The Farmer and the Boggart

Once upon a time, a farmer bought a new field at the edge of the village. On his very first morning, a boggart popped up out of the ground. He was a lumpy, grumpy little creature with long ears and muddy feet. “This field is mine!” he grumbled. “Go away!”

The farmer did not want to quarrel. “Let us share it,” he said. “I will do all the digging and planting, and we will split the crop.” “Will you have the tops or the bottoms?” The boggart thought hard, and he said, “I will have the tops!” So the farmer planted potatoes.

At harvest time, the farmer dug up a big pile of round brown potatoes for himself. The boggart got nothing but a heap of dry green leaves. “That is not fair!” he shouted, stamping his muddy feet. “Next year, I will have the bottoms!”

So the next spring, the farmer planted wheat. When it grew tall and golden, the farmer cut the tops, full of fat grain. The boggart got nothing but the short stubble and the roots. He hopped up and down, and his long ears turned bright red.

“No more tops and bottoms!” cried the boggart. “This year we will both plant wheat, and we will each cut our own half.” “Whoever cuts the fastest gets to keep it all.” “Very well,” said the farmer with a smile.

Before the race, the farmer went to the blacksmith. He bought a bundle of thin iron rods and pushed them into the ground all over the boggart’s half of the field. On race day, the farmer swished through his half, and the wheat fell down neatly. But the boggart’s blade kept hitting the hidden iron rods. Clang, clang, clang! “Oh, this wheat is so tough!” puffed the boggart.

He stopped to sharpen his blade again and again, until he was hot and tired and very cross. “You can keep your silly field!” he cried at last. “I never want to see it again!” And with a grumpy huff, he sank down into the ground and was gone.

After that, the farmer had the whole field to himself, and he never saw the boggart again. But he always left a few potatoes by the gate, just in case.