The Field of Boliauns
NE fine day in harvest—it was indeed Lady-day in harvest,
that everybody knows to be one of the greatest holidays in
the year—Tom Fitzpatrick was taking a ramble through the
ground, and went along the sunny side of a hedge; when all
of a sudden he heard a clacking sort of noise a little
before him in the hedge. "Dear me," said Tom, "but isn't
it surprising to hear the stonechatters singing so late in
the season?" So Tom stole on, going on the tops of his toes
to try if he could get a sight of what was making the noise,
to see if he was right in his guess. The noise stopped; but
as Tom looked sharply through the bushes, what should he see
in a nook of the hedge but a brown pitcher, that might hold
about a gallon and a half of liquor; and by-and-by a little
wee teeny tiny bit of an old man, with a little motty of a
cocked hat stuck upon the top
 of his head, a deeshy daushy
leather apron hanging before him, pulled out a little wooden
stool, and stood up upon it, and dipped a little piggin into
the pitcher, and took out the full of it, and put it beside
the stool, and then sat down under the pitcher, and began to
work at putting a heel-piece on a bit of a brogue just fit
for himself. "Well, by the powers," said Tom to himself, "I
often heard tell of the Lepracauns, and, to tell God's
truth, I never rightly believed in them—but here's one of
them in real earnest. If I go knowingly to work, I'm a made
man. They say a body must never take their eyes off them, or
Tom now stole on a little further, with his eye fixed on the
little man just as a cat does with a mouse. So when he got
up quite close to him, "God bless your work, neighbour,"
The little man raised up his head, and "Thank you kindly,"
"I wonder you'd be working on the holiday!" said Tom.
"That's my own business, not yours," was the reply.
"Well, may be you'd be civil enough to tell us what you've
got in the pitcher there?" said Tom.
"That I will, with pleasure," said he; "it's good beer."
"Beer!" said Tom. "Thunder and fire! where did you get it?"
"Where did I get it, is it? Why, I made it. And what do you
think I made it of?"
"Devil a one of me knows," said Tom; "but of malt, I
suppose, what else?"
"There you're out. I made it of heath."
"Of heath!" said Tom, bursting out laughing; "sure you
don't think me to be such a fool as to believe that?"
 "Do as you please," said he, "but what I tell you is the
truth. Did you never hear tell of the Danes."
"Well, what about them?" said Tom.
"Why, all the about them there is, is that when they were
here they taught us to make beer out of the heath, and the
secret's in my family ever since."
"Will you give a body a taste of your beer?" said Tom.
"I'll tell you what it is, young man, it would be fitter for
you to be looking after your father's property than to be
bothering decent quiet people with your foolish questions.
There now, while you're idling away your time here, there's
the cows have broke into the oats, and are knocking the corn
Tom was taken so by surprise with this that he was just on
the very point of turning round when he recollected himself;
so, afraid that the like might happen again, he made a grab
at the Lepracaun, and caught him up in his hand; but in his
hurry he overset the pitcher, and spilt all the beer, so
that he could not get a taste of it to tell what sort it
was. He then swore that he would kill him if he did not show
him where his money was. Tom looked so wicked and so
bloody-minded that the little man was quite frightened; so
says he, "Come along with me a couple of fields off, and
I'll show you a crock of gold."
So they went, and Tom held the Lepracaun fast in his hand,
and never took his eyes from off him, though they had to
cross hedges and ditches, and a crooked bit of bog, till at
last they came to a great field all full of boliauns, and
the Lepracaun pointed to a big boliaun, and says he, "Dig
under that boliaun, and you'll get the great crock all full
 Tom in his hurry had never thought of bringing a spade with
him, so he made up his mind to run home and fetch one; and
that he might know the place again he took off one of his
red garters, and tied it round the boliaun.
Then he said to the Lepracaun, "Swear ye'll not take that
garter away from that boliaun." And the Lepracaun swore
right away not to touch it.
"I suppose," said the Lepracaun, very civilly, "you have no
further occasion for me?"
"No," says Tom; "you may go away now, if you please, and God
speed you, and may good luck attend you wherever you go."
"Well, good-bye to you, Tom Fitzpatrick," said the
Lepracaun; "and much good may it do you when you get it."
So Tom ran for dear life, till he came home and got a spade,
and then away with him, as hard as he could go, back to the
field of boliauns; but when he got there, lo and behold! not
a boliaun in the field but had a red garter, the very model
of his own, tied about it; and as to digging up the whole
field, that was all nonsense, for there were more than forty
good Irish acres in it. So Tom came home again with his
spade on his shoulder, a little cooler than he went, and
many's the hearty curse he gave the Lepracaun every time he
thought of the neat turn he had served him.