The Tailor and the Fairies
In the old days, tailors didn’t stay in one place but traveled on foot from village to village, offering their services: sewing or mending clothes. One such tailor, named Thomas, was once working at a farmstead in North Riding, Yorkshire, and while working, he chatted about this and that with the farmer’s wife. Thomas noticed how she poured fresh cream into a bowl and set it outside the door for the house elf, or little brownie, and asked:"Do you really believe in house elves, fairies, and all those creatures?"
"Of course I do!" replied the farmer’s wife.
"Well," smirked Thomas, "if I ever met a fairy... I’d catch that little fairy and put her in a bottle so she couldn’t cause any mischief."
"Hush!" the woman whispered fearfully. "What if some fairy hears you? They can be quite vengeful if you offend them."
"Oh, how terrifying," Thomas snorted, biting off a thread and smoothing a sleeve seam on a special tailor’s board. "I say there’s no such thing as fairies."
"That’s very foolish," said the farmer’s wife. It was getting dark. The tailor finished his work, packed his needle, thread, and scissors into his bag, and tucked the tailor’s board under his arm.
"I should get home before dark. My wife is probably waiting for me."
"Here, take this for your wife," said the hostess. "It’s a homemade pork pie; she’ll like it."
"Thank you," replied Thomas. "Good night."
"Be careful," she called after him, "beware of the fairies!"
"Bah, to hell with them!" the tailor responded and hurried home.
At first, he walked along the path, but then decided to take a shortcut and go straight across the field. As the tailor climbed over the fence, he clumsily swung his bag and dropped his scissors on the ground.
He had to put down his bag and tailor’s board and search for the scissors. You’d think scissors wouldn’t be as hard to find as a needle, but for some reason, they just wouldn’t turn up.
"What a nuisance," grumbled Thomas. "Scissors are the most important thing for a tailor, and such good ones too! Fine. I’ll come back in the morning and find them."
He picked up his bag and the pie... but where was the tailor’s board? Where could it have gone? He put down the pie and the bag again, searched all around on his knees—and found nothing.
"To hell with it," he thought. "No one will take it by morning. I’ll go home and have some pie with my wife while it’s still fresh."
But no such luck! He picked up his bag, but the pie was nowhere to be found. He crawled around on all fours, searching almost the entire meadow, but found nothing except stones and thorns. All he could do was lick his lips, thinking of the pie, and head home light, with just his bag. Thomas returned to the spot where he’d left his bag, but it wasn’t there! He thought he might have mistaken the place, but all the landmarks matched—there was the fence, there was the big boulder—only the bag was gone.
"If only I had a lantern!" Thomas groaned. "What am I to do now—without a needle and thread, without scissors, and without my tailor’s bag?"
He turned to head home... but where was his home? He had wandered and circled so much in search of his things that he’d completely lost his way, and the night was as black as a pit. Suddenly, to his great joy, he noticed a light ahead. It was as if someone was walking slowly across the meadow with a lantern.
"Over here!" Thomas called. "Hey, with the lantern! Over here!"
"Come here yourself! Come here yourself!" a mocking little voice replied.
The tailor trudged toward the light, but the mysterious light didn’t stay in one place: it would come almost within reach—just stretch out your hand and grab it!—and then suddenly vanish and reappear far away, at the edge of the field.
Thomas got covered in mud up to his knees from the gullies, scratched his face on thorns, and tore his clothes. He chased the will-o’-the-wisp until he was completely exhausted and desperate.
The light finally disappeared. Dawn began to break. The tailor heard the clinking of milk cans at the farm, looked around, and saw the same farmstead and the same yard he had left the day before. And there, on the grass, lay all his lost belongings!
Thomas was too worn out to go home to his village. He knocked on the familiar door. The farmer’s wife saw him and threw up her hands in astonishment:
"Good heavens! What happened to you?" She helped the tailor clean his clothes and fed him breakfast, then suddenly smiled and asked:
"So? Did you catch a fairy and put her in a bottle?" But Thomas said nothing. And never again in his life did he speak ill of fairies.
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