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THE OUPHE[1] OF THE WOOD

“An Ouphe!” perhaps you exclaim, “and pray what might that be?”

[Footnote 1: Ouphe, pronounced “oof,” is an old-fashioned word for goblin or elf.]

An Ouphe, fair questioner,–though you may never have heard of him,–was a creature well known (by hearsay, at least) to your great-great-grandmother. It was currently reported that every forest had one within its precincts, who ruled over the woodmen, and exacted tribute from them in the shape of little blocks of wood ready hewn for the fire of his underground palace,–such blocks as are bought at shops in these degenerate days, and called in London “kindling.”

It was said that he had a silver axe, with which he marked those trees that he did not object to have cut down; moreover, he was supposed to possess great riches, and to appear but seldom above ground, and when he did to look like an old man in all respects but one, which was that he always carried some green ash-keys about with him which he could not conceal, and by which he might be known.

Do I hear you say that you don’t believe he ever existed? It matters not at all to my story whether you do or not. He certainly does not exist now. The Commissioners of Woods and Forests have much to answer for, if it was they who put an end to his reign; but I do not think they did; it is more likely that the spelling-book used in woodland districts disagreed with his constitution.

After this short preface please to listen while I tell you that once in a little black-timbered cottage, at the skirts of a wood, a young woman sat before the fire rocking her baby, and, as she did so, building a castle in the air: “What a good thing it would be,” she thought to herself, “if we were rich!”

It had been a bright day, but the evening was chilly; and, as she watched the glowing logs that were blazing on her hearth, she wished that all the lighted part of them would turn to gold.

She was very much in the habit–this little wife–of building castles in the air, particularly when she had nothing else to do, or her husband was late in coming home to his supper. Just as she was thinking how late he was there was a tap at the door, and an old man walked in, who said:

“Mistress, will you give a poor man a warm at your fire?”

“And welcome,” said the young woman, setting him a chair.

So he sat down as close to the fire as he could, and spread out his hands to the flames.

“So, then, I have never been rich, after all,” said Kitty; “and it was all only a dream! I thought it was very strange at the time that a man’s head should roll off.”

And she heaved a deep sigh, and put her hand to her face, which was wet with the tears she had shed when she thought that she and her husband were going to be executed.

“I am very glad, then, my husband is not a drunken man; and he does not beat me; but he goes to work every day, and I am as happy as a queen.”

Just then she heard her husband’s good-tempered voice whistling as he went down the ladder.

“Kitty, Kitty,” said he, “come, get up, my little woman; it’s later than usual, and our good visitor will want his breakfast.”

“Oh, Will, Will, do come here,” answered the wife; and presently her husband came up again, dressed in his fustian jacket, and looking quite healthy and good-tempered–not at all like the pale man in the blue coat, who sat watching the meat while it roasted.

“Oh, Will, I have had such a frightful dream,” said Kitty, and she began to cry; “we are not going to quarrel and hate each other, are we?”