them."
Off they went together, and they came to Donald's door.
Donald had
finished making the last pile of ten gold pieces. And he
couldn't
finish because a piece had stuck to the scales.
In they walked without an "If you please" or "By
your leave."
"Well, I never!" that
was all they could say.
"Good-evening, Hudden. good-evening,
Dudden. Ah! you thought you had
played me a fine trick, but you never did me a better turn
in all
your lives. When I found poor Daisy dead, I thought to
myself,
'Well, her hide may fetch something - ' and it did. Hides
are worth
their weight in gold in the market just now."
Hudden nudged Dudden, and Dudden winked at Hudden.
"Good-evening, Donald O'Neary."
"Good-evening, kind friends."
The next day there wasn't a cow or a calf that belonged
to Hudden or
Dudden but her hide was going to the fair in Hudden's biggest
cart
drawn by Dudden's strongest pair of horses.
When they came to the fair, each one took a hide over
his arm, and
there they were walking through the fair, bawling out at
the top of
their voices: "Hides to sell! hides to sell!"
Out came the tanner:
"How much for your hides,
my good men?"
"Their weight in gold."
"It's early in the day to
come out of the tavern."
That was all the tanner said, and back he went to his
yard.
"Hides to sell! Fine fresh
hides to sell!"
Out came the cobbler.
"How much for your hides,
my men?"
"Their weight in gold."
"Is it making game of me you are! Take that for your
pains," and the
cobbler dealt Hudden a blow that made him stagger.
Up the people came running from one end of the fair to
the other.
"What's the matter? What's the matter?" cried they.
"Here are a couple of vagabonds
selling hides at their weight in
gold," said the cobbler.
"Hold 'em fast - hold 'em fast!" bawled
the innkeeper, who was the
last to come up, he was so fat. "I'll wager it's one
of the rogues
who tricked me out of thirty gold pieces yesterday for
a wretched
hide."
It was more kicks than halfpence that Hudden and Dudden
got before
they were well on their way home again, and they didn't
run the
slower because all the dogs of the town were at their heels.
Well, as you may fancy, if they loved Donald little before,
they
loved him less now.
"What's the matter, friends?" said
he, as he saw them tearing along,
their hats knocked in, and their coats torn off, and their
faces
black and blue. "Is it fighting you've been? or mayhap
you met the
police, ill luck to them?"
"We'll police you, you vagabond.
It's mighty smart you thought
yourself, deluding us with your lying tales."
"Who deluded you? Didn't
you see the gold with your own two eyes?"
But it was no use talking. Pay for it he must, and should.
There was
a meal-sack handy, and into it Hudden and Dudden popped
Donald
O'Neary, tied him up tight, ran a pole through the knot,
and off
they started for the Brown Lake of the Bog, each with a
pole-end on
his shoulder, and Donald O'Neary between.
But the Brown Lake was far, the road was dusty, Hudden
and Dudden
were sore and weary, and parched with thirst. There was
an inn by
the roadside.
"Let's go in," said Hudden, "I'm
dead beat. It's heavy he is for the
little he had to eat."
If Hudden was willing, so was Dudden. As for Donald, you
may be sure
his leave wasn't asked, but he was lumped down at the inn
door for
all the world as if he had been a sack of potatoes.
"Sit still, you vagabond," said Dudden, "if
we don't mind waiting,
you needn't."
Donald held his peace, but after a while he heard the
glasses clink,
and Hudden singing away at the top of his voice.
"I won't have her, I tell you - I won't have her!" said
Donald. But
nobody heeded what he said.
"I won't have her, I tell you - I won't have her!" said
Donald, and
this time he said it louder - but nobody heeded what he
said.
"I won't have her, I tell you - I won't have her!" said
Donald, and
this time he said it as loud as he could.
"And who won't you have, may I be so bold as to ask?" said
a farmer,
who had just come up with a drove of cattle, and was turning
in for
a glass.
"It's the king's daughter.
They are bothering the life out of me to
marry her."
"You're the lucky fellow.
I'd give something to be in your shoes."
"Do you see that now! Wouldn't
it be a fine thing for a farmer to be
marrying a princess, all dressed in gold and jewels?"
"Jewels, do you say? Ah,
now, couldn't you take me with you?"
"Well, you're an honest
fellow, and as I don't care for the king's
daughter, though she's as beautiful as the day, and is
covered with
jewels from top to toe, you shall have her. Just undo the
cord, and
let me out, they tied me up tight, as they knew I'd run
away from
her."
Out crawled Donald - in crept the farmer.
"Now lie still, and don't
mind the shaking - it's only rumbling over
the palace steps you'll be. And maybe they'll abuse you
for a
vagabond, who won't have the king's daughter - but you needn't
mind
that. Ah! it's a deal I'm giving up for you, sure as it
is that I
don't care for the princess."
"Take my cattle in exchange," said
the farmer - and you may guess it
wasn't long before Donald was at their tails driving them
homewards.
Out came Hudden and Dudden, and the one took one end of
the pole,
and the other the other.
"I'm thinking he's heavier," said
Hudden.
"Ah, never mind," said Dudden, "it's
only a step now to the Brown
Lake."
"I'll have her now! I'll have her now!" bawled
the farmer, from
inside the sack.
"By my faith, and you shall though," said
Hudden, and he laid his
stick across the sack.
"I'll have her! I'll have her!" bawled
the farmer, louder than ever.
"Well, here you are," said
Dudden, for they were now come to the
Brown Lake, and, unslinging the sack, they pitched it plump
into the
lake.
"You'll not be playing your tricks on us any longer," said
Hudden.
"True for you," said Dudden. "Ah,
Donald, my boy, it was an ill day
when you borrowed my scales."
Off they went, with a light step and an easy heart, but
when they
were near home, who should they see but Donald O'Neary,
and all
around him the cows were grazing, and the calves were kicking
up
their heels and butting their heads together.
"Is it you, Donald?" said Dudden. "Faith,
you've been quicker than
we have."
"True for you, Dudden, and
let me thank you kindly - the turn was
good, if the will was ill. You'll have heard, like me,
that the
Brown Lake leads to the Land of Promise. I always put it
down as
lies, but it is just as true as my word. Look at the cattle."
Hudden stared, and Dudden gaped - but they couldn't get
over the
cattle - fine fat cattle they were too.
"It's only the worst I could bring up with me," said
Donald O'Neary -
"the others were so fat, there was no driving them.
Faith, too, it's
little wonder they didn't care to leave, with grass as
far as you
could see, and as sweet and juicy as fresh butter."
"Ah, now, Donald, we haven't always been friends," said
Dudden,
"but, as I was just saying, you were ever a decent lad,
and you'll
show us the way, won't you?"
"I don't see that I'm called
upon to do that - there is a power more
cattle down there. Why shouldn't I have them all to myself?"
"Faith, they may well say,
the richer you get, the harder the heart.
You always were a neighbourly lad, Donald. You wouldn't
wish to keep
the luck all to yourself?"
"True for you, Hudden, though
'tis a bad example you set me. But
I'll not be thinking of old times. There is plenty for
all there, so
come along with me."
Off they trudged, with a light heart and an eager step.
When they
came to the Brown Lake, the sky was full of little white
clouds,
and, if the sky was full, the lake was as full.
"Ah! now, look, there they are," cried
Donald, as he pointed to the
clouds in the lake.
"Where? where?" cried Hudden, and "Don't
be greedy!" cried Dudden,
as he jumped his hardest to be up first with the fat cattle.
But if
he jumped first, Hudden wasn't long behind.
They never came back. Maybe they got too fat, like the
cattle. As
for Donald O'Neary, he had cattle and sheep all his days
to his
heart's content. |