THE RAIN MAIDEN
Once upon a time there lived a shepherd and his wife, who lived in a very lonely little cottage far from town or village, near some mountains. It was a wild neighbourhood, and the wind blew across the mountains fiercely, and the rain often fell so heavily that it seemed as if the cottage would be washed away. One evening when the shepherd was out, there came on a great storm of rain which beat against the doors and the windows violently. As the shepherd’s wife sat listening to it by the fire, it seemed to her as if it sounded louder than she had ever heard it before, and the raindrops sounded like the knock of a hand that was knocking to gain admittance. It went on for a little time, till the shepherd’s wife could bear to listen to it no longer, and she rose and went to the door to open it, though she knew that she would let the wind and rain into the room. As she opened the door a gust of rain was blown in her face, and then she saw that in the doorway stood a woman who had been knocking. She was a tall woman wrapped in a grey cloak with long hair falling down her back. “Thank you,” she said. And though her voice was very low, the shepherd’s wife could hear it plainly through all the storm. “Thank you for opening the door to me. Many would have let me stand outside. Now may I come into your cottage and rest?”
“How wet you must be!” cried the shepherd’s wife; “come in and rest, and let me give you food. Have you come from far?”
“No, I come from quite near,” said the woman, and she came into the cottage as she spoke, and sat down in a chair near the door. “And I want no food, only a glass of water. I must go on directly, but I have not far to go, and I shall be no wetter than I am now.”
The shepherd’s wife stared in surprise, for she saw that apparently the woman’s clothes were not wet at all. And what was stranger still, though she had thought she was only clad in a dull grey cloak, now she saw that she was covered with jewellery,—clear stones, like diamonds with many flashing colours; and she also saw that all her clothes were of the finest. She gave her a glass of water, and begged that as well she might give her other food, but the woman shook her head, and said no, water was all she needed. When she had drunk the water she gave back the glass to the shepherd’s wife, and said, “And so this is your home. Have you all that you want in life? Are you happy?”
“Ay, we are happy enough,” said the shepherd’s wife, “save indeed for one thing. Ten years ago my little baby girl died, and I have no other children. I long for one sorely, that I might take care of it and make it happy, while it is little, and then in turn, when I am old, it would love and care for me.”
“And if you had a little child,” said the woman, rising up and standing before the shepherd’s wife, “you think you would really love it better than anything in the world. Many women say that, but few do it. Before long a little child will be born to you, and as long as you love it better than anything in the world it will remain with you, but when you love anything else better than your little daughter and her happiness, it will go from you; so remember my words. Good-bye,” and the woman walked to the door and went quietly out into the rain, and the shepherd’s wife saw her disappearing, and the rain pelting around her, but her clothes were not blown about, neither did the rain seem to wet her.
A year passed away, and the shepherd’s wife had a tiny daughter, a lovely little baby with the bluest eyes and the softest skin; the evening she was born the wind howled and the rain fell as fiercely as on the night when the grey woman had come into the shepherd’s cottage. The shepherd and his wife both loved their little daughter very dearly, as well they might, as no fairer child was ever seen. But as she grew older, some things about her frightened her mother, and she had some ways of which she could not cure her.
She would never go near a fire, however cold she was, neither did she love the sunshine, but always ran from it and crept into the shade; but when she heard the rain pattering against the window-panes she would cry, “Listen, mother, listen to my brothers and sisters dancing,” and then she would begin to dance too in the cottage, her little feet pattering upon the boards; or, if she possibly could, she would run out on to the moor and dance, with the rain falling upon her, and her mother had much ado to get her to come back into the cottage, yet she never seemed to get very wet, nor did she catch cold.
A river ran near the cottage, and by it she would go and sit for hours dabbling her feet in the water, and singing sweet little songs to herself.
Still, in all other ways she was a good, affectionate girl, and did all that her mother told her, and seemed to love both her parents tenderly, and the shepherd’s wife would say to herself, “My only trouble is that when she is grown up, she will want to marry, and leave me, and I shall have to do without her.” Time passed, and the old shepherd died, but his wife and daughter still lived on in the little cottage, and the daughter grew to be a most beautiful young maiden. Her eyes were clear light-blue, like the colour of the far-off sea, but it was difficult to say what was the colour of her hair, save that it was very light, and hung in heavy masses over her brow and shoulders. Once or twice her mother felt sorely frightened about her; it was when spring showers were falling, and the young girl had gone into the little garden in front of the cottage to let the rain fall upon her head and face, as she loved to do, in spite of all her mother could say. Then she began to dance, as she always did when the rain fell, and as she danced the sun came out while the rain was yet falling. Her mother watched her from the cottage-window, but while she watched her it seemed to her as if her daughter was covered with jewels of every colour, clear and bright; they hung around her in chains, and made her look more like a king’s daughter than a shepherd’s girl. “Come in, child, come in,” called the shepherd’s wife, and when the young girl came in the cottage all traces of the jewels had gone, and when her mother upbraided her for going out to dance in the rain, she only answered, “It hurts no one, my mother, and it pleases me, why should you stop me?”
A little way from the cottage on the mountain-side stood an old castle, where formerly the Kings of the land used to come and stay, but which now had not been used for very many years. One day, however, the shepherd’s wife saw great preparations were being made to beautify and adorn it, and she knew that the King and his son were coming to stay there again. Soon after they had arrived, the shepherd’s daughter went down to the river, as was her wont, and sat on the bank, dipping her feet in the ripples. Presently there came up a boat, and it was a grand young man dressed all in velvet and gold who leaned over the side to fish.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” cried the shepherd’s daughter, for she was afraid of no one.
“I am the King’s son,” said he, “and I am coming here to fish. Who are you, and where do you come from, for I have never seen such a beautiful maiden in my life?” and he looked at her and could scarce speak, so beautiful did she seem to him.
“It is cruel to take the fishes out of the water,” cried the shepherd’s daughter, “leave them alone, and come and dance on the bank with me,” and she went under the shade of a large tree, and began to dance, and the King’s son watched her, and again he thought so beautiful a maid there had never been.
“Leave the fishes alone, and come and dance on the bank with me.”
Day after day he came down to the river to fish, and day after day he left the line and tackle to sit and watch the shepherd’s daughter, and each time found her more enchanting. Once he tried to kiss her hand, but she sprang from him and left him sitting in his boat alone. At last a day came when the Prince said to his father, “My father, you want me to wed so that I may have an heir to the throne, but there is only one woman that can ever be my wife, and that is the daughter of the poor woman who lives in the little cottage out yonder.”
At first the old King was very wroth, but he loved his son well, and knew that nothing would shake him from his word, so he told him that if he would bring home his bride, he too would rejoice and love her as his daughter even though she be a beggar-maid. Then the young Prince rode down to the cottage, and went in and told the shepherd’s wife how he had seen her daughter, and loved her and wished to make her his wife, so that she would be Queen of the country.
The shepherd’s wife went nearly wild with joy. “To think that my daughter should be the Queen,” she said to herself, and when her daughter came into the cottage she did not know how to contain herself, but folded her in her arms and kissed her, crying and declaring that never was woman so blessed.
“Why, what has happened, my mother? and what has pleased you so?” said her daughter, while still the shepherd’s wife rejoiced and wept for joy.
“It is the King’s son, my girl, the King’s own son, and he has just been here, and he loves you because you are so beautiful, and he will marry you and make you Queen of all the land. Was there ever such luck for a poor woman?”
But the daughter only said, “But I don’t want to marry the King’s son, mother, or any one. I will never be the wife of any man; I will stay with you and nurse you when you are old and sick, for I can live in no house but this cottage, and have no friend but my mother.”
On hearing this the shepherd’s wife became very angry, and told her daughter that she must be mad, and that she must wait for a day or two, and she would be only too thankful for the love of the King’s son, and for the honour he was going to do her in making her his Queen. But still the daughter shook her head, and said quite quietly, “I will never be the wife of the King’s son.” The shepherd’s wife did not dare tell the King’s son what her daughter had said, but told him that he had better speak to her himself if he wished to make her his wife. Then when he was again sitting in the boat on the river, and the maiden on the bank, the King’s son told her how much he loved her, and that he would share with her all that he had in this world. But the shepherd’s daughter only shook her head and said, “I will never live at the palace, and I will never be a Queen.”
The old King had ordered great preparations to be made for the wedding, which was to take place immediately, and all sorts of fine clothes were ordered for the shepherd’s daughter, that she might appear properly as the wife of the Prince, but for the few days just before the wedding, the rain fell as it had never been known to have fallen; it beat through the roofs of the cottages, and the river swelled and overflowed its banks; everyone was frightened, save indeed the shepherd’s daughter, who went out into the wet and danced as was her wont, letting the torrents fall upon her head and shoulders.
But the evening before the wedding-day she knelt beside her mother’s side. “Dear mother,” she said, “let me stop with you and nurse you when you are old. Do not send me away to the palace to live with the King’s son.”
Then the mother was very angry, and told her daughter that she was very ungrateful, and she ought to be thankful that such luck had come in her way, and who was she, the daughter of a poor shepherd, that she should object to marrying the King’s son?
All night long the rain fell in torrents, and when next day the shepherd’s daughter was dressed in all her finery, it was through pools on the ground that she had to step into the grand carriage which the King had sent to fetch her, and while the marriage-service was being read, the priest’s voice could scarcely be heard for the pattering of the drops upon the roof, and when they went into the castle to the banquet, the water burst through the doors opened to receive them, so that the King and the wedding guests had hard ado to keep dry. It was a grand feast, and the King’s son sat at one end of the table, and his young wife was beside him dressed in white and gold. All the courtiers and all the fine guests declared that surely the world had never contained such a beautiful young woman as their future Queen. But just when the goblets were filled with wine, to drink to the health of the bride and bridegroom, there came a cry, “The floods! the floods!” and the servants ran into the hall, crying out that the waters were pouring in, and in one moment the rooms were filled with water, and no one thought of anything but to save themselves. When the hurricane had subsided, and the waters gone down, they looked around for the Prince’s wife, who was nowhere to be found. Every one said that she had been swept away by the torrents, and that she had been drowned in all her youth and beauty; only the shepherd’s wife wept alone, and remembered the words of the woman who came to her on the night of the storm: “When you love aught on earth better than your daughter and her happiness, she will go from you.”
The King’s son mourned his wife, and for long would not be comforted; but when many years had passed, he married a beautiful Princess, and with her lived very happily; only when the rain fell in torrents and beat against the window-panes it would seem to him as if he heard the sound of dancing feet, and a voice that called out, “Come and dance with me, come and dance with me and my brothers and sisters, oh, King’s son, and feel our drops upon your face.”
THE PLOUGHMAN & THE GNOME
A Young ploughman was following his plough in a field one morning when suddenly the horses stopped, and do what he would he could not make them stir. Then he tried to push the plough himself, but he could not move it one hair’s-breadth. He stooped down to see what could be stopping it, when a deep voice cried, “Stop, I am coming up.” The voice was so loud that the ploughman shook with fear, but though he looked all around him, he could see no one from whom it could come. But presently it spoke again (only this time it was a little lower), and called out, “Have patience, and I shall be up in a moment.” The ploughman quaked in every limb, and stood quite still, and the voice began again (but this time it was no louder than most folks’), and it said—“If you will only not be in such a hurry, I will tell you what I want. Look in front of your horse’s right foot, and pick me up.”
He bent down and looked on the ground, and there in the earth, just in front of his horse’s right foot, he saw what he thought was a little black lizard. He touched it very cautiously, and started back with surprise when the voice spoke again, and he found it came from this tiny creature.
“Yes,” it said, “that is quite right. You can pick me up in your hand if you like, but I think I must grow a little bigger, as I am really uncomfortably small,” and while he held it on the palm of his hand, the ploughman saw that it was beginning to grow larger, and it swelled so fast that in a few seconds it was near a foot high, and he had to take both hands to hold it. Then he saw that it was not a lizard, but a little black woman with a face that looked as though it were made of india-rubber, and ugly little black hands.
“There, that will do,” said the strange little gnome. “That is a nice useful size. Oh dear, how tiring growing is! I don’t think I’ll be any bigger just yet. Now be sure you don’t drop me, and handle me very carefully, for I do not like to be roughly touched. I have not slept nearly as long as I meant to. I wanted a hundred years’ nap, and it cannot be more than fifty, but now that I am awake I think I will keep so for a bit. You seem to be rather a nice civil young man. How would you like to take me for a lodger?”
“A lodger!” gasped the ploughman. “Why, what should I do with you?”
“I should give no trouble,” said the gnome. “But are there any women in your house?”
“No,” said the ploughman, “for I have no wife, and I am too poor to keep a servant.”
“So much the better,” said the gnome. “For though I am a woman myself, I detest women, and only get on with men.”
“You a woman!” cried the ploughman, and he laughed outright.
“Of course I am a woman,” said the creature. “Come, say quickly, do you like to have me for a lodger or not? Of course you will have to agree to my terms.”
“And what are your terms?” asked the ploughman.
“Only this. Whatever comes into the house, you must always give the best of it to me. I will choose where I shall live for myself, when I see the house, but of all the food you have, you must save the best and give it to me. Not much of it, but the very best pieces. As you are a man I cannot wear your clothes, but you can give me some of their material, and of everything else that comes into the house of any sort, tobacco, or carpets, or furniture, I must have some of the best. And at meals I must always be helped first. If you agree to this, I may stay with you for a very long time.”
“Oh, oh,” said the ploughman, “and pray what shall I get by it? It seems to me as if you wanted to get the best of everything and give nothing in return.”
“On the contrary,” replied the gnome, “I shall give a very great deal. For as long as I remain in your house, all things will go well with you. You are a poor man now, but you will soon be a rich one. If you sow seeds they will give twice as much crop as other people’s. All your animals will do well, and in a little time, instead of being a poor ploughman, you will be the richest farmer in the countryside.”
“Well,” quoth the ploughman, “I don’t mind trying. I think it would rather amuse me to take you to my cottage; but if you don’t keep your part of the bargain, and I don’t find things are going very well with me, I warn you I’ll pretty soon turn you out.”
“Agreed,” said the gnome; “but remember, if you fail in your compact with me, I shall go by myself. Now carry me home and let me choose where I will live.”
The ploughman carried the odd little figure back to his cottage, gaping with astonishment; there he put it down on the kitchen-table in the little kitchen. It looked all round it, and twisted about its little black head.
“That will do nicely,” it said at last; “there is a little hole in that corner, down which I can go, and near that hole you must place all your daintiest bits, and remember that I must always be helped first at all your meals.” And without a word it leaped from the table, and scuttled away down a big hole that the rats had made, and was no more to be seen.
But when in the evening the ploughman came in to eat his meal, before he began it he took the very best bit of meat and the nicest of the vegetable, and laid them down near the hole. Then he watched eagerly to see what would happen, but while he looked there they remained. Suddenly, however, the door shut with a bang, and he turned his head for a moment to see what caused it, and when he looked back the food had disappeared. Every day it was much the same. He put some of the best food on the table down near the hole, but as long as he watched there it remained, but when he took his eyes off for a moment it had disappeared. In the same way when he had new clothes, he took a choice bit of material and laid it near the hole, and it vanished also. And of whatever came into the house he took some of the best and did the same with it.
Meantime things began to improve very much with him. He had only a little bit of land round his cottage, but this year the vegetables and fruit he had planted there grew so well that he had a large quantity to send to market, and he sold them for such good prices, that soon he was able to get more land and buy his own animals, and in a little while had a farm of his own, and had grown to be quite a rich man, while all his neighbours said his luck was extraordinary. Meantime he saw or heard nothing more of the little black gnome, and except when he put the food and other thing’s near the hole almost forgot all about her.
Time passed, and the time came when the ploughman began to think he would like to take a wife; he made up his mind to marry a very pretty girl in the next village, who was said to be the prettiest girl in all the neighbourhood. Many of the young men would have liked to marry her, but the ploughman was a handsome, cheery young fellow, and she preferred him to all of the others, and so they were married, and she came home to live at the farm. The evening after their wedding they had a fine fat fowl for supper, and the ploughman before he helped his wife cut off the choicest slice from the breast and took it as usual to the hole.
“Husband,” cried the wife, “have you gone mad that you should give the best of the food to the rats and the mice?”
“I am not mad at all,” said the ploughman, “but my grandfather loved nothing in the world so well as rats and mice, and he made me promise before he died that they should always be well cared for in my house, and have of the best.”
“Then if you are not mad,” replied the wife, “I think your grandfather was! It is only the best poison that is good for rats and mice, and they shall have it soon, now that I am in the house.” But the ploughman caressed his wife and begged her to let him keep his promise to his grandfather, and the wife held her peace, not liking to seem bad-tempered on her wedding-day. After a bit she got used to her husband putting down little bits of food, as he said, for the rats and mice, and though she always declared she was going to poison them, she did not try to do so, as her husband seemed grieved when she talked about it.
Thus things went on very happily for some months, when the wife began to think that her clothes were getting very old, and that she must have some new ones. So she took plenty of money and went into the neighbouring town, and came home with new dresses, and hats, and bonnets, and very pretty she looked in them, and her husband was very much pleased with them. But that evening after his wife was gone to bed, as the ploughman was finishing his pipe in the kitchen, he suddenly heard a deep voice from the hole, which called out just as it had done months before, “Stop, I am coming up.”
For an instant the ploughman quaked with fear, then he saw something no bigger than a black beetle creeping through the hole, and it came in front of his chair, and he heard the voice, which was not so loud this time, say—
“That will do, now I am going to begin to grow a little,” and it began to grow, and grow, and grow, till it was about eight inches high, and the ploughman saw it was the little black woman. “There,” she said, speaking quite quietly, “that is a nice useful size, that will do. Now I have something to say to you, and you will have to attend very carefully. I consider that you are breaking your compact. In the first place, you married without asking my leave, and, as I told you, I don’t like women in the house, but I will say nothing about that, as we had not spoken about it before, but how can you explain about all the fine clothes that your wife fetched home to-day? She has taken them to her room and not given one to me!”
“Nay,” cried the ploughman, “they are my wife’s clothes, not mine.”
“Nonsense,” said the gnome, “you gave her the money for them. Now understand that whatever she buys for herself in the future, she must buy the same for me. Two of everything: dresses, hats, gloves, whatever she has, I must have too, and be sure that mine are quite as good as hers.”
“But how am I to manage that?” cried the ploughman; “how can I explain it to her without telling her that you are there?”
“That is your business,” said the gnome. “All I say is that I must have the things if I am to remain in your house. You can tell her what you please. So now you know, and see that you do as I tell you,” and suddenly the little figure shrunk up till it was about the size of a black beetle, and then disappeared down the hole without another word.
The ploughman rubbed his head, and wondered what he could do. He did not at all want to tell his wife about the little gnome, for he was sure she would not like it, but at the same time he did not want the gnome to leave his house and take away his luck.
A few days after, his wife told him she was going to the shoemaker’s to buy herself some smart new shoes, and the ploughman thought of the gnome, and knew he must do as she had told him. So he said to his wife, “Wife, when you get those shoes for yourself, I wish you would get a pair just like them for my cousin who has written to me to ask me for a present. I should like to send her some nice boots and shoes as she is very poor, so I shall be very much obliged if you will get two pairs of whatever you may get for yourself that I may send her one.”
The wife wondered very much, for she did not know the ploughman had any cousin; however, she went into the town, and brought home two pairs of smart red shoes with bows on the top.
When she had gone to bed at night, the ploughman took one pair and laid it by the hole in the same place where he had put the food, and it disappeared just as the food did without his seeing where it went. “Now,” thought he, “when she sees I am quite honest, perhaps the ugly little gnome will be content, and let us go on in peace.”
So time went on, and the ploughman and his wife lived very happily and quietly, till one evening a pedlar came round with a tray holding all sorts of pretty things to sell. The ploughman’s wife went to the door, and looked at the things: then she bought a pretty comb for her hair, but she would not show it to her husband, as she meant to wear it before him as a surprise next day.
But that evening after his wife had gone to bed, as the ploughman sat finishing his pipe by the fire, he heard the voice from the hole calling as loudly as ever, “Stop! I am coming up.” Again the ploughman quaked with fear, and then he saw coming through the hole something no bigger than a black beetle, and again the voice said in a lower tone, “Now I will begin to grow a little,” and presently the tiny black thing had swelled into the ugly little black woman with the face like india-rubber.
“Listen to me,” she said, “and know that I am beginning to feel very angry. You are beginning to cheat me. To-day your wife bought herself a brand-new comb from a pedlar at the door, and never got one for me. To-morrow evening I must have that comb. I don’t care how you get it, but have it I must.”
The ploughman scratched his head and was sore perplexed. “What on earth am I to do?” he cried, “for my wife will think me very cruel if I take away all the pretty little things she buys for herself.”
“I can’t help that,” answered the gnome. “I have got to have that comb by this time to-morrow night, and I warn you if you begin to deceive me, just as if I were an ordinary human being, I shall pretty soon take myself off,” and with that the gnome disappeared through the hole in an instant.
Next morning at breakfast the wife came down with the new comb in her hair, and said to her husband, “See, husband, I bought this of the pedlar yesterday, and he tells me they are quite the newest fashion, and all the great ladies in town are wearing them.”
“Well,” quoth the ploughman, “such a fashion may be all very well for the great ladies who have scarce any hair of their own, but, for my own part, I had rather see your beautiful hair just as it is without any adornment.”
At this the wife pouted, and was very cross. “’Tis too bad of you to say that. I thought you would like your wife to wear all the new fashions, and be smart like other folks.”
“Nay,” cried the ploughman, “my wife is much prettier than other folks, and she looks prettiest of all when she has little to adorn her. If any of these great ladies had hair like yours you may be sure they would pretty soon throw away any combs or caps or pins, so that nothing but their hair should be seen.”
When her husband was gone, the wife went to her glass and looked at herself, and took out the comb and then put it in, and tried it every way. “’Tis true, for sure,” said she, “my hair is very beautiful, and maybe it looks best done up as I used to wear it, still it seems a pity not to use the comb when I have bought it.” So when her husband came back, she said to him, “I believe you are right, husband, and it suits me better not to have anything in my hair, but maybe if you are wanting to send a present to that cousin of yours, you would like to send her that comb. It would save buying anything fresh.”
On this the ploughman laughed to himself, but he thanked his wife very much and put the comb in his pocket. In the evening after the wife had gone to bed, the ploughman took it, and put it down by the hole, and then went on smoking his pipe without waiting to see if it disappeared. But in a few minutes he heard the voice crying, “Stop! I am coming up,” and saw again the gnome come through the hole and then begin to grow as before. “Now this is too bad,” cried the ploughman. “What can you want now? Here I have just given you the comb you wanted, and nothing else new has come into the house.” “On the contrary,” answered the gnome, “I consider that you have brought a great many new things into the house since I came to live here, and I mean now to have my choice of some of them, since I do not find that you are honest enough to offer them to me. To begin with, I want your wife’s hair. I have been trying mine with that comb, and I find I can’t make it do at all, and so I mean to have your wife’s.”
“My wife’s!” gasped the ploughman. “You must be mad!”
“Mad or not mad,” replied the gnome, “I mean to have it, and, moreover, it is my due. You married without consulting me, and if I kept you to your bargain, I should have a great deal that I have not got. Certainly your wife has the best head of hair in the house, so you must cut it off near her head and bring it all to me.”
“But whatever shall I say to my wife?” cried the ploughman in distress.
“That is your look-out, not mine,” said the gnome. “Anyhow you have got to give it to me. But as the thought of it seems to annoy you I will give you a week to get it in.”
The ploughman sat and thought and thought, and very sad did he feel at thinking of all his wife’s beautiful hair being given away to the little gnome.
Next day he took his horse and cart, and told his wife he had to go for a long drive on business to a big town, a long way off. It was quite the biggest town in that neighbourhood, and many very fine people lived there. At first the wife wanted to go too, but her husband said it was too far and she would be too tired, as he could not be back till very late at night.
Next morning, when they sat at breakfast, he told his wife all he had heard and seen in the big town, and then he added, “And all the very fine ladies there have now the funniest fashion.”
“And what is that?” asked his wife; “pray tell me, for I love to hear the new fashions.”
“Why,” said the ploughman, “’tis with their hair. Instead of wearing it long, they have it cut quite close all round their heads, because they say it looks smarter now.”
“Well, I do call that a silly fashion,” said the wife; “they can’t have had much hair to consent to have had it cut off.”
“No, indeed,” said her husband, “and yet with some of them, they look very smart and pretty with their little curly heads.”
“Much like boys, I should think,” said the wife scornfully.
“No, not quite that, either,” said the ploughman, “more like the pictures of angels in the old churches, and they say it is the great thing for it to curl up all round the head, and when it does that of itself, they are very proud of it.”
“Well, then, some of them might be very proud of mine,” said the wife, “for it’s as curly as may be, and if I were to cut it short would be all in tiny curls.”
When her husband had gone to his work, the ploughman’s wife could do nothing but think of the strange new fashion of which her husband had told her. “I wonder how it would suit me,” she thought, and when he came in to dinner she said to him—
“Husband, is it really true that all those fine ladies looked very pretty and smart with their hair short?”
“Ay, that they did,” he said; “I was quite surprised to see them, and I heard they said ’twas a wonderful saving of trouble, and that their hair could never grow untidy.”
“That is true,” said the wife, “yet I should be sorry to cut mine off.”
“I wonder how it would look?” and she snipped off a big bit.
“No need that you should,” said the ploughman, “and there are not many folks up here to see if we are in the fashion or not. All the same, you are sure to look prettier than the town ladies any way, whichever way your hair is done, for your face is prettier.”
But when her husband had gone away again the wife went to her glass with the scissors in her hand. “As my husband says,” she quoth, “it would be a wonderful saving of trouble, and then it would be very nice to let all the women round see that I could be in the fashion before they. I wonder how it would look?” and she snipped off a big bit. “Here goes,” she cried; “after all ’tis best to follow the fashions, whatever they are,” and she went on cutting till, when her husband came in, he found her with her hair all cut off beside her.
“There, husband,” cried she, “do I look like the smart ladies in town?”
“Ay, that you do,” he answered, “only ten times prettier; but as for all that beautiful hair, you must just give it to me, for it is so beautiful I would not let it be lost for anything,” and he took up all the heap of fine gold hair and tied it together with a bright ribbon.
The wife looked at herself in the glass, and thought she really looked very nice with little curls all round her head, and though the ploughman grieved over it in his heart, yet he was glad he had got her hair, and thought, “Now at last that miserable little gnome will be content, and leave me alone.” So that evening, when his wife was gone to bed, he took the bunch of hair and laid it near the hole, and it disappeared, and he knew the gnome had it.
So for a time all went on quietly with the ploughman, and he hoped he should not hear more of the gnome, but one evening, after his wife had gone to bed and he was in the kitchen smoking his pipe alone, he heard the hated voice shouting, “Stop! I am coming up,” and then he saw the little black thing like a black beetle coming through the hole, and all happened just as before.
“Well, what do you want now?” cried the ploughman when he saw the ugly little woman in front of him. “I have given you my wife’s hair, and surely you ought to be content.”
“Not at all,” said the gnome, “for I have tried on her hair, and I find it does not suit my complexion. I have never seen her myself, and I don’t think you any judge, but I heard you telling her that her face was prettier than any of the town ladies. In that case you have no right to keep it for yourself. I must have your wife’s face.”
“My wife’s face!” screamed the ploughman, “I think you must be mad. How can I give you my wife’s face? And what would you do with it?”
“Wear it,” answered the gnome; “and all you have to do is to fetch your wife in here this day week, and tell her what I wish; and I will come up and scrape off as much of her face as I want.”
“Why, it would kill her,” cried the ploughman.
“Not at all,” said the gnome, “neither would it hurt her, for she would scarcely feel my little knife; the only thing is, that when I have done, her skin will be rather black and shrivelled like my own, but as mine has been good enough for me all these years, it will surely be good enough for a common human woman. Anyhow, now you know. I must have your wife’s complexion to wear with her hair, or else I go at once. And as it will be you who have broken the compact, I shall take all your wealth with me.” And repeating in a deep voice, “Remember, this day week at twelve o’clock,” the gnome grew small, and disappeared through the hole.
Next day the ploughman was very miserable, and whenever he looked at his wife felt inclined to burst into tears. The wife, not knowing what was amiss, tried to cheer him, and asked if he were ill. But he shook his head, and told her “no,” and had not the courage to tell her the truth. Thus things went on, the ploughman growing sadder and sadder every day, till the evening before that on which the gnome had told him he must bring his wife to meet her. The ploughman was scarce able to check his sobs before his wife, and at last she came into the kitchen, and there found him crying outright.
When she saw this, she kneeled down by him, and said, “Husband, you surely do not think me a good wife, for a good wife shares all her husband’s troubles. Tell me what troubles you. Two heads are better than one, and perhaps I can help you.”
Then the ploughman told her all about the hated gnome, and how he had found it in a field, and how he had promised to give it some of the best of everything, and now how it wanted her face.
At first the wife would scarcely believe it, and then she cried, “But if ’tis such a little creature why not pick it up and strangle it, or let me put my foot on it, while it is no bigger than a black beetle.”
“Nay, do not think of such a thing,” said her husband, “for it is ill to play tricks with fairy folk, and most likely she would kill us outright.”
“But part with my face I never will,” cried the wife.
“Then we will let her go and take with her the house and all our wealth, and be contented to live in my old cottage again, and be quite poor folk,” said her husband.
On hearing this the wife burst into tears, and wept more bitterly than her husband, for she would not stop at all. It was in vain for him to try to cheer her and tell her that poor folk could be quite as happy as rich ones. She declared she could never be happy poor. Then when he said if she would let her face go, he would love her just as much or more without it, she cried that she could never be happy with a dreadful shrivelled black skin like a monkey’s. All that night she cried, and when morning came her skin was all red, and her eyes could scarce be seen, so swelled were their lids, but still she cried on all day, and her husband said nothing to comfort her, because he did not know what to say. By the time it grew dark, her face was so swelled and sore that she could not bear to touch it, and she had cried herself almost blind, but still the tears were rolling down. When the time came for the clock to strike twelve, her husband took her hand and led her to the kitchen, and there she sat with her face in her hands sobbing. Just as the clock struck, they heard the voice like thunder shouting, “Stop! I am coming up,” and the wife peeped between her fingers and saw the little thing no bigger than a black beetle come through the hole and then grow, and grow, and grow, till it was like an ugly little black woman near a foot high. And when she saw how hideous it was she thought, “Never, never will I consent to have a skin like that—not for millions of pounds.”
The gnome did not speak to her, but said to the ploughman, “So you have brought your wife. That is a good thing, if you wish me to remain with you. So now tell her to take down her hands and let me see this face you make such a fuss about. I have my knife all ready.”
And the ploughman saw that she had in her hand a tiny knife, which did not look as if it could hurt any one.
“Wife, wife,” groaned the ploughman, “what shall we do?”
Then the wife looked up out of her swollen eyes, and was just going to speak, when the gnome gave a shriek. “What?” she cried, “that face! Do you mean to say that is what you think so pretty, and that I am going to change my beautiful, dry, black skin for that swollen red mass? No, indeed. You must be mad. It is a good thing that I saw it in time. I shall leave the house at once.”
“Nay,” cried the ploughman, “but it is you who are breaking your compact this time.”
But the gnome made no reply, but scuttled down through the hole as fast as it could, and the ploughman and his wife burst out laughing for joy. And that was the last they ever saw of it, and it must have gone right away, but they knew it had left some of its luck behind it, as they both lived happily for the rest of their days.
THE END
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay.