From "The Goldenrod Fairy Book" selected and translated by Esther Singleton; Dodd, Mead & Company; New York; pp. 248-253.
“Well, by the powers,” said Tom to himself, “I often heard tell of the Cluricaune; 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 they’ll escape.”
Tom now stole on a little further, with his eyes 250 fixed on the little man just as a cat does with a mouse, or, as we read in books, the rattlesnake does with the birds he wants to enchant. So when he got up quite close to him, “God bless your work, neighbour,” said Tom.
The little man raised up his head, and “Thank you kindly,” said he.
I wonder you’d be working on a holiday?” said Tom.
“That’s my own business, not yours,” was the reply.
“Well, maybe 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?”
“’Tis 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?”251
“Do as you please,” said he, “but what I tell you is the truth. Did you ever hear tell of the Danes?”
“And that I did,” said Tom; “weren’t them the fellows we gave such a licking when they thought to take Limerick from us?”
“Hem!” said the little man drily; ‘is that all you know about the matter?”
“Well, but about them Danes?” said Tom.
“Why, all 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 all about.”
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 252 like might happen again, he made a grab at the Cluricaune, 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 what he would not do to him if he did now 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 Cluricaune 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 (for the Cluricaune seemed, out of pure mischief, to pick out the hardest and most contrary way), till at last they came to a great field all full of boliaun berries (rag-weed), and the Cluricaune pointed to a big boliaun, and, says he, “Dig under that boliaun and you’ll get the great crock all full of guineas.”
Tom in his hurry had never minded the bringing a spade with him, so he thought to run home and fetch one; and that he might know the place 253 again he took off one of his red garters and tied it round the boliaun.
“I suppose,” said the Cluricaune, 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 Cluricaune, “and much good may it do you with what you’ll get.”
So Tom ran, for the 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 identical 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 Cluricaune every time he thought of the neat turn he had served him.