8. Yallery Brown

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Transgendered Fairy Tales
by Kaleigh Way

8. Yallery Brown

 

A long time ago, in an England that never was, lived a young lad of eighteen years named Tom Tiver, who worked at the Hall Farm. One Sunday he was walking through the west field. It was a beautiful summer night, warm and still. The air was full of little sounds, as if the trees and grass were chattering to themselves. All at once there came, from a little bit ahead, the most pitiful cries he had ever heard! It was a sob, sobbing, like a child spent with fear. It broke off in a moan and then rose again in a long whimpering wail that made him sick just to hear it. He began looking everywhere for the poor little creature. "It must be Sally Bratton's child," thought he to himself. "Sally always was a flighty thing, and never looked after it. Like as not, she's off flaunting and flouncing in the lanes, and forgot all about her baby."

But though he looked and looked, he didn't see a thing. Still, as he searched, the whimpering grew louder and stronger, and he thought he made out some words. He strained to hear with all his ears, and the sorry little thing was saying, in words mixed up with sobs,

"Ooh! The stone, the great big stone! Ooh! That stone on top!"

Naturally he wondered where the stone might be, and he looked again, and there by the hedge bottom was a great flat stone, half-buried in the soft earth, hid by matted grass and weeds. The stone was called "The Stranger's Table" — but be that as it may, he dropped to his knee-bones by that stone, and listened again. Clearer than ever, but tired and spent with calling, came the little sobbing voice: "Ooh! The stone! That stone on top!"

He was leery, and didn't want to meddle in the business, but he couldn't stand the sound of the whimpering child, so he tore like mad at the weeds, and pulled on the stone, until he felt it budge a bit, and all at once it came up with a sucking, sighing sound and a tangle of grass and growing things.

There in the hole lay a tiny thing, lying on its back, blinking at the moon and at him. It was no bigger than a year-old baby, but it had long, thick hair and a long, thick beard, all twisted round and round its body, so you couldn't see its clothes. The hair was all yellow, and shining and silky, like a child's, but its face looked hundreds of years old. That face was just a heap of wrinkles, with two bright black eyes set in there somewhere, and the little face was tucked inside that mass of yellow, yellowish hair. Its skin was the color of fresh-turned earth in the Spring: brown as brown could be, and its bare hands and feet were as brown as its face.

It stopped its whimpering, but the tears still stood on its cheek, and little thing stared in amazement in the moonlight and the night air.

By and by the creature's eyes got used to the light, and presently he looked into Tom's face as bold as ever was. Then, "Tom," says he, as cool as you like, "Tom, you're a good lad! A good lad!" His voice was soft and high and piping like a little bird twittering.

Tom touched his hat, and tried to find something to say.

"Houts!" says the thing, "You needn't be afeared of me. You've done me a better turn than you know, my lad, and I'll do as much for you."

Tom couldn't speak yet for the fear that gripped him, but he thought, "Lord! For sure it's a bogle!" Now a bogle is one of those pesky things who live to cause trouble, so Tom did well to be worried.

"No, no!" says the thing, as quick as quick, "I'm no bogle, but you best not ask me what I might be. Anyways, I'm a good friend of thine."

Tom's knee-bones started knocking, for certain no ordinary thing could know what he was thinking to himself. Still, the little man looked so kindly, and spoke so fair, that Tom made bold, although his voice was shaking, to ask, "Might I axe to know what is your honor's name?"

"Hmm," says the thing, pulling at its beard, "as to that..." — and he thought for a bit — "aye so," says he at last, "Yallery Brown is what you may call me: Yallery Brown. That name will do as well as any other. Yallery Brown, then! Yallery Brown's your friend, my lad."

"Thankee, sir," says Tom, all meek like.

"And now," says he, "I'm a hurry tonight, but tell me quick, what can I do for thee? Would you like a wife? I'll give you the finest lass in town. Would you be rich? I'll load you up with all the gold you can carry. Would you like help with your work? Just say the word."

Tom scratched his head. "Well, as for a wife, I don't need the bother. There's women at the farm as mend my clothes. As for gold, that's as may be, but work — now, that's a thing I can't abide, and if you'll give me a hand in it, I'll thank—

"Stop!" says the wee thing, quick as lightning. "I'll help thee and welcome, but if you ever say that to me — if you ever thank me, you'll never see me again. Mind that now: I want no thanks; I'll have no thanks!" And he stamped his tiny foot on the ground and looked as wicked as a raging bull.

"Mind that now, great lump that you are," he went on, calming down a bit. "But if you ever need help, or get into trouble, call on me and say, 'Yallery Brown, come up from the ground!' and I'll be with you at once. But for now," says he, picking a dandelion puff, "good night to thee!" And he blew the puff into Tom's face and eyes. As soon as Tom could see again, the tiny creature was gone. Except for the stone on end and the hole at his feet, Tom could have thought he'd been dreaming.

Well, Tom went home and to bed, and by the morning he'd just about forgotten. But when he went to work, there was none to do! Everything was done already: the horses seen to, the stables cleaned out, everything in its proper place, and nothing left for Tom but to sit with his hands in his pockets. And so it went on, day after day — all the work done by Yallery Brown, and better done, too, than Tom could have done by himself. And if the master gave him more work, Tom sat down and the work did itself: the singeing irons, or the broom, or what not, set to, and without a hand put to it would get through in no time. He never saw Yallery Brown in daylight; only in the darkness did he see him hopping about, like a will-o-the-wisp without a lantern.

At first it was mighty fine for Tom: nothing to do, and good pay for it. But by and by things began to grow vicey-versy. If the work was done for Tom, it was undone for the other lads. If his buckets were filled, theirs were knocked over. If his tools were sharpened, theirs were blunted and spoiled. If his horses were clean as daisies, theirs were splashed with muck, and so on. Day in, day out, it was always the same. And the lads saw Yallery Brown flitting about by night, and they saw the tools working themselves by day. They saw that Tom's work was done for him, and theirs undone for them; and naturally they began to look askance at him, and wouldn't speak to him or come near to him, and they carried tales to the master, so things went from bad to worse.

Poor Tom could do nothing himself! The broom wouldn't stay in his hand; the plough ran away from him; the hoe kept out of his grip. He thought if he did his own work, that Yallery Brown would leave him and his neighbors alone. But he couldn't — sure and all, he couldn't. All Tom could do was sit by and look on, and have the cold shoulder turned to him, while the unnatural thing meddled with the others and worked for him.

At last, things got so bad that the master gave Tom the sack, and if he hadn't, all the rest of the lads would have left, for they swore they'd not stay on the same job as Tom. Well, naturally Tom felt bad. It was a good place, and good pay, too. He was well worked up and angry with Yallery Brown for causing him so much trouble. So Tom shook his fist in the air and called out as loud as he could, "Yallery Brown, you scamp! Come up from the ground, rascal that you are!"

Hardly had the words left his mouth, but he felt a pinch on the back of his leg, and he jumped at the smart of it. As soon as he looked down, there was the tiny thing, with his shining hair, wrinkled face, and wicked glinting black eyes.

Tom was in a fine rage, and would have liked to kicked him, but it couldn't be done: there wasn't enough of the thing to get his boot against. So he said, "Look here, now! You've caused me no end of trouble! You've turned all the lads against me! I've been put out from the farm! I want no more of your help! I'll have nothing to do with you! I'll thank you to leave me alone after this! Do you understand?"

The horrid thing broke into a screeching laugh, and pointed its brown finger at Tom. "Ho, ho, Tom!" says he. "You thanked me, my lad, and I told you not to! I told you not to!"

"I don't want your help, I tell you!" Tom yelled at him. "I never want to see you again! I want nothing more to do with you! Off you go!"

The thing only laughed and screeched and mocked, as long as Tom went on swearing, but as soon as his breath gave out, it said with a grin, "Tom, my lad, I'll tell you something. True's true, that after today I'll never help you again. Call as you will, you'll see me no more. I was nice and safe under that stone, Tom, and could do nobody harm, but you let me out yourself, and you can't put me back! I would have been your friend and helped you if you were wise, but since you're a born fool, I'll leave you. But before I do, I'll undo all the harm I've done."

"Can you do that?" says the boy.

"Sure as sure," says the little thing, with a grin as wicked as ever can be. "When I go, I'll be gone forever, but you, now, take yourself back to the farm, my lad. You'll find a place for yourself, and the lads will look kindly on you, as never they did. Will that please you, boy?"

"Yes and sure," says Tom, so Yallery Brown plucks himself a dandelion puff, and blows it into Tom's face and eyes, and it was like a cloud and a dream and a mystery. When Tom could see again, he was walking. On the road ahead was the Hall Farm itself. The sun was warm and the sky was fair, and the sound of voices came from afar. As lovely as it was, Tom asked himself if it wasn't a dream, for a dream indeed it seemed. He felt the sun on his bare arms, and the wind tousled his hair, but somehow the all of it wasn't quite right.

His step was not as long nor as jaunty, and his clothes had lost their rough, homespun feel. He tripped on a stone, looked down, and saw the trick that Yallery Brown had played! Instead of rough-spun pants and shirt, he was dressed like one of the girls who worked about the farm, in a brown skirt, white apron and blouse. Under the skirt were petticoats and lady's underthings — it made him blush! But, larkamercy! underneath it all there was a girl! Yallery Brown had changed Tom Tiver into a frisky young female with fine red hair and bright green eyes. His face and form would please any man, and his voice was silvery and light.

The good wife stepped from the door and waved our fair Tom on. "Come along there, girl! Have you come to work or to admire the view?"

Tom hurried up to meet her. Sure as sure, he had a place at the farm, just as the little creature said.

"What's your name, girl?" asked the wife.

"Katie... Maggie... Sally... Jane," he mumbled in confusion.

"Best pick one," says the wife, frowning, so Tom said "Maggie it is, ma'am," and Maggie he was from that day on.

Among the lads — now that Yallery Brown had gone — the work went well and smooth enough, and weren't they well surprised and pleased when lunch time came and Maggie herself came out to serve them! As cold as the lads had been to Tom, well, that's as warm and warmer as they were to Maggie.

Now, Maggie had learned her lesson, a lesson she never forgot: when work is to be done, it's best to do it now and do it well. Any job the good wife gave her, she went through it with a will, and soon they saw she was a good girl and a good worker. The farmer and his wife treated Maggie well and came to love her, as well as if she were their daughter born.

The lads soon found that, sweet as the lass appeared, she'd brook no nonsense, and flowers and sweet-talk were wasted on our Maggie.

More than once, our girl went out to the west field, even as far as the Stranger's Table, to call for the little thing in her sweet little voice: "Oh, Yallery Brown, Yallery Brown! Come forth from the ground! I've need of thee!" but the tiny man never came. And though she looked for him in the darkness, flitting about the farm, she never saw him there, either.

After many a sigh, and many a look in the mirror, Tom found his peace as Maggie. "There's no turning back, it seems, for all that," says she. "Best make best of it!" And though at first she turned her face from flowers and gallantry, and reddened when a strong lad helped her cross a stile, after a bit she saw there was no harm in it, and soon she liked it well enough.

Time passed in this way, and when the harvest dance had come, our Maggie danced with all the lads, thinking to please them all and show no favorite, but the world is not made that way. The next day each lad claimed that Maggie smiled on him alone, or danced best on his arm. Soon they came to blows, and among the many bloodied noses and blackened eyes, two lads were left with broken arms.

The good wife took the lass aside and said, "Maggie, it's true enough, you've got to pick one for yourself, or they'll pick themselves apart."

And this is how she did it: The next day, while serving lunch, Maggie gave a good look at each lad's face, one with his purple eye, another with his ruddy nose. One lad there was, whose face had nary a mark. So she stood behind his chair, and planting her little hands on his great strong shoulders, she made that man her own.

© 2007 by Kaleigh Way

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Source

This comes from More English Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs. After Tom thanks Yallery Brown, the little man is never seen again, but he ruins everything Tom puts his hand to, perhaps even beyond the grave. I thought it more likely that he'd turn Tom into a girl, so that's what happens here.

Work

This one works very well with a TG theme doesn't it? Another nice one Kayleigh!
hugs!
grover

Another very cute tale by

Another very cute tale by Kaleigh. These fairy tales are wonderful. J-Lynn

Amazing

erin's picture

Amazing how much this sounds like some of the Ozark fables I heard as a child. The bogle sounds very much like an Ozark bogie and even the name Yallery Brown is a phrase I've heard. And the theme of work and it's avoidance. :) I think I even heard a version of this as a kid, except that what you had to avoid doing was saying "Bless you," to the bogie.

Wonderful story, thank... well, you know what I mean. :)

- Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Nice one Kaleigh.

This is a lovely story and Trish and I both adored it.

Keep ’em coming,

Hugs,
Hilary
(and Trish, natch!)