on the tregoss moors, where in the long-ago king arthur and his noble knights went a-hunting, was a quaint old thatched cottage built of moorstone, and in it lived an old woman called tamsin tredinnick and her little grand-daughter phillida; it stood between castle-an-dinas—a great camp-crowned hill—and the far-famed roche rocks.

it possessed only one room, which, fortunately, [74]was fairly large, for it had to contain most of old tamsin’s possessions, including a low wooden bedstead, an old oak dresser, a hutch for the grail—a coarse flour of which she made bread for herself and little phillida—and her spinning-wheel.

at the side of the cottage was a small linhey, or outhouse, the door of which the old woman always kept open in inclement weather that the wild creatures of the moors might take shelter from the cold and from the storms that swept over the great exposed moorland spaces.

tamsin was very poor, and could only earn enough to pay the rent of her cottage and to keep herself and little grandchild, who was an orphan, in grail-bread and coarse clothes. this she did by spinning wool, which she sold to a wool-merchant at st. columb, a small market-town some miles away. she was advanced in years, and getting more unfit to spin every year, she told herself; and the less wool she spun the less money she had to spend on food and clothes for herself and phillida. but, poor as she was, she was honest and good, and so was her little orphaned grandchild. they seldom complained, and when things were at their worst, and there was no grail left to make bread, or money to buy any, they told each other they had what bettermost people had not—wide moors to look out upon, and pure moorland air, fragrant with moor-flowers, to breathe into their lungs, little birds to sing to them most of the year, and dear little piskeys [75]to laugh outside their window in the dusk when they were very wisht.1

on the way to tamsin’s cottage.

on the way to tamsin’s cottage.

tamsin was a child of nature, and she loved the big, lonely moors, gorgeous with broom and gorse in the spring-time and fading bracken in the autumn months, with all her simple heart, and so did little phillida. they loved all the moor-flowers—even the duller blossoms of the mint and nettle tribes—that made those great, lonely spaces so wonderful and so full of charm. there was not a flower that broke into beautiful life on the moors but had a place in [76]their hearts. they were their near and dear relations, they said, and as for the birds and other creatures that lived on the moorland, they were to them, as to st. francis, their brothers and sisters, and even the piskeys—the cornish fairies—had a warm place in their affections.

not a great way from tamsin’s cottage was a large piskey circle where the tregoss piskeys danced when the nights were fine and the moon was up, and often when they danced the old grandmother and her little grandmaid would come out on the step of their door and watch them.

they could see the piskey circle quite distinctly from the doorstep, and the piskey-lights which the piskeys held in their hands when they danced. but they never saw the piskeys, for the dinky men, as phillida called them, were very shy, and did not often let themselves be seen by human eyes. the old woman and the child never ventured near their circle when the small people were having their high flings, partly from a feeling of delicacy, and partly for fear of driving them away. the dinky men were as touchy as nesting-birds, tamsin declared, and said that if either she or phillida spied upon them when they were having their frolics they would, perhaps, forsake tregoss moor, which would have been a great misfortune. it was lucky, she said, to have the small people living near a house. so she and her grandchild were content to watch them dancing from a respectable distance. [77]

the place where the piskeys made their circle was very smooth and soft with grass, and the circle lay upon the close, thick turf like a red-gold ring. behind the circle was a small granite boulder, and above the boulder a big furze-bush, which burnt like a fire when the furze was in bloom, and there little yellow-hammers sang their little songs year in and year out.

the tregoss moor piskeys were quite nice for piskeys, and took a great interest in phillida and her old grandmother. they never tried to piskey-lead them into the bogs and stream-works, of which there were many on the moors, nor set up piskey-lights to slock2 them into the piskey circle, which, we must confess, they did to their betters when they had the chance. they were ever so sorry when they knew the grail-hutch was getting empty, which somehow they always did, and that grannie tredinnick, as they called her, because phillida did, had no money to buy grail to fill it; and they hastened to the cottage and peeped through the window and keyhole to see if they were looking wisht, and if they were they would begin to laugh in order to cheer them up and make them forget how hungry and sad they were.

a piskey’s laugh is a gay little laugh, and as unfettered as the song of a lark, and anybody hearing it is bound to feel happy and gay, no matter how wisht he happens to be before. perhaps that is the [78]reason the old saying ‘laughing like a piskey’ is so often quoted in the cornish land.

old tamsin and little phillida always felt better when the dinky men came and laughed outside their door. their laugh acted like a charm on the old woman, and often after the piskeys came and laughed she laughed too, because she could not help it, and she would forget her aches and her pains, and would go to the spinning-wheel and try to spin. she generally found she could, and soon spun enough wool to buy grail to fill the grail-hutch.

tamsin suffered from rheumatism, and when the weather was very wet and raw on the moors her hands and feet were crippled with pain; she could not spin at all, and not even the piskeys’ gay little laughs could charm the pain out of them.

one autumn and the beginning of the following winter were unusually wet, and the old woman’s rheumatism was very bad, and, what was worse still, the dinky men went away from the moors. where they had gone she did not know, and fervently hoped that she and phillida had not offended them in any way.

the hum of the spinning-wheel was silent as the grave, the grail-hutch was empty, and they had had to feed on berries like the birds. when things were at their worst the clouds left off raining, the weather brightened, the sun shone out, and the little brown piskeys came back to the moors. finding out how matters were in the little moorland cottage, they [79]came outside the door and laughed their gay little laugh once more. they laughed so much and so funnily that grannie tredinnick, weak as she was, couldn’t help laughing to save her life; and when they saw her rise up from her chair and go over to the spinning-wheel and make the wheel whirl, they were delighted and laughed again.

the weather not only changed for the better, but warm soft days came, and the yellow-hammers and the black and white stone-chats must have thought summer had come again, and they sang their bright little songs, and the larks went up singing into the blue of the winter sky. tamsin felt better than she had been for months, and became so well and cheerful, what with the brighter weather, the music of the birds, and the free laughter of the dinky men, that she was able to spin from morning shine till evening dark, and very soon she had spun all the wool she had. she sent it in a farmer’s cart to st. columb, and the farmer’s man who took it for her brought back a great big bag of flour and some more wool to spin. but when that was all paid for, and the rent money put aside, all her earnings were gone, which made the good old woman very sad, for she wanted to make a little christmas cake for phillida.

christmas was on its way, and phillida, like most children, looked forward to it; why, she could hardly have told, except that it was the great festival of the nativity, and that grannie always told her of the nice christmasses she had had when [80]she was a croom3 of a cheeld, and that her mother always made her a christmas cake, with a little bird on top, to remind her of the great white birds which sang when the babe was born.

when christmas drew near phillida could think and talk of nothing else but the beautiful christmasses grannie had had when she was a little maid, and of the christmas cake with the little bird on top her mother had made for her. a few days before christmas, as she and her grandmother were sitting down to their dinner of grail-bread, she said:

‘christmas eve will soon be here now, grannie. do you think you can make me a little christmas cake with a little cake-bird on top like those you had? ever such a dinky cake and ever such a dinky bird will do, grannie,’ she added, as the old woman shook her head, ‘just to see what a christmas cake tastes like and the little cake-bird looks like.’

‘i would gladly make ’ee a cake and a little bird,’ said tamsin, ‘if only i was rich; but i am afraid i can’t afford to make ’ee even a dinky one. you can’t buy sugar and spice and other things to make a cake without money, and i ent a got no money, not even a farthing.’

‘haven’t you?’ cried little phillida, her sweet child eyes full of tears. ‘i am so disappointed, grannie; i did so hope you could afford just a dinky cake.’

‘i had hoped so, too, cheeld,’ said the kind old woman. ‘never mind, i’ll ask the piskeys to come [81]in and order you a little dream-cake an’ a little dream-bird.’

‘what is a little dream-cake, grannie, and a little dream-bird?’ asked the child.

‘the piskeys used to come in through the keyhole to pass over the bridges of children’s noses, when i was a little maid like you, to order their dreams. it would be ever so nice if they passed over the bridge of your nose and ordered you a little dream-cake and a little dream-bird.’

‘but you can’t eat cakes in your dreams,’ said little phillida, ‘and you can’t hold little dream-birds in your hands.’

‘can’t you?’ cried grannie. ‘that’s all you know about it. i will ask the dinky men to come through our keyhole to order your dreams the very next time they are outside our cottage.’

‘they are outside now,’ said phillida. ‘i hear them laughing. listen, grannie!’ and the old woman listened, and she knew that the child was right, and that the piskeys were outside their window, for she too heard their laughter.

‘the dinky men be there right enough,’ said tamsin, ‘an’ they are tickled about something, by the way they are laughing.’

‘p’raps they heard what you said about asking them to come in and order me a little dream-cake and a little dream-bird,’ suggested the little maid.

‘i shouldn’t wonder,’ laughed grannie; ‘an’ i’m sure they’ll be willing. i’ll ask them now;’ and [82]getting up from her wooden arm-chair, she went to the door and called softly: ‘little piskeys, are you there?’

but the piskeys made no response to the old woman’s question save by a gay little laugh.

‘if you be there, an’ can hear me,’ said tamsin, ‘i want ’ee to be so good as to come through my keyhole on the evening of christmas eve an’ pass over the bridge of phillida’s nose, an’ order her a little dream-cake with a little dream-bird on top. i shall be so obliged to ’ee if you will, for i am too poor to make the cheeld a real cake an’ a little cake-bird.’

when the old woman had said all this, such a burst of laughter broke on the winter air outside the cottage that phillida rushed to the door and looked out.

she could not see the dinky men, but their laughter was more than enough to tell her that they were there, and grannie said she was sure they had heard what she asked, and would do it gladly.

as they stood on their doorstep they heard the sound of tiny tripping feet going away from the cottage in the direction of the piskey circle; and as they followed the sound they noticed how bright the circle was on the soft green turf.

‘i hear them laughing. listen, grannie!’

‘i hear them laughing. listen, grannie!’

it was a perfect day—one of those very rare days we are privileged to have once or twice in december month—and the moors were full of charm. the many pools on it were full of light, the boulder near the piskey circle was diamond bright in the sunshine, [85]and above it the furze was already breaking into golden blossom. the purple had ‘pulsed’ out of the heath and the pink from the ling, but each little sprig was a marvel of brown, and showed up the silver lichen that splashed the brown. the bracken was brilliant in warm tones of orange and gold, the brambles were every shade of crimson and red, and the haze on the moors was like the bloom of the hurts,4 which still supplied food for the birds [86]on the hills. in the direction of roche, where the great roche rocks stand in lonely solitude, six hundred and eighty feet above the level of the sea, with the ruins of the little chapel dedicated to holy st. michael on their summit, a lark went up singing into the blue, for larks, as most observers of nature know, are seldom out of song. the yellow-hammers were as bright as the brightly-coloured bracken, and sang their cheerful little lays from bramble and bush, and the streams rippled over the moors.

the roche rocks.

the roche rocks.

the old grandmother and her little grandmaid stood on the doorstep taking in the quiet beauty of the moors. they even went out on to the moor, and turned their gaze towards the roche rocks to see if they could see the little sky-bird. after listening ten minutes or longer to the lark and other birds, and to the piskeys laughing, they returned to the cottage.

fine weather seldom lasts long in winter-time, and when christmas eve came it was bitterly cold. a bitter wind blew over the moors from the north, which brought snow in its wake, and phillida said the old woman was up in the sky picking her goose and throwing down the feathers as fast as she could throw them.

the child, who was healthy and strong, did not mind the cold, and she liked watching the feathers of the great sky goose whirling down on the hills and moors; but she was somewhat afraid the dinky men would not come over the snow to order her [87]dreams. but her grandmother told her that she was certain the small people no more minded the cold than she did, and would be sure to come in through the keyhole when they were in bed and asleep.

if phillida did not mind the severe weather, tamsin did. she could hardly keep herself warm in spite of a great fire that blazed on the hearthstone. whatever else she and the child lacked, they always had a good fire to sit by, for the moors supplied them with furze and other firewood.

as it grew towards evening the old grandmother told her little grandchild about christmas, as was her wont whenever christmas eve came round, and why they were told to keep it as a hallowed time. she also told her of the christmas cakes taken hot out of the oven on christmas eve, and christmas birds on top of them, which had made her christmas so bright in those far-away years when she was young like phillida.

grannie’s tales of the long ago were of absorbing interest to the child, who almost forgot that the dinky men were coming to order her dreams that night.

when the day had gone, and night had come, tamsin banked up the fire on the hearthstone, and then she and phillida went to bed. the old woman knew that the piskeys would not come in through the keyhole until they were in bed and asleep.

the child and the old grandmother slept in the same bed, the latter at the head and phillida at the [88]foot. the head of the bed was against the wall by the side of the hearthplace, and tamsin as she lay was in deep shadow, and only her white nightcap could be seen; but phillida’s charming little face was towards the hearth, and the fireshine fell full upon it.

the child had a fair, smooth skin and clear-cut features, and her nose had a beautiful bridge! her hair was thick and wavy, and of a deep red gold—only a little redder than the piskey circle—and her eyes, when they were open, were the soft sweet blue of the cornish tors when the skies were grey.

the red peat and furze fire, like a master of magic, made the interior of the poor little moorland cottage look quite beautiful. the rough walls that went up to the brown of the thatch, where they caught the fireshine, glowed like the small people’s lanterns; the old dresser, which stood by the wall facing the hearth, looked as if it were painted in fairy colours, and the china on it glittered like the boulder near the piskey circle; and even the grail-hutch, a unique piece of furniture often seen in cornish cottages, was turned into a thing of beauty. it was painted orange colour, and its little knobs were black, to which the shine of the fire gave depths and tones and undertones.

by the side of the bed where phillida slept was a fiddle-back chair, and on its seat lay her little blue weekaday frock, that added to the quaint and [89]beautiful picture. only a small part of the cottage was in shadow, and this intensified the brightness of the room where the firelight held sway.

the cottage was looking its brightest, and was as warm as a zam5 oven, when a gay little laugh came through the keyhole, and a merry little face peeped into the room. in another minute a dinky man came out of the keyhole and sat on the wooden latch of the door and gazed curiously about him.

he was ever so dinky, but as cheerful-looking as a robin, in his bright red cloak and his quaint steeple hat; the face under the hat was almost as brown as an apple-pip, and only a shade or two lighter than his whiskers and beard, and his queer little eyes were full of laughter and fun.

‘are the little maid and her grannie asleep?’ called a voice through the keyhole as the dinky man sat on the latch surveying the room.

‘i think so,’ he answered. ‘they are still as mice when madam puss is close to their hole. you are safe to come in.’

‘then in we’ll come,’ cried the little voice; and in the twinkling of an eye a tiny little fellow dressed in green came through the keyhole and pushed off the dinky man sitting on the latch, who fell on his head on old tamsin’s lime-ash floor.

scores of little whiskered piskeys—some in steeple hats and red flowing cloaks, some in green coats and red caps—came through the keyhole, and when they [90]had swung themselves down by the durn6 of the door, they looked towards the bed.

‘i’ll get up on the bed and see if the little maid is really asleep,’ said one of the piskeys; and he climbed up to the top of the fiddle-back chair close to the bed and looked down on the child.

‘is she asleep?’ asked the other little piskeys eagerly.

‘as sound asleep as a seven-sleeper,’7 answered the dinky man, ‘and so is grannie tredinnick,’ sending his glance to the head of the bed. ‘get up on to the bed as soon as you like, to order the little maid’s dreams—the sooner the better. we are powerless to do harm after twelve o’clock, being the night of the birth.’

‘but we have come to do good, not to do harm,’ cried the piskeys one and all, ‘and we will begin at once.’

they scrambled up the legs and back of the old fiddle-back chair, and were on the bed in a quick-stick, and took their places near the sleeping child. some sat all in a row on the edge of the patchwork quilt; some sat, or stood, on the pillow behind the child’s bright little head; others were low down on the pillow; and one winking, blinking little piskey perched himself on her arm and sat cross-legged like a tailor.

‘i will be the first to order the little maid’s dream,’ said one of the piskeys sitting on the edge of the [91]quilt, and scrambling up, he stepped on to phillida’s nose as light as the feathers which the old sky woman had flung down on the moors, and as he walked over the bridge he said:

he stepped on to phillida’s nose as light as the feathers of the old sky woman.

he stepped on to phillida’s nose as light as the feathers of the old sky woman.

‘dream, little maid—dream that you are wide [92]awake, and that you and grannie tredinnick are sitting at a table covered with a cloth as white as piskey-wool,8 and that in the middle of the table is a lovely cake made

‘“of the finest of flour

and fairy cow’s cream—

as sweet as your dream—

and small people’s spice,

and everything nice,

kneaded and mixed,

and done in a trix

in a little dream-bower,”

and on the top of the cake is a dinky bird with wings spread out all ready to fly.’

phillida dreamt as she was ordered, and in her dream she saw the cake, and that it was a beautiful cake, and the little cake-bird was a sweet little bird!

‘what a handsome cake!’ she cried out aloud in her sleep; ‘and the little cake-bird is a dear little bird, and it looks as if it can fly and sing:’ and she laughed so heartily that the piskeys laughed too, and one of the dinky men turned head over heels on the patchwork quilt out of sheer delight that the child was so pleased with her beautiful dream-cake and the little dream-bird.

‘dream that grannie tredinnick is as pleased with the cake and the cake-bird as you are,’ said another little piskey, stepping on to the bridge of phillida’s nose, ‘and that she thinks it is even [93]better than the cakes which were made for her when she was a croom of a cheeld, and the little cake-bird is more like a real bird than those that were on top of her christmas cakes.’

the child dreamt as the piskey ordered, and much beside that the dinky man never thought of ordering. in her dream she not only heard her grandmother say what a beautiful cake it was, and that the little cake-bird looked like a real bird, but that she said: ‘we must cut and eat the cake, but spare the little cake-bird.’ in her sleep she saw the old woman, dressed in her sunday gown and cap, lean over the small oak table and cut her such a big slice of the cake that she cried out in amazed delight:

‘what a great big piece you have given me, grannie!’ and her laugh was as happy and gay as a piskey’s laugh. ‘but i must not eat all this myself; i must crumble some of it for the little moor-birds, and put a piece out on the doorstep for the dinky men. it isn’t a dream-cake, grannie, but a christmas cake, and it has a little christmas bird on top!’

the piskeys looked at one another with a peculiar expression in their round little eyes when the child spoke of putting a bit of her christmas cake on the step of the door for them, and one said, ‘dear little maid!’ and another said ‘pretty child!’ and one little fellow, with a beard reaching to his feet, cried, ‘how kind of her to want us poor little piskeys to have part in the christmas joy!’ one little dinky [94]man whispered: ‘perhaps it is not true what the old whiddle9 says, after all—that we are not good enough for heaven nor bad enough for hell. the child does not think so, evidently, or she would not be so anxious for us to share her little christmas cake.’

the piskey who sat cross-legged on phillida’s arm uncrossed his lean little legs, rose up and stepped on to her nose, and as he walked over its bridge he said ever so tenderly:

‘dream, sweet little phillida—dream that you shared your cake with the dicky-birds, and put a piece of it on the doorstep for the dinky men, which they will treasure as long as there are any dinky men.’

the child dreamt as she was ordered, and when she had put a bit of the cake on the doorstep for the piskeys, she saw in her dream a crowd of dinky men in quaint little green coats, and caps as red as bryony berries, and tiny fellows in red cloaks and green hats, come and take up the cake with solemn faces and bent heads, and carry it away over the moors towards the piskey circle. when they had gone, she stood on the doorstep looking out over the moors, white with the feathers the old sky woman had thrown down; then she lifted her sweet little face to the sky, and saw that it was free from clouds and full of stars, which, she thought, were chiming the wonderful news of the nativity. [95]she was so happy listening to the music of the christmas stars that she forgot she had not tasted her cake till a little piskey sprang on to her nose to turn her dream.

‘dream that you are come over to the table and eating your cake,’ he said, slowly passing over the bridge of her nose.

‘how can i dream that when i am out here on the doorstep listening to the ringing of the star-bells?’ murmured the child in her sleep. ‘i wonder if the dinky men like listening to the star-bells’ music? they are ringing up there in the dark because the babe was born and laid in the cratch.’

‘we shall never get her to dream our dreams if we let her stay there on the doorstep,’ cried the piskeys, looking strangely at one another. ‘we never had such trouble to make a cheeld dream our dreams before.’

‘dream your poor old grannie feels the cold from the open door,’ said a dinky man, jumping on to phillida’s nose with all his weight, which caused her to jerk her head in her sleep, and made the dinky man lose his balance, and over he toppled on the heads of his tiny companions sitting at the bottom of the pillow near the child’s soft white neck, much to the amusement of the other piskeys and his own. they laughed so much, including the wee fellow who was heavy-heeled, that he could not order the dream, and a piskey, when he could stop laughing for a minute, jumped up and stepped on to [96]phillida’s nose, and as he passed over its bridge he said:

‘dream that you shut the door on the cold and the sky goose’s feathers, and come back to the table.’ and phillida reluctantly dreamt as the dinky man ordered, and in her dream she saw herself sitting at the table facing her grandmother, who was munching a bit of the cake and smacking her withered old lips.

‘this is a lovely cake, cheeld-vean.10 we must eat every crumb of it, for we shall never have such another.’

phillida was glad her grannie liked the cake, and she began to eat the generous slice the old woman had given her, and as she ate it she thought it was so delicious that she must go on eating cake for ever and ever. ‘i shan’t want to eat grail-bread after this,’ she said, laughing out loud in her sleep. ‘i shall always eat cake made

‘“of fairy cow’s cream

and every good thing.”’

she was enjoying her dream-cake so very very much in her sleep that the dinky men would have liked her to go on eating it; but the quick ticking of tamsin’s clock told them that time was flying, and they had not yet finished ordering her dreams.

‘dream, little phillida—dream that you and grannie tredinnick have eaten all the cake, and [97]there is nothing left but the little cake-bird,’ said one of the dinky men passing over the bridge of her nose; ‘and that grannie says the little cake-bird is yours.’

phillida dreamt all that, and in her dream her grandmother said, in her kind old voice: ‘the little bird on the top of the cake belongs to the cheeld of the house, and phillida is the only cheeld in my little house. take the cake-bird, phillida, my dear;’ and phillida took it and held it in her little warm hand.

as she was holding it thus a piskey stepped lightly as a ladybird on to her nose, and as he passed over its bridge he said:

‘dream, phillida, dream that your little cake-bird is alive and wants to fly and sing;’ and the child dreamt that the little cake-bird was alive, and was fluttering in her little warm hand, and then it flew out of her hand up to the thatch, and began to sing a wonderful song.

‘what is my little cake-bird singing?’ asked phillida in her sleep.

‘it is singing it is a fairy-bird,’ said a dinky man, passing over the bridge of her nose, ‘and that it is going to sing with other little fairy-birds in the dinky people’s land.’

‘i don’t think my little cake-bird is singing it is a fairy-bird and going to sing in the dinky people’s country,’ said the child in her sleep. ‘its song is much too happy and beautiful for that. what is it [98]singing? please tell me. i do want to know. can’t you tell me?’ she asked as the piskeys looked at one another. ‘ah! i know now what its song is about. my little cake-bird is singing a little song because it is a little christmas bird, and was on top of a christmas cake! isn’t it a lovely song? it has changed its tune now, and it is singing a golden song about the babe who was born on christmas day in the morning. i am a little christian cheeld and know! listen, listen!’ she cried, clasping her hands and lifting her sweet child-face to the thatch. ‘isn’t it wonderful? it thinks it is a little golden bird, and one day will sing with the great white angel birds grannie told me about.’

‘somebody far greater than we little piskeys is ordering phillida’s dreams,’ said the dinky men one to another, ‘which are much more beautiful than we can order.’

just then old tamsin’s clock struck the midnight hour, and the piskeys got off the bed, went across the room, climbed up the durn of the door and out through the keyhole on to the moors, and in a little while they were hastening over the snow-covered turf to the piskey circle, which was a big round door to the dinky people’s land under the moors.