With the farmer, this had become a fixed state of mind and now it
brought him to grief, as we shall see. For though he remembered what
his wife liked and disliked, and recalled what her father had told
him, he had forgotten that she was a fairy.

With this farmer and other Welsh mortals, it had become a habit, when
planting a young tree, to throw the last shovelful of earth over the
left shoulder. This was for good luck. The farmer was afraid to break
such a good custom, as he thought it to be.

So merrily he went to work, forgetting everything in his adherence to
habit. He became so absorbed in his job, that he did not look where
his spadeful went, and it struck his dear wife full in the breast.

At that moment, she cried out bitterly, not in pain, but in sorrow.
Then she started to run towards the lake. At the shore, she called
out, "Good-by, dear, dear husband." Then, leaping into the water, she
was never seen again and all his tears and those of the children never
brought her back.




IX


THE TOUCH OF IRON


Ages ago, before the Cymry rowed in their coracles across the sea,