Long, long ago there was a giant who lived in a cave in the hills of northern Scotland.  When I say that he lived in a cave, that is the absolute truth.  The giant had always known that he could not leave the cave – at least during the daytime – for it had been prophesied when he was young that if the sun’s rays ever were to shine on him, it would mean grave danger, perhaps even death.

The giant had a servant, a man who had wandered into the cave to seek shelter during a storm and had been captured by the giant and prevented from leaving – except on short errands.  The giant would send him to the market every week and on other errands to fetch things the giant needed or thought he needed, but dire threats prevented the servant from daring to make an escape.

In fact, this servant was only the latest in a succession of prisoner servants.  Over the centuries, there had been many.  The giant was always on the lookout for such folks – hapless people who were hunting on the mountain and became lost, even the occasional curious person who had heard tales of the giant and wanted to see for himself.  Each servant would do the giant’s bidding for a time, but they never lasted long.  Sometimes they would anger the giant and he would kill them.  Very occasionally one would escape.  And it must also be said that the giant was always very hungry, and sometimes he would simply eat his servant.  Usually, however,  they simply died a natural death.  Since giants live for hundreds of years, the humans would always die eventually, and the giant would have to find another servant.

One night, the servant heard the giant talking in his sleep – and what he was saying was that he was planning to eat his servant the next morning.  The servant had always hoped for an opportunity to escape, and now he knew that he’d have to act quickly if he were to save his own life.

That very night, while the giant was still snoring away and before the giant would wake and demand breakfast, the servant sneaked out of the cave.  He took with him three things – the golden comb which the giant used to comb his long beard, the whetstone which the giant used to sharpen his axe, and a bottle of water.

He had a good head start, but finally the giant awoke, discovered that his servant was gone, and gave chase.

Soon the servant realized that the giant was chasing him.  The heavy footsteps shook the ground, and the giant’s roar could be heard even miles away.  The servant looked over his shoulder and saw the giant, coming closer and closer.  He threw the golden comb behind him, and instantly it grew into a thick forest – with trees so large and close together that the giant had to stop.  However, the giant was not completely thwarted, for his teeth were made of iron.  He began to gnaw on the trunks of the trees, felling one tree after another, until he had cleared a path through the forest, and he was again gaining on the servant.

When the giant came close a second time, the servant threw the whetstone behind him, and it instantly turned into a mountain, so tall and wide that the giant had to stop again..  But the giant hammered at the mountain with his iron fists, and soon it was nothing but a pile of rubble.  The pursuit continued.

When the giant came in sight again, the servant threw down the bottle of water, and an vast lake appeared.  The giant stopped and began to drink the water of the lake.  The servant knew full well that the giant’s stomach could hold a great amount of water, all of the water of the lake and more, and he feared for his life.

However, just as the giant was drinking the last of the water, the sun rose over the mountain.  When the morning rays of the sun fell upon the giant, he simply turned to stone.

It is said that all that remains of the terrible giant is a tall standing stone.  But which standing stone is it exactly?  This story is said to come from Scotland, but similar stories are told in England, Ireland, Wales – and even Norway.  And standing stones are found in all of those areas.  So we cannot be absolutely sure, but whenever and wherever you see a standing stone, look closely.  Does it resemble an ancient giant?  And for safety’s sake, beware of entering unknown caves, for who knows what lurks inside?!

The post “The Stone Giant” first appeared on San Diego Scottish Highland Games.

The post The Ghostly Piper of Duntrune Castle first appeared on San Diego Scottish Highland Games.

The cook took the crane, prepared it and put it on a spit to roast it.  He basted it with the finest oil and rubbed it with many herbs and spices.  As it roasted, the air was filled with a delicious aroma.  The cook found his mouth watering and his stomach rumbling.  As he turned the spit, he thought, “Ah, wouldn’t I like just a taste of this bird?”  After a while, he thought, “I imagine that it will taste as good as it looks and smells, but how can I be sure?  Clearly, I must have a small taste, just to be certain that I serve the finest food to the laird’s companions.”

So saying, he cut a small piece off one of the crane’s legs.  It was as delicious as he expected.  In fact, it was so succulent, so juicy, that the cook could not resist.  He cut off another piece and then another, until he had eaten the entire leg.

When he realized what he had done, he was worried.  What would the laird say when he served the crane which was now missing a leg?  The cook arranged the bird on a large platter and surrounded it with vegetables and other embellishments, so that the missing leg was not apparent.

The dinner went well, and the laird’s friends praised the delicious meat.  The laird graciously accepted the compliments.  He had noticed that the crane had only one leg, but he didn’t mention it to his guests.  However, later the laird stormed into the kitchen and furiously accosted the cook.

“How dare you serve my guests a crane that was missing a leg?  It is fortunate that they did not notice, but I certainly did.  How do you explain this?”

The cook was not only a skilled cook but was also a clever man, so he quickly replied, “Of course, the crane had only one leg.  All cranes have only one leg.”

“What a lie,” said the laird.  “Come with me and we will see the truth of the matter.”

The laird took the cook riding through the estate until they came to the river.  There they saw several cranes standing near the shore.

“See,” said the cook triumphantly, “The cranes are standing on one leg.  One leg only, just as I said.”

“But they have two legs!” insisted the laird.  He gave a loud shout and clapped his hands, and each of the cranes lowered the other leg and flew away.  “What do you say now?” demanded the laird.  “Is it not clear?”

The cook hesitated only a second.  “What is clear is that if you had only shouted and clapped your hands at dinner last night, the crane would surely have lowered its second leg.”

The laird’s anger turned to amusement.  “Your cleverness has saved you,” he said.  “You will not be punished, but from now on will be not only my cook, but also my advisor.”

The post The Laird and the Crane first appeared on San Diego Scottish Highland Games.

Contributed by Marilyn McPhie

Isle Maree is one of sixty-six small islands on Loch Maree in the west of Scotland. 

Hundreds of years ago, Loch Maree was ruled by a Viking Prince named Olaf.  He was a skilled and fierce warrior and commanded a group of fighters on a ship on Loch Ewe. 

When Olaf fell in love, his fighting men despaired.  They feared that he would want to settle down with his bride and would no longer join them in their battles.  And indeed, this seemed to be the case.  Olaf built a tower on the island, and he and his wife lived there in harmony for a time. 

An ambitious expedition had been planned for many months, and Olaf’s men begged him to lead them as he once had.  Afraid for his safety, Olaf’s bride urged him to stay safe with her.  However, the success of the expedition, the men insisted, depended on him.  And finally, Olaf was convinced. 

When he told his wife that he intended to join the expedition, he assured her that he loved her and would return to her as soon as possible. They devised a plan to let her know of his safety.  When his ship was returning and was in sight of the tower, he would fly a white flag.  Thus, she could see from far away that he was still alive.  However, in the event that he had died in the expedition, his men would fly a black flag so that she would prepare herself for the tragic loss.  The flags were obtained and taken with Olaf on his ship.

The expedition was a success, and on his return to Isle Maree, Olaf had his men hoist the white flag so that his wife would know of his safe return.  However, in his absence, Olaf’s wife had been consumed with worry.  She worried that he would be killed in battle.  She worried that, even if he were not killed in battle, once he returned to his warrior life, he would no longer be content to stay with her.  He would be drawn into one battle after another.  She even worried that he had forgotten her or never really loved her.  As these thoughts swirled in her head, she decided to test Olaf’s love for her.

When one of her lookouts informed her that Olaf’s ship was approaching and flying a white flag, the wife set out to meet him in her own small boat.  She instructed her men to raise a black flag on her boat, to indicate that in Olaf’s absence, she had perished.  Then she placed herself on a bier in the center of the boat, pretending to be dead.  She instructed her maidens to surround the bier, weeping, and mourning.  She wanted to see Olaf’s reaction.  Would he really mourn her?  That would be a test of his love.

When Olaf saw the black flag flying from his wife’s boat, he was filled with dread.  When he leapt aboard and saw her lying on the bier, apparently lifeless, he uttered a single cry of anguish and plunged his dirk into his chest.  His wife immediately ended her charade of death, but it was too late.  Olaf was dead, lying in a pool of blood.  His bride snatched the dirk and plunging it into her own heart, followed her lover in death. 

The bodies of Olaf and his love are said to be buried on Isle Maree with their feet towards each other, so that when they rise in the afterlife, they will be facing each other.  The graves can still be seen, marked with two stones engraved with medieval crosses, beneath a canopy of holly.  A tragic warning to all who would foolishly set tests for their lovers.

The post A Scottish Romeo and Juliet Story first appeared on San Diego Scottish Highland Games.

Robert Burns is known worldwide as one of Scotland’s most famous sons.  He was born on January 25, 1759, in Ayrshire, Scotland, and every year on his birthday there are many, many festive gatherings to celebrate this Scottish poet. 

As with most celebrities, fans have always wished to have a souvenir of the man – something – small or large – that belonged to him, or, if that were not possible, at least some trinket that brought back his memory.

Robert Burns himself made the souvenir-seeking easier.  In his considerable library of books, he often inscribed them with his name and occupation – “Robert Burns, Poet,” leaving no doubt of the provenance of these volumes.

After his death, the desire for souvenirs continued, and those who possessed such objects displayed them proudly.  In 1875, a man in Dumfries named John Brodie boasted of possessing a brace of pistols and a sword that had once belonged to Robert Burns.

 An interesting story of a relic-hunter is told of an English gentleman who came to visit the widow of Robert Burns.  He explained that he wished to obtain something that had belonged to the poet.  When the widow replied that the sort of items he sought had long been given away to others, the man was not deterred.  Wasn’t there something, even something small like a paper with his handwriting on it?  No, there was not, the widow replied.  But the man would not give up.  He insisted that there must be something he could have.

Finally, the widow simply said, “Well, sir, unless you take myself, I really can think or no other relic of him that it is in my power to give or yours to receive.” 

Whether the souvenir-hunter wanted to press forward with the suggestion or not, it is reported that this ended the discussion.

If you wish to have a Burns souvenir today, you may not find anything the poet actually owned.  But there are plenty of other possibilities.  A simple internet search will offer you Burns t-shirts and mugs, of course – but also kitchen towels, spoons, thimbles, bookmarks, teacups, cufflinks, and even socks.

The post Robert Burns Souvenirs first appeared on San Diego Scottish Highland Games.

Visitors to Scotland have always admired – and photographed – the River Shin near Inverness.  They say that there is no more beautiful spot in all of Scotland than the west bank that leads to the Shin Falls.  The steep bank of the river is covered with birches, bracken, moor flowers, deep pools, and shimmering waterfalls.  All who visit there say that it is lovely – and what they also say is that long, long ago even Christ found it surpassingly beautiful.  He loves all of the world, of course, but he has a special fondness for the Highlands, with their incomparable glens and vistas. Over the centuries, Christ has often visited this favorite spot – usually in winter, when there are few humans about.  The beasts, birds, and even fish come out to greet him.

The legend tells that one clear winter night, near the time when Christmas is celebrated, Christ came to the River Shin.  The moon was full and bright, and it shone down upon the frost-covered branches of the trees, transforming everything into a wonderland.  In the midst of admiring and rejoicing in the beauty, Christ noticed that the fish in the river seemed distressed, in trouble.  He called upon a large salmon, asking what could be troubling the fish in the midst of all of this winter beauty.

The salmon replied that the world they lived and swam in was indeed beautiful, but their pleasure in it would not last.  The salmon explained that the fish could sense a freeze coming, a deep and penetrating freeze.  The very river, the salmon explained, was likely to freeze, and that would mean the death of all the fish who lived there.

“A freeze is the one thing we fear,” said the salmon, “the one danger against which we are helpless.”

It is said that Christ took pity on the salmon and other fish in the Shin River.  He stretched out his hand to bless the river, and in doing so, he assured the salmon, “You do not need to be afraid.  The waters of this river will never freeze again.”And it is well known among those who dwell near the River Shin, those who fish in that river, and those who visit to admire its beauty – that the River Shin never freezes.  And this, according to legend, is the reason.

The post The River Shin – A Scottish Christmas Legend first appeared on San Diego Scottish Highland Games.

Many years ago in the Spey Valley, there lived a notable woman.  Some called her a witch, but if that was true, she was a witch of the very best kind.  She was called Dame Aliset, and she had great skill and knowledge.  She could predict the weather.  And, with little more difficulty, she could also predict the future.  She could tell people where to find hidden or forgotten treasures.  She could care for animals, which seemed to recognize her skillful touch and sympathy.  She could advise young women and men about their prospects for marriage – and once they were married, she could give good advice on how to maintain happy relations.

All of these skills were much valued and much in demand among all who lived nearby, and even miles away.  But by far the most valued of Dame Aliset’s skills was in curing the sick.  Fevers, broken bones – all manner of ailments were treated with herbs, potions, and words of healing power.

One night, in the very middle of the night, there was a knock on the door of Dame Aliset’s cottage.  This was by no means an unusual occurrence.  The woman arose, lit a candle, and opened the door.  There she saw a tiny man, no taller than five feet high, wearing old-fashioned clothing, and holding the reins of two ponies.  She greeted the man and asked what he wanted.  He explained that his mistress had sent him to fetch her, as her child was very ill.

Dame Aliset dressed quickly, asked a few questions about the child who required her care, and she began to pack a basket with items she might need.  Then she set off on one of the ponies, with the little man on the other.  As they headed down the lane, Dame Aliset explained that they would need to stop briefly at the Well of Healing for water to fill an empty flask she had brought along.  When they reached the well, the little man dismounted and courteously filled the flask for her.  As he was thus occupied, Dame Aliset picked a bunch of rowan flowers nearby and tucked them into the bodice of her dress.  She had guessed who the little man’s mistress was and what she had been sent for, and she knew that rowan blossoms would be of help.

They rode along for a time and finally came to the fairy hill beside the river, and the two of them entered.  Dame Aliset was greeted by a magnificent creature, the queen of the fairies, whose dazzling beauty was only diminished by the look of grave concern on her face.  She led the woman to her daughter, who was lying on a bed of fur.  The child was moaning and tossing and had a high fever.

Dame Aliset went to work at once.  She mixed some of the herbs she had brought with some of the water from the Well of Healing and had the child drink a cupful.  Then she instructed the fairy queen to bathe her daughter with more of the precious water.  After a time, a second dose of the healing potion was administered, and later a third.  Finally, the girl fell into a comfortable sleep, her fever gone and her skin cool. 

“She’ll do now,” declared Dame Aliset, and she prepared to leave, giving a few instructions for follow-up care. 

The fairy queen was relieved and grateful, of course, and so were all of the little people.  They surrounded Dame Aliset and offered her splendid gifts of all kinds to repay her for her service, but Dame Aliset just smiled and refused to take anything.  “If you really wish to give me a gift, you can give me the gift of your friendship.  That would surely be gift enough.”

The little people assured her that they would always consider her a dear friend, but in addition, they said they’d offer an extra gift to Dame Aliset and anyone she told.  The gift was that if anyone washed in the waters of the spring that fed the Well of Healing, that person would be youthful and beautiful forever.  It is said that the waters of that well still possess the gift that was given to Dame Aliset that day.  However, sadly, the exact location of the well is no longer known.

The post The Fairies’ Gift first appeared on San Diego Scottish Highland Games.

Once long ago, there was a man and a woman who lived in a small cottage in Orkney. They shared the cottage with two
others – their son and a cow. The cow’s name was Bukolla, and the man and woman valued her greatly. Every day she
gave them no less than forty pints of milk. They used some for themselves and sold or traded the rest. Bukolla’s milk
was so plentiful and so rich, that they didn’t have to do any work at all. They also shared the cottage with their son.
And although the story records the cow’s name, it does not tell us the boy’s name. He was not valued in the household,
so his parents referred to him only as “the boy.”
The boy loved Bukolla. As soon as he awoke every morning, he greeted Bukolla. He made sure that every day she was
led to the best and greenest pastures. He sat with her and sang to her. Whenever he was able to trade Bukolla’s milk
for some fresh apples, he always managed to save one or two for Bukolla, for he knew that they were her favorite treat.
Every night before the boy went to sleep he told Bukolla “Good night,” and he wished her sweet dreams.
One morning, the family found that Bukolla was missing. Apparently, she has disappeared during the night. Whether
she had wandered off or had been stolen, they did not know. The man and woman looked around for a while, and not
seeing the cow, they went to the boy. “Go out and find Bukolla, and bring her back,” they demanded. “And if you can
not bring the cow back, do not bother to return.”
The boy set off immediately. He wore only his old clothing and as for shoes, he fashioned three pair of shoes for the
journey, though they were only made of bark, and as for food, he found what he could – one withered apple, a dried
bread crust, and a jar of water. He traveled all that day and finally came to a small hill. Thinking that perhaps he could
see Bukolla from the hilltop, he climbed the hill. He sat for a moment and ate a half of the apple and half of the bread
crust, and he drank half of the water. Then he called in his loudest voice, “Bukolla, my cow, speak to me now.” He
listened, but he heard nothing.
That night, the boy slept in the field. The next morning, he put on the second pair of shoes, for the first were worn
through.
He walked for hours. Coming to another hill, he climbed it. He sat for a moment, ate the other half of the apple, the
other half of the bread – and he drank most of the water. Then he again called in his loudest voice, “Bukolla, my cow,
speak to me now.” Again, he heard nothing.
He spent the second night in the field again, and in the morning, he put on the last pair of shoes and set off again. At
noon, he climbed a third hill. He had no food left, but he drank the remaining water, and again called out, “Bukolla, my
cow, speak to me now.” This time he heard a faint “moo” coming from the base of the hill. He followed the sound and
found Bukolla in a cave, tied to a post, looking forlorn. Quickly, he untied the rope and said, “I have missed you, Bukolla.
I’ll take you home.” He began to lead the cow down the path, away from the cave.
He was surprised when Bukolla spoke. And not just a “moo.” “Thank you for rescuing me,” said Bukolla, “but my
captors are a terrible troll woman and her daughter. When they see that I am missing, they will surely pursue us.”
The boy and the cow hurried down the path, but soon, as Bukolla had warned, they could hear heavy footsteps running
toward them. “That is the troll woman and her daughter,” said Bukolla. “They will soon overtake us.”
“What can we do?” asked the boy.
“Quickly, take a hair from my tail and lay it on the path.”
This the boy did.
The cow spoke, “Become a river, a mighty thing that no one can cross but a bird on the wing.” And just like that, the hair
became a huge river. Bukolla and the boy ran on as fast as they could, but soon the trolls arrived at the river.
“If you think you can stop us with this puny river,” said the troll woman, “you are very much mistaken. Daughter, go and
get my father’s bull.”

Soon the daughter returned with an enormous bull, which lowered its head, and drank and drank and drank, until the
river was dry. Then the two trolls resumed the chase.
When the boy could hear that they were coming close, he again asked, “What shall we do now?”
Bukolla spoke, “Take another hair from my tail and lay it on the path.” This time, the cow said, “Become a fire, a mighty
thing that no one can cross but a bird on the wing.” And the hair became a raging fire. When the trolls came close, the
troll-woman said, “Daughter, get my father’s bull.” When she returned with the bull, it opened its mouth and spewed
out all the water from the river. When the fire was out, they resumed their pursuit.
Once again, the boy asked “What shall we do? Another hair?” He could see a pattern. “Yes,” said Bukolla, and this time
she said, “Become a rock, a mighty thing that no one can cross but a bird on the wing.” And, sure enough, there
appeared a rock as large as a mountain. “Daughter, get my father’s drill.”
The troll daughter returned with a large hand drill, and taking turns, the troll woman and her daughter began to drill a
hole through the rock mountain. After a time, they had made a hole completely through the rock. The troll woman
peered into the hole and could see Bukolla and the boy. She did not have the patience to wait until they had made the
hole larger. She plunged headfirst into the hole they had made, but the troll was large, and the hole was small. Soon
she became wedged tightly in the hole, and no matter how much the daughter pushed and pulled and how much the
troll woman struggled, she could not escape.
It is said that the troll woman stayed wedged in the rock, and in time, she herself turned to rock – which can be seen
even today.
And what of Bukolla and the boy? One story says that he brought the cow back to his parents, but I like to think that the
boy took Bukolla to another town altogether. Bukolla gave even more milk than before, in gratitude for the boy’s rescue
and his kindness. The milk was not only the most plentiful, but also the richest and creamiest milk anyone had tasted, so
it fetched a good price in the market. With the money, the boy was able to build a house and a fine comfortable barn
for Bukolla. Every morning, the boy greeted Bukolla, and every evening the boy said “Good night” to his friend and
wished her sweet dreams. And there were always plenty of fresh apples for Bukolla’s treat. The two of them lived
happily, and the boy shared the milk and the money with everyone in the village.

The post Bukolla: A folktale from Orkney first appeared on San Diego Scottish Highland Games.

There was a man named John Roy who dived in Glenbrown, in the parish of Abernethy, Scotland many
years ago. One evening he was searching for some lost cattle in the nearby hills. He happened to see a
group of fairies, and it seemed to John Roy that the fairies were carrying something large and likely
valuable. Fairies were well known to steal many things, and John had heard much about the ways of
fairies and how best to interact with them.
He remembered an old tradition that a person could oblige the fairies to make an exchange. All that
was required was that the person would throw something, often a cap, to the fairies while saying Shuis
slo slumus sheen, which is to say, “Mine is yours, and yours is mine.” John immediately decided to try it
out.
He tossed his cap to the fairies and cried out shuis slo slumus sheen, and immediately the fairies
dropped what they were carrying and departed with John’s cap. What was the fairies’ treasure? To
John’s great surprise, he found that wrapped in the blanket was a beautiful woman, and clearly, by her
appearance and clothing, a sassenach.
The woman seemed dazed, and when John questioned her, she could not say who she was and where
she had come from – only that she had been stolen by the fairies. John had heard of such tales. The
fairies would take a human woman, leave a stock in her place. When the stock was lifeless, it was
buried, and everyone thought that the woman was dead.
This woman was very much alive, but confused and lost. John took her home to his house. If John’s
wife was surprised that he brought home another woman, she was soon sympathetic when John
explained the circumstances, and she insisted that the sassenach stay with them.
Years passed. The woman stayed and was treated as a part of John Roy’s family. The people of the
village welcomed her, and gradually everyone forgot that she was a sassenach.
In those days, it was very difficult to get to many of the northern cities in Scotland. The roads were
difficult and often there were no roads at all. Finally the king decided to send soldiers to build roads for
the coaches and carriages. Of course, the soldiers he sent were English, and naturally in that time and
place, they were not warmly welcomed by the Scots. It was hard to find people who would open their
homes to the red-coated English soldiers.
However, John Roy and his wife bore no animosity towards the English. Perhaps it was because of their
good association with their long-term house guest. So when lodging was requested for soldiers, John
arranged for two soldiers, a man and his son, to stay with them while they worked on the roads.
When they all sat down to dinner that first day, the soldiers seemed struck by the English woman. They
could not take their eyes off her. Finally, the son was heard to say to his father, “It has been several
years, so perhaps I do not remember well enough, but this woman reminds me of my mother, dead
these many years.”
The father replied that he had been thinking the same thing. “She is enough like your mother that they
could be twins.”

On a whim the father called out to the English woman, addressing her with his wife’s name. Startled,
she set down the serving tray and fixed her eyes – first on the father and then the son.
The father continued to speak to her, talking of people and places his wife would have known. To
conclude, it was not long before the story was told – the fairies, the trade, the burial of a false wife, her
stay with John Roy’s family. Great was the rejoicing as they fell into each other’s arms.
When the road construction was completed, the English woman went home with her husband and son.
John Roy and his wife were sorry to lose her companionship, but were very happy to see her reunited
with her true family.

The post John Roy and the Fairy Bargain first appeared on San Diego Scottish Highland Games.

Mary was weary after a long day of work, so after a while she stopped to take a breath. And looking back at the pot, she
saw to her surprise that what she was pulling behind her was not a pot of gold, but instead a large lump of silver.
“What luck!” she said. “Why, with this silver, I could buy a horse so I could ride everywhere, and a cow and chickens to
give me milk and eggs.”
And she resumed walking, stopping again for a break. Looking back, now she saw to her surprise that her shawl was tied
around a large lump of iron.
“What luck!” she exclaimed. “I have my feet to take me everywhere I need to go, and don’t my neighbors give me
plenty of milk and eggs, but Iron is very useful. I could take this to the smith and have him make me a new cooking pot.”
And so saying, she resumed her journey. When she was finally standing in front of her own door and went to untie the
shawl, she discovered not a pot of gold or a lump of silver or a lump of iron, but only a large stone.
“What luck!” exclaimed Mary McPhee. “I didn’t need a new cooking pot. The old one is still good, but wasn’t I just
thinking that I could use a large stone to prop open my door now that the weather is warmer? This will be perfect.”
However, as she bent down to pick up the stone, it began to shake – and then to Mary’s astonishment, it sprouted four
legs, a tail, and a head. It looked like a horse – but clearly, it was no ordinary horse. Mary had heard of kelpies —
creatures who would take you to the bottom of a loch and drown you – but this creature did not seem malevolent, but
only mischievous.
The creature looked at Mary McPhee and spoke. “Would you like a ride, Mary?”
And after only a moment’s pause, she answered, “I would, indeed.” She grasped the creature’s mane and swung herself
onto its back, and soon they were sweeping across the ground so fast that Mary’s long gray hair, usually in a neat bun,
came loose and streamed out behind her, making her look for all the world like she was actually flying.
Finally, the creature stopped at a crossroads. There was nothing in sight in any direction, but it spoke. “Get down, Mary
McPhee. They are waiting for you.” Suddenly a thick mist arose, and when it cleared, she saw a large grand house with
light and music streaming from its windows. Hesitantly, Mary approached the door and peered inside. The room was lit
– not with candles or lanterns – but with silver-blueflames that seemed to float in the air. She saw many beautiful
people, skin like white marble and hair like spun silver, singing and dancing.
A man approached Mary, extending a hand. “Will you dance, Mary McPhee?”
“Alas, no. My dancing days are long gone,” she replied, but she felt herself drawn into the middle of the room, and she
was surprised that her feet seemed to know the dance. She danced with more skill and liveliness that she had ever felt,
even at twenty. Then someone requested a song, and although Mary declared that she had never had much of a singing
voice, she found herself delivering a tune that brought both smiles and tears to the listeners.
Finally, Mary could see that the sun was rising outside. As the sky brightened, the silver-blue flames disappeared, along
with the beautiful people – and even the house itself. Mary found herself standing at the crossroads with the horse
creature waiting for her.
“Tis time we went home, Mary McPhee,” it said, and once again Mary was astride and flying over the land. Back at her
cottage, Mary thanked the creature for a glorious night, and it disappeared, leaving behind only a large stone. Mary

opened her door and propped it open with the stone. Then she hung her gray shawl on the peg by the door, brewed a
pot of tea, picked up Clementine, and sat down in her rocking chair.
“Ah, Clementine,” she said. “I have a story for you. And I can tell you this. I am surely the luckiest woman in the world.”

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