Dragonfield by Jane Yolen

Author:Jane Yolen [Yolen, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-2328-2
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-05-07T23:25:00+00:00

The Bull & the Crowth

THERE WAS ONCE A shoemaker named Jamie Green and oh, but he was a bonny man. He could measure and fit a shoe faster than you could say Jack Derrystones, and not another cobbler could outdo him at his last. He had fitted mayors and mistresses, and made riding boots for a baron.

He had a fine eye for the horses, too. And one for the ladies also. But best of all, Jamie Green loved to play on the fiddle and the crowth.

Of his fiddling, well, there’s nought to be said excepting he could squeak a note or three and it wasn’t all that unpleasing to the ear. He could pick out enough dance tunes to play along with a band, though it was better when the band was loud and the crowd three drinks past caring.

But of his playing on the crowth, this must be said: where he plucked, he should have fiddled, and where he fiddled, he should have plucked and it would be better for all if he never laid a hand to it at all, at all. But never a body would he listen to if they said ill of his notes.

“Why, my crowth sings like the birds,” Jamie would say. “It is the Irish nightingale itself you hear whenever I settle myself to play.” For of course it followed that he was prouder of his playing than of his leatherwork. And it was sad that he could not see that at the last he was a master while at the crowth he was but a poor apprentice.

It happened on a holyday that a great fair was to be held just a short way down the road. And Jamie Green was not the man to be left home by himself. After all, at a holyday fair there were sure to be horses and women and song. So Jamie closed up his shop and picked up his crowth and set his feet upon the road. The wind was fair on his face and the sun bright on his hand.

“I shall go and play with my friends on the green,” thought Jamie to himself. “And won’t they be pleased to see me coming,” for there is no liar like the one who lies to himself. He has a fool indeed for an audience.

Jamie had not gone but half the way there when suddenly what should be blocking the road before him but a giant red bull. It had horns as wide as the doorways to hell and a wicked knowing gleam in its eye. It snorted and pawed the ground, striking fire from the rocks with each blow.

Jamie looked this way and that, up the road and down, and fortunately he spied a sturdy tree but a few paces behind. He gave no more thought to the holyday fair, but putting one foot in back of the other, slowly and quietly, he crept to the tree. Then, smiling at the bull, he upped with a hand and pulled himself onto a branch.

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