FOOTNOTE:
[1] Bonowed—ransomed or rescued.
BUTTERCUP
(From the Norse)
THERE was once a poor woman who I had one son, a little boy so fat and round, and with such bright yellow hair that he was called Buttercup. The house where they lived was upon the edge of a lonely forest, and upon the other side of this forest lived a wicked old witch.
One day when the woman was baking she heard Sharptooth, her dog, begin to bark. “Run, Buttercup, and see who is coming,” she said.
Buttercup ran and looked out. “Oh, Mother, it is an old witch with her head under one arm and a bag under the other.”
“Come, quick,” cried the mother, “and hide yourself in the dough trough so that she may not see you.”
Buttercup jumped into the dough trough and his mother shut the lid, so that no one would have known he was there.
Then in a moment there was a knock at the door, and the old witch opened it and looked in. She had put her head on where it belonged now, and she looked almost like any old woman.
“Good-day, daughter,” said she.
“Good-day, mother,” answered the woman.
“May I come in and rest my bones a bit?”
The woman did not want her to come in, but neither did she like to say no. “Come in, in heaven’s name.”
The old witch entered and sat down on the settle, and then she began to look and peer about the room.
“Have you no children?” she asked.
“Yes, I have one son.”
“And how do you call him?”
“I call him Buttercup.”
“Is he at home?”
“No; his father takes him out with him when he goes hunting.”
The old witch looked greatly disappointed. “I am sorry Buttercup is not at home, for I have a sweet little knife—a beautiful silver knife, and it is so sharp that it will cut through anything. If he were only here I would give it to him.”
When Buttercup in the dough trough heard this he opened the lid and looked out. “Peep! peep! here I am!” he cried.
“That is a lucky thing,” said she, and she looked well satisfied. “But the knife is at the bottom of my bag and I am so old and stiff that you will have to crawl in yourself and get it.”
Buttercup was willing, so into the bag he crawled. Then the old witch closed it and flung it over her shoulder, and away she went so fast that the good mother could neither stop her nor follow her.
The old witch went on and on through the forest, but after a while she began to feel very tired.
“How far is it to Snoring?” she asked of Buttercup in the bag.
“A good two miles,” answered Buttercup.
“Two miles! That is a long way. I’ll just lie down and sleep a bit, and do you keep as still as a mouse in the bag, or it will be the worse for you.”
She tied the mouth of the bag up tight, and then she fell fast asleep, and snored till the leaves shook overhead.
When he heard that, Buttercup took from his pocket a little dull old knife that his father had given him, and managed to cut a slit in the sack and crawl out. Then he found a gnarly stump of a fir tree and put that in the bag in his place and ran away home to his mother, and all this while the old witch never stirred.
After a time, however, she began to stretch her bones and look about her. “Eh! Eh!” she sighed, “that was a good sleep I had, but now we’ll be journeying on again.”
She slung the bag on her back, but the sharp points of the root kept sticking into her at every step. “That boy looked plump and soft enough,” she muttered to herself, “but now he seems all elbows and knees.” Then she cried to the stump, “Hey! there, you inside the bag, do not stick your bones into me like that. Do you think I am a pin cushion?”
The stump made no answer for it could not, and besides it had not heard, and the old witch hobbled on muttering and grumbling to herself.
When she reached her house her ugly, stupid witch daughter was watching for her from the window. “Have you brought home anything to eat?” she called.
“Yes, I have brought home a fine plump boy,” said the witch, and she threw the bag down on the floor and began rubbing her bruises. “I’m half dead with carrying him, too.”
“Let me see,” cried the daughter, and she untied the mouth of the sack and looked in. “A boy!” she cried. “This is no boy, but only an old stump of a fir tree.”
“Stupid you are, and stupid you will be,” cried the witch. “I tell you it is a boy and a good fat boy at that.”
“I tell you it is not,” said the girl.
“I tell you it is.” The old witch took up the sack and looked into it, and there, sure enough, was only an old stump that she had broken her back carrying home. Then she was in a fine rage. “How he got away I don’t know, but never mind! I’ll have him yet whether or no.”
So the next morning while the good woman on the other side of the forest was making her beds she heard Sharptooth begin to bark.
“Run, Buttercup, and see who is coming,” she called.
“Mother, it is the same old woman who was here yesterday.”
“Quick! Jump into the clock case, and do not dare to so much as stir a finger until she has gone.”
Buttercup ran and hid himself in the clock case, and presently there was a knock at the door and the old witch looked into the room.
“Good morning, daughter.”
“Good morning, mother.”
“May I come in and rest my poor old bones for a minute?”
“Come in, in heaven’s name.”
The old witch came in and sat down as near the dough trough as she dared.
“Daughter, I have journeyed far and I would be glad of a bit of bread to eat even if it is only the crust.”
Well, she might have that and welcome, so the good woman went to the dough trough to get a piece, for that was where she kept it. No sooner had she opened the lid than the old witch was close behind her, looking over her shoulder, and she was disappointed enough when she found that no Buttercup was there.
However, she sat down again with the piece of bread in her hand and began to munch and mumble it, though she had no liking for such dry food as that.
“Is your little boy Buttercup at home to-day?” she asked.
“No. He has gone with his father to catch some trout for dinner.”
“That is a pity,” said the old witch, “for I brought a present for him in my bag. I brought him a silver fork, and it is such a dear little, pretty little fork that every bite it carries to your mouth tastes better than what the king himself has to eat.”
When Buttercup heard that he could no longer keep still in the clock case. He must have that pretty little fork. “Peep! peep!” he cried, “here I am in the clock case.” And he opened the door and jumped out.
“That is well,” said the old witch, “but I am too old and stiff to bend over and you must crawl into the sack yourself to get the fork.”
Before his mother could stop him Buttercup was in the sack, and the old woman had closed the mouth of it, had swung it over her shoulder and was out of the house and off. There was no use in running after her; she went so fast.
After while she was well in the forest, and then she did not hurry so.
“How far is it to Snoring now, you in the bag?” she asked.
“Oh, a mile and a half at least.”
“That is a long way for old bones,” said the witch. “I’ll just sit down and rest a bit; but mind you, no tricks to-day, for I shall stay wide awake this time.”
So she sat down by the road with her back against a tree. Then first she yawned, and next she nodded, and then she was asleep and snoring so that the very rocks around were shaken.
When Buttercup heard that, he whipped out his little knife and cut a slit in the sack and crawled out. Then he put a great heavy stone in the sack and ran away home as fast as his legs would carry him.
After while the old witch began to stretch and yawn. “Well, it’s time to be journeying on if we would reach Snoring by daylight,” she said, and she did not know she had been asleep at all. She picked up the bag, and whew! but it was heavy. “This boy is fat enough to break a body’s back,” said she. “He ought to make good eating.” But at every step the stone bounced against her ribs till she was black and blue. “Hi! there, you inside the sack, can’t you keep a little quieter?” she asked. But the stone made no answer, for it could not.
After a time the old witch reached her house, and her fat ugly daughter came running to meet her.
“Did you catch the same boy?” asked the girl.
“The very same, and fatter than ever,” answered the witch, and she threw the bag down on the floor, bump!
“Oh, let me see him.” And the witch girl put her hand on the bag.
“Let it alone!” screamed the witch mother. “If you go goggling at him again you’ll turn him into a stick or a stone or something, as you did before. Put on a kettle of water, and as soon as it is hot I’ll empty him into it.”
The witch girl did as she was told, and every time she went past the sack she gave it a poke with her foot. “The boy may be fat,” she said, “but he’s tough enough to break a body’s teeth in the eating.”
When the water began to boil she called her mother, and the old witch picked up the sack intending to empty Buttercup into the pot, but instead the great stone rolled into it, ker-splash! and the boiling water flew all about. It flew on the old witch and burned her so that she stamped about the kitchen gnashing her teeth with rage. The fat daughter was so frightened she ran out and hid in the stable until all was quiet again. “Never mind!” said the old witch. “I’ll have the boy to-morrow for sure.” So the next day she took up the bag and started off for the third time through the forest.
The good mother was scrubbing her pans when Sharptooth began to bark outside. “Run, Buttercup, and see who is coming now.”
“Mother, it is the same old witch who has been here twice before.”
“Quick, quick! Hide in the cellar way, and try not to breathe until she has gone.”
Buttercup ran and hid himself in the cellar way, and he was scarcely there before there was a knock at the door and the old witch pushed it open and looked in.
“May I come in and rest a bit?”
“Come in, in heaven’s name.”
The old witch stepped in and looked all about her.
“I would like to know what time it is.”
“Well, look for yourself; there stands the clock.”
The old witch went close to it and took the chance to peep inside the case, but no little boy was there. Then she sat down near the door.
“Is your little boy Buttercup at home to-day?”
The mother said, “No, he has gone to the mill with his father.”
“That is a pity,” said the old witch, “for I have a pretty little spoon in my bag that I meant to give to him, and it is such a smart little spoon that if you do but stir your porridge with it, it changes it into something so delicious that the princess herself would be glad to eat it.”
When Buttercup in the cellar way heard that he wanted the spoon so badly that he could stay hidden no longer. “Peep! peep! Here I am,” said he.
“I am glad of that,” said the witch, “for I had no wish to take the spoon home again; but you will have to crawl into the sack yourself to get it, for I am too old and stiff.”
In a moment Buttercup was in the sack, and in another moment the old witch had swung it over her back and was making off as fast as her legs would carry her. This time she neither stayed nor stopped, but went straight on home, and flung the sack on the floor with Buttercup in it.
“Did you get him this time?” asked the girl.
“Yes, I did,” said the old witch, “and there he is, as plump as any young chicken. Now I’ll be off to ask the guests, and do you put him in the pot and make a nice stew of him.”
As soon as she had gone the witch girl opened the sack and told Buttercup to come out. “Now put your head on the block, Buttercup,” she said, “so that I may chop it off.”
“But I do not know how,” said Buttercup.
“THEN SHOW ME HOW, AND I WILL HOLD THE AX FOR YOU”
“Stupid! It is easy enough; anyone would know how to do that.”
“Then show me how, and I will hold the ax for you.”
The stupid witch girl put her head on the block, and as soon as she did that, Buttercup cut it off. He put the head on the pillow of the bed and drew the coverlid up about it and then it looked exactly as though the witch girl were lying there asleep, but the body of her he popped into the pot of boiling water. Then he climbed up on the roof and took the fir tree stump and the stone with him.
And now home came the old witch again and all her troll friends with her, and they were an ugly looking set all together.
They went stamping into the house and the old witch began to bawl for her daughter, but there was no answer. She looked about her and spied the head there on the pillow with the covers drawn up about it. “So there you are!” cried the old witch. “Well, if you are too lazy to get up and eat your dinner, you will have to be content with what we leave.” Then she picked up a big spoon and tasted the broth.
“Good, by my troth,
Is Buttercup broth,”
said she, and smacked her lips.
“Good, by my troth,
Is witch daughter broth,”
sang Buttercup out on the roof.
“Who was that?” asked the witch.
“Oh, it was only a bird singing outside,” said her husband, and he took the spoon himself and tasted the broth.
“Good, by my troth,
Is Buttercup broth,”
said he.
“Good, by my troth,
Is witch daughter broth,”
sang Buttercup on the roof.
“There certainly is someone outside there mocking at us,” said the old witch, and she ran out to see.
As soon as she came out Buttercup threw the stump down on her and killed her, and that was the end of her.
The witch’s husband waited for a time, and when she did not come back he went to call her, but as soon as he stepped outside Buttercup rolled the big stone down on him, and that was an end of him.
The friends who had come to share the broth waited and waited for the witch and her husband to come back, but after a time, as they did not, the guests grew impatient and came out to look for them. When they saw the two lying there dead they never stopped for the broth, but ran away as fast as they could go, and for all I know they may be running still.
But Buttercup climbed down from the roof, and hunted round in the house until he found where the witch kept her money chest all full of gold and silver money. Then he filled the sack with as much as he could carry, and started home again. When he reached there you may guess whether or not his mother was glad to see him. Then there was no more poverty for them, for the money in the sack was enough to make them rich for all their lives.
THE SUN AND THE MOON
(From Turkish Legends)
ONCE upon a time the Sun made up his mind that he would like to get married. Far and near he journeyed, all over the round world and looked upon many fair maidens and princesses, but not one was beautiful enough to be his bride.
As he came home after his wanderings, he looked up at a window of the palace, and there sat his sister, the beautiful Helen, looking out. Her face, like the Sun’s, was ruddy; her hair like his was as shining as gold. There was no one in all the world to compare with her in beauty.
“Come down and greet me, beautiful Helen,” he cried, “for you and you only are worthy to be my bride.”
But when the fair Helen heard this she was horrified. “Such a thing must not be,” said she. “A brother may not marry his sister, for that would be an offense to heaven.”
The Sun, however, would not listen to her; he was determined to make her his bride, and to this end he summoned the best workmen from all over the world, some to make magnificent robes, some to prepare a feast, and gold and silver smiths and dealers in precious stones.
The beautiful Helen, however, wept and wept with grief.
Now there was in the palace of the Sun an old nurse who had nursed both him and his sister, and when she saw how, day after day, the beautiful Helen was melting away with grief, she said to her: “Why should you be so sad? You know how I love you, and that I have much knowledge of magic. If you asked me perhaps I might help you.”
“Oh, my dear nurse, do but save me from this marriage and you can ask of me nothing that I will not give you.”
“Leave it to me; leave it to me,” said the old woman. “Are you not my nursling?”
So the next time the Sun came to see his sister the old woman changed her into a little cake, and hid her under the ashes as if to bake.
In came the Sun and looked about him. “Good nurse, I am tired and hungry,” said he. “Have you nothing here for me to eat?”
“There is bread and wine yonder on the shelf.”
“Nay, I know of something that suits me better than that,” said the Sun, and he uncovered the white cake that lay among the ashes and made as though to eat it.
“Oh, my brother, spare me!” cried the cake.
“What!” cried the Sun, pretending to be very much surprised. “Can it be that this is not a cake at all, but the beautiful Helen, who has taken this form?”
Then Helen was obliged to take her own form again, and so beautiful did she appear with the silvery ashes powdering her golden hair that the Sun was more determined upon the marriage than ever.
After he had gone, Helen began to reproach the nurse because her magic had been of so little avail.
“Do not grieve to death because of that,” said the old woman, “for I have better magic than that in my head. The next time the Sun comes to visit you we will be in the garden and I will change you into a blade of grass, and among all the other blades he will be sure not to find you.”
So the next day the old woman and her nursling were sitting out in the garden, and presently they knew, by the golden glow in the sky, that the Sun was coming to look for his sister. Then the old nurse changed her into a blade of grass, and no one could have told her from all the other blades in the garden.
Out came the Sun to where the old nurse sat, and looked about him. “I had thought to find the beautiful Helen here,” said he.
“She was here a moment ago,” answered the nurse, “and had you come then, you might have seen her.”
“How green the grass is all about,” said the Sun. “Since she is not here I will have a nibble of it.”
He then changed himself into a lamb and began to nibble about. Presently he came to the tuft of grass where Helen was. Seeing that his teeth were about to close upon her she cried out in a woeful voice, “Alas, my brother, I have never harmed you; do not bite me, I beg of you.”
“Then do not try to escape me by any such tricks of magic,” answered the Sun. Thereupon he took back his natural shape, and the beautiful Helen was obliged to take her own shape, too.
After he had gone away she began to weep and lament. “If you can do no better than this with your magic the marriage will surely go on.”
“Wait until to-morrow,” answered the nurse. “Then I will turn you into a reed that grows beside the river. I am sure he will never think of looking for you there.”
So the next day at about the time when the Sun would be coming, the old nurse changed Helen into a reed beside the river, but she herself sat in the garden that the Sun might suspect nothing.
“HA!” CRIED THE SUN. “IS IT YOU, FAIR ONE?”
After a while the Sun came out to look for his sister, but he found no one but the old nurse sitting there all by herself. “No matter,” said the Sun; “I have a notion of making music for a while. I will go down to the river and cut a reed to make a pipe for myself.”
When the old nurse heard that she turned pale, but she did not dare to say anything. The Sun went down to the river and she followed him. He went straight to the reed that was the beautiful Helen, and drew his knife and set it at the root. Then the reed cried aloud in a doleful voice: “Alas, my brother, I have done you no harm. Do not slay me.”
“Ha!” cried the Sun, “is it you, fair one? Now you see that all the magic in the world cannot hide you from me, and to-morrow you shall be my bride.”
After he had gone, the beautiful Helen turned to her nurse. “Now I see that magic can indeed avail me nothing,” she said, “and only heaven itself can save me.”
The next day was to be the wedding, and when the beautiful Helen was dressed in her bridal clothes she was as pale as ashes, but so beautiful that the heart ached to look at her.
The Sun took her by the hand and led her into the church, and all the candles were lighted and the priests and guests were there.
Then the beautiful Helen called upon heaven to save her. Three times she called, and at the third time all the lights went out, and a great wind swept through the church. The priests were terrified and the guests did not know which way to fly. As for the Sun he cried aloud with rage and disappointment, for he felt that his beautiful bride was gone from his side. She had been carried up and away to where he could never find her. Then she was changed into the moon, and ever since, still and calm and bright she sails up the sky at night after the Sun has gone to rest and holds the earth and sea under her gentle rule.
Sometimes she rises while he is still sinking toward the west. Red and angry he grows as he sees her rising above the horizon in her shining beauty, but he cannot reach her, for the whole heaven is between them.
HOW THE ELEPHANT AND THE
WHALE WERE TRICKED
(From Louisiana Creole Tales)
ONE time the rabbit and the ground hog went out to walk together. The rabbit wore his blue coat with brass buttons, for it was a fine day, and cocked his hat gayly over one eye, but the ground hog was content with his old fur overcoat, and galoshes to keep his feet dry.
They walked along until at last they came to the seashore, and there they saw the elephant standing and talking to the whale. “Look!” said the ground hog; “that is a wonderful sight, for I reckon those are the two biggest animals in all the world.”
“Let’s go close and hear what they’re talking about,” said the rabbit.
“No, no,” answered the ground hog. “They might not like it, and if I’m going to be impolite I’d rather be impolite to animals that are more my own size.”
However, the rabbit was determined to know what two such big beasts talked to each other about, so he stole up close to them unnoticed, and hid back of a clump of grass to listen.
“Of all the beasts that walk the earth not one is as great as I am,” boasted the elephant. “The ground trembles at my tread; the trees shake and the other animals are afraid and hide lest I should be angry with them.”
“True, brother,” answered the whale. “On the other hand, there is not a fish in the sea that compares to me in size. I swallow hundreds at one gulp, and when I lash the waters with my tail it is like a storm.”
“And that is true, too,” answered the elephant. “Brother, how would it be if we proclaimed ourselves kings of the earth and sea, and made all of the other fish and animals our subjects?”
“That would be a fine scheme,” the whale agreed, “and then we would make them pay us tribute.”
The elephant was pleased with that idea, too. “Good! good!” he trumpeted. “That is what we will do.”
So the two beasts talked together, each one praising himself and the other, and saying how great they were.
The rabbit listened until he could bear it no longer, and then he stole back to the ground hog, his whiskers trembling with rage.
“Well, what were they talking about?” asked the ground hog.
“All their talk was of how great and powerful they were,” answered the rabbit, “and they say they will declare themselves kings and make us pay tribute. But I will show them a thing or two before that.”
“What will you show them?” asked the other.
“I have thought of a trick to play upon them, and it is a trick that will make them feel so silly they will forget all about making kings of themselves.”
The ground hog begged and entreated the rabbit not to think of such a thing. The whale and the elephant were too big and powerful for a little rabbit to try to play a trick upon them, and if he did, they would surely punish him. But the rabbit would not listen to him, and at last the ground hog rose and buttoned up his overcoat. “Well, I’m not going to get myself into trouble,” he said. “I’m going home, I am, to look through the closets and get some tribute ready for them.” So home he ambled, and did not mind one bit when the rabbit called after him that he was a coward.
But the rabbit made haste to the house of a neighbor to borrow a coil of rope he knew of, for that was the first thing he needed for his trick.
He got the rope and came back and hid in some bushes by the roadside. Presently he saw the elephant come swinging up the road. He had finished his talk with the whale and was now on his way home. He looked very pleased with himself, and was smiling and idly breaking off the little trees with his trunk as he came.
The rabbit sprang out of the bushes with the coil of rope over his arm, and ran toward the elephant, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Help, help!”
The elephant stopped and looked at him with surprise. “What is the matter, Rabbit?” he asked.
“My cow! My cow has fallen into the quicksands down by the sea, and no one can get her out. Oh, dear good kind Master Elephant, if you would but help me! You are so great and strong and wonderful that it would be nothing at all for you to pull her out.”
The elephant was very much pleased with these compliments to his strength. “Yes, I will help you,” he said good-naturedly. “I am indeed very great and powerful. Come! Show me where she is.”
“No need of that,” answered the sly rabbit. “Do you stand here and hold this end of the rope, and I will run and tie the other end around her horns. When all is ready I will beat a drum. As soon as you hear that begin to pull and you will have her out in a twinkling.”
The elephant agreed to do this; he took hold of the end of the rope and stood there, waiting and thinking how strong he was, and how the animals were obliged to come to him when they needed help.
Meanwhile the rabbit ran down to the seashore with the other end of the rope. The whale was still there resting on the sand-bar, and thinking how great and powerful he was.
“Help! help!” cried the rabbit as soon as he was near enough for the whale to hear him.
The great creature turned, and looked at him lazily. “What is the matter, Rabbit?” he asked.
“Oh, dear good Master Whale, I am in great trouble. My cow is stuck in a marsh and no one on land is powerful enough to pull her out. But you are so strong and wonderful that it would mean nothing to you to get her out for me.”
The whale was pleased at these words, but he said, “I am quite willing to help you, but I do not see how I can do so. I cannot leave the sea nor travel on dry land.”
“No need of that,” answered the rabbit. “I have tied the other end of this rope around her horns. If you will but take hold of this end you can pull her out in a twinkling.”
The good-natured whale was very ready to do this. “I must not pull too hard,” he said, “for so great is my strength that I might not only jerk her out of the marsh but all the way into the sea so that she would be drowned.”
“Yes, you must be careful about that,” answered the rabbit, and then he ran up into the bushes where he had hidden a drum and beat it loudly.
As soon as the elephant heard the drum he began to pull on the rope. At first he did not pull hard, for he thought it was an easy task he had on hand. But the whale, holding the other end, started to swim out to sea, and the elephant found himself pulled down toward the shore. He was very much surprised, but he tightened his hold and began to use his strength.
And now it was the turn of the whale to be dragged toward the shore. “This will never do,” he thought to himself, and he beat the waters, and swam with all his might, and the elephant began to lose ground.
So the two creatures strove together. First one was dragged along and then the other. They thought they had never known of such a strong cow before. But the rabbit up in the bushes laughed and laughed until he thought his sides would split. He rolled upon the ground and the tears ran down his furry cheeks, and still, the more the huge beasts strove and grunted, the harder he laughed.
At last the great elephant put forth all his strength. He dug his feet into the solid ground and braced himself. The whale in the sea had nothing to brace itself against, and so at last it was pulled up on the shore. Then the elephant turned to see what sort of a cow it was that weighed so much, and there it was no cow at all, but his friend, the whale, who lay there gasping and panting on the beach.
The elephant ran down to him, and the first thing he did was to push the whale back into the water again. Then they began to talk and explain to each other how it all happened. When they found what a trick the rabbit put upon them they were furiously angry, and consulted as to how they could best punish him.
“I,” said the whale, “shall send word to all the fish in streams and rivers, and tell them he must not be allowed to drink one drop of water.”
“And I,” said the elephant, “will send word to all the creatures on the earth that he shall not be allowed to eat so much as one blade of grass.”
And now the rabbit was in a bad way, indeed. If he went to the river to get a drink the fish and lobsters gathered in a crowd and drove him away. If he tried to eat, some animal or other was there to prevent him. It seemed as though he must soon die of hunger and thirst. His trick was like to cost him dear.
He was hopping along a path very sadly one day, with his ears drooping and all the spirit gone out of him, when he came across a dead deer that had been torn by the dogs. The rabbit stopped and scratched his ear and thought a bit. Then he set to work and very neatly stripped off the deerskin and drew it over his own body. Then he set out for the main road, limping and uttering cries of pain as he went.
Presently whom should he see but the elephant swinging along the road toward him.
The rabbit cried out still louder, and made out as though he could scarcely drag himself along for his wounds.
“What has happened to you, friend Deer? And who has wounded you in this way?” asked the elephant.
“Oh, that Rabbit! That Rabbit! And I was only doing as you told me.”
“The Rabbit?”
“Yes; oh, indeed good Master Elephant, he is very terrible. He came to eat in the woods where I was and I tried to drive him away, because you had told us all to do that, but as soon as I spoke to him, he threw me down and beat me and almost tore me to pieces, as you see.”
“That is strange,” said the elephant. “I did not know he was as strong as that.”
“Oh, yes; he is small, but he knows much magic. No one could stand against him, not even you. And he is very angry. He says he is going to tear you to pieces too, and the whale, and he only left me alive so that I might come and tell you.”
“But he could not kill me!” cried the elephant.
“His magic is very strong. I am afraid, now that he is angry, that he will kill all the animals in the world, and keep it for himself.”
Now the elephant really began to be afraid. “Oh, well, it was only a joke that the whale and I played on him. Go back and tell him so. Tell him it was only a joke, and that I am not angry with him now. Then tell him he may eat wherever he pleases, for I would not want to annoy such a little animal as he is.”
So the rabbit, still speaking like the deer, said he would, and, moaning and limping, he turned and crawled back the way he had come. But when he was safely out of sight, he fell down in the dust of the road and laughed and laughed till he was sick with laughing.
CHERRY
(From the English)
THERE was once a poor laborer who had so many children that he was hardly able to buy food and clothing for them. For this reason, as soon as they grew old enough, they went out into the world to shift for themselves. One after another they left their home, until at last only the youngest one, Cherry by name, was left. She was the prettiest of all the children. Her hair was as black as jet, her cheeks as red as roses, and her eyes so merry and sparkling that it made one smile even to look at her.
Every few weeks one or another of the children who were out at service came back to visit their parents, and they looked so much better fed, and so much better clothed than they ever had looked while they were at home that Cherry began to long to go out in the world to seek her fortune, too.
“Just see,” she said to her mother; “all my sisters have new dresses and bright ribbons, while I have nothing but the old patched frocks they have outgrown. Let me go out to service to earn something for myself.”
“No, no,” answered her mother. “You are our youngest, and your father would never be willing to have you go, and you would find it very different out there in the world from here, where everyone loves you and cares for you.”
However, Cherry’s heart was set upon going out to seek her fortune, and when she found her parents would never give their consent, she determined to go without it. She tied up the few clothes she had in a big handkerchief, put on the shoes that had in them the fewest holes, and off she stole one fine morning without saying good-by to anyone but the old cat that was asleep upon the step.
As long as she was within sight of the house she hurried as fast as she could, for she was afraid her father or mother might see her and call her back, but when the road dipped down over a hill she walked more slowly, and took time to catch her breath and shift her bundle from one hand to the other.
At first the way she followed was well known to her, but after she had traveled on for several hours she found herself in a part of the country she had never seen before. It was bleak and desolate with great rocks, and not a house in sight, and Cherry began to feel very lonely. She longed to see her dear home again, with the smoke rising from the chimney and her mother’s face at the window, and at last she grew so homesick that she sat down on a rock and began to sob aloud.
HE WAS RICHLY DRESSED AND LOOKED LIKE A FOREIGNER
She had been sitting there and weeping for some time when she felt a hand upon her shoulder. She looked up and saw a tall and handsome gentleman standing beside her. He was richly dressed and looked like a foreigner, and there were many rings upon his fingers. It seemed so strange to see him standing there close to her, when a little time before there had been no one in sight, that Cherry forgot to sob while she stared at him. He was smiling at her in a friendly way, and his eyes sparkled and twinkled so brightly that there never was anything like it.
“What are you doing in such a lonely place as this, my child?” said he. “And why are you weeping so bitterly?”
“I am here because I started out to take service with someone,” answered Cherry; “and I am weeping because it is so lonely, and I wish I were at home again;” and she began to sob.
“Listen, Cherry,” said the gentleman, once more laying his hand on her shoulder. “I am looking for a kind, bright girl to take charge of my little boy. The wages are good, and if you like, you shall come with me and be his nurse.”
This seemed a great piece of good luck to Cherry, for she was sure from the gentleman’s looks that he must be very rich as well as kind. She quickly wiped her eyes and told him she was more than willing to go with him.
As soon as the stranger heard this he smiled again, and bidding her follow him he turned aside into a little path among the rocks that Cherry had not noticed before. At first this path was both rough and thorny, but the further they went the broader and smoother it grew, and always it led down hill. After a while instead of thorns, flowering bushes bordered the path, and later still, trees loaded with such fruit as Cherry had never seen before. It shone like jewels, and smelled so delicious that she longed to stop and taste it, but that her master would not allow. There was no sunlight now, but neither were any clouds to be seen overhead. A soft, pale light shone over everything, making the landscape seem like something seen in a dream.
The gentleman hurried her along, and when he saw she was growing tired he took her hand in his and immediately all her weariness disappeared, and her feet felt so light it seemed as though she could run to the ends of the earth.
After they had gone a long, long way they came to a gate overhung with an arch of flowering vines. The garden within was filled with fruit trees even more wonderful than those along the road, and through them she could see a beautiful house that shone like silver.
The gentleman opened the gate, and immediately a little boy came running down the path toward them. The child was very small, but his face looked so strange and wise and old that Cherry was almost afraid of him.
The gentleman stooped and kissed him and said, “This is my son,” and then they all three went up the path together.
When they came near the house the door opened and a little, strange looking old woman looked out. She was gnarled and withered and gray, and looked as though she might be a hundred.
“Aunt Prudence, this is the nurse I have brought home to look after the boy for us,” said the gentleman.
The old woman scowled, and her eyes seemed to bore into Cherry like gimlets. “She’ll peep and pry, and see what shouldn’t be seen. Why couldn’t you have been satisfied with one like ourselves for a nurse?” grumbled the old woman.
“It’s best as it is,” answered the gentleman in a low voice. “Many a one has sent her child to rest in a cradle there above, and they’ve been all the better for it.”
Cherry did not know what he was talking about, but if she had been afraid of the child she was even more afraid of the old woman.
And indeed in the next few days Aunt Prudence made the girl’s life very unhappy. The gentleman gave Cherry full charge of the child, and seemed very contented with her, but the old woman grumbled and scolded, and found fault with everything she did.
It was Cherry’s duty to bathe the child every morning, and after she had washed him she was obliged to anoint his eyes with a certain ointment that was kept in a silver box. “And be very careful,” said her master, sternly, “that you never touch the least particle of it to your own eyes, for if you do, misfortune will certainly come upon you.”
Cherry promised that she would not, but she felt very curious about this ointment. She was sure it must have some very wonderful properties, for always after she had rubbed the child’s eyes with it they looked stranger and brighter than ever, and she was sure he saw things that she could not see. Sometimes he would seem to join in games invisible to her, and sometimes he would suddenly leave her and run down a path to meet someone, though as far as she could see not a living soul was there. But if Cherry asked him any questions he would become quite silent, and look at her sideways in a strange way.
There were doors in the house that Cherry was forbidden to open, and she used to wonder and wonder what was behind them. Once she saw her master come out from one of the rooms beyond, but he shut the door quickly behind him, and she caught no glimpse of what was within.
However, she was very comfortable there—well-fed, well-clothed and well-paid, and she would have been quite happy if it had not been for Aunt Prudence. Instead of growing kinder to her as time went on, the old woman grew crosser and crosser. She was always scolding, and her tongue was so sharp that she often made Cherry weep bitterly, and wish she was at home again, or any place but there. Once when she was sobbing to herself in the garden, her master came to her. “Cherry,” he said, “I see that you and Aunt Prudence can never live in peace together, and I am going to send her away for a while, but if I do, you must promise to do nothing that might displease me.”
Cherry promised, and after that the old woman disappeared, and the girl did not know what had become of her.
Cherry was now very happy. Her master was never cross with her, and the child was very obedient, and if he did not ever laugh, neither did he ever weep. She helped her master in the garden very often, and when she had done very well he would sometimes kiss her and call her a good child and then she was happier than ever.
But one time he went away for a few days, and Cherry seemed quite alone in the house except for the child, for the other servants she had never seen. The little boy went out to play in the garden, and suddenly Cherry began to feel so curious as to what was back of the forbidden doors that it seemed as though she would die if she did not look. She tried to think of other things, and to remember how displeased her master would be if she opened the doors, but at last she could bear it no longer. She would just see what was behind one of them, and then she would look no further. But first she made sure that the little boy was still at play in the garden. He was sitting on the edge of a fountain, looking down into it, and suddenly he waved his hand and called out as though to something in the water.
Then Cherry opened the door and slipped through.
She found herself in a long hall entirely of marble. The floor, the ceilings and walls all were of blocks of marble, black and white, and ranged up and down it were many marble statues. Some were the figures of beautiful women, some were of princes with crowns upon their heads or of young men magnificently dressed. She went slowly down the hall, staring and wondering, and at the very end she came upon Aunt Prudence, but it was an Aunt Prudence turned into marble, and scowling at her with marble, unseeing eyes. When she saw that, Cherry knew that she was in fairyland, and that her master had by his magic powers turned the old woman into this shape to quiet her scolding tongue.
She was terrified, for she was afraid that, as her master was a fairy, he would know that she had disobeyed him, and she went out quickly and closed the door behind her. However, when the gentleman came home that evening he was as kind and pleasant as ever, so she made sure that he knew nothing of what she had done.
But there was one thing Cherry was even more curious about than she had been about the doors, and that was about the ointment she rubbed upon the child’s eyes. Every day, more and more, she longed to rub her own eyes with it and try whether she, too, would not see invisible things. But beside her fear of disobeying her master the child’s eyes were always upon her while she had the box open, and as soon as she had rubbed his eyes and closed it she was obliged to give it to him, and she never could tell what he did with it or where he put it.
One morning, however, just after she had rubbed his eyes, and before she had washed her hands, she made out she had dropped the box by accident, and when she stooped to pick it up she managed to rub one eye with a finger that had a little ointment upon it. The child did not see what she had done, but when Cherry looked about her what a wonderful change had come over the garden. Where all had seemed lonely and silent before, were crowds of little people playing around or going seriously about their business. They swung in the flower bells, they climbed the blades of grass. They spun ropes of cobweb, or sat in groups among the roots of trees, talking together and nodding their wise little heads. But when she looked down into the fountain she saw the strangest sight of all, for there was her master, dressed just as he had been when he said good-by to her that morning, but now he was no longer than her hand, and riding a fish that he drove round and round in the water with a tiny whip. Cherry looked and looked, but her master never looked up nor noticed her. He played round with the fishes for quite a while and then suddenly disappeared. A moment after, the gate clicked, and when Cherry looked up there he was coming in, as tall as ever, and with not a hair of him wet.
He was often away after this and on one of these times Cherry determined to look into the marble room again.
She made sure that the child was outside and playing around with the other fairies, and then she stole to the forbidden door and softly opened it a crack. As soon as she did this, she heard a sound of pleasant music. She peeped in and what a wonderful sight she saw! The stone ladies and gentlemen had all come to life, and were dancing there to the music. They moved and smiled and bowed to each other, and at the head of the dance was her master with the loveliest lady of them all as his partner. While Cherry looked, the dance came to an end and he led the lady to a seat, but before she sat down he kissed her.
When Cherry saw that, she closed the door and ran away to her room, and there she began to sob and cry; she was so jealous over what she had seen that it seemed as though her heart would burst.
That afternoon her master came again as kind and smiling as ever, but Cherry would hardly look at him or answer anything he said. Presently he asked her to come out into the garden and help him with the flowers, and this she did, though she was still very moody.
They worked there for quite a while, and then when they had finished everything there was to be done, her master said, “You are a good child, Cherry,” and kissed her.
Cherry pushed him away and began to sob again. “Why do you kiss me?” she cried. “You don’t care for anybody but your beautiful lady. If you want to kiss anybody, go kiss her.”
When her master heard that, his face changed, and he looked at her so angrily that Cherry was frightened. “So you have been prying!” he cried, “and Aunt Prudence was right when she warned me not to trust you. Now that you have seen what you have seen, you can stay here no longer.”
“Oh, do not send me away,” Cherry begged of him. “Let me stay and I promise that I will never disobey you again.”
“I am sorry, Cherry,” her master answered, and he no longer looked angry, “but after this, they would not let me keep you.” With that he raised his hand and gave her a sharp box on the ears, and she lost all consciousness.
When she came to herself she was sitting on the doorstep of her own home and her mother was shaking her by the shoulder and calling her.
Cherry started up and looked about her. “Where—where is he?” she cried. “How did I come here, and what has become of my master?”
Her mother did not know what she was talking about, and when after a little, Cherry began and told her all her story, she thought the child was dreaming or had lost her wits. But when later on she found that the girl’s pockets were full of fairy gold, enough to make them rich for years, she was obliged to believe that the story was true, wonderful as it was.
But for a long time after she came home, Cherry used to trudge away to the lonely heath every now and then, and sit there hoping her master would come for her. But he never did, and never again did she find a place where the wages were in gold and paid as freely as they had been in fairyland.
DIAMONDS AND ROSES AND
PEARLS
(From the French Tales)
A WIDOW had two daughters of whom the elder was exactly like herself, with thick brown skin, hair as coarse as horse-hair and a loose, hanging mouth. She was as cross-tempered as she was ugly, but because she resembled her mother, the widow loved her dearly, and declared her the most beautiful creature in the world.
The younger sister was very different. Her skin was like peaches and cream, her hair was golden, and her eyes as blue as the sky. She was as sweet-tempered as the other was ill-natured, but her mother hated her so, that she could hardly bear the sight of her, and had nothing for her but blows and hard words.
While the mother and the elder sister feasted upon dainties the Fair One had only scraps to eat, and not enough of those, and all the hard tasks of the household were laid upon her shoulders. In spite of all this ill treatment, however, she grew in beauty every day like a flower. Her figure remained round and soft, and after she had finished scouring the pots and pans she would wash her hands and they would be as white as a lily. Seeing this, the mother and sister were ready to die with envy. They washed their hands with perfumed water, and dried them on silken napkins, but they still remained as rough and horny as toads.
One day the mother bade the younger sister go to a spring that was some distance away in a forest, and bring water for her sister to bathe in. She gave her an earthen pitcher that was so heavy the young girl could hardly carry it. “And do not spill any of the water by the way or you shall be punished,” cried the mother.
SHE LIFTED THE HEAVY PITCHER FOR HER TO DRINK
The young girl hurried away, glad to be out of the house and away from the scolding tongues, even though it were but for a little while. She would have liked to linger by the way to listen to the birds, and to gather some of the flowers that bloomed on every side, but she knew that if she were late in returning, she would be beaten for it.
When she reached the fountain she quickly filled her pitcher, but she was so sad that, as she stooped above the water, the tears ran down her cheeks and fell into it like raindrops.
“Poor child, you are very sad, but remember you are not the only unfortunate one upon this earth,” said a hoarse, cracked voice behind her.
Turning quickly, the Fair One saw, seated upon a rock close by, an old woman so bent, so wrinkled, and so hideously ugly that the young girl was frightened by her looks. However, she tried to hide her fear and spoke to the crone civilly. She was then about to go on her way, but the old woman stopped her. “My daughter,” she said, “I am thirsty, but my old bones are too stiff for me to stoop to drink from the fountain. Will you not give me some water from your pitcher?”
“Willingly, mother,” answered the girl in a sweet voice, and approaching the old woman she lifted the heavy pitcher for her to drink. She held it carefully until the stranger had quenched her thirst, and then returned to the fountain to refill it.
“Daughter, you have obliged one who is not only able but willing to reward you,” said the old woman. “Your sweet temper is a dower greater than any I can give you, but this you shall have beside. When you speak, roses and pearls shall drop from your lips, and your tears shall be changed to diamonds as they fall.”
The girl thought the old woman must be out of her wits, for it was quite impossible that such a thing as that should happen to anyone, and bidding her good-day as quickly as she could, she hurried away with her brimming pitcher.
When she reached home her mother met her at the door with scowls and reproaches.
“Lazy wretch,” she cried, lifting her hand, “you have been gone twice as long as was necessary. You have been loitering and amusing yourself by the way,” and she seemed about to beat her.
“Pardon me, I beg of you,” cried the young girl. “Indeed I hurried all I could, but I feared to spill the water by the way.”
The mother’s hand dropped, and she stared down at the floor with open mouth and starting eyes; for every word the girl spoke, a rose or a pearl fell from her lips and showered upon the floor of the house.
The mother gave a cry of greed and stooped to gather up the pearls. The flowers she allowed to remain where they were.
“What is it? What has happened?” cried the ugly sister, pressing forward.
“Silence!” cried the mother, speaking angrily to the ugly one for the first time in her life. “Her words are worth more than yours.” Then she stood up again. “Speak! Speak!” she cried to the younger sister, and as she did not immediately do this, the mother struck her to make her be quicker in her speech.
Frightened and bewildered, the young girl burst into tears, but, as the tear drops fell from her eyes, they were changed by the fairy spell, and reached the floor as glittering diamonds, that rolled about this way and that.
“It is magic!” cried the mother, delighted. “Tell me, my daughter, how has this happened? Whom did you meet while you were away?”
“I met no one,” answered her daughter, “but an old woman by the fountain, who asked me for a drink of water. I gave it to her, and then she told me that roses and pearls should fall from my lips when I spoke, and my tears be changed to diamonds, but I did not believe her, for who could believe such a thing as that?”
“It was a fairy,” cried the mother. Then she turned to the elder daughter, her eyes glistening with greed. “Quick!” she cried. “Take the silver pitcher, for it is the best we have in the house, and take also some of those cream cakes that have just been baked. Go to the fountain and look for the old woman, and when you see her offer her the cream cakes and draw for her a drink from the fountain. If she gave your sister such a gift in return for a drink from the earthen pitcher, how much more will she not do for you when you serve her from silver?”
The elder girl, who was very lazy, began to grumble. It was far to the fountain; the pitcher was heavy; why should she go when all they had to do was to gather up the diamonds and pearls that her sister scattered about.
The mother, however, would not listen to her. She put the cream cakes in her pocket, the pitcher in her hand, and pushed her gently from the door, bidding her hurry or the old woman might have disappeared.
The lazy girl went lagging down the road, swinging her pitcher as she went, and now and then stopping to pick up stones and throw them at the birds that sang on either hand. It took her twice as long as it had taken her sister to get to the fountain. When at last she reached it, there was no one there.
“At least I shall not have to draw any water,” said the girl. Then she sat down in the shade and began to eat the cream cakes. She was munching and munching when she saw a tall and beautiful lady coming toward her through the forest. The stranger was as tall and stately as a queen, and was magnificently dressed, and, like a queen, she wore a golden crown upon her head. She was really a powerful fairy, and it was she who, in the shape of an old woman, had talked with her younger sister beside the fountain. She had now resumed her own shape, and the lazy one never guessed that this bright stranger and the old woman she had come to seek, were one and the same.
The fairy came near, and looked down at the girl with a frown, for the lazy one neither moved nor spoke, but only stared up at her with her mouth full of cream cake.
“I see you have a pitcher,” said the fairy, “and as I am very thirsty, will you not draw some water in it for me to drink?”
The lazy girl took time to swallow the last piece of cream cake, and then she answered rudely, “I am not your servant. If you want water, draw it for yourself.”
Then as it seemed there was no chance of the old woman’s returning, she rose and shook the crumbs from her skirt and prepared to go.
“Wait!” said the fairy sharply as she was turning away. “The words that fall from your lips are like evil things, and as evil things shall they appear. For every word you utter a spider or adder shall fall from your lips until you have learned to speak in a proper and gentle manner.”
Having so spoken, the fairy vanished, floating away through the forest like a rosy cloud. The girl shrugged her shoulders and started homeward with her empty pitcher.
Even before she reached the house, the mother came running to meet her and embraced her tenderly. “Did you see the old woman? And did she lay her spell upon you? Speak, my beautiful one, and let me gather up the treasures that fall from your lips.”
The daughter pushed her away crossly. “Be quiet,” she said. “I saw no old woman, and all I got for my pains is a——”
The mother started back with a shriek of dismay; for every word her daughter had spoken, a spider or an adder had fallen from her lips.
“What is this!” she cried, wringing her hands. “What evil spell has been laid upon my precious beauty?”
“I do not know,” answered the frightened girl. Then as she saw more spiders fall from her lips she began to bawl aloud in her wrath and terror.
“It is all the fault of your sister, the hussy!” cried the mother. “Not another night shall she spend in the house to bring fresh misfortunes on us.”
She ran back home and began to beat the girl. Then she thrust her from the door.
“Go, go!” she cried, “and never let me see your face again.”
Frightened and weeping, the poor girl ran away into the forest, and as she went, the diamonds she shed marked the way she had gone. They lay among the grasses sparkling like dewdrops, and lucky were those who next came by that way; a whole fortune lay there at their feet.
The Fair One wandered on and on through the forest until she was completely lost and did not know which way to turn. It began to grow dark, and she was terrified at the thought that soon the wild beasts would begin to leave their lairs. She met no one, and there seemed nothing for her to do but climb a tree and prepare to spend the night in the forest, when suddenly she heard a sound of voices and the trampling of horses. Presently the riders came breaking through the bushes. They were magnificently dressed, and at their head rode one, handsomer and more magnificent than them all. It was the young prince of that country, who was returning late from a hunt, with his attendants.
When he saw the young girl he reined in his steed and gazed at her with wonder. Never before had he seen such beauty; it seemed to shine around her like a soft light.
“Who are you and whence come you, O Fair One?” he asked.
“I am a poor girl who has neither home nor shelter,” she answered him, and as she spoke, roses and pearls fell from her lips.
The prince was overcome with admiration. “Never have I seen beauty to compare with yours,” he cried. “Come back with me to the palace, I pray of you, for unless you consent to be my bride I vow that I will never marry.”
Blushing, the Fair One allowed him to place her on the horse before him, for it seemed to her she had never seen anyone, at once so handsome and so kind, before. So he carried her home with him to the palace, and when they saw her the old king and queen were amazed at her beauty and sweetness. But when they saw the treasure that fell from her lips whenever she spoke, they gladly gave permission for her marriage with their son.
To celebrate it, a magnificent feast was prepared, and people were invited to come to it from far and near. The Fair One, who was very kind and forgiving, begged that her mother and sister might be invited, too. The prince could refuse her nothing, and so the invitation was sent.
No sooner was it received than there was a great commotion and excitement at the house of the cruel mother. She and the sister bought fine dresses and jewels and feathers that only served to set off their ill looks. Last of all, they stepped into a coach drawn by four black horses and drove away to the palace. There everything was mirth and rejoicing, and the widow and her daughter bowed and smirked with the best of them. But when they entered the grand hall where the king and queen sat, and saw that the prince’s bride was no other than the younger sister, and that she, too, sat upon a throne with a crown upon her head, they were so filled with envy and spite that they burst.
But the prince married the Fair One and they lived happy ever after, beloved by the king and queen and all their people.
THE THREE COWS
(From the Irish)
THERE was once a poor widow who had one son named Barney, and some said he was as sharp a lad as one would care to meet, and some said he was not much better than a simpleton.
One day his mother said to him, “My son, bad luck is close after us these days. There is no food in the house, and soon the landlord will be coming for our rent. Take our white cow (for she is the poorest of the three), and drive her over to the fair, and sell her to the one who will give the best price for her.”
Barney was more than willing to do this, for it was better fun to go to the fair than to work. He brushed his clothes and cocked his hat, and off he started in a fine humor, driving the white cow before him.
The sun was not yet high and the dew lay thick on the hedgerows; birds sang on either side of the road, and Barney whistled to himself for very joy of life.
After a while he came to a stile, and sitting on the top of the stile was a little man scarce two feet high; he was dressed all in green and a red cap was lying beside him.
“Good morning to you, Barney,” said the little man.
Barney answered him politely as his mother had taught him, but he wondered how under the bright sun the stranger happened to know that his name was Barney.
“And how much do you think you’ll get for the white cow at the fair?”
Then Barney wondered still more that the little man should know his business as well as his name. “My mother told me to get the best price I could,” he answered.
“The best price may be neither gold nor silver. Wait a bit and I’ll show you a thing or two worth seeing.”
The little man reached down into a deep pocket in his coat, and drew out a tiny harp and a tiny stool. These he set upon the top step of the stile in the sunlight. Then he reached down in his pocket again and drew out a cockchafer. The cockchafer was dressed in a tiny long-tailed coat and breeches, and the moment the little man set him on the stile, he drew the stool up in front of the harp and began to try the strings and tune them up.
When Barney saw this he was so pleased that he let out a whoop of joy.
“Wait a bit, for the story is not yet half told,” said the little man in green. He then drew out a mouse dressed as a gentleman of quality, and a bumblebee in a flowered silk skirt and overdress. The cockchafer began to play a tune, the mouse bowed to the bumblebee, she courtesied to him and the brindled cow he was driving before him, and at sound of the gay music, Barney threw back his head and laughed and laughed; his feet began to jig it, the hat bounced on his head, and the very cow herself jumped about and waved her tail gayly.
After Barney had danced and laughed himself weak, the tune came to an end; the dancers stopped to rest, and Barney and the cow, too, stood still.
“Well, and what do you think of that?” asked the little man.
“I think it’s a better sight than any I’ll be after seeing at the fair.”
“Listen now,” the little man went on. “It’s needing a good cow I am. The truth is that those who live under the hill have sent me out to buy one, and if you like, I will give you the little harp and the musician for your white cow.”
Barney looked, and wished and scratched his head. “It’s not the sort of price my mother thought I’d be after getting,” he said.
“It’s a price that will be worth more than gold and silver to you in the end,” said the little man.
Well, the end of it was that Barney gave him the cow and received in exchange the harp, the stool, and the little cockchafer. He took out his handkerchief and wrapped them up in it very carefully, and when he looked about again the little man and Whitey had disappeared entirely. There was no sign of them anywhere.
“And that’s a curious thing, too,” said Barney to himself, and then he set out for home.
When he came within sight of the house, his mother was at the window watching for him, and she came out to meet him.
“I see you sold the cow,” she said. “And how much did you get for it?”
“Come inside and I’ll show you.”
They went into the house and Barney dusted off the table; then he untied his handkerchief and put the harp, the stool, and the little musician upon it. The cockchafer made a bow to Barney’s mother; then he seated himself and began to play, and if Barney had laughed before he roared with pleasure now. The old woman, too, began to laugh and that was what she had not done for many a year before. She laughed till the tears ran down her face, and then she dropped into a chair and laughed some more.
But, when at last the tune came to an end, the old woman wiped her eyes and began to come to herself. Then she remembered the cupboard was still bare, and the rent still due the landlord in spite of all the gay doings.
“You worthless lout!” she cried to her son. “Is that what you sold the cow for? How do you expect us to fill our stomachs and pay the landlord with such nonsense as that?”
Barney had no answer to make, for he did not know.
Well, the money must be had, and the next morning, Barney’s mother sent him off to the fair again, and this time it was the brindled cow he was driving before him and it was a much finer and larger cow than old Whitey had been.
When he came near the stile he kept looking and looking to see whether the little man in green was there, but it was not until the lad came quite close to it that he saw him. There sat the small one on the top step in the sunlight, with his red cap lying beside him.
“And how did your mother like the price you got for old Whitey?” asked the small man.
“Little enough; and the thanks are owing to you for the scolding I got.”
“Never mind! She’ll be thankful enough some day for the price I paid you. Is the brindled cow for sale, too?”
“Not to you,” answered Barney.
“Ah, Barney, Barney! I’m after thinking you must be the simpleton some folk call you. There’s no one can pay you such a good price as I offer. If you had but this gay gentleman of a mouse to dance to the music your mother would be fit to split her sides with laughter; and you may have him for your own in exchange for that cow.”
No, Barney would not listen to such a thing, but the little man coaxed and wheedled, until at last Barney gave him the cow, and took the little mouse in exchange for it.
When he reached home, his mother was on the lookout for him.
“How much money did you get for the cow?” she asked.
Barney made no answer to this, but he untied his handkerchief, and let the little mouse step out on the table. It had a cocked hat under its arm, and with its claws on its hip, he made a grand bow to the old woman. She could do nothing but stare and grin with admiration. Then Barney put the cockchafer and the harp on the table too, and as soon as it had tuned up, it began to play, and the tune was so gay that the very heart danced in the bosom. The mouse began to dance and twirl and jig up and down, and Barney and his mother stood and laughed until they almost split their sides.
But after the tune was all played out, the old woman came to herself again; an angry soul was she. She fell to crying just as hard as she had laughed before, for the white cow was gone, and the brindled cow was gone, and the landlord no nearer to being paid than he had been two days before.
But the money they must have, and there was nothing for it but that Barney must set off the next day for the fair with the red cow, and she was the finest of the three.
He trudged along, driving it before him, and after a while he came to the stile, and there was the little man in green seated on it.
“Good-day to you, Barney,” said he.
Barney answered never a word.
“That’s a fine cow you have there.”
Barney trudged along as though he had not heard him, and never so much as turned his head.
“Nay, but wait a bit, friend Barney,” went on the little man. “We have made two bargains, and now we ought to make the third, for there’s luck in odd numbers—or so people say.”
Barney would have walked on if he could, but when the little man said, “Wait a bit,” it seemed as though he were rooted to the ground, and he could not stir a step, however he tried.
Then the small one began to beg and plead with him to let him have the cow in exchange for the bumblebee, and for a long time Barney said no. At last, however, he could refuse no longer; the trade was made, and no sooner had the lad agreed and taken the bumblebee in his handkerchief, than—pouff! whisk! the small man and the cow both disappeared like the breath from a window-pane.
Barney stared and wondered, and then he turned home again, but the nearer he came to the house the slower he walked, for he had some notion as to what his mother would have to say about the bargain he had made.
Well, things turned out just about as he had thought they would. When he first put the bumblebee and the others on the kitchen table, when the cockchafer began to play and the others to dance, his mother laughed and laughed as she had never laughed before in all her life. But when they stopped and she had come to herself again, she was so angry she was not content with scolding. She caught up a broom, and if Barney had not run out and hidden in the cow byre he would have had a clubbing that would have dusted his coat for him.
However, what was done was done, and what they were to do now to get food and money was more than either of them could say. However, the next morning, Barney had a grand scheme in his head.
“Listen, mother; I have a scheme that may bring us in a few pennies,” he said. “I will take the cockchafer, the mouse and the bumblebee with me to the fair to-day. When we are there the cockchafer shall play the harp and the mouse and the bumblebee shall dance, and it may be that the people will be so pleased with their tricks that they will give me some pennies.”
There seemed nothing better to do than this, so the widow gave her consent, and off Barney set, and if his heart was light his stomach was lighter for he had had nothing to put in it that morning.
He trudged along and trudged along, and after a time he came to the stile, and there was the little green man sitting on it just as he had sat before.
“Good-day, Barney,” said he.
“Good-day, and bad luck to you,” answered Barney. “It was an ill trick you played upon me when you took from me our three cows, and gave me only such nonsense as I carry here in my pocket.”
“Barney,” said the little man, and he spoke solemnly, “never again in all your life will you make as good a bargain as you made with me. I tell you now for a truth that the price I paid you shall be the making of you.”
“And how will that be?” asked Barney.
“That is what I came here to tell you,” said the little man. “It is no doubt well-known to you that the king of Erin has a daughter.”
“It is that,” answered Barney.
“But it may not also be known to you that this princess is so beautiful that there never was anything like it seen in all the world before, and that she is also as sad as she is beautiful. It is feared, indeed, that unless something happens to cheer her she will grieve her life away. Therefore, the king, her father, has promised that whoever can make her laugh three times shall have her for his wife.”
“But what have I to do with all that?” asked Barney.
“You have this to do with it, that you may be the lad to raise the laugh and to have her for a wife, and it is with the cockchafer, the mouse and the bumblebee that you shall do it.”
“And that’s the truth!” cried Barney slapping his leg, “for sure there’s never a soul in all the world that could see those creatures at their tricks and keep a sober face on him.”
The little man then told him exactly how he was to proceed and act, and Barney listened till he had made an end of all he had to say, and then pouff! he vanished, and Barney saw him no more.
He now turned his face away from the fair and toward where the palace lay, and off he set, one foot before the other, as fast as he could go.
After a long journey he came to the place he wished to go, and a very grand fine palace it was when he reached it. But in front of it there was a strange sight, and one that Barney had no liking for; for there in front of the door were twelve tall stakes, and upon eleven of these stakes were eleven heads, but upon the twelfth stake there was no head.
However, Barney did not stay there long looking at it, for he had other business on hand than that.
He marched up to the palace door and rapped upon it loudly with his stick. In a moment it opened and there stood a man, all in gold lace, looking out at him. “What do you want here?” he asked.
“I have come to see the princess and to make her laugh,” answered Barney as bold as brass.
“You have a hard task before you,” said the man. “However, I am not the one to say you nay, and I will go and tell the king you are here.”
He went away and then presently he came back again and the king was with him.
The king looked Barney up and down and then he said, “You are a fine stout lad, but I misdoubt me you are not the one to make the princess laugh. However, you may try it if you like, but first you must know the conditions. You must make her laugh three times before you can have her for a wife, and if you fail your head will be cut off and set upon a stake, for so the princess has made me promise it shall be.” The king further told him that eleven stout lads had already lost their heads,—“and there they are to prove it,” he said, and he pointed to the stakes before the palace door.
Barney looked, and saw again that the twelfth had nothing on it, and he liked the looks of it even less than before, for it seemed to him it would fit his head exactly.
However, he was not one to turn back. “Your majesty, I will try it whether or no.”
“Very well,” said the king; “and when will you try?”
“Now,” said Barney; “in a moment.”
He then took out the cockchafer, the mouse and the bumblebee and tied them all together with a long string, one in front of the other, and set them on the floor and took the end of the string in his hand.
When the king saw that, he began to laugh, and the man in gold lace began to laugh. They laughed and laughed until the tears ran down their cheeks and they had to wipe them away.
“After all,” said the king, “you may be the one to win the princess for a wife.” With that they set off down a long hall, the king first, and the man in gold lace next, and, last of all, Barney with the three little creatures following.
At the end of this hall was a grand fine room with a grand fine throne in it, and upon this throne sat the princess, and she was looking very sad. All her ladies that stood around looked sad too, for that was the polite thing for them to do when she was sorrowful.
When the princess saw the king she frowned; and when she saw the man in gold lace she scowled. But when she saw Barney in all his tags and rags holding one end of the string, and the three little creatures hopping along behind him, first she smiled and then she grinned, and then she threw back her head and let out such a laugh you could have heard it a mile away.
“That’s one!” cried Barney.
Then he untied the little creatures and called for a table and set them upon it, and he drew out the harp and stool and gave it to the cockchafer. It seated itself and tuned the harp, while the princess and all her ladies stared and stared. Then it began to play and the mouse and the bumblebee began to dance; you’d have thought they’d had wings to their feet.
At that the princess let out a laugh that was twice as loud as the other.
“Thank you, princess,” said Barney, “that’s two.”
At that the princess stopped laughing and looked as glum as the grave. The cockchafer played, the others danced, faster and faster, but not a third laugh could they get out of the princess, and it seemed as though Barney were to lose his head after all. But the little mouse saw as well as Barney what was like to happen, and all of a sudden he whirled around and brought his tail, whack! across the bumblebee’s mouth. That set the bumblebee to coughing. It coughed and coughed as though it would cough its head off. Then the princess began to laugh for the third time. The more it coughed the more she laughed till it seemed as though she might die of laughing.
“That makes the third time,” cried Barney, “and now I think you’ll own I’ve fairly won the princess.”
Well, no one could deny that, so he was taken to another grand room in the palace and there he was washed and combed and dressed in fine clothes, and when that was done, he looked so brave and straight and handsome that the princess was glad enough to have him for a husband.
They were married the next day, and a coach and four were sent to bring the old mother to the wedding. When she came and saw her own son, Barney, dressed in that way and holding a royal princess by the hand, she could hardly believe her eyes, and almost died of joy as the princess had of laughing. A great feast was made, and the little man in green was there, too, and feasted with the best of them, but nobody saw him for he had his red cap on his head, and that made him invisible.
Transcriber’s Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 29, “whinning” changed to “whining” (fox whining to itself)
Page 156, “shown” changed to “shone” (they shone so that)
Page 157, “shown” changed to “shone” (light shone through)
Page 209, repeated word “and” removed from text. Original read (the sky and and she was)
Page 280, “horsehair” changed to “horse-hair” to match rest of usage (coarse as horse-hair and)