A Night of Wonders

Mary McPhee lived in a tiny stone house in a remote part of the country with nothing but her cat and her memories to keep her company. Her parents had died many years before, and she remained in that little cabin, following a routine that had not changed since she was a girl. Lonesomeness was a familiar part of her life, and she put it in its proper place with the thought, “There’s plenty who are worse off than the likes of me.” She blessed the sun when it shone and praised the rain for making the grass grow. In her heart, Mary kept alive a flicker of hope that something wonderful was waiting for her just around the corner. It might take awhile to find, but she was convinced that it was there; it was just a matter of looking in the right place.

Mary seldom had two coins to rub together. She ran errands and did extra chores for nearby farmwives, occasionally receiving a penny or two for her labors. More often than not, she simply earned a plate of cabbage and boiled potatoes or a slice of buttered bread and a cup of tea. She made do and was grateful for the food and whatever else might come her way.

One day, a young boy appeared at Mary’s door with a plea for help. His youngest brother and sister were sick with the croup and his mother needed help with the washing and cooking of the meals. “Will you come, Mary McPhee?” he asked in a solemn voice.

“Of course I will,” she answered, reaching up to grab her shawl from the peg by the door.

It had been a long, troubled walk for the child and as they returned to his home, he revealed his worries to Mary. “Mary, are you not afraid walking this lonely stretch of road at night by yourself?”

“Afraid? No, I’ve walked this road all my life. What is there to be frightened of?” Mary replied.

“Why, Mary McPhee, surely you’ve heard of the pooka. He travels these roads at night, playing tricks on folks and causing all sorts of devilment.”

“Oh, that old black horse—he’s nothing to be afraid of. His tricks are harmless. All he does is turn himself into a pile of straw that can’t be lifted or spoil the berries or bewitch a cow and get it to kick over a milk pail. Why would I be afraid of nonsense like that?”

“Mary McPhee, have you not heard the other stories? How he knocks people into ditches, scares them with his fiery blue eyes, bruises them with his great big hooves, and takes them away on wild night rides!”

“Ah, he only abuses them that’s afraid of him. I’m not a bit afraid. In fact, I’d welcome a ride through the countryside. It would be a grand adventure the likes of which I’ve never had!”

“Oh, Mary, don’t say such things. You never know who is listening,” cautioned the boy. When Mary heard the child’s innocent reproach, she gave a hoot and the sound of her laughter tinkled across the fields and up into the air.

Mary spent the remainder of the day working. She washed the clothes, hung them on the line, and, as they dried, she started the stew simmering and baked the bread. After she served the other children their supper, Mary cleaned up the dishes and brought in the clothes as the sun sidled its way out of the reddened sky. The woman finally tucked her children into bed for the night, then sat down with Mary to enjoy a welcome bowl of mutton stew. As the two women ate their meal, Mary felt weariness creep into her worn body. She sipped the last of her tea, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and bade the woman good-night. “Will you be all right, Mary?” asked the woman. “It’s late and it’s a long walk back to your place.”

“Don’t worry about me,” said Mary. “There’s a full moon out to light my path. I’ll be just fine." Mary moseyed along, feeling the weight of her tired feet and enjoying the peacefulness of the evening. The moon cast a silvery sheen over the landscape and caused lacy shadows to fall across the fields. “Just lovely,” muttered Mary to herself, and then she stumbled over something in the road. Looking down, Mary saw an old, black pot. “Well now, that’s an odd thing to find abandoned in the middle of the road,” she remarked. “But you never know, it might come in handy. I’ll just take it along with me and see what comes of it.”

She bent down to lift the pot by its handle and saw that it was filled with gold coins. “Goodness gracious,” she exclaimed, standing bolt upright in shock. She circled the pot several times, observing it from all angles to make sure that it was real and when it didn’t disappear, she thought to herself, “It would be foolish to leave it here. Why, it’s just sitting here, waiting for me to take it home. "However, the pot was too heavy to carry, so Mary tied her shawl around it and began to drag it down the road.

As Mary lugged the pot behind her, she imagined the things she could do with her newfound riches, her ruminations moving from the practical to the fantastic, until she chuckled to herself and muttered, "Mary McPhee, you’re putting on airs. What would the likes of you be doing in a castle with servants?”

After a while, Mary had to stop and catch her breath because hauling the pot was hard work. Turning around, she gave a cry of surprise for she discovered that her pot of gold had turned into a huge lump of shining silver. “Well, will you look at that!” she exclaimed. “It is indeed a strange night. A lump of silver may not be a pot of gold, but it’s more convenient and easier to keep safe.” She adjusted the shawl, took a deep breath, and continued down the road, pulling the treasure behind her.

The lump of silver weighed almost as much as the pot of gold, and soon Mary had to stop again to rest. She turned around and this time saw that the lump of silver had become a great lump of iron. “The moonlight must be playing tricks on my poor, tired eyes. Nevertheless, a lump of iron is more than I had when I woke up this morning." With a smile on her face, she took hold of the shawl and made her way back to her cottage.

Continued on page 2: 'Mary’s eyes widened in astonishment...' »