Fern-den Brownie

Once upon a time in Scotland, there were many brownies. Brownies are like household spirits, but they don’t live in people’s homes or yards; instead, they live on their own, somewhere close to human dwellings. Many tales are told about the brownie of Bodsbeck and the brownie of Blednock, but the best one is the story of the brownie of Fern-Den.

"Fern-Den" means "Fern Hollow." That was the name of a farm because it stood at the end of a hollow where ferns grew abundantly. To reach the farm, one had to pass through this hollow.

There were rumors that a brownie lived in the hollow. He never appeared during the day, but at night people sometimes saw him silently, like a grotesque shadow, creeping from tree to tree, trying not to be noticed. Yet, he never harmed anyone.

After all, all brownies, if they are not mistreated, not only do no harm to people but even try their best to help those in need. The farmer, the owner of Fern-Den, often said that he didn’t know how he would manage without his brownie. Whenever there was urgent work on the farm—like threshing and winnowing rye, bagging grain, gathering turnips, washing laundry, churning butter, or weeding the garden—the brownie would come to help. All the farm owners had to do was leave the doors to the barn, dairy, or turnip shed open before going to bed and place a bowl of fresh milk on the doorstep for the brownie’s supper. By morning, the bowl would be empty, and all the farm work would be done—and done even better than if humans had done it. Everyone knew how gentle and harmless this brownie was, but for some reason, they were all afraid of him. When people returned home from church or the market, they would take a detour of two miles at night just to avoid passing through the hollow—they were so terrified of even catching a glimpse of the brownie from afar. However, not everyone was afraid of him. The farmer’s wife was so kind and cheerful that she feared nothing in the world. When she had to leave a bowl of milk for the brownie’s supper, she would pour the thickest, creamiest milk and even add a spoonful of cream.

"The brownie works hard for us," she would say, "and never asks for wages. So, we should treat him as well as we can."

One evening, the farmer’s wife suddenly fell ill, so seriously that everyone feared she might die. Her husband was deeply worried, as were the servants—she was a kind mistress, and they loved her like a mother. But they were all young and knew nothing about illnesses, so they said they should call an experienced old healer who lived seven miles away on the other side of the river.

But who would go fetch her? That was the question! It was nearing midnight, the darkness was pitch-black, and the path to the healer’s house went through the hollow, where one might encounter the brownie, whom everyone feared. And no one on the farm knew that the very being they were so afraid of was standing right outside the kitchen door at that moment.

He was a tiny, hairy creature with a long beard, red eyelids, broad flat feet—just like a toad’s—and long, long arms that reached the ground even when he stood upright.

The brownie listened anxiously to the conversation in the kitchen. That evening, as usual, he had emerged from his hidden den in the hollow to see if there was any work on the farm and to drink his bowl of milk. Then he noticed that the farmhouse door was unlocked, and the lights were on inside, so he guessed something was wrong.

After all, at this late hour, the farm was always dark and quiet. So, he crept onto the porch to find out what had happened. And there he overheard the servants talking about the farmer’s wife falling ill. His heart sank—he loved the farmer’s wife dearly because she had always been kind to him. And he grew angry when he realized that these cowards were too afraid of him, the brownie, to go fetch the healer.

"Fools, idiots, blockheads!" he muttered, stomping his wide, ugly foot. "As if I would bite them if I met them! If only they knew how hard I try to stay out of their sight, they wouldn’t talk such nonsense. But there’s no time to waste. The mistress might die. It seems I’ll have to go fetch the healer myself."

With that, the brownie reached up, took the farmer’s dark cloak from a hook, and draped it over his head. He wrapped his awkward body in the cloak, then ran to the stable, where he saddled and bridled the fastest horse. Then he led the horse to the door and climbed onto its back.

"Now, if you’ve always run fast, run even faster tonight!" he said.

And the horse seemed to understand him. It snorted softly, pricked up its ears, and then shot into the darkness like an arrow from a bow. It had never run so fast before, and soon the brownie reined it in at the old healer’s cottage. She was fast asleep. But the brownie tapped on the window, and a white nightcap immediately appeared in the window. The old woman pressed her face to the glass.

"Who’s there?" she asked.

The brownie leaned forward and spoke in his deep, muffled voice:

"Get ready quickly, auntie! We must save the life of the mistress of Fern-Den. There’s no one to treat her at the farm—just a bunch of foolish maids."

"But how will I get there?" the old woman asked anxiously. "Did they send a carriage for me?"

"No, they didn’t send a carriage," the brownie replied. "Climb on behind me and hold on tight. I’ll get you to Fern-Den safe and sound."

He wasn’t just speaking—he was giving orders, and the old woman didn’t dare disobey. Besides, in her youth, she had often ridden horseback behind a rider. She dressed and came out of the house. Then she stepped onto a stone by the doorstep, climbed onto the horse, and sat down, tightly gripping the stranger in the dark cloak. They didn’t exchange a word until they reached the hollow. Then the old woman grew frightened.

"Do you think we’ll meet the brownie here?" she asked timidly. "I don’t want to see him! People say meeting him brings bad luck."

Her companion laughed a strange laugh.

"Don’t worry, and don’t talk nonsense," he said. "You’re afraid of meeting a monster. But I assure you, you won’t see anything uglier than the one sitting on this horse with you right now."

"Well, then everything’s fine and dandy!" the old woman replied with a sigh of relief. "Though I haven’t seen your face, I know you’re a kind man to comfort a poor old woman like me."

She didn’t say another word until they had passed through the hollow and the horse galloped into the farmyard. There, the rider dismounted, reached out his strong, long arms, and carefully helped the old woman down. Suddenly, the cloak slipped off him, and the old woman saw that her companion was a little creature with a short, broad body and grotesque arms and legs.

"Who are you?" she asked, peering at his face in the light of the breaking dawn. "Why are your eyes so big? And what’s with your feet? They’re enormous! And they look like toad’s feet."

The little creature laughed.

"I walked many miles in my youth. They say those who walk a lot end up with splayed feet," he replied. "But don’t waste time, auntie. Go into the house. And if anyone asks how you got here so quickly, tell them no one came for you, so you had to ride on the back of the brownie of Fern-Den!"

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Fern-den Brownie

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