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Tha mi a’ dol a thoirt ‘Na Sia Bonnaich Bheaga’ gu crìch. Bha nighean an fhamhair agus mac na banntraich air sgaradh bho chèile. Fhuair an nighean obair aig gobha. Bha i ann an riochd gille. Cha robh fios aig a’ ghobha gur e nighean a bha innte.

Lean an nighean oirre a choimhead airson an duine aice – mac na banntraich. Bha esan a-nise fo ghealladh-pòsaidh aig nighean an rìgh. Bhon a fhuair e pòg bho chù, cha robh cuimhne aige air nighean an fhamhair.

Latha a bha seo, thàinig fios mu bhanais nighean an rìgh. Chaidh iarraidh air a’ ghobha agus a nighean a bhith ann. Rinn nighean an fhamhair coileach òir agus cearc airgid mar thiodhlac bainnse. Nuair a chaidh i don bhanais, chuir i an coileach òir agus a’ chearc airgid air bòrd mu choinneamh fear na bainnse. Bha daoine a’ gabhail iongantas.

Thug an nighean gràinne eòrna à poca. Thilg i air a’ bhòrd i. Dh’ith an coileach i is thug e criomag às a’ chirc. ‘Gog, gog,’ thuirt a’ chearc. ‘Nam biodh cuimhne agad air an latha a chairt mise na seachd bàthaichean aig an fhamhair, cha dèanadh tu sin orm.’

Thug an nighean gràinne eòrna eile à poca. Thilg i air a’ bhòrd i. Dh’ith an coileach i is thug e criomag às a’ chirc. ‘Gog, gog,’ thuirt a’ chearc. ‘Nam biodh cuimhne agad air an latha a thugh mi na seachd bàthaichean, cha dèanadh tu sin orm.’

Thug an nighean treas gràinne eòrna à poca. Thilg i air a’ bhòrd i. Dh’ith an coileach i is thug e criomag às a’ chirc. ‘Gog, gog,’ thuirt a’ chearc. ‘Nam biodh cuimhne agad air an latha a rug mise air an each, cha dèanadh tu sin orm.’

Dh’aithnich an gille nighean an fhamhair. Bha cuimhne aige oirre a-rithist. Leum e thar a’ bhùird. Thuirt e rithe gun robh gaol aige oirre. Dh’fhàg e nighean an rìgh.

Phòs mac na banntraich agus nighean an fhamhair. Dh’fhalbh iad a dh’fhuireach ann an taigh an fhamhair. Agus mura robh iad sona còmhla, cha chuala mi guth air.

I’m going to conclude ‘The Six Wee Bannocks’. The giant’s daughter and the widow’s son had separated from each other. The daughter got work with a blacksmith. She was disguised as a boy. The smith didn’t know she was a girl.

The girl continued to look for her husband – the widow’s son. He was now engaged to the king’s daughter. Since he had got a kiss from a dog, he couldn’t remember the giant’s daughter.

One day, information came about the king’s daughter’s wedding. The smith and the girl were instructed to be there. The giant’s daughter made a golden cockerel and a silver hen as a wedding present. When she went to the wedding, she put the golden cockerel and the silver hen on a table opposite the bridegroom.

The girl took a barley grain from her pocket. She threw it on the table. The cockerel ate it and he pecked the hen. ‘Cluck, cluck,’ said the hen. ‘If you remembered the day I mucked out the giant’s seven byres, you wouldn’t do that to me.’

The girl took another barley grain from her pocket. She threw it on the table. The cockerel ate it and he pecked the hen. ‘Cluck, cluck,’ said the hen. ‘If you remembered the day I thatched the seven byres, you wouldn’t do that to me.’

The girl took a third barley grain from her pocket. She threw it on the table. The cockerel ate it and he pecked the hen. ‘Cluck, cluck,’ said the hen. ‘If you remembered the day I caught the horse, you wouldn’t do that to me.’

The lad recognised the giant’s daughter. He could remember her again. He leaped over the table. He told her he loved her. He left the king’s daughter.

The widow’s son married the giant’s daughter. They left to live in the giant’s house. And if they were not happy together, I never heard of it.