Hudden and Dudden and Donald O’Neary

Once upon a time there were two farmers called Hudden and Dudden. They had hens in their yards, sheep on the hills and scores of cattle in the meadows by the river, and yet they were not happy. For right between their two farms lived a poor man named Donald O’Neary. He had a hovel to live in and a strip of grass barely big enough to keep his one cow, Daisy, from starving, and though Daisy did her best, Donald seldom got a drink of milk or a pat of butter from her.

You would think there was little there to make Hudden and Dudden jealous, but these neighbours still wanted more, and they lay awake at night plotting how to get his little strip of grass. Daisy, poor thing, they never gave a thought to. She was nothing but a bag of bones.

One day Hudden met Dudden, and soon they were grumbling as usual, always to the same tune: “If only we could get that good-for-nothing Donald O’Neary out of the country.”

“Let’s kill Daisy,” said Hudden at last. “If that doesn’t drive him out, nothing will.”

No sooner said than agreed. Before it was dark, Hudden and Dudden crept up to the little shed where poor Daisy lay trying to chew the cud, though she had not eaten enough grass all day to cover your hand. When Donald came to see that Daisy was snug for the night, the poor creature had only time to lick his hand once before she died.

Donald was a shrewd fellow, and sad as he was, he began to wonder whether he could get any good out of Daisy’s death. He thought and thought, and early next day he set off for the fair with Daisy’s hide over his shoulder and every penny he owned jingling in his pockets. Just before he reached the fair, he cut several slits in the hide and tucked a penny into each one. Then he marched into the best inn in town as bold as if he owned it, hung the hide on a nail in the wall and sat down.

“Some of your best whisky,” he said to the landlord. But the landlord did not like the look of him.

“Is it afraid I won’t pay you, you are?” said Donald. “Why, I have a hide here that gives me all the money I want.” And he gave it a whack with his stick, and out hopped a penny.

The landlord’s eyes opened wide, as you can imagine. “What will you take for that hide?”

“It’s not for sale, my good man.”

“Will you take a gold piece?”

“It’s not for sale, I tell you. Hasn’t it kept me and mine for years?” And Donald gave it another whack, and out jumped a second penny.

The long and the short of it was that Donald let the hide go, and that very evening, who should knock at Hudden’s door but Donald himself. “Good evening, Hudden. Will you lend me your best pair of scales?”

Hudden stared and scratched his head, but he lent him the scales. Safe at home, Donald pulled out a pocketful of bright gold and began weighing each piece. But Hudden had smeared a lump of butter on the bottom of the scales, so when Donald took them back, the last gold piece was stuck fast to them.

If Hudden had stared before, he stared ten times harder now, and the moment Donald’s back was turned he ran as fast as his legs would carry him to Dudden’s. “Good evening, Dudden. That rascal, bad luck to him…”

“You mean Donald O’Neary?”

“Who else would I mean? He’s back home weighing out sackfuls of gold.”

“How do you know?”

“Here are the scales he borrowed, and here’s a gold piece still stuck to them.”

Off they went together to Donald’s door. Donald had made all his gold into piles of ten, except the last pile, which he could not finish because one piece had stuck to the scales. In they walked without so much as a “please” or “by your leave.”

“Well, I never!” was all they could say.

“Good evening, Hudden. Good evening, Dudden. Ah, you thought you’d played me a fine trick, but you never did me a better turn in your lives. When I found poor Daisy dead, I thought, ‘Well, her hide might fetch something,’ and so it did. Hides are worth their weight in gold at the market just now.”

Hudden nudged Dudden, and Dudden winked at Hudden. “Good evening, Donald O’Neary.”

“Good evening, kind friends.”

The very next day, every cow and calf that belonged to Hudden or Dudden had been killed, and their hides were on the way to the fair in Hudden’s biggest cart, pulled by Dudden’s strongest pair of horses. At the fair each of them took a hide over his arm and marched about bawling at the top of his voice, “Hides for sale! Hides for sale!”

Out came the tanner. “How much for your hides, my good men?”

“Their weight in gold.”

“It’s early in the day to be coming out of the tavern,” was all the tanner said, and he went back into his yard.

“Hides for sale! Fine fresh hides for sale!”

Out came the cobbler. “How much for your hides, my men?”

“Their weight in gold.”

“Is it making fun of me you are? Take that for your trouble!” And the cobbler hit Hudden so hard he staggered.

People came running from every corner of the fair. “What’s the matter? What’s the matter?”

“Here are two rogues selling hides for their weight in gold,” said the cobbler.

“Hold them tight, hold them tight!” bellowed the innkeeper, who arrived last. “I’ll bet one of them is the scoundrel who tricked me out of thirty gold pieces yesterday for a miserable hide.”

Hudden and Dudden got more kicks than pennies before they were well on their way home, and they did not run any slower for having all the town’s dogs snapping at their heels.

As you can imagine, if they had loved Donald little before, they loved him even less now. “What’s the matter, friends?” he said, when he saw them racing along with their hats bashed in, their coats torn and their faces black and blue. “Have you been fighting? Or maybe you met the police, bad luck to them?”

“We’ll police you, you rascal! You thought you were mighty clever, fooling us with your lies.”

“Who fooled you? Didn’t you see the gold with your own two eyes?”

But it was no use talking. Pay for it he must. There was a meal sack handy, and into it Hudden and Dudden stuffed Donald O’Neary. They tied it tight, pushed a pole through the knot and set off for the Brown Lake of the Bog, each with an end of the pole on his shoulder and Donald O’Neary hanging between.

But the Brown Lake was far away, the road was dusty, and Hudden and Dudden were sore and tired and parched. There was an inn by the roadside. “Let’s go in,” said Hudden. “I’m worn out. He’s heavy, for the little he had to eat.”

Dudden was just as willing. Nobody asked Donald, you may be sure; he was dumped by the inn door like a sack of potatoes. “Sit still, you rascal,” said Dudden. “If we don’t mind waiting, neither need you.”

Donald kept quiet, but after a while he heard glasses clinking and Hudden singing at the top of his voice.

“I won’t have her, I tell you! I won’t have her!” said Donald. Nobody took any notice.

“I won’t have her, I tell you! I won’t have her!” he said, louder this time. Still nobody noticed.

“I won’t have her, I tell you! I won’t have her!” he shouted, as loud as he could.

“And who is it you won’t have, if I may be so bold?” asked a farmer who had just come up with a herd of cattle and was turning in for a drink.

“The king’s daughter. They’re plaguing the life out of me to marry her.”

“You lucky fellow! I’d give a lot to be in your shoes.”

“Think of that, now! Wouldn’t it be a grand thing for a farmer to marry a princess, all dressed in gold and jewels?”

“Jewels, you say? Ah, couldn’t you take me with you?”

“Well, you’re an honest fellow, and since I don’t care for the king’s daughter, though she’s as lovely as the day and covered in jewels from head to foot, you shall have her. Just undo the cord and let me out. They tied me up tight because they knew I’d run away from her.”

Out crawled Donald, and in crept the farmer.

“Now lie still and don’t mind the jolting. That’ll just be the palace steps you’re bumping over. They may call you a rascal for not wanting the king’s daughter, but don’t mind that. Ah, it’s a lot I’m giving up for you, sure as it is that I don’t care for the princess.”

“Take my cattle in exchange,” said the farmer, and you can guess it was not long before Donald was driving them home.

Out came Hudden and Dudden and took up the pole, one at each end. “I think he’s got heavier,” said Hudden.

“Never mind,” said Dudden. “It’s only a step now to the Brown Lake.”

“I’ll have her now! I’ll have her now!” bawled the farmer from inside the sack.

“By my faith, so you shall,” said Hudden, and he laid his stick across the sack.

“I’ll have her! I’ll have her!” bawled the farmer, louder than ever.

“Well, here you are,” said Dudden, for they had reached the Brown Lake, and they swung the sack off the pole and tossed it, splash, into the water.

“You won’t be playing your tricks on us any longer,” said Hudden.

“True for you,” said Dudden. “Ah, Donald, my boy, it was a bad day when you borrowed my scales.”

Off they went with light steps and easy hearts. But near home, who should they see but Donald O’Neary, with cows grazing all round him and calves kicking up their heels and butting heads.

“Is it you, Donald?” said Dudden. “Faith, you’ve been quicker than we were.”

“True for you, Dudden, and thank you kindly. The turn was good, even if the will was bad. You’ll have heard, as I did, that the Brown Lake leads to the Land of Promise. I always took it for lies, but it’s as true as my word. Look at the cattle.”

Hudden stared and Dudden gaped. They could not get over the cattle, and fine fat cattle they were.

“These are only the worst I could bring up with me,” said Donald. “The others were so fat there was no driving them. And no wonder they didn’t want to leave, with grass as far as you can see, sweet and juicy as fresh butter.”

“Ah, now, Donald, we haven’t always been friends,” said Dudden, “but as I was just saying, you were always a decent lad, and you’ll show us the way, won’t you?”

“I don’t see why I should. There are plenty more cattle down there. Why shouldn’t I keep them all for myself?”

“Faith, it’s true what they say: the richer you get, the harder your heart. You were always a neighbourly lad, Donald. You wouldn’t want to keep all the luck to yourself?”

“True for you, Hudden, though it’s a bad example you’ve set me. But I won’t think about old times. There’s plenty for everyone down there, so come along with me.”

Off they trudged, with light hearts and eager steps. When they came to the Brown Lake, the sky was full of little white clouds, and the lake was just as full of them.

“Ah, look, there they are!” cried Donald, pointing at the clouds reflected in the water.

“Where? Where?” cried Hudden.

“Don’t be greedy!” cried Dudden, and he jumped as hard as he could to be first to the fat cattle. But if Dudden jumped first, Hudden was not far behind.

They never came up. Maybe they got too fat, like the cattle. As for Donald O’Neary, he had cattle and sheep to his heart’s content for the rest of his days.

About this story

Jacobs’s notes say “Hudden and Dudden and Donald O’Neary” was told by the late D. W. Logie and written down by Alfred Nutt. He lists many relatives of the tale, including Samuel Lover’s “Little Fairly” and “Donald and his Neighbours” in the chapbook Hibernian Tales.

Jacobs points out that a medieval Latin poem, Unibos, which he dates to the eleventh or possibly tenth century,, already has the main outline of the story, and that some scholars of his day traced its chief tricks back to India. The trickster’s revenge is harsh, as in many comic folk tales of this kind.

Read the original: Joseph Jacobs, Celtic Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg #7885, Hudden and Dudden)

For older readers: a cow killed out of spite, mob violence, attempted murder and three drownings, including an uninvolved farmer deceived into danger. The comic narration does not make the revenge harmless.

Reading the story closely

Donald stages two kinds of evidence: pennies hidden in a hide make an object seem magical, while cattle obtained from the deceived farmer make the lake seem productive. Hudden’s butter discovers real gold but cannot discover how Donald got it. The neighbors repeatedly turn an observation into the wrong explanation because it supports what they want to believe.

Set out the true source of the hide’s pennies, Donald’s gold and the cattle beside the explanation he offers for each. Then mark who is harmed by each deception. The landlord and the farmer did not kill Daisy, so the account cannot be understood solely as revenge on the original attackers. Compare the closing joke with the actual disappearance of the men beneath the water.

Talk about it

• How did Donald turn Daisy’s death to his advantage?
• Why did Hudden put butter on the scales?
• How did Donald escape from the sack, and what happened to the farmer?

Related stories

• Jack and His Master — another Irish tale of a clever poor man outwitting the rich
• The Match-Making Jackal — a Bengali trickster who bluffs his way to riches
• Andrew Coffey — another tale gathered by D. W. Logie and Alfred Nutt