Old Farmer Jack sat by the fire, dozing and grumbling on a fine summer’s eve, when ratta-tat-tat! a knocking broke out something fierce at his door.
“Hey there, cease that din!” called Farmer Jack, and he went to the door, wondering who might be there. It was too late for most folk, and asides, Jack had no kin who lived nearby. So he swung it open wide, and whoosh! in through the door leapt a boggart, and frightened the farmer near half to death. Mind, not that you or I would’ve done any better, for this boggart was a fearsome creature - nearer to eight foot tall than to seven, with dozens of yellowing teeth and lank green hair, and his eyes were red and glowing.
So in sprang the boggart, and Farmer Jack was mighty afeared, and the boggart’s words made him more afeared and not less! For did that boggart say, “Hello, old master, I hope all be well with thee and thy kin, and be thankful for your hospitality?” No indeed! Instead he said, “Hurr durr, Farmer Jack, yer time’s come and yer life is done! Fer I’ve’a come to eat thee, to strip thy flesh from bone, see!”
Now Old Jack thought himself a wily fellow, and though he shook in his boots and could hardly breathe for fear, he said, full friendly, “Come now, boggart-friend, for this be hardly fair of you. You seem a mighty reasonable sort, can’t we come to a bargain?”
The boggart drooled and wiped his nose, “Gurr hurr, Farmer Jack, there be no deal you can appeal! I’ll eat yer dinner and I’ll eat yer sweets, and ‘fore night’s done ‘tis you I’ll eat!”
But Jack was not so easy beat, “Hey now wait a-while, afore you sup on me. For while you may be big and strong, I’ll wager your wits aren’t near so fierce. What say you to a riddle game, and if you win you dine on me? But answer a question wrong, and I’ll’ve won and you’ll be gone!”
Then boggart laughed and leered, for he thought himself keen of mind. “Ho, right it be then farmer, though yer fer my pot I garner.”
So Old Farmer Jack poured a mug of beer for himself, and one for the boggart, and both sat by the fire bright. The boggart drank long and quick of his mug, for he was perishing thirsty, but the farmer drank little, for he guessed that he’d be in need of his wits if he was to see out the night. Old Jack hmmmed and the boggart grrred as they each thought of a riddle cunning. Then, after a while, Farmer Jack began, and this is the riddle he told:
Forty oxen ploughing fields,
To sow wheat upon those green fields.
Tell me, riddle-guesser now,
For what crop did those oxen plough?
Now, you might think Farmer Jack terrible foolish for giving away the answer in the question! But the boggart sat and scratched his head. “Hurr durr, you ain’t goin’ easy on me, sir,” he grumbled. “Hurr gurr, well, let’s see, fields and oxen, ploughing, sowing - mercy this ain’t easy going!”
“Hurry up n’make your guess!” crowed the farmer.
The boggart shook his head, “Urr well,” he said, thinking slowly. “If the horses is the stars and the fields is the dragon’s bones, then….apples! They be sowing apples!” he shouted triumphantly.
The farmer threw up his hands in despair, “Well, ain’t you a smart ‘un,” he cried. “I was as sure I’d stumped y’proper! Well, I s’pose it’s your turn right enough, and no mistake.”
The boggart leered, and recited,
Twisting, winding, ever on,
A knife in hand of trusty son.
Tell me, riddle-guesser now,
What secret did the beggar know?
Now, it might be fairly wondered what chance the farmer had at such a meaningless riddle. But Farmer Jack met the boggart with a level and keen eye, and laughed. “You’re a tricksy ‘un and no mistake,” he said slowly. “But y’ain’t gonna outfox this wily head, no sirree! Why, the answer be Ol’ Mrs Midges knitting a shawl on a Yuletide Eve.”
The boggart sat back and nodded in approval, smiling crooked with yellow jagged teeth. “Hurr gurr and fat rats,” he said, “If it ain’t be that I’ve ‘a’met me match today. Good played sir, good played that were.”
The farmer did not wait a moment longer, saying,
I sang a song of silver,
A tarrying trav’ler til ear-
Thly found. Then to fulfil per-
Fection true. Caterpillar.
The boggart nodded slowly, “Burr furr oi ‘ave the answer. Elves in puddles, that ain’t no trouble,” he said.
“Elves in puddles,” agreed Farmer Jack.
Now the boggart stopped a while and scratched his head and picked at his chin, for already he felt that near all the riddles in the world had been told. Eventually, though, he stumbled across a half-remembered rhyme, and chuckling (for it seemed mighty difficult to him) he said,
In darkness have I been,
In sun I come to being.
I once was kept in bin,
I am not a big bean.
The farmer took many a minute over this one, for it seemed to him that there was many a possibility, and the boggart started dreaming of long-stewed farmer and wondering how best to season him. But lucky for the farmer, he had a new-planted crop just outside his window, and as he glanced out an answer came to him as he saw, “Chick-pease, old boggart chum, as sure as shepherds, the answer’s chick-pease.”
The boggart growled and grouched, and began to wonder if he’d happened not upon a farmer but rather a wizard, for Jack seemed to him to be mighty learned indeed. Old Jack, for his part, had decided that this boggart was possessed of greater wit than he had at first assumed, and was beginning to think that maybe a game of riddles was not such a wise choice.
In truth, they were perfectly matched to one another.
After some time sitting in suspicious silence, Farmer Jack told his next riddle, and it went like this:
Voiceless cries, wingless flutters,
Toothless bites, mouthless mutters.
Tell me, riddle-guesser now,
What be this myst’ry thing and
How?
The boggart started muttering and repeating the riddle. You may have heard one very much like it before, and think that you know the right answer, but as you might have realised by now, such trifling details mattered little to farmer or boggart.
So the boggart grumbled, “Flutters, hurr furr aye, that be a good start….and ain’t got a mouth nor teeth, aye, so…gurr murr roight.”
The farmer laughed, “C’mon, old boggart, we ain’t got no time for this,” he said.
“Hurr burr right y’are. Hurr durr, it be a bird, hurr! A mute swallow that ain’t got no wings is the roight answer!”
The farmer slapped his thighs and slapped his forehead, “Why, mercy me and so it be!” he said. “We, surely, be the greatest riddlers there ever were!”
The boggart hmmed and hawwed his agreement, and then he told his next riddle.
Hurr-di gurr and garr fee-rum,
Hum-di gum with-a foe fie fum.
Tell me, riddle-guesser now,
Tim-tee tarr and diddally dum!
Farmer Jack took much longer over this one than he had any of the previous, and sweat was beading on his brow and the boggart was licking his slimy lips as he dreamt of roast farmer, when Jack finally answered, “Now, I don’t not know much ‘bout such things. But I reckon the answer must be the folly of kings.”
“Gurr curr and golly, ‘struth the answer be kings and their folly,” spat the boggart, and he was most put out, for he had been sure the farmer would never guess such a cunning and intricate puzzle.
Now the farmer hawwed and hmmed himself, for he was in a right tight spot and no mistake - this boggart was his match at riddle-making and riddle-guessing, and Jack was starting to despair. Then, a sudden twinkle in his eye, “Say now, boggart-me-lad, whatever in the world be that?” And he pointed crooked finger right over the boggart’s left shoulder.
And the boggart turned and peered and leered, and said, “Furr burr what be there? Oi don’t see no ‘ide nor ‘air.”
But while the boggart spoke, Farmer Jack whisked his full mug of beer over to the boggart, and changed it with the boggart’s own empty tankard. Then, twinkle in his eye, “Ah, ‘twere nothing maybe, not more than a trick of the light.”
And as the boggart turned back round and sullen scowled, the old farmer asked cheery, “Anyhownow boggart chap, I see my mug be empty, and I’m in mind of another. What ‘bout you now, have you any beer left?”
“Curr burr my mug be empty-light, go fetch me another pint.” growled the boggart, rude as you please.
The farmer frowned and said, “Be that so now, boggart-mate? For I reckon there’s more than a bit left in your cup?”
And the boggart looked, “Hurr murr to be sure, though that be moighty odd, for oi be sure ‘twere drank to the last drop.”
But the farmer laughed and slapped his knees, “Then the game is done and I’ve a’won,” he crowed. “For you’ve answered my question wrong.”
“Gurr curr what be that?! That were no riddle, by thunder and grunder!” shouted the boggart, sudden angered.
But the old farmer wagged his finger and shook his head, “The deal were whoe’er answer question false be the loser, and so I reckon you’re done with your little fun!”
So, growling and grouching, the boggart admitted defeat, and he was none too pleased about it. But a deal’s a deal, even for a discourteous boggart, and so he drained his mug of ale, and hopped up on his hoofed feet to be away and leave the farmer be.
As the boggart reached the door, Old Farmer Jack called, “Hey now, boggart-friend, you were early this day - usual time tomorrow?”
And boggart opened the door, “Hurr rurr friend Farmer Jack, you be sure that I’ll be back!”
((OOC - for those who find themselves baffled by this tale, an speculative explanation authored by an anonymous and forgotten scribe in Dale during the early Fourth Age may be of some interest))
