Stories from the Ballads | Page 6

what ye will, my bonny wee boy,' said Hynde Etin, 'for never will
I be cross with you.'
'My mother ofttimes weeps, father. Why is it that she sobs so bitterly?'
'Your mother weeps, my little wee son, for sore she longs to see her
own kin. Twelve long years is it and more since last she saw them, or
heard the church bells ring.
'An earl's daughter was your mother dear, and if I had not stolen her
away one bonny night in May she might have wedded a knight of high
degree.
'The forester of Elmond wood was I, yet as I saw her standing by the
white-thorn tree I loved her well. And ere many days had gone by thy

mother loved me too, and I carried her away to our greenwood home.
'Dear to your mother are her seven little sons, dear to her, too, am I. Yet
oft will the tears run down her cheek as she dreams of her old home and
her father the earl.'
Then upward glanced the little wee son as he cried aloud, 'I will shoot
the linnet there on the tree and the larks as they wing their flight, and I
will carry them home to my mother dear that she may weep no more.'
Yet neither with linnet nor with lark could her little wee son woo the
smiles back to his dear mother's face.
Now a day came when Hynde Etin in his greenwood home thought the
hours passed but slow, and that same day he took his gun and his dog
and off he went alone to hunt. His seven little wee sons he left at home
with their mother.
'Mother,' said the eldest little son, 'mother, will ye be angry with me an
I tell you what I heard?'
'Nay now, my little wee son,' said she, 'I will never be cross with you.'
'I heard the church bells ring as I went hunting over the hill, mother.
Clear did they ring and sweet.'
'Ah, would I had heard them too, my little dear son,' cried Margaret,
'for never have I been in the holy church for twelve long years and
more, and never have I taken my seven bonny sons to be christened, as
indeed I would they were. In the holy church will my father be, and
there would I fain go too.'
Then the little young Etin, for that was the name of Margaret's eldest
son, took his mother's hand and called his six little brothers, and
together they went through Elmond wood as fast as ever they could go.
It may be that the mother led the way, it may be that so it chanced, but
soon they had left the greenwood far behind and stood on an open heath.
And there, before them, stood a castle.

Margaret looked and Margaret smiled. She knew she was standing once
again before her father's gate.
She took three rings from her pocket and gave them to her eldest wee
boy.
'Give one,' she said, 'to the porter. He is proud, but so he sees the ring,
he will open the gate and let you enter.
'Give another to the butler, my little wee son, and he will show you
where ye are to go.
'And the third ye shall hand to the minstrel. You will see him with his
harp, standing in the hall. It may be he will play goodwill to my bonny
wee son who has come from Elmond wood.'
Then young Etin did as his mother had said.
The first ring he gave to the porter, and without a word the gate was
opened for the little wee boy.
He gave the second ring to the butler, and without a word the little wee
boy was led into the hall.
The third ring he gave to the minstrel, and without a word he took his
harp and forthwith played goodwill to the bonny wee boy from the
greenwood.
Now, when the little Etin reached the earl, he fell on his knee before
him.
The old earl looked upon the little lad, and his eyes they were filled
with tears.
'My little wee boy, ye must haste away,' he cried. 'An I look upon you
long my heart will break into three pieces, for ye have the eyes, the hair
of my lost May Margaret.'
'My eyes are blue as my mother's eyes, and my yellow hair curls as

does hers,' cried the little wee boy.
'Where is your mother?' then cried the earl, and the tears rolled down
his cheek.
'My mother is standing at the castle gate, and with her are my six little
wee brothers,' said the bonny young Etin.
'Run, porter boys, run fast,' said the earl, 'and throw wide