Mary gasped. “The fairies!”

“Who’s telling the story, eh?”

Patrick tapped the cane against the floor. Mary grinned and settled in to listen some more.

“The fairy that spoke was not just any fairy. As I started to run, I tripped spectacularly and landed at the feet of the most beautiful woman I have ever beheld. I can still remember her red dress, her long, raven-black hair, and her piercing silver eyes. I felt trapped as those eyes examined me from head to toe, her lips tightening into a straight line. I scrambled to my feet and held my trusty stick in front of me, hoping against hope that my father’s spirit could protect me from this strange woman.”

“Was she the queen of fairies?” Mary asked.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Well, he did say he would tell us the story of meeting the queen of fairies.”

“It could have been one of her ladies in waiting,” Mary shot back.

“It was indeed the queen of fairies. Now hush your noise,” Patrick interrupted. “But there was another fairy with her, a cheerful fellow, though he did rather delight in making sport of me.”

“Who was that?” Mary asked.

Patrick hesitated, wanting to reprimand Mary for interrupting once more, but then his eyes settled on Michael. Maybe, just maybe, he could bring back the childlike wonder to his grandson’s eyes. Michael had always loved stories involving one particular character when he was younger. Patrick whispered the name, as if a magic spell. “Robin Goodfellow.”

“Robin was there?” Michael gasped. The boy straightened in his chair, eyes widening.

Seeing his grandson suddenly gain interest in the story gladdened Patrick’s old heart. “Aye, that he was. He was the one that tripped me and laughed as I tried to regain my composure. I didn’t like being laughed at, so I bristled a little as the queen and Robin conversed.”

“First the queen asked how any mortal could be so foolish as to cross her, and Robin replied, ‘Ah, but this young man appears to have been wanting only to pass through before I tripped him up.’

“Before I could say anything in my defense, my trusty stick began to feel a bit warmer in my hands and I had a small voice in my head tell me to stay silent. I stared at the stick in wonder. I felt as if my father stood with me as dozens more fairies stood at each of the paths leading from the crossroads. I tried to keep my wits, but with being surrounded by the good folk, listening to the taunts of Robin Goodfellow and trembling at the feet of their queen, I didn’t know if I would survive that night! The full moon indeed found me at a perilous place. Now, if you ever find yourself in a similar predicament, always remember this: speak as few words as possible. The good folk will take whatever you say and twist it.”

Both children nodded. Patrick smiled to see that Michael began to listen more thoughtfully. “So, I don’t remember all the words that the fairies said, but I do remember Robin saying, ‘And the foolish mortals always wish for things that lead to their ruin.’

“‘A wish, a wish!’ the other fairies began chanting, and the queen’s eyes sparkled as she turned towards me. ‘Young mortal, do you wish something from us?’ They chanted and sang, and suggested the most outlandish wishes for me to choose from. They offered me the moon, the stars, riches beyond understanding and more. They began to dance around me, and while I do like a good dance, this was the most wild dervish I had ever seen. Their howls and laughter mocked me from all sides as they whirled around me.

“I clutched the walking stick and thought of my father. My old man had always been a sturdy presence in the home. When he was alive, we always had plenty of visitors coming over for my father’s moonshine and good stories. Ever since he died, Mum and I could never find the recipe and so the visitors had come less and less. I could tell Mum was getting quite lonely, and I even missed those days. The stick warmed in my hands once more and suddenly I felt a warm hand on my right shoulder. Hesitating, I reached for that warmth with my left hand. Once my hand touched the ghostly one, my father’s words spilled out of my mouth.

“‘I want the best recipe for moonshine!’”

Michael’s eyes bugged. “Your famous moonshine!”

Patrick nodded. “Aye, the very same. As I stated my wish for moonshine, the fairies stopped their frantic whirl and froze. A hundred pairs of eyes stared at me, though the most intense belonged to the silver eyes of the queen. After some silence, Robin Goodfellow started laughing and I turned bright red.”

“The queen looked rather strange as she said, ‘You wish for the best recipe for moonshine?’

“I had regained control of my tongue, at least and answered her aye.

“‘Very well, mortal,’ the queen replied. ‘You shall receive the best recipe for moonshine. But be warned, you shall never profit a penny from it.’”

“What?” Michael cried out.

Patrick shrugged. “Every wish has a cost. This was mine. That I could make the best moonshine, but I have never tried selling it. I am sure the fairies would laugh if I tried.” He glanced at the tankard he drank from and took another swig.

“Once the cost had been named, the fairies laughed and danced once more, and I took a cautious step. When no one stopped me, I bravely trotted along the path and, once reassured that none of the good folk would chase me, I began running. The laughter and their singing lingered in my ears as I ran the rest of the way home. My mum looked caught between reprimanding me for staying out so late and gratitude that I made it home safe. I meekly took the cuff to the ears and we both reverently put the walking stick in the corner. Without it, I’m sure that I would have fared much worse at the hands of the fairy queen.”

Mary and Michael turned to look at the walking stick in wonder. As they stared, Patrick’s wife, Sheila, walked in.

“Telling your stories again, Patrick?”

“Aye, macushla,” Patrick said. “Though this one has come to its close.”

Mary turned to her grandmum. “And it was the most marvelous story!”

“I am glad you liked it, young Mary,” Patrick said. He stood and filled another tankard with the moonshine. Placing it on the windowsill, he said, “I leave this as an offering to them, and in proper thanks for letting me get home that night.”

“Can we offer something?” Mary asked.

“Of course,” Patrick said. “They particularly like some oatmeal with fresh butter.”

Sheila shook her head. “There is no oatmeal, but I do have some cheese. Come, Mary.” She helped Mary find some and arrange it on the windowsill to Mary’s liking.

As Sheila and Mary fussed with the arrangement, Patrick turned to his grandson. “Do you believe me?” he asked softly.

Michael bit his lip, not looking at his grandpa in the eye. “Did that really happen?”

The old man sat so he could look in Michael’s face. “Cross my heart and hope to die. All I said truly happened.”

A tiny bit of hope returned to the boy’s eyes. “And you saw Robin Goodfellow?”

Patrick nodded.

Michael hesitated, then said softly, “Could I offer something to the fairies too?”

Feeling his heart swelling with pride, Patrick grinned. “Of course you can.” He then helped his grandson pour some honey into a small saucer and place it on the window.

Sheila smiled. “Come along, Mary and Michael. It’s time for bed.”

The two children thanked Patrick for the story and chatted excitedly as they scampered off. Sheila quickly tidied the small room.

“Patrick, do you think it is a good idea to be telling these stories?”

Patrick grinned. “It’s time for them to be learning their family history.”

Sheila chuckled. “I suppose if they find themselves in a similar predicament, they’ll wish for something similar.”

As Sheila banked the hearth, and Patrick snuffed a candle, the old man chuckled. “Well, I know if I ever am stuck in a similar position, I’ll be wishing about potatoes.”

Patrick and Sheila chuckled as they left the room.

The full moon shone upon the windowsill, reflecting off the plate of cheese from Sheila, tankard of moonshine from Patrick, and saucer of honey from Michael. As a cloud crossed the moon, Robin Goodfellow arrived. Looking about, he chuckled, and grabbed the cheese off the plate. He greedily snatched the honey, then beheld the tankard with a grin. Swigging down the moonshine, he laughed merrily and stole away into the night.

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