“What ya doing?” said a voice.
Farmer Fitzgibbons was deep in thought and paid no attention to the small voice calling to him.
“I said what ya doing?” the imp cried.
Startled, Fitzgibbons looked up to see a wee beastie sitting on the bridge’s railing.
“I see I’ve got your attention. What ya doing?” the beastie said with a smile.
The farmer had regained his wits and replied, “Who’s asking?”
“Tis I, Morpheus, at your service,” the imp said.
“I don’t want your help fer nothing now be off to the pit with ya,” cried Fitzgibbons.
“Tsk, Tsk, everyone needs my help now and then. I couldn’t help notice you mubbling something about losing the farm,” replied Morpheus.
“Those are private affairs. I’ll thank you to stay out of them,” snapped the farmer.
“Suit yourself. I’m sure Lord Chamberlin won’t mind adding your land to his at tax time,” snickered the beastie.
The farmer lowered his head, then said, “You got me over barrel. I’ve no money to pay the Lordship and no way to get it.”
“I’m sure we can work something out,” Morpheus said.
“Tis my soul you want then?” asked Fitzgibbons.
“Lucky you, we’ve met quota today. No, I need a little of your happiness, that’s all,” the imp said.
Fitzgibbons was a serious man. He thought happiness wasn’t important when work needed to be finished. He agreed to the terms of the bargain.
“When do I get my money?” asked the farmer.
“Reach into your trousers and pull it out,” Morpheus said.
Sure enough, when Fitzgibbons withdrew his hand, it was full of gold coins.
“Anytime you need money, reach into your pocket and pull out what you need,” the imp said.
“That’s it, I don’t need to sign something?” asked the man.
“Happinessis not worth the trouble to fill out a contract. I must warn you. When you withdraw funds, a little happiness is taken as well,” Morpheus remarked.
“Right by me, worthless stuff anyway. Best go pay my taxes,” said Fitzgibbons, who turned and headed back into the village.
An evil grimace crossed Morpheus’s face. “Worthless, huh? We will see about that,” muttered the imp.
With his taxes paid, the farmer felt a great load lifted from his shoulders. He decided to visit the Broken Barrel tavern for a drink.
“What’ll it be, gov?” said the barman.
“Pint of stout,” answered Fitzgibbons.
“That’ll be five shillings,” said the man. The farmer reached into his pocket and pulled out exactly five shillings.
“Hello, Nigel. Haven’t seen you here in a fortnight,” said Peter Wellington.
“Been keeping my nose to the grindstone with taxes due,” replied Fitzgibbons.
The two friends chatted about the latest news and drank a few more pints.
“I see you’re in a right serious state,” said Peter.
Fitzgibbons hadn’t realized his friend had been telling him jokes, and he had not laughed once.
“Sorry, Peter, I guess I’m a bit knackered. Best I head home and get some rest. Give my best to the wife,” Fitzgibbons said and headed out the door.
The next morning, Fitzgibbons went fishing. He caught an enormous trout, and wasn’t the least bit excited.
That evening, he returned to the Broken Barrel, intending to enjoy himself with his mates.
Fitzgibbons sat listening to his friend spin their yarns. Everyone laughed while the farmer sat silent.
Deciding he’d call it a night, the farmer said, “Early morning tomorrow, best head out,” and headed home.
Walking home, Fitzgibbons looked up and saw a moonbow, and he felt nothing. That’s when he realized he had given up much more than he bargained for.
“Dam, these trousers,” said the farmer, and tore them from his body. Once at home, he went straight to the fire and tossed them in the flames.
“I’ll not be giving up anymore of my happiness for that beastie’s easy money,” cried Fitzgibbons.
Over the course of the following year, Nigel Fitzgibbons began to smile and even laughed now and then. He had learned a valuable lesson about life, one he would not soon forget.
When you smile, you turn a frown upside down.
Folksburywoods 
Leave a comment