Angus Mor was a shepherd on a farm near Tomrianurich in Inverness. On a wet, misty evening as he was returning after going around the hill, he thought he heard a young maiden's voice coming out of a rock beside the path he was travelling on, and it was the voice of the one he was going to marry that very night. He stood and listened, expecting to hear the same voice again. He heard the voice, but did not see the woman or a place on the surface of the rock where she could be in hiding.
Thinking it was echo's voice he had heard, he held on his way till he went round a point of the rock. Before him was a pretty green knoll, and as soon as he came in sight of it, he saw the door open, and a light coming out from there. It was like the light of the bright day, and he heard the sweetest music and the sound of dancing within. He crept towards the door, thrust his dagger into the side post, and peeped into the fairy knoll. Fairy men and women were wheeling and dancing like mad in a circle in the middle of the floor. But he did not see the maiden. He stood where he was until a fairy came out and went to a brook close by. When she was returning, he went to meet her and barred the path before her.
"Let me pass, Angus Mor," she said.
"No," answered Angus, "not until you tell me who the woman was that I heard calling before I came in sight of the fairy knoll."
"I will not tell you that; I may not," she said.
"If you don't, I won't let you pass," he said.
"If not with your good will, then in spite of you," she said and shot past him like lightning. Angus held in his hand a crook with an iron spike in one end of it, and he threw the crook after the fairy and struck her in the shins. She fell to the ground, and before she had time to get up, he had hold of her between his arms, and the crook laid across her breast.
"Tell me now," said he, "what woman was calling in the fairy knoll before I came in sight of it?"
"Angus Mor," said she, "if you can tell who our queen is, a week from tonight on the bridge of Easan Dubh, your wife and son will be yours."
Angus wondered greatly at these words, but allowed the fairy to go, and then he went home and got married.
Another evening as he was returning from the hill, he reached the rock that he last heard the voice from. He stood still at the end of it and listened for a while, but did not hear anything. He then went forward till he came in sight of the fairy knoll. When he looked towards the door of it, he saw a light shining inside, but did not hear any sound of music or dancing. He therefore turned away, but before he had gone far, he saw the fairy returning from the brook, and in passing she called to him as she had done the first night, "Angus Mor, your wife and son are yours if you can tell the secret of our queen on the bridge of Easan Dubh on next Friday evening."
The message he thus got the second time, made Angus somewhat anxious, especially since he did not know what the outcome might be.
He reached home, and his wife met him at the door. She noticed that something was troubling him, so she asked him what was the matter, and he told her everything he had seen and heard at the Fairy Knoll.
"Angus, dear," said his wife, "let none of these things make you anxious. We got married before that year ran out, so do not let me cause you anxiety any longer."
"Wife, I don't understand you," said Angus.
Then she said, "About a year ago a faintness came over me as I was passing the fairy knoll. I sat down on the knoll, and fell asleep in a short time. When I awoke I was in the finest place I ever saw, and was surrounded by men and women who were busy dancing. I tried to go out, but whatever way I took, the fairies would bar it.
"At last one of them, who seemed to be chief over the rest, said, "Brown-haired maiden with laughing eyes, you will get out if you promise to be my wife. But if you get your chosen love to marry you before the end of the year from tonight, you won't have to be my wife." I was so eager to get away that I gave him my word. But, Angus, you were my choice, and since I got you before the time ran out, I am free from the promise I gave him."
On Friday evening Angus Mor once more returned from the hill, and when he came to the bridge of Easan Dubh, he remembered it was there he was to learn who the queen of the fairies were. He stood a while on the top of the bridge, but he was not long there when he heard in the brook under him the sweetest voice he had ever listened to. He peeped over the parapet of the bridge, and saw the fairy queen cleaning and rubbing clothes on a stone in the water, and singing a song:
When she ended the song, Big Angus cried from the top of the bridge, "In spite of what you have just sung, woman, you are wrong. I now know every word of your song, and know who you are too."
At these words the queen started and screamed. She then lifted up her head, and when she saw Angus on the bridge, she said, "You have foiled me. Your wife and son are now your own, definitely." After saying this she went out of sight, and he did not see her any more.
(MacDougall 1910, 132-142)
The swarthy smith of the socks had served his time learning smith-craft, but he could not make anything connected with smith-work but socks for ploughs.
He opened a smithy a few miles out of Edinburgh, and began sock-making. At that time a fair was held once a month in the city, and as often as it would come round the swarthy smith used to go to it with his old white horse and a cart full of socks. And after selling the socks he would return home, sound asleep in his cart, leaving the old white horse to find his way as best he could.
On a certain market day he went as usual to the inn, and who met him there but the king's smith. The two smiths soon made one another's acquaintance, and they sat down drinking till the liquor went to their heads and they began to boast. Neither of them would admit that he was not a better smith than the other. To put an end to the wrangle, the king's smith stood up, and said to the swarthy smith: "I'll bet three hundred merks that before next fair I'll make something that nothing you can make in the same time will surpass."
The swarthy smith then stood up and answered: "I'll lay another three hundred that you can do nothing of the kind, but that I'll make something to surpass the thing you will make." The smiths parted, promising to meet at next fair, having with them the thing they were to make.
At the close of the day the swarthy smith returned home in the cart as usual. Next morning he turned out to the smithy, and began to make more socks. He kept at them day after day until the day before the market arrived. In the evening a gentleman came to the smithy and said to the swarthy smith: "Have you no word at all of making something with which you are going to win the bet from the king's smith? If you do not begin quickly, be sure you will lose."
The swarthy smith replied: "I do not know what you mean; I am not aware that I laid any bet with the king's smith." He had been drinking too much to remember a thing from that night and the next morning. 
"You did," said the gentleman; "I was within hearing, and my own ears heard you lay three hundred merks against him."
"Well, then, I will lose, for I never learned to make anything except socks," said the swarthy smith.
"Keep up your courage," said the gentleman, "if you will give me half of what you win. I'll make something for you which will win the bet."
"I will give you that with all my heart, if I can remember," said the swarthy smith.
Without further delay the gentleman set to work. First he made a good lump of a box. After that he placed a large piece of iron in the forge, and in a short time drew it out a deer-hound. And when everything was finished, he put the deer-hound into the box, and closed the lid over him.
"Now," said the gentleman, turning to the smith, "when you go away tomorrow with the socks, you will take this box with you, and when you arrive at the fair, the king's smith will be there before you, and will come to meet you. If he then asks you to open your box and show him what is in it, you will tell him that he ought to open his first, because it was he who first laid the bet. Then he will open his box, and a stag will spring out. As soon as you see the stag, open your box and let out the dog; and I am mistaken if he does not win the bet for you."
Then the gentleman bade good evening to the swarthy smith and departed.
Next morning the swarthy smith went away with his socks and his box in the cart. He reached the fair in good time, and there met the king's smith with a box under his arm. Then everything passed between them as the gentleman had expected. At length the king's smith opened his box and a fine stag sprang out, and away he went at full speed. The swarthy smith then opened his box, and a handsome deer-hound sprang out and stretched away after the stag and did not stop until he caught the stag and left it at the swarthy smith's feet.
"Now, I call you to witness," said the swarthy smith to the king's smith, "that you have lost your bet."
"I have lost this one, indeed; but perhaps I may win the next," replied the king's smith, while he handed the other every penny of the money wagered.
Then they went to the inn, and were not long there until they laid another such wager as the last. After that they parted, promising to meet at the next fair, having the machines they would make with them. Then the swarthy smith went into the cart, and the white horse took him home.
The first thing he did next morning was to go to the smithy and hide the three hundred merks in a hole he dug under the door-step. He had no word of the bet, but he continued making socks until the last evening before the fair.
Shortly before the time to stop work came, the gentleman who had made the deer-hound, came into the smithy. He greeted the swarthy smith, and asked him whether he had yet made that machine that was going to win him the next bet from the king's smith. But the swarthy smith remembered neither that he laid a bet, nor what it was about.
"Well," said the gentleman, "if you promise me half of what you win, and that you will go no more to the inn, I will make you a machine to carry off the bet with."
"I promise that, and will also fulfil my promise as far as I can recall it," replied the swarthy smith.
Then the gentleman set to work. He made first a box, and then a large, strong otter in the same way as he had made the deer-hound. And when it was ready, he put it in the box and shut and locked the lid over it. "Now," said he to the swarthy smith, "you will take this box with you to the fair, and you will not open it until the king's smith will first open his. You will win the bet this time yet. But see that you go not to the inn, and that you do not lay another bet, for if you do, you could lose all you have won. In a few days I will call again at the smithy, and you will give me half the money you will win."
The smith said he was eager do as he was told, and they parted.
Next day the swarthy smith went away with the box to the fair. When he arrived he met the king's smith, but on being asked refused to open his box first. Then the king's smith went to the water side, and as soon as he opened his box a salmon leapt out into the water, and away he swam. Then the swarthy smith opened his own, and the otter sprang out after the salmon, and in a short time seized the salmon and returned with it in his mouth and left it at his master's feet.
"I call you to witness," said the swarthy smith, "that you have lost your bet."
"I have undoubtedly," replied the king's smith, "and if you come with me to the inn I'll pay you every penny of it."
"No, I will not, for I have resolved that I will not lay a bet again," said the swarthy smith.
"All right, "said the king's smith, and he paid the other smith on the spot.
The smith went home and dug down the money in the usual place, and discovered the three hundred merks he had hidden there earlier too. At the end of a few days the gentleman entered the smithy again. He waited a while, expecting that the swarthy smith would pay unasked what he had earned, but the swarthy smith did nothing of the kind.
At last the gentleman said to him: "I have come for my reward; you had better give it me and let me go."
But reward or thanks the swarthy smith would not give, for "I was eager to win and share with you then, but not any more," he said. When the gentleman saw this he went away, but was not pleased at all.
A few days afterward another gentleman came on horseback to the smithy, and his horse was limping badly for want of shoes. After greeting the smith the man said: "I wish you would shoe my horse, for he is so much in need that he cannot go a step."
The swarthy smith said, "I never made an article of smithwork except socks for ploughs."
The gentleman replied: "Many a thing a man could make if he had courage enough to try. Try, and I will assist you."
"Very well, then, I will do as well as I can."
The gentleman went out and cut the horse's four feet off below the knees. He took them in to the smith and laid them in the fire. He himself went to the bellows-handle, and the smith was keeping the fire banked up about the feet. After they were a good while in the fire, he cried to the swarthy smith: "Out with the heat!"
The smith took hold of the tongs, and with them pulled the first foot out of the fire on to the anvil. He then seized the hand hammer and the gentleman took the sledge hammer, and with a few strokes they shod the foot as neatly as a smith ever did. When they were done with it, they took the other feet and shod them one by one in the same manner. Then the gentleman cried again to the swarthy smith: "Get out with the two fore feet and strike them in their place on the horse."
The swarthy smith did that, and the gentleman himself did the same with the two hind feet. In an instant the horse stood up as sound as ever he was, shod and ready for the road. Then the gentleman sprang into the saddle and departed.
As soon as the gentleman went away the smith entered the house, and said to his wife: "I'll no longer pay wages to rascally smiths, for I can now shoe without them. Come out and help me to shoe the white horse, because I have to go with him to the town soon."
When he had finished what he had to say, he went to the stable, and cut the white horse's feet off, and then he took them to the smithy, and put them in the fire. He sent his wife to blow the bellows, while he kept coals over the feet. When he thought they were ready, he drew one out to the anvil, and struck it with the hammer. But the foot up to its middle was nothing but charred bone, and therefore the stroke sent it flying in splinters over the smithy.
The rest of the feet were in the same condition, and so the smith had no alternative but to put the poor white horse out of pain at once, and lay his carcass under ground as quietly as possible.
A good while after the second gentleman departed, a third gentleman came to the smithy with two old women in his company. He said to the swarthy smith: "If you will make for me a young maiden of these old women, I will give you a good reward for your labour."
The swarthy smith answered: "I never made anything but socks."
"Will you then lend me the use the smithy and your assistance for a while?" said the gentleman.
"Yes, you will get that."
"Come, then, begin work. Many a thing a man could do if he had courage enough to try."
They put the old women in the fire, and the gentleman went to blow the bellows, and the swarthy smith to keep coals on the fire. When they had given the women a good heating, they drew them out to the anvil, and then the gentleman began to strike with the sledge hammer and the smith with the hand hammer, and with one welding heat they made the most handsome maiden that the smith had ever seen. When they had done, the gentleman gave the swarthy smith a good reward, and departed with the young maiden in his company.
As soon as he parted with them, the swarthy smith made his way to the house, and said to his wife: "I have news for you. I have just made a delightful young maiden out of two old wives. Come and we will make another of your mother and mine, and then we shall have what we never had before, a daughter of our own."
But his wife said: "Take care that you will not have the smithing of the white horse over again."
"There is no fear of that," he said and set to work. He tried to do everything as he saw the gentleman do, but if the result was not the smithing of the white horse over again, it was something seven times worse.
Time passed, and then the first gentleman called in at the smithy. After greeting the swarthy smith, he said: "Are you at all disposed to give me, as you promised, half of the money I earned for you?"
No, after being deceived into killing his mother and mother-in-law, the smith lo longer felt inclined to thank the gentleman. Then the gentleman began to grow so big that the smith was in danger of being flattened between him and the side of the forge. When the swarthy smith saw the danger he was in, he took from his pocket a purse which was fastened with thongs, and said: "I see that you can make yourself big enough, but if you will now make yourself so small that you can enter this purse, I may give you all the money I owe you."
At once the gentleman began to grow smaller and smaller until at last he was so small that he leaped into the purse. As soon as the smith saw this, he drew the thongs and tied them hard and fast about the mouth. He then laid the purse on the anvil and gave it three strokes of the sledgehammer as hard as he could. The purse burst with so loud a report that the smith's wife thought the smithy and all that it contained were blown into the skies. She ran out in terror and asked what had happened.
"Never mind. If he cheated me over the white horse and the old wives, I have cheated him of his life."
He continued to make socks and to go with them once a month to the fair. And any time he had need of money, he would take a little from the hoard he had hidden under the threshold of the smithy.
(Retold from MacDougall 1910.]
1. Blackout. One of the blackout types, so-called en bloc blackouts, shows up in the being unable to recall anything from the intoxicated period afterwards, even when prompted. One study has indicated a genetic predisposition towards blacking out. [Wikipedia, "Blackout (alcohol-related amnesia)")
Some years back, the blacksmith of Yarrowfoot had for apprentices two brothers. Both were steady lads and fine healthy fellows on arriving. After a few months, however, the younger of the two began to grow pale and lean, lose his appetite, and show other marks of declining health. His brother, much concerned, often questioned him as to what ailed him, but to no purpose.
At last, however, the poor lad burst into an agony of tears, and confessed that he was quite worn-out, and should soon be brought to the grave through the ill-usage of his mistress, who was a witch, though none suspected it. "Every night," he sobbed out, "she comes to my bedside, puts a magic bridle on me, and changes me into a horse. Then, seated on my back, she urges me on for many a mile to the wild moors, where she and other creatures hold their hideous feasts. There she keeps me all night, and at early morning I carry her home. She takes off my bridle, and there I am, but so weary I can ill stand. In this way I pass my nights while you are soundly sleeping."
The elder brother at once said he would take his chance of a night among the witches, so he put the younger one in his own place next the wall, and lay awake himself till the time when the witch-woman usually arrived. She came, bridle in hand, and flung it over the elder brother's head, and up sprang a fine hunting horse. The lady leaped on his back, and started for the trysting-place, which this time chanced to be the cellar of a neighbouring laird.
While she and the rest of the crew were regaling themselves with claret and sack, the hunter, who was left in a spare stall of the stable, rubbed and rubbed his head against the wall till he loosened the bridle, and finally got it off. Thereby he recovered his human form. Holding the bridle firmly in his hand, he hid himself at the back of the stall till his mistress came within reach. Then in an instant he flung the magic bridle over her head, and, behold, a fine grey mare! He mounted her and dashed off, riding through hedge and ditch, till, looking down, he perceived she had lost a shoe from one of her forefeet. He took her to the first smithy that was open, had the shoe replaced, and a new one put on the other forefoot, and then rode her up and down a ploughed field till she was nearly worn out. At last he took her home, and pulled the bridle off just in time for her to creep into bed before her husband awoke to get up for his day's work.
The blacksmith arose, but his wife complained of being very ill, and begged him to send for a doctor. He accordingly aroused his apprentices. The elder one went out, and soon returned with one. The doctor wished to feel his patient's pulse, but she resolutely hid her hands and refused to show them. The doctor was perplexed; but the husband impatiently pulled off the bed-clothes, and found to his horror that horseshoes were tightly nailed to both hands. On further examination, her sides appeared galled with kicks, the same that the apprentice had given her during his ride up and down the ploughed field.
The brothers now came forward, and related all that had passed. On the following day the witch was tried by the magistrates of Selkirk, and condemned to be burned to death on a stone at the Bullsheugh. The sentence was promptly carried out.
The younger apprentice was at last restored to health by eating butter made from the milk of cows, a sovereign remedy for the effects of being weary and witch-ridden.
(Retold from "The Blacksmith's Wife of Yarrowfoot," in Douglas 1901)