Tales of Laughter / A third fairy book

by Unknown

OF COUNTING

On a certain time there were twelve men of Gotham who went fishing, and some went into the water and some on dry ground; and, as they were coming back, one of them said: “We have ventured much this day wading; I pray God that none of us that did come from home be drowned.”

“Marry,” said one, “let us see about that. Twelve of us came out,” and every man did count eleven, and the twelfth man did never count himself.

“Alas!” said one to another, “one of us is drowned.” They went back to the brook where they had been fishing, and looked up and down for him that was drowned, and made great lamentation. A courtier came riding by, and he did ask what they were seeking, and why they were so sorrowful. “Oh,” said they, “this day we came to fish in this brook, and there were twelve of us, and one is drowned.”

“Why,” said the courtier, “count me how many of you there be,” and one counted eleven and did not count himself. “Well,” said the courtier, “what will you give me if I find the twelfth man?”

“Sir,” said they, “all the money we have.”

“Give me the money,” said the courtier; and he began with the first, and gave him a whack over the shoulders that he groaned, and said, “There is one,” and he served all of them that they groaned; but when he came to the last he gave him a good blow, saying, “Here is the twelfth man.”

“God bless you on your heart,” said all the company; “you have found our neighbor.”

Henny-Penny

One day Henny-penny was picking up corn in the corn-yard when—whack!—something hit her upon the head.

“Goodness gracious me!” says Henny-penny; “the sky’s a-going to fall; I must go and tell the king.”

So she went along, and she went along, and she went along till she met Cocky-locky. “Where are you going, Henny-penny?” says Cocky-locky. “Oh! I’m going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling,” says Henny-penny. “May I come with you?” says Cocky-locky. “Certainly,” says Henny-penny. So Henny-penny and Cocky-locky went to tell the king the sky was falling.

They went along, and they went along, and they went along till they met Ducky-daddles. “Where are you going to, Henny-penny and Cocky-locky?” says Ducky-daddles. “Oh! we’re going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling,” says Henny-penny and Cocky-locky. “May I come with you?” says Ducky-daddles. “Certainly,” says Henny-penny and Cocky-locky. So Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, and Ducky-daddles went to tell the king the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along till they met Goosey-poosey. “Where are you going to, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, and Ducky-daddles?” says Goosey-poosey. “Oh! we’re going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling,” says Henny-penny and Cocky-locky and Ducky-daddles. “May I come with you?” says Goosey-poosey. “Certainly,” says Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, and Ducky-daddles. So Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, and Goosey-poosey went to tell the king the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along till they met Turkey-lurkey. “Where are you going, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, and Goosey-poosey?” says Turkey-lurkey. “Oh! we’re going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling,” says Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, and Goosey-poosey. “May I come with you, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, and Goosey-poosey?” says Turkey-lurkey. “Oh, certainly, Turkey-lurkey,” says Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, and Goosey-poosey. So Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey all went to tell the king the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along till they met Foxy-woxy, and Foxy-woxy says to Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey: “Where are you going, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey?” And Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey says to Foxy-woxey: “We’re going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling.” “Oh! but this is not the way to the king, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey,” says Foxy-woxy; “I know the proper way; shall I show it you?” “Oh, certainly, Foxy-woxy,” says Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey. So Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, Turkey-lurkey, and Foxy-woxy all went to tell the king the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along till they came to a narrow and dark hole. Now this was the door of Foxy-woxy’s cave. But Foxy-woxy says to Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey: “This is the short way to the king’s palace: you’ll soon get there if you follow me. I will go first and you come after, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey.” “Why, of course, certainly, without doubt, why not?” says Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey.

So Foxy-woxy went into his cave, and he didn’t go very far, but turned round to wait for Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey. So at last Turkey-lurkey went through the dark hole into the cave. He hadn’t got far when “Hrumph!” Foxy-woxy snapped off Turkey-lurkey’s head and threw his body over his left shoulder. Then Goosey-poosey went in, and “Hrumph!” off went her head and Goosey-poosey was thrown beside Turkey-lurkey. Then Ducky-daddles waddled down, and “Hrumph!” snapped Foxy-woxy, and Ducky-daddles’s head was off, and Ducky-daddles was thrown alongside Turkey-lurkey and Goosey-poosey. Then Cocky-locky strutted down into the cave, and he hadn’t gone far when “Snap, Hrumph!” went Foxy-woxy, and Cocky-locky was thrown alongside of Turkey-lurkey, Goosey-poosey, and Ducky-daddles.

But Foxy-woxy had made two bites at Cocky-locky, and when the first snap only hurt Cocky-locky, but didn’t kill him, he called out to Henny-penny. So she turned tail and off she ran home, and she never told the king the sky was a-falling.

A Son of Adam

A man was working one day. It was very hot, and he was digging. By and by he stopped to rest and wipe his face; and he grew very angry to think he had to work so hard just because of Adam’s sin. So he complained bitterly, and said some very hard words about Adam.

It happened that his master heard him, and he asked: “Why do you blame Adam? You’d ha’ done just like Adam, if you’d a-been in his place.”

“No, I shouldn’t,” says the man. “I should ha’ know’d better.”

“Well, I’ll try you,” says his master. “Come to me at dinner-time.”

So come dinner-time, the man came, and his master took him into a room where the table was a-set with good things of all sorts. And he said: “Now, you can eat as much as ever you like from any of the dishes on the table; but don’t touch the covered dish in the middle till I come back.” And with that the master went out of the room and left the man there all by himself. So the man began to taste some o’ this dish and some o’ that, and enjoyed himself finely. But after a while, as his master didn’t come back, he began to look at the covered dish, and to wonder whatever was in it. And he wondered more and more, and he says to himself: “It must be something very nice. Why shouldn’t I just look at it? I won’t touch it. There can’t be any harm in just peeping.” So at last he could hold back no longer, and he lifted up the cover a tiny bit; but he couldn’t see anything. Then he lifted it up a bit more, and out popped a mouse. The man tried to catch it; but it ran away and jumped off the table and he ran after it. It ran first into one corner, and then, just as he thought he’d got it, into another, and under the table, and all about the room. And the man made such a clatter, jumping and banging and running round after the mouse, a-trying to catch it, that at last his master came in.

“Ah!” he said; “never you blame Adam again, my man!”

The Happy Family

The largest green leaf in this country is certainly the burdock leaf. If you hold it in front of you, it is large enough for an apron; and if you hold it over your head, it is almost as good as an umbrella, it is so wonderfully large. A burdock never grows alone; where it grows, there are many more, and it is a splendid sight; and all this splendor is good for snails. Grand people in olden times used to have the great white snails made into fricassees; and when they had eaten them, they would say: “Oh, what a delicious dish!” for these people really thought them good. Such snails lived on burdock leaves, and for them the burdock was planted.

There was once an old estate where no one now lived to require snails; indeed, the owners had all died out, but the burdock still flourished; it grew over all the beds and walks of the garden—its growth had no check—till it became at last quite a forest of burdocks. Here and there stood an apple- or a plum-tree; but for this, nobody would have thought the place had ever been a garden. It was burdock from one end to the other; and here lived the last two surviving snails. They knew not themselves how old they were; but they could remember the time when there were a great many more of them, and that they were descended from a family which came from foreign lands, and that the whole forest had been planted for them and theirs. They had never been away from the garden; but they knew that another place once existed in the world, called the Duke’s Palace Castle, in which some of their relations had been boiled till they became black, and were then laid on a silver dish; but what was done afterward they did not know. Besides, they could not imagine exactly how it felt to be boiled and placed on a silver dish; but no doubt it was something very fine and highly genteel. Neither the cockchafer, nor the toad, nor the earthworm, whom they questioned about it, could give them the least information; for none of their relations had ever been cooked or served on a silver dish. The old white snails were the most aristocratic race in the world—they knew that. The forest had been planted for them, and the nobleman’s castle had been built solely that they might be cooked and laid on silver dishes.

They lived quite retired and very happily; and as they had no children of their own, they had adopted a little common snail, which they brought up as their own child. The little one would not grow, for he was only a common snail; but the old people, particularly the mother snail, declared that she could easily see how he grew; and when the father said he could not perceive it, she begged him to feel the little snail’s shell, and he did so, and found that the mother was right.

One day it rained very fast. “Listen, what a drumming there is on the burdock leaves; tum, tum, tum; tum, tum, tum,” said the father snail.

“There come the drops,” said the mother; “they are trickling down the stalks. We shall have it very wet here presently. I am very glad we have such good houses, and that the little one has one of his own. There has been really more done for us than for any other creature; it is quite plain that we are the most noble people in the world. We have houses from our birth, and the burdock forest has been planted for us. I should very much like to know how far it extends, and what lies beyond it.”

“There can be nothing better than we have here,” said the father snail; “I wish for nothing more.”

“Yes, but I do,” said the mother; “I should like to be taken to the palace, and boiled, and laid upon a silver dish, as was done to all our ancestors; and you may be sure it must be something very uncommon.”

“The nobleman’s castle, perhaps, has fallen to decay,” said the snail father, “or the burdock wood may have grown over it, so that those who live there cannot get out. You need not be in a hurry; you are always so impatient, and the youngster is getting just the same. He has been three days creeping to the top of that stalk. I feel quite giddy when I look at him.”

“You must not scold him,” said the mother snail; “he creeps so very carefully. He will be the joy of our home; and we old folks have nothing else to live for. But have you ever thought where we are to get a wife for him? Do you think that farther out in the wood there may be others of our race?”

“There may be black snails, no doubt,” said the old snail; “black snails without houses; though they are vulgar and conceited too. But we can give the ants a commission; they run here and there, as if they all had much business to get through. They, most likely, will know of a wife for our youngster.”

“I certainly know a most beautiful bride,” said one of the ants; “but I fear it would not do, for she is a queen.”

“That does not matter,” said the old snail. “Has she a house?”

“She has a palace,” replied the ant, “a most beautiful ant-palace with seven hundred passages.”

“Thank you,” said the mother snail; “but our boy shall not go to live in an ant-hill. If you know of nothing better, we will give the commission to the white gnats; they fly about in rain and sunshine; they know the burdock wood from one end to the other.”

“We have a wife for him,” said the gnats; “a hundred man-steps from here, there is a little snail with a house, sitting on a gooseberry-bush; she is quite alone, and old enough to be married. It is only a hundred man-steps from here.”

“Then let her come to him,” said the old people. “He has the whole burdock forest; she has only a bush.”

So they brought the little lady-snail. She took eight days to perform the journey; but that was just as it ought to be, for it showed her to be one of the right breeding. And then they had a wedding. Six glowworms gave as much light as they could; but in other respects it was all very quiet; for the old snails could not bear festivities or a crowd. But a beautiful speech was made by the mother snail. The father could not speak; he was too much overcome. Then they gave the whole burdock forest to the young snails as an inheritance, and repeated what they had so often said, that it was the finest place in the world, and that if they led upright and honorable lives, and their family increased, they and their children might some day be taken to the nobleman’s palace, to be boiled black, and laid on a silver dish. And when they had finished speaking, the old couple crept into their houses, and came out no more; for they slept.

The young snail pair now ruled in the forest, and had a numerous progeny. But as the young ones were never boiled or laid in silver dishes, they concluded that the castle had fallen into decay, and that all the people in the world were dead; and as nobody contradicted them, they thought they must be right. And the rain fell upon the burdock leaves, to play the drum for them, and the sun shone to paint colors on the burdock forest for them, and they were very happy; the whole family was entirely and perfectly happy.

Hans Christian Andersen.

The Blind Man, the Deaf Man, and the Donkey

A blind Man and a Deaf Man once entered into partnership. The Deaf Man was to see for the Blind Man, and the Blind Man was to hear for the Deaf Man.

One day both went to a nautch[^[6]] together. The Deaf Man said: “The dancing is very good, but the music is not worth listening to”; and the Blind Man said: “On the contrary, I think the music very good, but the dancing is not worth looking at.”

[6]. Musical and dancing entertainment.

After this they went together for a walk in the jungle, and there found a Dhobee’s Donkey that had strayed away from its owner, and a great big chattee (such as Dhobees boil clothes in), which the Donkey was carrying with him.

The Deaf Man said to the Blind Man: “Brother, here are a Donkey and a Dhobee’s great big chattee, with nobody to own them! Let us take them with us—they may be useful to us some day.” “Very well,” said the Blind Man; “we will take them with us.” So the Blind Man and the Deaf Man went on their way, taking the Donkey and the great big chattee with them. A little farther on they came to an ant’s nest, and the Deaf Man said to the Blind Man: “Here are a number of very fine black ants, much larger than any I ever saw before. Let us take some of them home to show our friends.” “Very well,” answered the Blind Man; “we will take them as a present to our friends.” So the Deaf Man took a silver snuff-box out of his pocket, and put four or five of the finest black ants into it; which done, they continued their journey.

But before they had gone very far a terrible storm came on. It thundered and lightened and rained and blew with such fury that it seemed as if the whole heavens and earth were at war. “Oh dear! oh dear!” cried the Deaf Man, “how dreadful this lightning is! Let us make haste and get to some place of shelter.” “I don’t see that it’s dreadful at all,” answered the Blind Man; “but the thunder is very terrible; we had better certainly seek some place of shelter.”

Now, not far off was a lofty building, which looked exactly like a fine temple. The Deaf Man saw it, and he and the Blind Man resolved to spend the night there; and having reached the place, they went in and shut the door, taking the Donkey and the great big chattee with them. But this building, which they mistook for a temple, was in truth no temple at all, but the house of a very powerful Rakshas;[^[7]] and hardly had the Blind Man, the Deaf Man, and the Donkey got inside and fastened the door, than the Rakshas, who had been out, returned home. To his surprise, he found the door fastened and heard people moving about inside his house. “Ho! ho!” cried he to himself, “some men have got in here, have they? I’ll soon make mince-meat of them.” So he began to roar in a voice louder than the thunder, and to cry: “Let me into my house this minute, you wretches; let me in, let me in, I say,” and to kick the door and batter it with his great fists. But though his voice was very powerful, his appearance was still more alarming, insomuch that the Deaf Man, who was peeping at him through a chink in the wall, felt so frightened that he did not know what to do. But the Blind Man was very brave (because he couldn’t see), and went up to the door and called out: “Who are you, and what do you mean by coming battering at the door in this way and at this time of night?”

[7]. A kind of ogre.

“I’m a Rakshas,” answered the Rakshas angrily, “and this is my house. Let me in this instant or I’ll kill you.” All this time the Deaf Man, who was watching the Rakshas, was shivering and shaking in a terrible fright, but the Blind Man was very brave (because he couldn’t see), and he called out again: “Oh, you’re a Rakshas, are you? Well, if you’re Rakshas, I’m Bakshas; and Bakshas is as good as Rakshas.” “Bakshas!” roared the Rakshas. “Bakshas! Bakshas! What nonsense is this? There is no such creature as a Bakshas!” “Go away,” replied the Blind Man, “and don’t dare to make any further disturbance, lest I punish you with a vengeance; for know that I’m Bakshas, and Bakshas is Rakshas’s father.” “My father?” answered the Rakshas. “Heavens and earth! Bakshas, and my father! I never heard such an extraordinary thing in my life. You my father; and in there! I never knew my father was called Bakshas!”

“Yes,” replied the Blind Man; “go away instantly, I command you, for I am your father Bakshas.” “Very well,” answered the Rakshas (for he began to get puzzled and frightened); “but if you are my father, let me first see your face.” (For he thought: “Perhaps they are deceiving me.”) The Blind Man and the Deaf Man didn’t know what to do; but at last they opened the door a very tiny chink and poked the Donkey’s nose out. When the Rakshas saw it he thought to himself: “Bless me, what a terribly ugly face my father Bakshas has!” He then called out: “O father Bakshas, you have a very big, fierce face; but people have sometimes very big heads and very little bodies. Pray let me see your body as well as head before I go away.” Then the Blind Man and the Deaf Man rolled the great, big Dhobee’s chattee with a thundering noise past the chink in the door, and the Rakshas, who was watching attentively, was very much surprised when he saw this great black thing rolling along the floor, and he thought: “In truth, my father Bakshas has a very big body as well as a big head. He’s big enough to eat me up altogether. I’d better go away.” But still he could not help being a little doubtful, so he cried: “O Bakshas, father Bakshas! you have indeed got a very big head and a very big body; but do, before I go away, let me hear you scream,” for all Rakshas scream fearfully. Then the cunning Deaf Man (who was getting less frightened) pulled the silver snuff-box out of his pocket, and took the black ants out of it, and put one black ant in the Donkey’s right ear, and another black ant in the Donkey’s left ear, and another and another. The ants pinched the poor Donkey’s ears dreadfully, and the Donkey was so hurt and frightened he began to bellow as loud as he could: “Eh augh! eh augh! eh augh! augh! augh!” and at this terrible noise the Rakshas fled away in a great fright, saying: “Enough, enough, father Bakshas! the sound of your voice would make the most refractory obedient.” And no sooner had he gone than the Deaf Man took the ants out of the Donkey’s ears, and he and the Blind Man spent the rest of the night in peace and comfort.

Next morning the Deaf Man woke the Blind Man early, saying: “Awake, brother, awake; here we are indeed in luck! The whole floor is covered with heaps of gold and silver and precious stones.” And so it was, for the Rakshas owned a vast amount of treasure, and the whole house was full of it. “That is a good thing,” said the Blind Man. “Show me where it is and I will help you to collect it.” So they collected as much treasure as possible and made four great bundles of it. The Blind Man took one great bundle, the Deaf Man took another, and, putting the other two great bundles on the Donkey, they started off to return home. But the Rakshas, whom they had frightened away the night before, had not gone very far off, and was waiting to see what his father Bakshas might look like by daylight. He saw the door of his house open and watched attentively, when out walked—only a Blind Man, a Deaf Man, and a Donkey, who were all three laden with large bundles of his treasure. The Blind Man carried one bundle, the Deaf Man carried another bundle, and two bundles were on the Donkey.

The Rakshas was extremely angry, and immediately called six of his friends to help him kill the Blind Man, the Deaf Man, and the Donkey, and recover the treasure.

The Deaf Man saw them coming (seven great Rakshas, with hair a yard long and tusks like an elephant’s), and was dreadfully frightened; but the Blind Man was very brave (because he couldn’t see), and said: “Brother, why do you lag behind in that way?” “Oh!” answered the Deaf Man, “there are seven great Rakshas with tusks like an elephant’s coming to kill us! What can we do?” “Let us hide the treasure in the bushes,” said the Blind Man; “and do you lead me to a tree; then I will climb up first, and you shall climb up afterward, and so we shall be out of their way.” The Deaf Man thought this good advice; so he pushed the Donkey and the bundles of treasure into the bushes, and led the Blind Man to a high soparee-tree that grew close by; but he was a very cunning man, this Deaf Man, and instead of letting the Blind Man climb up first and following him, he got up first and let the Blind Man clamber after, so that he was farther out of harm’s way than his friend.

When the Rakshas arrived at the place and saw them both perched out of reach in the soparee-tree, he said to his friends: “Let us get on each other’s shoulders; we shall then be high enough to pull them down.” So one Rakshas stooped down, and the second got on his shoulders, and the third on his, and the fourth on his, and the fifth on his, and the sixth on his; and the seventh and the last Rakshas (who had invited all the others) was just climbing up when the Deaf Man (who was looking over the Blind Man’s shoulder) got so frightened that in his alarm he caught hold of his friend’s arm, crying: “They’re coming, they’re coming!” The Blind Man was not in a very secure position, and was sitting at his ease, not knowing how close the Rakshas were. The consequence was, that when the Deaf Man gave him this unexpected push, he lost his balance and tumbled down on to the neck of the seventh Rakshas, who was just then climbing up. The Blind Man had no idea where he was, but thought he had got on to the branch of some other tree; and, stretching out his hand for something to catch hold of, caught hold of the Rakshas’s two great ears, and pinched them very hard in his surprise and fright. The Rakshas couldn’t think what it was that had come tumbling down upon him; and the weight of the Blind Man upsetting his balance, down he also fell to the ground, knocking down in their turn the sixth, fifth, fourth, third, second, and first Rakshas, who all rolled one over another, and lay in a confused heap at the foot of the tree together.

Meanwhile the Blind Man called out to his friend: “Where am I? What has happened? Where am I? Where am I?” The Deaf Man (who was safe up in the tree) answered: “Well done, brother! never fear! never fear! You’re all right, only hold on tight. I’m coming down to help you.” But he had not the least intention of leaving his place of safety. However, he continued to call out: “Never mind, brother; hold on as tight as you can. I’m coming, I’m coming,” and the more he called out, the harder the Blind Man pinched the Rakshas’s ears, which he mistook for some kind of palm branches.

The six other Rakshas, who had succeeded, after a good deal of kicking, in extricating themselves from their unpleasant position, thought they had had quite enough of helping their friend, and ran away as fast as they could; and the seventh, thinking from their going that the danger must be greater than he imagined, and being, moreover, very much afraid of the mysterious creature that sat on his shoulders, put his hands to the back of his ears and pushed off the Blind Man, and then (without staying to see who or what he was) followed his six companions as fast as he could.

As soon as all the Rakshas were out of sight, the Deaf Man came down from the tree, and, picking up the Blind Man, embraced him, saying: “I could not have done better myself. You have frightened away all our enemies, but you see I came to help you as fast as possible.” He then dragged the Donkey and the bundles of treasure out of the bushes, gave the Blind Man one bundle to carry, took the second himself, and put the remaining two on the Donkey, as before. This done, the whole party set off to return home. But when they had got nearly out of the jungle the Deaf Man said to the Blind Man: “We are now close to the village; but if we take all this treasure home with us, we shall run great risk of being robbed. I think our best plan would be to divide it equally; then you can take care of your half, and I will take care of mine, and each one can hide his share here in the jungle, or wherever pleases him best.” “Very well,” said the Blind Man; “do you divide what we have in the bundles into two equal portions, keeping one half yourself and giving me the other.” The cunning Deaf Man, however, had no intention of giving up half of the treasure to the Blind Man; so he first took his own bundle of treasure and hid it in the bushes, and then he took the two bundles off the Donkey and hid them in the bushes; and he took a good deal of treasure out of the Blind Man’s bundle, which he also hid. Then, taking the small quantity that remained, he divided it into two equal portions, and placing half before the Blind Man and half in front of himself, said: “There, brother, is your share to do what you please with.” The Blind Man put out his hand, but when he felt what a very little heap of treasure it was, he got very angry, and cried: “This is not fair—you are deceiving me; you have kept almost all the treasure for yourself and only given me a very little.” “Oh, oh! how can you think so?” answered the Deaf Man; “but if you will not believe me, feel for yourself. See, my heap of treasure is no larger than yours.”

The Blind Man put out his hands again to feel how much his friend had kept; but in front of the Deaf Man lay only a very small heap, no larger than what he had himself received. At this he got very cross, and said: “Come, come, this won’t do. You think you can cheat me in this way because I am blind; but I’m not so stupid as all that. I carried a great bundle of treasure, you carried a great bundle of treasure, and there were two great bundles on the Donkey. Do you mean to pretend that all that made no more treasure than these two little heaps! No, indeed; I know better than that.” “Stuff and nonsense!” answered the Deaf Man. “Stuff or no stuff,” continued the other, “you are trying to take me in, and I won’t be taken in by you.” “No, I’m not,” said the Deaf Man. “Yes, you are,” said the Blind Man; and so they went on bickering, scolding, growling, contradicting, until the Blind Man got so enraged that he gave the Deaf Man a tremendous box on the ear. The blow was so violent that it made the Deaf Man hear! The Deaf Man, very angry, gave his neighbor in return so hard a blow in the face that it opened the Blind Man’s eyes!

So the Deaf Man could hear as well as see, and the Blind Man could see as well as hear! This astonished them both so much that they became good friends at once. The Deaf Man confessed to having hidden the bulk of the treasure, which he thereupon dragged forth from its place of concealment, and, having divided it equally, they went home and enjoyed themselves.

The Alligator and the Jackal

A hungry Jackal once went down to the riverside in search of little crabs, bits of fish, and whatever else he could find for his dinner. Now it chanced that in this river there lived a great big Alligator, who, being also very hungry, would have been extremely glad to eat the Jackal.

The Jackal ran up and down, here and there, but for a long time could find nothing to eat. At last, close to where the Alligator was lying among some tall bulrushes under the clear, shallow water, he saw a little crab sidling along as fast as his legs could carry him. The Jackal was so hungry that when he saw this he poked his paw into the water to try and catch the crab, when snap! the old Alligator caught hold of him. “Oh dear!” thought the Jackal to himself, “what can I do? This great, big Alligator has caught my paw in his mouth, and in another minute he will drag me down by it under the water and kill me. My only chance is to make him think he has made a mistake.” So he called out in a cheerful voice: “Clever Alligator, clever Alligator, to catch hold of a bulrush root instead of my paw! I hope you find it very tender.” The Alligator, who was so buried among the bulrushes that he could hardly see, thought, on hearing this: “Dear me, how tiresome! I fancied I had caught hold of the Jackal’s paw; but there he is, calling out in a cheerful voice. I suppose I must have seized a bulrush root instead, as he says,” and he let the Jackal go.

The Jackal ran away as fast as he could, crying: “O wise Alligator, wise Alligator! So you let me go again!” Then the Alligator was very much vexed, but the Jackal had run away too far to be caught. Next day the Jackal returned to the riverside to get his dinner as before; but because he was very much afraid of the Alligator he called out: “Whenever I go to look for my dinner, I see the nice little crabs peeping up through the mud; then I catch them and eat them. I wish I could see one now.”

The Alligator, who was buried in the mud at the bottom of the river, heard every word. So he popped the little point of his snout above it, thinking: “If I do but just show the tip of my nose, the Jackal will take me for a crab and put in his paw to catch me, and as soon as ever he does I’ll gobble him up.”

But no sooner did the Jackal see the little tip of the Alligator’s nose than he called out: “Aha, my friend! there you are. No dinner for me in this part of the river, then, I think.” And so saying, he ran farther on and fished for his dinner a long way from that place. The Alligator was very angry at missing his prey a second time, and determined not to let him escape again.

So on the following day, when his little tormentor returned to the waterside, the Alligator hid himself close to the bank, in order to catch him if he could. Now the Jackal was rather afraid of going near the river, for he thought: “Perhaps the Alligator will catch me to-day.” But yet, being hungry, he did not wish to go without his dinner; so to make all as safe as he could, he cried: “Where are all the little crabs gone? There is not one here and I am so hungry; and generally, even when they are under water, one can see them going bubble, bubble, bubble, and all the little bubbles go pop! pop! pop!” On hearing this the Alligator, who was buried in the mud under the river bank, thought: “I will pretend to be a little crab.” And he began to blow, “Puff, puff, puff! Bubble, bubble, bubble!” and all the great bubbles rushed to the surface of the river and burst there, and the waters eddied round and round like a whirlpool; and there was such a commotion when the huge monster began to blow bubbles in this way that the Jackal saw very well who must be there, and he ran away as fast as he could, saying: “Thank you, kind Alligator, thank you; thank you! Indeed, I would not have come here had I known you were so close.”

This enraged the Alligator extremely; it made him quite cross to think of being so often deceived by a little Jackal, and he said to himself: “I will be taken in no more. Next time I will be very cunning.” So for a long time he waited and waited for the Jackal to return to the riverside; but the Jackal did not come, for he had thought to himself: “If matters go on in this way, I shall some day be caught and eaten by the wicked old Alligator. I had better content myself with living on wild figs,” and he went no more near the river, but stayed in the jungles and ate wild figs, and roots which he dug up with his paws.

When the Alligator found this out, he determined to try and catch the Jackal on land; so, going under the largest of the wild fig-trees, where the ground was covered with the fallen fruit, he collected a quantity of it together, and, burying himself under the great heap, waited for the Jackal to appear. But no sooner did the cunning little animal see this great heap of wild figs all collected together than he thought: “That looks very like my friend the Alligator.” And to discover if it were so or not, he called out: “The juicy little wild figs I love to eat always tumble down from the tree, and roll here and there as the wind drives them; but this great heap of figs is quite still; these cannot be good figs; I will not eat any of them.” “Ho, ho!” thought the Alligator, “is that all? How suspicious this Jackal is! I will make the figs roll about a little, then, and when he sees that, he will doubtless come and eat them.”

So the great beast shook himself, and all the heap of little figs went roll, roll, roll—some a mile this way, some a mile that, farther than they had ever rolled before or than the most blustering wind could have driven them.

Seeing this, the Jackal scampered away, saying: “I am so much obliged to you, Alligator, for letting me know you are there, for indeed I should hardly have guessed it. You were so buried under that heap of figs.” The Alligator, hearing this, was so angry that he ran after the Jackal, but the latter ran very, very fast away, too quickly to be caught.

Then the Alligator said to himself: “I will not allow that little wretch to make fun of me another time and then run away out of reach; I will show him that I can be more cunning than he fancies.” And early the next morning he crawled as fast as he could to the Jackal’s den (which was a hole in the side of a hill) and crept into it, and hid himself, waiting for the Jackal, who was out, to return home. But when the Jackal got near the place, he looked about him and thought: “Dear me! the ground looks as if some heavy creature had been walking over it, and here are great clods of earth knocked down from each side of the door of my den, as if a very big animal had been trying to squeeze himself through it. I certainly will not go inside until I know that all is safe there.” So he called out: “Little house, pretty house, my sweet little house, why do you not give an answer when I call? If I come, and all is safe and right, you always call out to me. Is anything wrong, that you do not speak?”

Then the Alligator, who was inside, thought: “If that is the case I had better call out, that he may fancy all is right in his house.” And in as gentle a voice as he could, he said: “Sweet little Jackal.”

At hearing these words the Jackal felt quite frightened, and thought to himself: “So the dreadful old Alligator is there. I must try to kill him if I can, for if I do not he will certainly catch and kill me some day.” He therefore answered: “Thank you, my dear little house. I like to hear your pretty voice. I am coming in in a minute, but first I must collect firewood to cook my dinner.” And he ran as fast as he could, and dragged all the dry branches and bits of stick he could find close up to the mouth of the den. Meantime, the Alligator inside kept as quiet as a mouse, but he could not help laughing a little to himself as he thought: “So I have deceived this tiresome little Jackal at last. In a few minutes he will run in here, and then won’t I snap him up!”

When the Jackal had gathered together all the sticks he could find and put them round the mouth of his den, he set them on fire and pushed them as far into it as possible. There was such a quantity of them that they soon blazed up into a great fire, and the smoke and flames filled the den and smothered the wicked old Alligator and burned him to death, while the little Jackal ran up and down outside dancing for joy and singing:

“How do you like my house, my friend? Is it nice and warm? Ding-dong! ding-dong! The Alligator is dying! ding-dong, ding-dong! He will trouble me no more. I have defeated my enemy! Ring-a-ting! ding-a-ting! ding-ding-dong!”

Why the Fish Laughed

As a certain fisherwoman passed by a palace crying her fish, the queen appeared at one of the windows and beckoned her to come near and show what she had. At that moment a very big fish jumped about in the bottom of the basket.

“Is it a he or a she?” inquired the queen. “I wish to purchase a she-fish.”

On hearing this the fish laughed aloud.

“It’s a he,” replied the fisherwoman, and proceeded on her rounds.

The queen returned to her room in a great rage; and on coming to see her in the evening, the king noticed that something had disturbed her.

“Are you indisposed?” he said.

“No; but I am very much annoyed at the strange behavior of a fish. A woman brought me one to-day, and on my inquiring whether it was a male or female, the fish laughed most rudely.”

“A fish laugh! Impossible! You must be dreaming.”

“I am not a fool. I speak of what I have seen with my own eyes and have heard with my own ears.”

“Passing strange! Be it so. I will inquire concerning it.”

On the morrow the king repeated to his vizier what his wife had told him, and bade him investigate the matter, and be ready with a satisfactory answer within six months, on pain of death. The vizier promised to do his best, though he felt almost certain of failure. For five months he labored indefatigably to find a reason for the laughter of the fish. He sought everywhere and from every one. The wise and learned, and they who were skilled in magic and in all manner of trickery, were consulted. Nobody, however, could explain the matter; and so he returned broken-hearted to his house, and began to arrange his affairs in prospect of certain death, for he had had sufficient experience of the king to know that his majesty would not go back from his threat. Among other things, he advised his son to travel for a time, until the king’s anger should have somewhat cooled.

The young fellow, who was both clever and handsome, started off whithersoever Kismet might lead him. He had been gone some days, when he fell in with an old farmer, who also was on a journey to a certain village. Finding the old man very pleasant, he asked him if he might accompany him, professing to be on a visit to the same place. The old farmer agreed, and they walked along together. The day was hot, and the way was long and weary.

“Don’t you think it would be pleasanter if you and I sometimes gave each other a lift?” said the youth.

“What a fool the man is!” thought the old farmer.

Presently they passed through a field of corn ready for the sickle, and looking like a sea of gold as it waved to and fro in the breeze.

“Is this eaten or not?” said the young man.

Not understanding his meaning, the old man replied: “I don’t know.”

After a little while the two travelers arrived at a big village, where the young man gave his companion a clasp-knife, and said: “Take this, friend, and get two horses with it; but mind and bring it back, for it is very precious.”

The old man, looking half amused and half angry, pushed back the knife, muttering something to the effect that his friend was either a fool himself, or else trying to play the fool with him. The young man pretended not to notice his reply, and remained almost silent till they reached the city, a short distance outside which was the old farmer’s house. They walked about the bazaar and went to the mosque, but nobody saluted them or invited them to come in and rest.

“What a large cemetery!” exclaimed the young man.

“What does the man mean,” thought the old farmer, “calling this largely populated city a cemetery?”

On leaving the city their way led through a graveyard where a few people were praying beside a tomb and distributing chapatis and kulchas to passers-by, in the name of their beloved dead. They beckoned to the two travelers and gave them as much as they would.

“What a splendid city this is!” said the young man.

“Now, the man must surely be demented!” thought the old farmer. “I wonder what he will do next? He will be calling the land water, and the water land; and be speaking of light where there is darkness, and of darkness when it is light.” However, he kept his thoughts to himself.

Presently they had to wade through a stream that ran along the edge of the cemetery. The water was rather deep, so the old farmer took off his shoes and pajamas and crossed over; but the young man waded through it with his shoes and pajamas on.

“Well! I never did see such a perfect fool, both in word and in deed,” said the old man to himself.

However, he liked the fellow; and thinking that he would amuse his wife and daughter, he invited him to come and stay at his house as long as he had occasion to remain in the village.

“Thank you very much,” the young man replied; “but let me first inquire, if you please, whether the beam of your house is strong.”

The old farmer left him in despair, and entered his house laughing.

“There is a man in yonder field,” he said, after returning their greetings. “He has come the greater part of the way with me, and I wanted him to put up here as long as he had to stay in this village. But the fellow is such a fool that I cannot make anything out of him. He wants to know if the beam of this house is all right. The man must be mad!” and saying this, he burst into a fit of laughter.

“Father,” said the farmer’s daughter, who was a very sharp and wise girl, “this man, whosoever he is, is no fool, as you deem him. He only wishes to know if you can afford to entertain him.”

“Oh, of course,” replied the farmer. “I see. Well, perhaps you can help me to solve some of his other mysteries. While we were walking together he asked whether he should carry me or I should carry him, as he thought that would be a pleasanter mode of proceeding.”

“Most assuredly,” said the girl; “he meant that one of you should tell a story to beguile the time.”

“Oh, yes. Well, we were passing through a corn-field, when he asked me whether it was eaten or not.”

“And didn’t you know the meaning of this, father? He simply wished to know if the man was in debt or not; because, if the owner of the field was in debt, then the produce of the field was as good as eaten to him; that is, it would have to go to his creditors.”

“Yes, yes, yes, of course! Then, on entering a certain village, he bade me take his clasp-knife and get two horses with it, and bring back the knife again to him.”

“Are not two stout sticks as good as two horses for helping one along on the road? He only asked you to cut a couple of sticks and be careful not to lose his knife.”

“I see,” said the farmer. “While we were walking over the city we did not see anybody that we knew, and not a soul gave us a scrap of anything to eat, till we were passing the cemetery; but there some people called to us and put into our hands some chapatis and kulchas; so my companion called the city a cemetery, and the cemetery a city.”

“This also is to be understood, father, if one thinks of the city as the place where everything is to be obtained, and of inhospitable people as worse than the dead. The city, though crowded with people, was as if dead, as far as you were concerned; while, in the cemetery, which is crowded with the dead, you were saluted by kind friends and provided with bread.”

“True, true!” said the astonished farmer. “Then, just now, when we were crossing the stream, he waded through it without taking off his shoes and pajamas.”

“I admire his wisdom,” replied the girl. “I have often thought how stupid people were to venture into that swiftly flowing stream and over those sharp stones with bare feet. The slightest stumble and they would fall, and be wetted from head to foot. This friend of yours is a most wise man. I should like to see him and speak to him.”

“Very well,” said the farmer; “I will go and find him, and bring him in.”

“Tell him, father, that our beams are strong enough, and then he will come in. I’ll send on ahead a present to the man, to show him that we can afford to have him for our guest.”

Accordingly she called a servant and sent him to the young man with a present of a basin of ghee, twelve chapatis, and a jar of milk, and the following message: “O friend, the moon is full; twelve months make a year, and the sea is overflowing with water.”

Half-way the bearer of this present and message met his little son, who, seeing what was in the basket, begged his father to give him some of the food. His father foolishly complied. Presently he saw the young man, and gave him the rest of the present and the message.

“Give your mistress my salaam,” he replied, “and tell her that the moon is new, and that I can find only eleven months in the year, and the sea is by no means full.”

Not understanding the meaning of these words, the servant repeated them word for word, as he had heard them, to his mistress; and thus his theft was discovered, and he was severely punished. After a little while the young man appeared with the old farmer. Great attention was shown to him, and he was treated in every way as if he were the son of a great man, although his humble host knew nothing of his origin. At length he told them everything—about the laughing of the fish, his father’s threatened execution, and his own banishment—and asked their advice as to what he should do.

“The laughing of the fish,” said the girl, “which seems to have been the cause of all this trouble, indicates that there is a man in the palace who is plotting against the king’s life.”

“Joy, joy!” exclaimed the vizier’s son. “There is yet time for me to return and save my father from an ignominious and unjust death, and the king from danger.”

The following day he hastened back to his own country, taking with him the farmer’s daughter. Immediately on arrival he ran to the palace and informed his father of what he had heard. The poor vizier, now almost dead from the expectation of death, was at once carried to the king, to whom he repeated the news that his son had just brought.

“Never!” said the king.

“But it must be so, your majesty,” replied the vizier; “and in order to prove the truth of what I have heard, I pray you to call together all the maids in your palace and order them to jump over a pit, which must be dug. We’ll soon find out whether there is any man there.”

The king had the pit dug, and commanded all the maids belonging to the palace to try to jump it. All of them tried, but only one succeeded. That one was found to be a man!

Thus was the queen satisfied, and the faithful old vizier saved.

Afterward, as soon as could be, the vizier’s son married the old farmer’s daughter; and a most happy marriage it was.

The Selfish Sparrow and the Houseless Crows

A sparrow once built a nice little house for herself, and lined it well with wool and protected it with sticks, so that it resisted equally the summer sun and the winter rains. A Crow who lived close by had also built a house, but it was not such a good one, being only made of a few sticks laid one above another on the top of a prickly-pear hedge. The consequence was that one day, when there was an unusually heavy shower, the Crow’s nest was washed away, while the Sparrow’s was not at all injured.

In this extremity the Crow and her mate went to the Sparrow, and said: “Sparrow, Sparrow, have pity on us and give us shelter, for the wind blows and the rain beats, and the prickly-pear hedge-thorns stick into our eyes.” But the Sparrow answered: “I’m cooking the dinner; I cannot let you in now; come again presently.”

In a little while the Crows returned and said: “Sparrow, Sparrow, have pity on us and give us shelter, for the wind blows and the rain beats, and the prickly-pear hedge-thorns stick into our eyes.” The Sparrow answered: “I’m eating my dinner; I cannot let you in now; come again presently.”

The Crows flew away, but in a little while returned, and cried once more: “Sparrow, Sparrow, have pity on us and give us shelter, for the wind blows and the rain beats, and the prickly-pear hedge-thorns stick into our eyes.” The Sparrow replied: “I’m washing the dishes; I cannot let you in now; come again presently.”

The Crows waited a while and then called out: “Sparrow, Sparrow, have pity on us and give us shelter, for the wind blows and the rain beats, and the prickly-pear hedge-thorns stick into our eyes.” But the Sparrow would not let them in; she only answered: “I’m sweeping the floor; I cannot let you in now; come again presently.”

Next time the Crows came and cried: “Sparrow, Sparrow, have pity on us and give us shelter, for the wind blows and the rain beats, and the prickly-pear hedge-thorns stick into our eyes.” She answered: “I’m making the beds; I cannot let you in now; come again presently.”

So, on one pretense or another she refused to help the poor birds. At last, when she and her children had had their dinner, and she had prepared and put away the dinner for next day, and had put all the children to bed and gone to bed herself, she cried to the Crows: “You may come in now and take shelter for the night.” The Crows came in, but they were much vexed at having been kept out so long in the wind and the rain, and when the Sparrow and all her family were asleep, the one said to the other: “This selfish Sparrow had no pity on us; she gave us no dinner, and would not let us in till she and all her children were comfortably in bed; let us punish her.” So the two Crows took all the nice dinner the Sparrow had prepared for herself and her children to eat the next day, and flew away with it.

The Lambikin

Once upon a time there was a wee, wee Lambikin, who frolicked about on his little tottery legs, and enjoyed himself amazingly.

Now one day he set off to visit his granny, and was jumping with joy to think of all the good things he should get from her, when whom should he meet but a jackal, who looked at the tender young morsel and said: “Lambikin! Lambikin! I’ll EAT YOU!”

But Lambikin only gave a little frisk, and said:

“To granny’s house I go,

Where I shall fatter grow,

Then you can eat me so.”

The jackal thought this reasonable, and let Lambikin pass.

By and by he met a vulture, and the vulture, looking hungrily at the tender morsel before him, said: “Lambikin! Lambikin! I’ll EAT YOU!”

But Lambikin only gave a little frisk, and said:

“To granny’s house I go,

Where I shall fatter grow,

Then you can eat me so.”

The vulture thought this reasonable, and let Lambikin pass.

And by and by he met a tiger, and then a wolf, and a dog, and an eagle; and all these, when they saw the tender little morsel, said: “Lambikin! Lambikin! I’ll EAT YOU!”

But to all of them Lambikin replied, with a little frisk:

“To granny’s house I go,

Where I shall fatter grow,

Then you can eat me so.”

At last he reached his granny’s house, and said, all in a hurry: “Granny dear, I’ve promised to get very fat; so, as people ought to keep their promises, please put me into the corn-bin at once.”

So his granny said he was a good boy, and put him into the corn-bin, and there the greedy little Lambikin stayed for seven days, and ate, and ate, and ate, until he could scarcely waddle, and his granny said he was fat enough for anything, and must go home. But cunning little Lambikin said that would never do, for some animal would be sure to eat him on the way back, he was so plump and tender.

“I’ll tell you what you must do,” said Master Lambikin; “you must make a little drumikin out of the skin of my little brother who died, and then I can sit inside and trundle along nicely, for I’m as tight as a drum myself.”

So his granny made a nice little drumikin out of his brother’s skin, with the wool inside, and Lambikin curled himself up snug and warm in the middle, and trundled away gaily. Soon he met the eagle, who called out:

“Drumikin! Drumikin!

Have you seen Lambikin?”

And Mr. Lambikin, curled up in his soft warm nest, replied:

“Fallen into the fire, and so will you

On, little Drumikin. Tum-pa, tum-too!”

“How very annoying!” sighed the eagle, thinking regretfully of the tender morsel he had let slip.

Meanwhile Lambikin trundled along, laughing to himself, and singing:

“Tum-pa, tum-too;

Tum-pa, tum-too!”

Every animal and bird he met asked him the same question:

“Drumikin! Drumikin!

Have you seen Lambikin?”

And to each of them the little slyboots replied:

“Fallen into the fire, and so will you

On, little Drumikin. Tum-pa, tum-too;

Tum-pa, tum-too; tum-pa, tum-too!”

Then they all sighed to think of the tender little morsel they had let slip.

At last the jackal came limping along, for all his sorry looks as sharp as a needle, and he too called out:

“Drumikin! Drumikin!

Have you seen Lambikin?”

And Lambikin, curled up in his snug little nest, replied gaily:

“Fallen into the fire, and so will you

On, little Drumikin. Tum-pa——”

But he never got any farther, for the jackal recognized his voice at once, and cried: “Hullo! you’ve turned yourself inside out, have you? Just you come out of that!”

Whereupon he tore open drumikin and gobbled up Lambikin.

The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse

Once upon a time a Town Mouse met a Country Mouse on the outskirts of a wood. The Country Mouse was sitting under a hazel thicket plucking nuts.

“Busy harvesting, I see,” said the Town Mouse. “Who would think of our meeting in this out-of-the-way part of the world?”

“Just so,” said the Country Mouse.

“You are gathering nuts for your winter store?” said the Town Mouse.

“I am obliged to do so if we intend having anything to live upon during the winter,” said the Country Mouse.

“The husk is big and the nut full this year, enough to satisfy any hungry body,” said the Town Mouse.

“Yes, you are right there,” said the Country Mouse; and then she related how well she lived and how comfortable she was at home.

The Town Mouse maintained that she was the better off, but the Country Mouse said that nowhere could one be so well off as in the woods and hills. The Town Mouse, however, declared she was best off; and as they could not agree on this point they promised to visit each other at Christmas; then they could see for themselves which was really the more comfortable.

The first visit was to be paid by the Town Mouse.

Now, although the Country Mouse had moved down from the mountains for the winter, the road to her house was long and tiring, and one had to travel up hill and down dale; the snow lay thick and deep, so the Town Mouse found it hard work to get on, and she became both tired and hungry before she reached the end of her journey.

“How nice it will be to get some food,” she thought.

The Country Mouse had scraped together the best she had. There were nut kernels, polypody, and other sorts of roots, and many other good things which grow in woods and fields. She kept it all in a hole far under ground, so the frost could not reach it, and close by was a running spring, open all the winter, so she could drink as much water as she liked. There was an abundance of all she had, and they ate both well and heartily; but the Town Mouse thought it was very poor fare indeed.

“One can, of course, keep body and soul together on this,” said she; “but I don’t think much of it. Now you must be good enough to visit me and taste what we have.”

Yes, that her hostess would, and before long she set out. The Town Mouse had gathered together all the scraps from the Christmas fare which the woman of the house had dropped on the floor during the holidays—bits of cheese, butter, and tallow ends, cake-crumbs, pastry, and many other good things. In the dish under the ale-tap she had drink enough; in fact, the place was full of all kinds of dainties.

They ate and fared well; the Country Mouse seemed never to have enough; she had never tasted such delicacies. But then she became thirsty, for she found the food both strong and rich, and now she wanted something to drink.

“We haven’t far to go for the beer we shall drink,” said the Town Mouse, and jumped upon the edge of the dish and drank till she was no longer thirsty; she did not drink too much, for she knew the Christmas beer was strong. The Country Mouse, however, thought the beer a splendid drink; she had never tasted anything but water, so she took one sip after another, but as she could not stand strong drink she became dizzy before she left the dish.

The drink got into her head and down into her toes and she began running and jumping about from one beer-barrel to the other, and to dance and tumble about on the shelves among the cups and mugs; she squeaked and squealed as if she were intoxicated.

“You must not carry on as if you had just come from the backwoods and make such a row and noise,” said the Town Mouse; “the master of the house is a bailiff, and he is very strict indeed,” she said.

The Country Mouse said she didn’t care either for bailiffs or beggars. But the cat sat at the top of the cellar steps, lying in wait, and heard all the chatter and noise. When the woman of the house went down to draw some beer and lifted the trap-door the cat slipped by into the cellar and struck its claws into the Country Mouse. Then there was quite another sort of dance.

The Town Mouse slid back into her hole and sat in safety looking on, while the Country Mouse suddenly became sober when she felt the claws of the cat in her back.

“Oh, my dear bailiff, oh, dearest bailiff, be merciful and spare my life and I will tell you a fairy tale,” she said.

“Well, go on,” said the cat.

“Once upon a time there were two little mice,” said the Country Mouse, squeaking slowly and pitifully, for she wanted to make the story last as long as she could.

“Then they were not lonely,” said the cat dryly and curtly.

“And they had a steak which they were going to fry.”

“Then they could not starve,” said the cat.

“And they put it out on the roof to cool,” said the Country Mouse.

“Then they did not burn themselves,” said the cat.

“But there came a fox and a crow and ate it all up,” said the Country Mouse.

“Then I’ll eat you,” said the cat. But just at that moment the woman shut the trap-door with a slam, which so startled the cat that she let go her hold of the mouse. One bound and the Country Mouse found herself in the hole with the Town Mouse.

From there a passage led out into the snow, and you may be sure the Country Mouse did not wait long before she set out homeward.

“And this is what you call living at ease and being well off,” she said to the Town Mouse. “Heaven preserve me from having such a fine place and such a master! Why, I only just got away with my life!”

The Greedy Cat

Once on a time there was a man who had a Cat, and she was so awfully big, and such a beast to eat, he couldn’t keep her any longer. So she was to go down to the river with a stone round her neck, but before she started she was to have a meal of meat. So the goody set before her a bowl of porridge and a little trough of fat. That the creature crammed into her, and ran off and jumped through the window. Outside stood the goodman by the barndoor threshing.

“Good day, goodman,” said the Cat.

“Good day, pussy,” said the goodman; “have you had any food to-day?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge and a trough of fat—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too,” and so she took the goodman and gobbled him up.

When she had done that, she went into the byre, and there sat the goody milking.

“Good day, goody,” said the Cat.

“Good day, pussy,” said the goody; “are you here, and have you eaten up your food yet?”

“Oh, I’ve eaten a little to-day, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said pussy; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too,” and so she took the goody and gobbled her up.

“Good day, you cow at the manger,” said the Cat to Daisy the cow.

“Good day, pussy,” said the bell-cow; “have you had any food to-day?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “I’ve only had a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too,” and so she took the cow and gobbled her up.

Then off she set into the home-field, and there stood a man picking up leaves.

“Good day, you leaf-picker in the field,” said the Cat.

“Good day, pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?” said the leaf-picker.

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody, and Daisy the cow—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too.” So she took the leaf-picker and gobbled him up.

Then she came to a heap of stones, and there stood a stoat and peeped out.

“Good day, Mr. Stoat of Stoneheap,” said the Cat.

“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too.” So she took the stoat and gobbled him up.

When she had gone a bit farther, she came to a hazel-brake, and there sat a squirrel gathering nuts.

“Good day, Sir Squirrel of the Brake,” said the Cat.

“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too.” So she took the squirrel and gobbled him up.

When she had gone a little farther, she saw Reynard the fox, who was prowling about by the woodside.

“Good day, Reynard Slyboots,” said the Cat.

“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the squirrel—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too.” So she took Reynard and gobbled him up.

When she had gone a little farther she met Long Ears, the hare.

“Good day, Mr. Hopper the hare,” said the Cat.

“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat today?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the squirrel, and the fox—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too.” So she took the hare and gobbled him up.

When she had gone a bit farther she met a wolf.

“Good day, you Greedy Graylegs,” said the Cat.

“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the squirrel, and the fox, and the hare—and, now I think of it, I may as well take you too.” So she took and gobbled up Graylegs too.

So she went on into the wood, and when she had gone far and farther than far, o’er hill and dale, she met a bear-cub.

“Good day, you bare-breeched bear,” said the Cat.

“Good day, Mrs. Pussy,” said the bear-cub; “have you had anything to eat to-day?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf—and, now I think of it, I may as well take you too.” And so she took the bear-cub and gobbled him up.

When the Cat had gone a bit farther, she met a she-bear, who was tearing away at a stump till the splinters flew, so angry was she at having lost her cub.

“Good day, you Mrs. Bruin,” said the Cat.

“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf, and the bear-cub—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too,” and so she took Mrs. Bruin and gobbled her up too.

When the Cat got still farther on, she met Baron Bruin himself.

“Good day, you Baron Bruin,” said the Cat.

“Good day, Mrs. Pussy,” said Bruin; “have you had anything to eat to-day?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf, and the bear-cub, and the she-bear—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too,” and so she took Bruin and ate him up too.

So the Cat went on and on, and farther than far, till she came to the abodes of men again, and there she met a bridal train on the road.

“Good day, you bridal train on the king’s highway,” said she.

“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf, and the bear-cub, and the she-bear, and the he-bear—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too,” and so she rushed at them, and gobbled up both the bride and bridegroom, and the whole train, with the cook and the fiddler, and the horses and all.

When she had gone still farther, she came to a church, and there she met a funeral.

“Good day, you funeral train,” said she.

“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf, and the bear-cub, and the she-bear, and the he-bear, and the bride and bridegroom, and the whole train—and, now, I don’t mind if I take you too,” and so she fell on the funeral train and gobbled up both the body and the bearers.

Now when the Cat had got the body in her, she was taken up to the sky, and when she had gone a long, long way, she met the moon.

“Good day, Mrs. Moon,” said the Cat.

“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf, and the bear-cub, and the she-bear, and the he-bear, and the bride and bridegroom, and the whole train, and the funeral train—and, now I think of it, I don’t mind if I take you too,” and so she seized hold of the moon, and gobbled her up, both new and full.

So the Cat went a long way still, and then she met the sun.

“Good day, you sun in heaven.”

“Good day, Mrs. Pussy,” said the sun; “have you had anything to eat to-day?”

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting,” said the Cat; “it was only a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody, and the cow, and the leaf-picker, and the stoat, and the squirrel, and the fox, and the hare, and the wolf, and the bear-cub, and the she-bear, and the he-bear, and the bride and bridegroom, and the whole train, and the funeral train, and the moon—and, now I think of it, I don’t mind if I take you too,” and so she rushed at the sun in heaven and gobbled him up.

So the cat went far and farther than far, till she came to a bridge, and on it she met a big billy-goat.

“Good day, you Billy-goat on Broad-bridge,” said the Cat.

“Good day, Mrs. Pussy; have you had anything to eat to-day?” said the billy-goat.

“Oh, I’ve had a little, but I’m ‘most fasting; I’ve only had a bowl of porridge, and a trough of fat, and the goodman, and the goody in the byre, and Daisy the cow at the manger, and the leaf-picker in the home-field, and Mr. Stoat of Stoneheap, and Sir Squirrel of the Brake, and Reynard Slyboots, and Mr. Hopper the hare, and Greedy Graylegs the wolf, and Bare-breech the bear-cub, and Mrs. Bruin, and Baron Bruin, and a bridal train on the king’s highway, and a funeral at the church, and Lady Moon in the sky, and Lord Sun in heaven—and, now I think of it, I’ll take you too.”

“That we’ll fight about,” said the billy-goat, and butted at the Cat till she fell right over the bridge into the river, and there she burst.

So they all crept out one after the other, and went about their business, and were just as good as ever, all that the Cat had gobbled up. The goodman of the house, and the goody in the byre, and Daisy the cow at the manger, and the leaf-picker in the home-field, and Mr. Stoat of Stoneheap, and Sir Squirrel of the Brake, and Reynard Slyboots, and Mr. Hopper the hare, and Greedy Graylegs the wolf, and Bare-breech the bear-cub, and Mrs. Bruin, and Baron Bruin, and the bridal train on the highway, and the funeral train at the church, and Lady Moon in the sky, and Lord Sun in heaven.

Well Done: Ill Paid

Once upon a time there was a man who had to drive his sledge to the wood for fuel, and a bear met him on the way.

“Hand over your horse,” growled the bear, “or I’ll kill all your sheep by summer.”

“Oh, Heaven help me!” said the man. “There’s not a stick of firewood in the house; you must let me drive home a load of fuel, else we shall be frozen to death. I’ll bring the horse to you to-morrow morning.”

Yes; on these terms he might drive the wood home, that was a bargain; but Bruin said, if he didn’t come back, he should lose all his sheep by summer.

So the man got the wood on the sledge and rattled homeward, but he wasn’t over-pleased with his bargain, you may fancy.

So just then a fox met him. “Why, what’s the matter?” said the fox. “Why are you so down in the mouth?”

“Oh, if you want to know,” said the man, “I met a bear up yonder in the wood, and I had to give my word to him to bring Dobbin back to-morrow, at this very hour; for if he didn’t get him, he said he would tear all my sheep to death by summer.”

“Stuff! Nothing worse than that?” said the fox. “If you’ll give me your fattest wether I’ll soon set you free; see if I don’t.”

Yes, the man gave his word, and swore he would keep it true.

“Well, when you come with Dobbin, to-morrow, for the bear,” said the fox, “I’ll make a clatter up in the heap of stones yonder, and so, when the bear asks what that noise is, you must say it is Peter the Marksman, who is the best shot in the world. And after that you must help yourself.”

Now, next day, off set the man, and when he met the bear something began to make a clatter up in the heap of stones.

“Hist, hist! what’s that?” said the bear.

“Oh, that’s Peter the Marksman, to be sure,” said the man. “He’s the best shot in the world; I know him by his voice.”

“Have you seen any bear about here, Eric?” shouted out a voice in the wood.

“Say no,” said the bear.

“No, I haven’t seen any,” said Eric.

“What’s that, then, that stands alongside your sledge?” bawled out the voice in the wood.

“Say it’s an old fir-stump,” said the bear.

“Oh, it’s only an old fir-stump,” said the man.

“Such fir-stumps we take in our country and roll them on our sledges,” bawled out the voice. “If you can’t do it yourself, I’ll come and help you.”

“Say you can help yourself, and roll me up on the sledge,” said the bear.

“No, thank ye, I can help myself well enough,” said the man, and rolled the bear on the sledge.

“Such fir-stumps we always bind fast on our sledges in our part of the world,” bawled out the voice. “Shall I come and help you?”

“Say you can help yourself, and bind me fast, do,” said the bear.

“No, thanks, I can help myself well enough,” said the man, who set to binding Bruin fast with all the ropes he had, so that at last the bear couldn’t stir a paw.

“Such fir-stumps we always drive our ax into, in our part of the world,” bawled out the voice, “for then we guide them better going down steep pitches.”

“Pretend to drive the ax into me, do now,” said the bear.

Then the man took up his ax, and at one blow split the bear’s skull, so that Bruin lay dead in a trice; and so the man and the fox were great friends, and on the best of terms.

But when they came near the farm, the fox said: “I’ve no mind to go right home with you, for I can’t say I like your dogs; so I’ll just wait here, and you can bring the wether to me; but mind you pick out one nice and fat.”

Yes, the man would be sure to do that, and thanked the fox much for his help. So when he had put the horse into the stable he went across to the sheep-pen.

“Where are you going?” asked his wife.

“Oh, I am only going over to the sheep-pen to fetch a fat ram for that good fox who saved our horse,” said the man, “as I have promised him one.”

“Why on earth give that thief of a fox any ram?” said the woman. “We have got the horse quite safe and the bear besides, and the fox has stolen more geese from us than the ram is worth; or, if he hasn’t already taken them, he is sure to do so some time. No, take the most savage pair of those dogs of yours and let them loose on him, then perhaps we’ll get rid of that thieving old rascal,” said the woman.

The man thought this was sensible advice and took two of his savage red dogs, put them in a bag and set out with them.

“Have you got the ram?” said the fox.

“Yes, come and fetch it,” said the man, undoing the string round the bag and setting the dogs at the fox.

“Ugh!” said the fox, bounding away, “the old saying: ‘Well done: ill paid,’ is only too true; and now I find it is also true that one’s relations are one’s worst enemies,” and he panted as he saw the red dogs at his heels.

Reynard and Chanticleer

Once on a time there was a cock who stood on a dungheap and crew and flapped his wings. Then the fox came by.

“Good day,” said Reynard. “I heard you crowing so nicely; but you can stand on one leg and crow, and wink your eyes?”

“Oh, yes,” said Chanticleer, “I can do that very well.” So he stood on one leg and crew; but he winked only with one eye, and when he had done that he made himself big and flapped his wings, as though he had done a great thing.

“Very pretty, to be sure,” said Reynard. “Almost as pretty as when the parson preaches in church; but can you stand on one leg and wink both your eyes at once? I hardly think you can.”

“Can’t I, though!” said Chanticleer, and stood on one leg, and winked both his eyes and crew. But Reynard caught hold of him, took him by the throat, and threw him over his back, so that he was off to the wood before he had crowed his crow out, as fast as Reynard could lay legs to the ground.

When they had come under an old spruce fir, Reynard threw Chanticleer on the ground, and set his paw on his breast, and was going to take a bite.

“You are a heathen, Reynard!” said Chanticleer. “Good Christians say grace, and ask a blessing before they eat.”

But Reynard would be no heathen. God forbid it! So he let go his hold, and was about to fold his paws over his breast and say grace—when pop! up flew Chanticleer into a tree.

“You sha’n’t get off, for all that,” said Reynard to himself. So he went away, and came again with a few chips which the woodcutters had left. Chanticleer peeped and peered to see what they could be.

“What in the world have you there?” he asked.

“These are letters I have just got,” said Reynard. “Won’t you help me to read them, for I don’t know how to read writing?”

“I’d be so happy, but I dare not read them now,” said Chanticleer, “for here comes a hunter. I see him, I see him, as I sit by the tree-trunk.”

When Reynard heard Chanticleer chattering about a hunter, he took to his heels as quick as he could.

So this time Reynard was made game of again!

Father Bruin in the Corner

Once on a time there was a man who lived far, far away in the wood. He had many, many goats and sheep, but never a one could he keep for fear of Graylegs, the wolf.

At last he said: “I’ll soon trap Grayboots,” and so he set to work digging a pitfall. When he had dug it deep enough, he put a pole down in the midst of the pit, and on the top of the pole he set a board, and on the board he put a little dog. Over the pit itself he spread boughs and branches and leaves, and other rubbish, and a-top of all he strewed snow, so that Graylegs might not see there was a pit underneath.

So when it got on in the night, the little dog grew weary of sitting there. “Bow-wow, bow-wow,” it said, and bayed at the moon. Just then up came a fox, slouching and sneaking, and thought here was a fine time for marketing, and with that gave a jump—head over heels down into the pitfall.

And when it got a little farther on in the night, the little dog got so weary and hungry, and it fell to yelping and howling. “Bow-wow, bow-wow,” it cried out. Just at that very moment up came Graylegs, trotting and trotting. He, too, thought he should get a fat steak, and he, too, made a spring—head over heels down into the pitfall.

When it was getting on toward gray dawn in the morning, down fell snow, with a north wind, and it grew so cold that the little dog stood and froze, and shivered and shook; it was so weary and so hungry. “Bow-wow, bow-wow, bow-wow,” it called out, and barked and yelped and howled. Then up came a bear, tramping and tramping along, and thought to himself how he could get a morsel for breakfast at the very top of the morning, and so he thought and thought among the boughs and branches till he too went bump—head over heels down into the pitfall.

So when it got a little farther on in the morning, an old beggar wife came walking by, who toddled from farm to farm with a bag on her back. When she set eyes on the little dog that stood there and howled, she couldn’t help going near to look and see if any wild beasts had fallen into the pit during the night. So she crawled up on her knees and peeped down into it.

“Art thou come into the pit at last, Reynard?” she said to the fox, for he was the first she saw; “a very good place, too, for such a hen-roost robber as thou. And thou, too, Graypaw,” she said to the wolf; “many a goat and sheep hast thou torn and rent, and now thou shalt be plagued and punished to death. Bless my heart! Thou, too, Bruin! Art thou, too, sitting in this room, thou mare-flayer? Thee, too, will we strip, and thee shall we flay, and thy skull shall be nailed up on the wall.” All this the old lass screeched out as she bent over toward the bear. But just then her bag fell over her ears, and dragged her down, and slap! down went the old crone—head over heels into the pitfall.

So there they all four sat and glared at one another, each in a corner—the fox in one, Graylegs in another, Bruin in a third, and the old crone in a fourth.

But as soon as it was broad daylight, Reynard began to peep and peer, and to twist and turn about, for he thought he might as well try to get out.

But the old lass cried out: “Canst thou not sit still, thou whirligig thief, and not go twisting and turning? Only look at Father Bruin himself in the corner, how he sits as grave as a judge,” for now she thought she might as well make friends with the bear. But just then up came the man who owned the pitfall. First he drew up the old wife, and after that he slew all the beasts, and spared neither Father Bruin himself in the corner, nor Graylegs, nor Reynard the whirligig thief. That night, at least, he thought he had made a good haul.

Why the Sea is Salt

Once upon a time, long, long ago, there were two brothers, the one rich and the other poor. When Christmas eve came the poor one had not a bite in the house, either of meat or bread; so he went to his brother and begged him, in Heaven’s name, to give him something for Christmas Day. It was by no means the first time that the brother had been forced to give something to him, and he was not better pleased at being asked now than he generally was.

“If you will do what I ask you, you shall have a whole ham,” said he. The poor one immediately thanked him and promised this.

“Well, here is the ham, and now you must go straight to Dead Man’s Hall,” said the rich brother, throwing the ham to him.

“Well, I will do what I have promised,” said the other, and he took the ham and set off. He went on and on for the livelong day, and at nightfall he came to a place where there was a bright light.

“I have no doubt this is the place,” thought the man with the ham, and he drew near an old man with a long white beard who was standing in the outhouse chopping Yule-logs.

“Good evening,” said the man with the ham.

“Good evening to you. Where are you going at this late hour?” said the man.

“I am going to Dead Man’s Hall, if only I am in the right track,” answered the poor man.

“Oh, yes, you are right enough, for it is here,” said the old man. “When you get inside they will all want to buy your ham, for they don’t get much meat to eat there. But you must not sell it unless you can get for it the hand-mill which stands behind the door. When you come out again I will teach you how to stop the hand-mill, which is useful for almost everything.”

So the man with the ham thanked the other for his good advice and rapped at the door.

When he got in, everything happened just as the old man had said it would: all the people, great and small, came round him like ants on an ant-hill, and each tried to outbid the other for the ham.

“By rights my old woman and I ought to have it for our Christmas dinner, but since you have set your hearts upon it I must just give it up to you,” said the man. “But if I sell it I will have the hand-mill which is standing there behind the door.”

At first they would not hear to this, and haggled and bargained with the man, but he stuck to what he had said, and the people were forced to give him the hand-mill. When the man came out again into the yard he asked the old wood-cutter how he was to stop the hand-mill, and when he had learned that, he thanked him and set off home with all the speed he could, but did not get there until after the clock had struck twelve on Christmas eve.

“But where in the world have you been?” said the old woman. “Here I have sat waiting hour after hour, and have not even two sticks to lay across each other under the Christmas porridge-pot.”

“Oh, I could not come before. I had something of importance to see about, and a long way to go, too; but now you shall just see!” said the man, and then he set the hand-mill on the table and bade it first grind light, then a tablecloth, and then meat, and beer, and everything else that was good for a Christmas eve’s supper; and the mill ground all that he ordered. “Bless me!” said the old woman as one thing after another appeared; and she wanted to know where her husband had got the mill from, but he would not tell her that.

“Never mind where I got it. You can see that it is a good one, and the water that turns it will never freeze,” said the man. So he ground meat and drink and all kinds of good things to last all Christmastide, and on the third day he invited all his friends to come to a feast.

Now, when the rich brother saw all that there was at the banquet, and in the house, he was both vexed and angry, for he grudged everything his brother had. “On Christmas eve he was so poor that he came to me and begged for a trifle, for Heaven’s sake, and now he gives a feast as if he were both a count and a king!” thought he. “But tell me, I pray you, where you got your riches from?” said he to his brother.

“From behind the door,” said he who owned the mill, for he did not choose to satisfy his brother on that point; but later in the evening, when he had taken a drop too much, he could not refrain from telling how he had come by the hand-mill. “There you see what has brought me all my wealth!” said he, and brought out the mill and made it grind first one thing and then another. When the brother saw that, he insisted on having the mill, and after a great deal of persuasion got it; but he had to give three hundred dollars for it, and the poor brother was to keep it till the haymaking was over, for he thought: “If I keep it as long as that, I can make it grind meat and drink that will last many a long year.” During that time you may imagine that the mill did not grow rusty, and when hay-harvest came the rich brother got it, but the other had taken good care not to teach him how to stop it. It was evening when the rich man got the mill home, and in the morning he bade his wife go out and spread the hay after the mowers, and he would attend to the house himself that day.

So when dinner-time drew near he set the mill on the kitchen table and said: “Grind herrings and milk pottage, and do it both quickly and well.”

So the mill began to grind herrings and milk pottage, and first all the dishes and tubs were filled, and then the food came out all over the kitchen floor. The man twisted and turned the mill and did all he could to make it stop, but howsoever he turned and screwed, it went on grinding, and in a short time the pottage rose so high that the man was like to be drowned. So he threw open the parlor door, but it was not long before the mill had ground the parlor full too, and it was with difficulty and danger that the man could go through the stream of pottage and get hold of the door-latch. When he had the door open he did not stay long in the room, but ran out, and the herrings and pottage came after him, and streamed out over both farm and field. Now, the wife, who was out spreading the hay, began to think dinner was long in coming, and said to the women and the mowers: “Though the master does not call us home, we may as well go. It may be that he finds he is not good at making pottage, and I should do well to help him.” So they began to straggle homeward, but when they had got a little way up the hill they met the herrings and pottage and bread, all pouring forth and winding about one over the other, and the man himself in front of the flood. “Would to Heaven that each of you had a hundred stomachs! Take care that you are not drowned in the pottage,” he cried as he went by them as if mischief were at his heels, down to where his brother dwelt. Then he begged him, for pity’s sake, to take the mill back again, and that in an instant, “for,” said he, “if it grind one hour more the whole district will be destroyed by herrings and pottage.” But the brother would not take it until the other paid him three hundred dollars, and that he was obliged to do. Now the poor brother had both the money and the mill again. So it was not long before he had a farmhouse much finer than that in which his brother lived, but the mill ground him so much money that he covered it with plates of gold; and the farmhouse lay close by the seashore, so it shone and glittered far out to sea. Every one who sailed by there now had to put in to visit the rich man in the gold farmhouse, and every one wanted to see the wonderful mill, for the report of it spread far and wide, and there was no one who had not heard tell of it.

After a long, long time a skipper came who wished to see the mill. He asked if it could make salt. “Yes, it could make salt,” said he who owned it, and when the skipper heard that he wished with all his might and main to have the mill, let it cost what it might, for, he thought, if he had it he would get off having to sail far away over the perilous sea for freights of salt. At first the man would not hear of parting with it, but the skipper begged and prayed, and at last the man sold it to him, and got many, many thousand dollars for it. When the skipper had the mill on his back he did not long stay there, for he was so afraid that the man would change his mind, and he had no time to ask how he was to stop its grinding, but got on board his ship as fast as he could.

When he had gone a little way out to sea he took the mill on deck. “Grind salt, and grind both quickly and well,” said the skipper. So the mill began to grind salt till it spouted out like water, and when the skipper had the ship filled he wanted to stop the mill, but whichever way he turned it and howsoever much he tried it went on grinding, and the heap of salt grew higher and higher, until at last the ship sank. There lies the mill at the bottom of the sea, and still, day by day, it grinds on; and that is why the sea is salt.

Gudbrand on the Hillside

There was once upon a time a man whose name was Gudbrand. He had a farm which lay far away up on the side of a hill, and therefore they called him Gudbrand on the hillside.

He and his wife lived so happily together, and agreed so well, that whatever the man did the wife thought it so well done that no one could do it better. No matter what he did, she thought it was always the right thing.

They lived on their own farm, and had a hundred dollars at the bottom of their chest and two cows in their cow-shed. One day the woman said to Gudbrand:

“I think we ought to go to town with one of the cows and sell it, so that we may have some ready money by us. We are pretty well off, and ought to have a few shillings in our pocket like other people. The hundred dollars in the chest we mustn’t touch, but I can’t see what we want with more than one cow, and it will be much better for us, as I shall have only one to look after instead of the two I have now to mind and feed.”

Yes, Gudbrand thought, that was well and sensibly spoken. He took the cow at once and went to town to sell it; but when he got there no one would buy the cow.

“Ah, well!” thought Gudbrand, “I may as well take the cow home again. I know I have both stall and food for it, and the way home is no longer than it was here.” So he strolled homeward again with the cow.

When he had got a bit on the way he met a man who had a horse to sell, and Gudbrand thought it was better to have a horse than a cow, and so he changed the cow for the horse.

When he had gone a bit farther he met a man who was driving a fat pig before him, and then he thought it would be better to have a fat pig than a horse, and so he changed with the man.

He now went a bit farther, and then he met a man with a goat, and so he thought it was surely better to have a goat than a pig, and changed with the man who had the goat.

Then he went a long way, till he met a man who had a sheep. He changed with him, for he thought it was always better to have a sheep than a goat.

When he had got a bit farther he met a man with a goose, and so he changed the sheep for the goose. And when he had gone a long, long way he met a man with a cock. He changed the goose with him, for he thought this wise: “It is surely better to have a cock than a goose.”

He walked on till late in the day, when he began to feel hungry. So he sold the cock for sixpence and bought some food for himself. “For it is always better to keep body and soul together than to have a cock,” thought Gudbrand.

He then set off again homeward till he came to his neighbor’s farm, and there he went in.

“How did you get on in town?” asked the people.

“Oh, only so-so,” said the man. “I can’t boast of my luck, nor can I grumble at it either.” And then he told them how it had gone with him from first to last.

“Well, you’ll have a fine reception when you get home to your wife,” said the man. “Heaven help you! I should not like to be in your place.”

“I think I might have fared much worse,” said Gudbrand; “but whether I have fared well or ill, I have such a kind wife that she never says anything, no matter what I do.”

“Aye, so you say; but you won’t get me to believe it,” said the neighbor.

“Shall we have a wager on it?” said Gudbrand. “I have a hundred dollars in my chest at home. Will you lay the same?”

So they made the wager and Gudbrand remained there till the evening, when it began to get dark, and then they went together to the farm.

The neighbor was to remain outside the door and listen while Gudbrand went in to his wife.

“Good evening!” said Gudbrand when he came in.

“Good evening!” said the wife. “Heaven be praised you are back again.”

“Yes, here I am!” said the man. And then the wife asked him how he had got on in town.

“Oh, so-so,” answered Gudbrand. “Not much to brag of. When I came to town no one would buy the cow, so I changed it for a horse.”

“Oh, I’m so glad of that,” said the woman. “We are pretty well off and we ought to drive to church like other people, and when we can afford to keep a horse I don’t see why we should not have one. Run out, children, and put the horse in the stable.”

“Well, I haven’t got the horse, after all,” said Gudbrand; “for when I had got a bit on the way I changed it for a pig.”

“Dear me!” cried the woman, “that’s the very thing I should have done myself. I’m so glad of that, for now we can have some bacon in the house and something to offer people when they come to see us. What do we want with a horse? People would only say we had become so grand that we could no longer walk to church. Run out, children, and let the pig in.”

“But I haven’t got the pig either,” said Gudbrand, “for when I had got a bit farther on the road I changed it into a milch goat.”

“Dear! dear! how well you manage everything!” cried the wife. “When I really come to think of it, what do I want with the pig? People would only say: ‘Over yonder they eat up everything they have.’ No, now I have a goat I can have both milk and cheese and keep the goat into the bargain. Let in the goat, children.”

“But I haven’t got the goat either,” said Gudbrand. “When I got a bit on the way I changed the goat and got a fine sheep for it.”

“Well!” returned the woman, “you do everything just as I should wish it—just as if I had been there myself. What do we want with a goat? I should have to climb up hill and down dale to get it home at night. No, when I have a sheep I can have wool and clothes in the house and food as well. Run out, children, and let in the sheep.”

“But I haven’t got the sheep any longer,” said Gudbrand, “for when I had got a bit on the way I changed it for a goose.”

“Well, thank you for that!” said the woman; “and many thanks, too! What do I want with a sheep? I have neither wheel nor spindle, and I do not care either to toil and drudge making clothes; we can buy clothes now as before. Now I can have goose-fat, which I have so long been wishing for, and some feathers to stuff that little pillow of mine. Run, children, and let in the goose.”

“Well, I haven’t got the goose either,” said Gudbrand. “When I had got a bit farther on the way I changed it for a cock.”

“Well, I don’t know how you can think of it all!” cried the woman. “It’s just as if I had done it all myself. A cock! Why, it’s just the same as if you’d bought an eight-day clock, for every morning the cock will crow at four, so we can be up in good time. What do we want with a goose? I can’t make goose-fat and I can easily fill my pillow with some soft grass. Run, children, and let in the cock.”

“But I haven’t the cock either,” said Gudbrand; “for when I had got a bit farther I became so terribly hungry I had to sell the cock for sixpence and get some food to keep body and soul together.”

“Heaven be praised you did that!” cried the woman. “Whatever you do, you always do the very thing I could have wished. Besides, what did we want with the cock? We are our own masters and can lie as long as we like in the mornings. Heaven be praised! As long as I have got you back again, who manage everything so well, I shall neither want cock, nor goose, nor pig, nor cows.”

Gudbrand then opened the door. “Have I won the hundred dollars now?” he asked. And the neighbor was obliged to confess that he had.

The Pancake

Once on a time there was a goody who had seven hungry bairns, and she was frying a Pancake for them. It was a sweet-milk Pancake, and there it lay in the pan bubbling and frizzling so thick and good, it was a sight for sore eyes to look at. And the bairns stood round about, and the goodman sat by and looked on.

“Oh, give me a bit of Pancake, mother, dear; I am so hungry,” said one bairn.

“Oh, darling mother,” said the second.

“Oh, darling, good mother,” said the third.

“Oh, darling, good, nice mother,” said the fourth.

“Oh, darling, pretty, good, nice mother,” said the fifth.

“Oh, darling, pretty, good, nice, clever mother,” said the sixth.

“Oh, darling, pretty, good, nice, clever, sweet mother,” said the seventh.

So they begged for the Pancake all round, the one more prettily than the other; for they were so hungry and so good.

“Yes, yes, bairns, only bide a bit till it turns itself”—she ought to have said, “till I can get it turned”—“and then you shall all have some—a lovely sweet-milk Pancake; only look how fat and happy it lies there.”

When the Pancake heard that it got afraid, and in a trice it turned itself all of itself, and tried to jump out of the pan; but it fell back into it again t’other side up, and so when it had been fried a little on the other side, too, till it got firmer in its flesh, it sprang out on the floor, and rolled off like a wheel through the door and down the hill.

“Holloa! Stop, Pancake!” and away went the goody after it, with the frying-pan in one hand and the ladle in the other, as fast as she could, and her bairns behind her, while the goodman limped after them last of all.

“Hi! won’t you stop? Seize it. Stop, Pancake,” they all screamed out, one after the other, and tried to catch it on the run and hold it; but the Pancake rolled on and on, and in the twinkling of an eye it was so far ahead that they couldn’t see it, for the Pancake was faster on its feet than any of them.

So when it had rolled a while it met a man.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the man.

“God bless you, Manny-panny!” said the Pancake.

“Dear Pancake,” said the man, “don’t roll so fast; stop a little and let me eat you.”

“When I have given the slip to Goody-poody, and the goodman, and seven squalling children, I may well slip through your fingers, Manny-panny,” said the Pancake, and rolled on and on till it met a hen.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the hen.

“The same to you, Henny-penny,” said the Pancake.

“Pancake, dear, don’t roll so fast; bide a bit and let me eat you up,” said the hen.

“When I have given the slip to Goody-poody, and the goodman, and seven squalling children, and Manny-panny, I may well slip through your claws, Henny-penny,” said the Pancake, and so it rolled on like a wheel down the road.

Just then it met a cock.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the cock.

“The same to you, Cocky-locky,” said the Pancake.

“Pancake, dear, don’t roll so fast, but bide a bit and let me eat you up.”

“When I have given the slip to Goody-poody, and the goodman, and seven squalling children, and to Manny-panny, and Henny-penny, I may well slip through your claws, Cocky-locky,” said the Pancake, and off it set rolling away as fast as it could; and when it had rolled a long way it met a duck.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the duck.

“The same to you, Ducky-lucky.”

“Pancake, dear, don’t roll away so fast; bide a bit and let me eat you up.”

“When I have given the slip to Goody-poody, and the goodman, and seven squalling children, and Manny-panny, and Henny-penny, and Cocky-locky, I may well slip through your fingers, Ducky-lucky,” said the Pancake, and with that it took to rolling and rolling faster than ever; and when it had rolled a long, long while, it met a goose.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the goose.

“The same to you, Goosey-poosey.”

“Pancake, dear, don’t roll so fast; bide a bit and let me eat you up.”

“When I have given the slip to Goody-poody, and the goodman, and seven squalling children, and Manny-panny, and Henny-penny, and Cocky-locky, and Ducky-lucky, I can well slip through your feet, Goosey-poosey,” said the Pancake, and off it rolled.

So when it had rolled a long, long way farther, it met a gander.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the gander.

“The same to you, Gander-pander,” said the Pancake.

“Pancake, dear, don’t roll so fast; bide a bit and let me eat you up.”

“When I have given the slip to Goody-poody, and the goodman, and seven squalling children, and Manny-panny, and Henny-penny, and Cocky-locky, and Ducky-lucky, and Goosey-poosey, I may well slip through your feet, Gander-pander,” said the Pancake, and it rolled off as fast as ever.

So when it had rolled a long, long time, it met a pig.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the pig.

“The same to you, Piggy-wiggy,” said the Pancake, which, without a word more, began to roll and roll like mad.

“Nay, nay,” said the pig, “you needn’t be in such a hurry; we two can then go side by side and see each other over the wood; they say it is not too safe in there.”

The Pancake thought there might be something in that, and so they kept company. But when they had gone awhile, they came to a brook. As for Piggy, he was so fat he swam safely across, it was nothing to him; but the poor Pancake couldn’t get over.

“Seat yourself on my snout,” said the pig, “and I’ll carry you over.”

So the Pancake did that.

“Ouf, ouf,” said the pig, and swallowed the Pancake at one gulp; and then, as the poor Pancake could go no farther, why—this story can go no farther either.

The Death of Chanticleer

Once on a time there was a cock and a hen, who walked out into the field and scratched, and scraped, and scrabbled. All at once Chanticleer found a burr of hop, and Partlet found a barley-corn; and they said they would make malt and brew Yule ale.

“Oh, I pluck barley, and I malt malt, and I brew ale, and the ale is good,” cackled Dame Partlet.

“Is the wort strong enough?” crew Chanticleer; and as he crowed he flew up on the edge of the cask, and tried to have a taste; but just as he bent over to drink a drop he took to flapping his wings, and so he fell head over heels into the cask and was drowned. When Dame Partlet saw that, she clean lost her wits, and flew up into the chimney-corner, and fell a-screaming and screeching out. “Harm in the house! harm in the house!” she screeched out all in a breath, and there was no stopping her.

“What ails you, Dame Partlet, that you sit there sobbing and sighing?” said the handquern.

“Why not,” said Dame Partlet, “when Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the cask and drowned himself, and lies dead? That’s why I sigh and sob.”

“Well, if I can do naught else, I will grind and groan,” said the handquern; and so it fell to grinding as fast as it could.

When the chair heard that it said:

“What ails you, handquern, that you grind and groan so fast and oft?”

“Why not, when Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the cask and drowned himself, and Dame Partlet sits in the ingle and sighs and sobs? That’s why I grind and groan,” said the handquern.

“If I can do naught else I will crack,” said the chair; and with that he fell to creaking and cracking.

When the door heard that it said:

“What’s the matter? Why do you creak and crack so, Mr. Chair?”

“Why not?” said the chair. “Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the cask and drowned himself; Dame Partlet sits in the ingle sighing and sobbing, and the handquern grinds and groans. That’s why I creak and crackle, and croak and crack.”

“Well,” said the door, “if I can do naught else, I can rattle and bang, and whistle and slam”; and with that it began to open and shut, and bang and slam; it deaved one to hear, and all one’s teeth chattered.

All this the stove heard, and it opened its mouth and called out:

“Door! door! why all this slamming and banging?”

“Why not,” said the door, “when Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the cask and drowned himself; Dame Partlet sits in the ingle sighing and sobbing; the handquern grinds and groans, and the chair creaks and cracks. That’s why I bang and slam.”

“Well,” said the stove, “if I can do naught else, I can smolder and smoke”; and so it fell a-smoking and steaming till the room was all in a cloud.

The ax saw this as it stood outside, and peeped with its shaft through the window.

“What’s all this smoke about, Mrs. Stove?” said the ax in a sharp voice.

“Why not,” said the stove, “when Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the cask and drowned himself; Dame Partlet sits in the ingle sighing and sobbing; the handquern grinds and groans; the chair creaks and cracks, and the door bangs and slams. That’s why I smoke and steam.”

“Well, if I can do naught else, I can rive and rend,” said the ax; and with that it fell to riving and rending all around about.

This the aspen stood by and saw.

“Why do you rive and rend everything so, Mr. Ax?” said the aspen.

“Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the ale-cask and drowned himself,” said the ax; “Dame Partlet sits in the ingle sighing and sobbing; the handquern grinds and groans; the chair creaks and cracks; the door slams and bangs, and the stove smokes and steams. That’s why I rive and rend all about.”

“Well, if I can do naught else,” said the aspen, “I can quiver and quake in all my leaves”; so it grew all of a quake.

The birds saw this, and twittered out:

“Why do you quiver and quake, Miss Aspen?”

“Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the ale-cask and drowned himself,” said the aspen, with a trembling voice; “Dame Partlet sits in the ingle sighing and sobbing; the handquern grinds and groans; the chair creaks and cracks; the door slams and bangs; the stove steams and smokes, and the ax rives and rends. That’s why I quiver and quake.”

“Well, if we can do naught else, we will pluck off all our feathers,” said the birds; and with that they fell a-pilling and plucking themselves till the room was full of feathers.

This the master stood by and saw; and, when the feathers flew about like fun, he asked the birds:

“Why do you pluck off all your feathers, you birds?”

“Oh, Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the ale-cask and drowned himself,” twittered out the birds; “Dame Partlet sits sighing and sobbing in the ingle; the handquern grinds and groans; the chair creaks and cracks; the door slams and bangs; the stove smokes and steams; the ax rives and rends, and the aspen quivers and quakes. That’s why we are pilling and plucking all our feathers off.”

“Well, if I can do nothing else, I can tear the brooms asunder,” said the man; and with that he fell tearing and tossing the brooms till the birch-twigs flew about east and west.

The goody stood cooking porridge for supper, and saw all this.

“Why, man!” she called out, “what are you tearing the brooms to bits for?”

“Oh,” said the man, “Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the ale-vat and drowned himself; Dame Partlet sits sighing and sobbing in the ingle; the handquern grinds and groans; the chair cracks and creaks; the door slams and bangs; the stove smokes and steams; the ax rives and rends; the aspen quivers and quakes; the birds are pilling and plucking all their feathers off, and that’s why I am tearing the besoms to bits.”

“So, so!” said the goody; “then I’ll dash the porridge over all the walls,” and she did it; for she took one spoonful after the other, and dashed it against the walls, so that no one could see what they were made of for very porridge.

That was how they drank the burial ale after Goodman Chanticleer, who fell into the brewing-vat and was drowned; and, if you don’t believe it, you may set off thither and have a taste both of the ale and the porridge.

Reynard Wants to Taste Horse-flesh

One day as Bruin lay by a horse which he had slain, and was hard at work eating it, Reynard came along that way, and came up spying about and licking his lips, to see if he might get a taste of the horse-flesh. So he doubled and turned till he got just behind Bruin’s back, and then he jumped on the other side of the carcass and snapped a mouthful as he ran by. Bruin was not slow either, for he made a grab at Reynard and caught the tip of his red brush in his paw; and ever since then Reynard’s brush is white at the tip, as any one may see.

But that day Bruin was merry, and called out:

“Bide a bit, Reynard, and come hither, and I’ll tell you how to catch a horse for yourself.”

Yes, Reynard was ready enough to learn, but he did not for all that trust himself to go very close to Bruin.

“Listen,” said Bruin. “When you see a horse asleep, basking in the sunshine, you must mind and bind yourself fast by the hair of his tail to your brush, and then you must make your teeth meet in the flesh of his thigh.”

As you may fancy, it was not long before Reynard found out a horse that lay asleep in the sunshine, and then he did as Bruin had told him; for he knotted and bound himself well into the hair of his tail, and made his teeth meet in the horse’s thigh.

Up sprang the horse, and began to kick and rear and gallop, so that Reynard was dashed against stock and stone, and got battered black and blue, so that he was not far off losing both wit and sense. And while the horse galloped, they passed Jack Longears, the hare.

“Whither away so fast, Reynard?” cried Jack Longears.

“Post-haste, on business of life and death, dear Jack,” cried Reynard.

And with that Jack stood upon his hind-legs, and laughed till his sides ached and his jaws split right up to his ears. It was so funny to see Reynard ride post-haste.

But you must know, since that ride Reynard has never thought of catching a horse for himself. For that once at least it was Bruin who had the best of it in wit, though they do say he is nearly always as simple-minded as the trolls.

Bruin and Reynard Partners

Once on a time Bruin and Reynard were to own a field in common. They had a little clearing up in the wood, and the first year they sowed rye.

“Now we must share the crop as is fair and right,” said Reynard. “If you like to have the root, I’ll take the top.”

Yes, Bruin was ready to do that; but when they had threshed out the crop, Reynard got all the corn, but Bruin got nothing but roots and rubbish. He did not like that at all, but Reynard said it was how they had agreed to share it.

“This year I have the gain,” said Reynard; “next year it will be your turn. Then you shall have the top, and I shall have to put up with the root.”

But when the spring came, and it was time to sow, Reynard asked Bruin what he thought of turnips.

“Aye, aye!” said Bruin, “that’s better food than corn”; and so Reynard thought also. But when harvest came Reynard got the roots, while Bruin got the turnip-tops. And then Bruin was so angry with Reynard that he put an end at once to his partnership with him.

Pork and Honey

At dawn the other day, when Bruin came tramping over the bog with a fat pig, Reynard sat up on a stone by the moor-side.

“Good day, grandsire,” said the fox. “What’s that so nice that you have there?”

“Pork,” said Bruin.

“Well, I have got a dainty bit too,” said Reynard.

“What is that?” asked the bear.

“The biggest wild bee’s comb I ever saw in my life,” said Reynard.

“Indeed, you don’t say so,” said Bruin, who grinned and licked his lips, he thought it would be so nice to taste a little honey. At last he said: “Shall we swap our fare?”

“Nay, nay!” said Reynard, “I can’t do that.”

The end was that they made a bet, and agreed to name three trees. If the fox could say them off faster than the bear, he was to have leave to take one bite of the bacon; but if the bear could say them faster, he was to have leave to take one sup out of the comb. Greedy Bruin thought he was sure to sup out all the honey at one breath.

“Well,” said Reynard, “it’s all fair and right, no doubt, but all I say is, if I win, you shall be bound to tear off the bristles where I am to bite.”

“Of course,” said Bruin, “I’ll help you, as you can’t help yourself.”

So they were to begin and name the trees.

“Fir, Scotch Fir, Spruce,” growled out Bruin, for he was gruff in his tongue, that he was. But for all that he only named two trees, for fir and Scotch fir are both the same.

“Ash, Aspen, Oak,” screamed Reynard, so that the wood rang again.

So he had won the wager, and down he ran and took the heart out of the pig at one bite, and was just running off with it. But Bruin was angry because Reynard had taken the best bit out of the whole pig, and so he laid hold of his tail and held him fast.

“Stop a bit, stop a bit,” he said, and was wild with rage.

“Never mind,” said the fox, “it’s all right; let me go, grandsire, and I’ll give you a taste of my honey.”

When Bruin heard that, he let go his hold, and away went Reynard after the honey.

“Here, on this honeycomb,” said Reynard, “lies a leaf, and under this leaf is a hole, and that hole you are to suck.”

As he said this he held up the comb under the bear’s nose, took off the leaf, jumped up on a stone, and began to gibber and laugh, for there was neither honey nor honeycomb, but a wasp’s nest, as big as a man’s head, full of wasps, and out swarmed the wasps and settled on Bruin’s head, and stung him in his eyes and ears, and mouth and snout. And he had such hard work to rid himself of them that he had no time to think of Reynard.

And that’s why, ever since that day, Bruin is so afraid of wasps.

How Reynard Outwitted Bruin

Once on a time there was a bear, who sat on a hillside in the sun and slept. Just then Reynard came slouching by and caught sight of him.

“There you sit taking your ease, grandsire,” said the fox. “Now, see if I don’t play you a trick.” So he went and caught three field-mice and laid them on a stump close under Bruin’s nose, and then he bawled out into his ear, “Bo! Bruin, here’s Peter the Hunter, just behind this stump”; and as he bawled this out he ran off through the wood as fast as ever he could.

Bruin woke up with a start, and when he saw the three little mice, he was as mad as a March hare, and was going to lift up his paw and crush them, for he thought it was they who had bellowed in his ear.

But just as he lifted it he caught sight of Reynard’s tail among the bushes by the woodside, and away he set after him, so that the underwood crackled as he went, and, to tell the truth, Bruin was so close upon Reynard that he caught hold of his off hind-foot just as he was crawling into an earth under a pine-root. So there was Reynard in a pinch; but for all that he had his wits about him, for he screeched out, “Slip the pine-root and catch Reynard’s foot,” and so the silly bear let his foot slip and laid hold of the root instead. But by that time Reynard was safe inside the earth, and called out:

“I cheated you that time, too, didn’t I, grandsire?”

“Out of sight isn’t out of mind,” growled Bruin down the earth, and was wild with rage.

Nanny Who Wouldn’t Go Home to Supper

There was once upon a time a woman who had a son and a goat. The son was called Espen and the goat was called Nanny. But they were not good friends, and did not get on together, for the goat was perverse and wayward, as goats will be, and she would never go home at the right time for her supper. So it happened one evening that Espen went out to fetch her home, and when he had been looking for her awhile, he saw Nanny high, high up on a crag.

“My dear Nanny, you must not stay any longer up there; you must come home now, it is just supper-time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I sha’n’t,” said Nanny, “not before I have finished the grass on this tussock, and that tussock—and this and that tussock.”

“Then I’ll go and tell mother,” said the lad.

“That you may, and then I shall be left to eat in peace,” said Nanny.

So Espen went and told his mother.

“Go to the fox and ask him to bite Nanny,” said his mother.

The lad went to the fox. “My dear fox, bite Nanny, for Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry, and I want my supper,” said Espen.

“No, I don’t want to spoil my snout on pig’s bristles and goat’s beard,” said the fox.

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the wolf,” said his mother.

The lad went to the wolf. “My dear wolf, tear the fox, for the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry, and I want my supper.”

“No,” said the wolf, “I won’t wear out my paws and teeth on a skinny fox.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the bear and ask him to slay the wolf,” said the mother.

The lad went to the bear. “My dear bear, slay the wolf, for the wolf won’t tear the fox, and the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, that I won’t,” said the bear; “I don’t want to wear out my claws for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the Finn and ask him to shoot the bear.”

The lad went to the Finn. “My dear Finn, shoot the bear, for the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the Finn; “I am not going to shoot away my bullets for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the fir,” said his mother, “and ask it to crush the Finn.”

The lad went to the fir-tree. “My dear fir, crush the Finn, for the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the fir; “I am not going to break my boughs for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the fire,” said his mother, “and ask it to burn the fir.”

The lad went to the fire. “My dear fire, burn the fir, for the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the fire; “I am not going to burn myself out for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the water, and ask it to quench the fire,” she said.

The lad went to the water. “My dear water, quench the fire, for the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the water; “I am not going to waste myself for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the ox,” said she, “and ask him to drink up the water.”

The lad went to the ox. “My dear ox, drink up the water, for the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the ox; “I am not going to burst myself for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the yoke,” said she, “and ask it to throttle the ox.”

The lad went to the yoke. “My dear yoke, throttle the ox, for the ox won’t drink the water, the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the yoke; “I am not going to break myself in two for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the ax,” said she, “and tell it to split the yoke.”

The lad went to the ax. “My dear ax, split the yoke, for the yoke won’t throttle the ox, the ox won’t drink the water, the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time, I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the ax; “I am not going to blunt my edge for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the smith,” said she, “and ask him to hammer the ax.”

The lad went to the smith. “My dear smith, hammer the ax, for the ax won’t split the yoke, the yoke won’t throttle the ox, the ox won’t drink the water, the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the smith; “I’ll not burn my coals and wear out my sledge-hammers for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the rope,” said she, “and ask it to hang the smith.”

The lad went to the rope. “My dear rope, hang the smith, for the smith won’t hammer the ax, the ax won’t split the yoke, the yoke won’t throttle the ox, the ox won’t drink the water, the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the rope; “I am not going to break in two for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the mouse,” said she, “and ask her to gnaw the rope.”

The lad went to the mouse. “My dear mouse, gnaw the rope, for the rope won’t hang the smith, the smith won’t hammer the ax, the ax won’t split the yoke, the yoke won’t throttle the ox, the ox won’t drink the water, the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the mouse; “I am not going to wear out my teeth for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the cat,” said she, “and ask her to catch the mouse.”

The lad went to the cat. “My dear cat, catch the mouse, for the mouse won’t gnaw the rope, the rope won’t hang the smith, the smith won’t hammer the ax, the ax won’t split the yoke, the yoke won’t throttle the ox, the ox won’t drink the water, the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“Yes, but give me a drop of milk for my kittens and then—” said the cat.

Yes, that she should have. So the cat caught the mouse, and the mouse gnawed the rope, and the rope hanged the smith, and the smith hammered the ax, and the ax split the yoke, and the yoke throttled the ox, and the ox drank the water, and the water quenched the fire, and the fire burned the fir, and the fir crushed the Finn, and the Finn shot the bear, and the bear slew the wolf, and the wolf tore the fox, and the fox bit Nanny, and Nanny took to her heels, scampered home, and ran against the barn wall and broke one of her legs.

“M—a—h—a—h!” bleated the goat. There she lay, and if she isn’t dead she is still limping about on three legs. But Espen said it served her right, because she would not come home in time for supper that day.

The Box With Something Pretty In It

Once on a time there was a little boy who was out walking on the road, and when he had walked a bit he found a box.

“I am sure there must be something pretty in this box,” he said to himself; but however much he turned it, and however much he twisted it, he was not able to get it open.

But when he had walked a bit farther, he found a little tiny key. Then he grew tired and sat down, and all at once he thought what fun it would be if the key fitted the box, for it had a little keyhole in it. So he took the little key out of his pocket, and then he blew first into the pipe of the key, and afterward into the keyhole, and then he put the key into the keyhole and turned it. “Snap!” it went within the lock; and when he tried the hasp, the box was open.

But can you guess what there was in the box? Why, a cow’s tail; and if the cow’s tail had been longer, this story would have been longer too.

The Farmer and the Troll

A troll once lived in a little hill that stood in the corner of a farm. Thinking that the ground should not lie idle the Farmer came one day and began to plow it up. He had hardly begun, when the Troll appeared and asked:

“How dare you plow in the roof of my house?”

“I did not know it was the roof of your house,” returned the Farmer. “I thought it a pity to let such a good piece of land lie idle, and I think so still. Let me make an agreement with you.”

“What is your agreement?” said the Troll.

“Well, let me see. I will plow, sow, and reap the ground every year, and we will take the produce year and year about. One year you will take what grows above ground, and I will take what grows below. Then we can change around, and I will take what grows above ground, and you, what grows below. What do you say?”

“Very well,” answered the Troll; “that will satisfy me.”

The agreement was then made; but the crafty Farmer took care to sow carrots the year the Troll was to have what grew above ground, and corn the year the Troll was to have what grew below. So the poor elf got only carrot-tops and corn-roots. However, he was content, and the Farmer and he lived for years amicably under this arrangement.

One’s Own Children Always Prettiest

Once upon a time a man went out shooting in a forest, and there he met a woodcock.

“Pray, don’t shoot my children,” cried the woodcock.

“What are your children like?” asked the man.

“Mine are the prettiest children in the forest,” answered the woodcock.

“I suppose I mustn’t shoot them, then,” said the man.

When he came back he carried in his hand a whole string of young woodcocks which he had shot.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear! Why, you have shot my children after all!” wept the woodcock.

“Are these yours?” said the man. “Why, I shot the ugliest I could find.”

“Yes, yes,” answered the woodcock; “but don’t you know that every one thinks his own children the prettiest?”

The Princess Whom Nobody Could Silence

There was once upon a time a king, and he had a daughter who would always have the last word; she was so perverse and contrary in her speech that no one could silence her. So the king therefore promised that he who could outwit the Princess should have her in marriage and half the kingdom besides. There were plenty of those who wanted to try, I can assure you; for it isn’t every day that a princess and half a kingdom are to be had.

The gate to the palace hardly ever stood still. The suitors came in swarms and flocks from east and west, both riding and walking. But there was no one who could silence the Princess. At last the king announced that those who tried and did not succeed should be branded on both ears with a large iron; he would not have all this running about the palace for nothing.

So there were three brothers who had also heard about the Princess, and as they were rather badly off at home, they thought they would try their luck and see if they could win the Princess and half the kingdom. They were good friends, and so they agreed to set out together.

When they had got a bit on the way Ashiepattle found a dead magpie.

“I have found something! I have found something!” cried he.

“What have you found?” asked the brothers.

“I have found a dead magpie,” said he.

“Faugh! throw it away; what can you do with that?” said the other two, who always believed they were the wisest.

“Oh, I’ve nothing else to do. I can easily carry it,” said Ashiepattle.

When they had gone on a bit farther Ashiepattle found an old willow twig, which he picked up.

“I have found something! I have found something!” he cried.

“What have you found now?” said the brothers.

“I have found a willow twig,” said he.

“Pooh! what are you going to do with that? Throw it away,” said the two.

“I have nothing else to do. I can easily carry it with me,” said Ashiepattle.

When they had gone still farther he found a broken saucer, which he also picked up.

“Here lads, I have found something! I have found something!” said he.

“Well, what have you found now?” asked the brothers.

“A broken saucer,” said he.

“Pshaw! Is it worth while dragging that along with you too? Throw it away!” said the brothers.

“Oh, I’ve nothing else to do. I can easily carry it with me,” said Ashiepattle.

When they had gone a little bit farther he found a crooked goat-horn, and soon after he found the fellow to it.

“I have found something! I have found something, lads!” said he.

“What have you found now?” said the others.

“Two goat-horns,” answered Ashiepattle.

“Ugh! Throw them away! What are you going to do with them?” said they.

“Oh, I have nothing else to do. I can easily carry them with me,” said Ashiepattle.

In a little while he found a wedge.

“I say, lads, I have found something! I have found something!” he cried.

“You are everlastingly finding something! What have you found now?” asked the two eldest.

“I have found a wedge,” he answered.

“Oh, throw it away! What are you going to do with it?” said they.

“Oh, I have nothing else to do. I can easily carry it with me,” said Ashiepattle.

As he went across the king’s fields, which had been freshly manured, he stooped down and took up an old boot-sole.

“Hullo, lads! I have found something! I have found something!” said he.

“Heaven grant you may find a little sense before you get to the palace!” said the two. “What is it you have found now?”

“An old boot-sole,” said he.

“Is that anything worth picking up? Throw it away! What are you going to do with it?” said the brothers.

“Oh, I have nothing else to do. I can easily carry it with me, and—who knows?—it may help me to win the Princess and half the kingdom,” said Ashiepattle.

“Yes, you look a likely one, don’t you?” said the other two. So they went in to the Princess, the eldest first.

“Good day!” said he.

“Good day to you!” answered she, with a shrug.

“It’s terribly hot here,” said he.

“It’s hotter in the fire,” said the Princess. The branding-iron was lying waiting in the fire.

When he saw this he was struck speechless, and so it was all over with him.

The second brother fared no better.

“Good day!” said he.

“Good day to you,” said she, with a wriggle.

“It’s terribly hot here!” said he.

“It’s hotter in the fire,” said she. With that he lost both speech and wits, and so the iron had to be brought out.

Then came Ashiepattle’s turn.

“Good day!” said he.

“Good day to you!” said she, with a shrug and a wriggle.

“It is very nice and warm here!” said Ashiepattle.

“It’s warmer in the fire,” she answered. She was in no better humor now she saw the third suitor.

“Then there’s a chance for me to roast my magpie on it,” said he, bringing it out.

“I’m afraid it will sputter,” said the Princess.

“No fear of that! I’ll tie this willow twig round it,” said the lad.

“You can’t tie it tight enough,” said she.

“Then I’ll drive in a wedge,” said the lad, and brought out the wedge.

“The fat will be running off it,” said the Princess.

“Then I’ll hold this under it,” said the lad, and showed her the broken saucer.

“You are so crooked in your speech,” said the Princess.

“No, I am not crooked,” answered the lad; “but this is crooked”; and he brought out one of the goat-horns.

“Well, I’ve never seen the like!” cried the Princess.

“Here you see the like,” said he, and brought out the other horn.

“It seems you have come here to wear out my soul!” she said.

“No, I have not come here to wear out your soul, for I have one here which is already worn out,” answered the lad, and brought out the old boot-sole.

The Princess was so dumfounded at this that she was completely silenced.

“Now you are mine!” said Ashiepattle, and so he got her and half the kingdom into the bargain.

The Money-box

In a nursery where a number of toys lay scattered about, a Money-box stood on the top of a very high wardrobe. It was made of clay in the shape of a pig, and had been bought of the potter. In the back of the pig was a slit, and this slit had been enlarged with a knife, so that dollars, or crown pieces, might slip through; and, indeed, there were two crown pieces in the box, besides a number of pence. The money-pig was stuffed so full that it could no longer rattle, which is the highest state of perfection to which a money-pig can attain. There he stood upon the cupboard, high and lofty, looking down upon everything else in the room. He knew very well that he had enough inside him to buy up all the other toys, and this gave him a very good opinion of his own value. The rest thought of this fact also, although they did not speak of it, for there were so many other things to talk about. A large doll, still handsome, though rather old, for her neck had been mended, lay inside one of the drawers which was partly open. She called out to the others: “Let us have a game at being men and women; that is worth playing at.”

Upon this there was a great uproar; even the engravings, which hung in frames on the wall, turned round in their excitement, and showed that they had a wrong side to them, although they had not the least intention to expose themselves in this way, or to object to the game. It was late at night, but as the moon shone through the windows, they had light at a cheap rate, and as the game was now to begin, all were invited to take part in it, even the children’s wagon, which certainly belonged to the coarser playthings. “Each has its own value,” said the wagon; “we cannot all be noblemen; there must be some to do the work.”

The money-pig was the only one who received a written invitation. He stood so high that they were afraid he would not accept a verbal message. But in his reply he said that, if he had to take a part, he must enjoy the sport from his own home; they were to arrange for him to do so; and so they did. The little toy theater was therefore put up in such a way that the money-pig could look directly into it. Some wanted to begin with a comedy, and afterward to have a tea-party and a discussion for mental improvement, but they commenced with the latter first. The rocking-horse spoke of training and races; the wagon, of railways and steam-power, for these subjects belonged to each of their professions, and it was right they should talk of them. The clock talked politics—“tick, tick”; he professed to know what was the time of day, but there was a whisper that he did not go correctly. The bamboo cane stood by, looking stiff and proud—he was vain of his brass ferrule and silver top; and on the sofa lay two worked cushions, pretty but stupid. When the play at the little theater began, the rest sat and looked on; they were requested to applaud and stamp, and the whip to crack, when they felt gratified with what they saw. But the riding-whip said he never cracked for old people, only for the young who were not yet married. “I crack for everybody,” said the cracker.

“Yes, and a fine noise you make,” thought the audience, as the play went on.

It was not worth much, but it was very well played, and all the characters turned their painted sides to the audience, for they were made only to be seen on one side. The acting was wonderful, excepting that sometimes they came out beyond the lamps, because the wires were a little too long. The doll, whose neck had been darned, was so excited that the place in her neck burst, and the money-pig declared he must do something for one of the players, as they had all pleased him so much. So he made up his mind to mention one of them in his will, as the one to be buried with him in the family vault, whenever that event should happen. They all enjoyed the comedy so much that they gave up all thoughts of the teaparty, and only carried out their idea of intellectual amusement, which they called playing at men and women; and there was nothing wrong about it, for it was only play. All the while, each one thought most of himself, or of what the money-pig could be thinking. His thoughts were on (as he supposed) a very distant time—of making his will, and of his burial, and of when it might all come to pass. Certainly sooner than he expected—for all at once down he came from the top of the press, fell on the ground, and was broken to pieces. Then the pennies hopped and danced about in the most amusing manner. The little ones twirled round like tops, and the large ones rolled away as far as they could, especially one of the great silver crown pieces who had often wanted to go out into the world, and now he had his wish as well as all the rest of the money. The pieces of the money-pig were thrown into the dust-bin, and the next day there stood a new money-pig on the cupboard, but it had not a farthing in its inside yet, and therefore it could not rattle like the old one. This was the beginning with him, and we will make it the end of our story.

Hans Christian Andersen.

The Darning-Needle

Once upon a time there was a Darning-needle which thought itself so fine and grand it ought to have been a sewing-needle.

“Be careful,” it said to the fingers which held it. “Be sure you don’t let me fall, for I am so thin you will never find me again.”

“That’s what you think,” said the fingers, as they closed firmly round its body.

“Look out! I am followed by my train,” said the Darning-needle, and a long thread came trailing behind it; but the thread had no knot in it.

The fingers guided the needle straight toward the cook’s slipper.

There was a little tear in the leather, and it must be mended.

“This sort of work is quite beneath me,” said the Needle; “I can never do it. I shall break—I know I shall!” And break it did. “Did not I tell you I was too slender for such a task?” asked the Darning-needle.

“There, now you are good for nothing,” said the fingers; but they still held the needle firmly, and soon they had fixed a ball of sealing-wax on the top.

The cook now used it as a pin to fasten her scarf.

“Ho, ho! So I’m a scarf-pin now! I always knew I should make my way in the world. Worth always tells in the end,” said the Needle. And it chuckled to itself, although you could not see it do so. A darning-needle never lets you see it laugh.

This one sat bolt upright and gazed in all directions, just as if it were riding in a state carriage.

“Might I be allowed to inquire if you are made of gold?” it asked of its neighbor—a pin. “You have a very bright look, and a head of your own, though it is ridiculously small. You must do your best to grow a bit. Of course, it is not every one who is decorated with a ball of red sealing-wax!”

The Darning-needle drew itself up so proudly as it said this, that it overbalanced and fell out of the scarf into the sink, which the cook at that moment was rinsing down.

“Now I am going to see the world,” thought the Needle. “I hope I shall not lose myself.” But lose itself it did. And as it was washed through a long, greasy pipe and carried away into the gutter, it said: “I am not coarse and strong enough to hold my own in this world, but I know who and what I am, and that’s a great comfort.”

And the Darning-needle kept its proud bearing, and did not lose its bright way of looking at things, although all sorts of objects passed over it—chips of wood, and pieces of straw, and old newspaper.

“Look how they sail!” it said. “But they little know what lies beneath them. I stick fast here, and there goes a chip, a mere chip, looking as if it thought it was all the world. And there’s a straw floating by, too. How it whirls round and round; it had better take care lest it run against a stone. Ah! and now there is a piece of newspaper. Giving itself such airs, too! as if all that was printed on it was not forgotten long ago. I have to sit still, patiently and alone; but I know who I am, and that I shall continue still to be, and that is a great comfort.”

One day a piece of glass bottle lay beside the Darning-needle, and because it glittered so splendidly the needle thought it must certainly be a diamond; so it spoke and introduced itself.

“Good morning,” it said. “I am a scarf-pin. I believe I have the pleasure of speaking to a diamond?”

“Yes, I am a member of that family, I believe,” was the answer.

And thus they both thought each other very superior, and spoke together of the vanity and pride of the world.

“I lived in a girl’s work-box,” the Darning-needle said. “She was a cook, and had five fingers on each hand; but I never saw anything so conceited as those fingers in my life! And after all is said and done, they were only there to take me out and put me back into the box again.”

“Were they very aristocratic, then?” the piece of glass asked.

“Aristocratic? No; but very proud. They were brothers, all born fingers, and they kept to themselves. They were various heights, too. The first—named the Thumb—was short and broad, and held himself rather aloof from the others. He only had one joint in his back, so could only make one bow; but he said a man could not be a soldier unless he possessed one like him on his hand. The second was called Sweet-tooth, and was used to put into sweet and sour dishes, to point to the sky and the stars, and to make the down-strokes of the pen when the fingers wrote a letter. Long-one was the third, and could look over all the heads of the others. Ringold, the fourth, wore a golden belt round his waist; and the last one of all was Playboy, who never did a stroke of work, and was proud of it. But I had to leave them,” said the Needle; “they could do nothing but boast.”

“And now here we sit and glitter,” murmured the piece of glass.

But at that moment the water came rushing along the gutter and carried off the piece of glass in its arms.

“He has received promotion already,” said the Darning-needle. “It is my pride that stands in my way. I am so very fine, and I am quite right to keep myself to myself,” and it sat up erect and proud, and was filled with great thoughts. “I surely must be the child of some sunbeam,” it thought. “I am so very fine, and the sunbeams always seem to me to be trying to find me beneath the water. Perhaps I am too slender for my mother to be able to see me. I’m sure if I had my old eye that was broken off I should cry. But I won’t; it’s not well-bred to cry.”

Then one day some ragamuffins came poking in the gutter to find farthings and old nails, and other such precious things. It was very muddy and dirty, but they only enjoyed it the better for that.

“Ugh!” cried one, as the Darning-needle ran into his finger. “Ugh! you great ugly fellow!”

“I am a miss, and not a fellow!” shrieked the Darning-needle; but no one heard it.

The ball of sealing-wax had fallen off, and the needle had turned quite black, but it felt more pleased with itself than ever, for one looks so much slimmer in black.

“Here, let us stick it into this egg-shell!” they called, and the Darning-needle was fixed firmly.

“These white walls must be very becoming to me,” the Darning-needle thought. “I shall show up well against them, and shall certainly be seen at last. I hope I shall not become seasick or break.”

But the Darning-needle became neither seasick, nor did it break. A steel stomach is a good preventive against seasickness; and it did not forget that it was something better than a mere man.

“Really, the finer one is, the more one can bear,” it thought.

“C-r-r-rack!” groaned the egg-shell, as the wheels of a cart passed over it.

“Gracious heavens! how it presses!” gasped the Darning-needle. “I do believe I am going to be seasick, after all. I shall break!”

But, although the heavy cart rolled over it, it did not break, only lay stretched full length in the mud, and there it may stay, for there is no more of its story worth listening to.

Hans Christian Andersen.

Master of All Masters

A girl once went to the fair to hire herself for a servant. At last a funny-looking old gentleman engaged her, and took her home to his house. When she got there, he told her that he had something to teach her, for that in his house he had his own names for things.

He said to her: “What will you call me?”

“Master or mister, or whatever you please, sir,” says she.

He said: “You must call me ‘Master of all Masters.’ And what would you call this?” pointing to his bed.

“Bed or couch, or whatever you please, sir.”

“No, that’s my ‘barnacle.’ And what do you call these?” said he, pointing to his pantaloons.

“Breeches or trousers, or whatever you please, sir.”

“You must call them ‘squibs and crackers.’ And what would you call her?” pointing to the cat.

“Cat or kit, or whatever you please, sir.”

“You must call her ‘white-faced simminy.’ And this, now,” showing the fire, “what would you call this?”

“Fire or flame, or whatever you please, sir.”

“You must call it ‘hot cockalorum.’ And what, this?” he went on, pointing to the water.

“Water or wet, or whatever you please, sir.”

“No, ‘pondalorum’ is its name. And what do you call all this?” asked he, as he pointed to the house.

“House or cottage, or whatever you please, sir.”

“You must call it ‘high topper mountain.’”

That very night the servant woke her master up in a fright and said: “Master of all Masters, get out of your barnacle and put on your squibs and crackers. For white-faced simminy has got a spark of hot cockalorum on its tail, and unless you get some pondalorum, high topper mountain will be all on hot cockalorum.” ... That’s all.

Belling the Cat

Once upon a time the mice sat in council and talked of how they might outwit their enemy, the Cat. But good advice was scarce, and in vain the president called upon all the most experienced mice present to find a way.

At last a very young mouse held up two fingers and asked to be allowed to speak, and as soon as he could get permission he said:

“I’ve been thinking for a long time why the Cat is such a dangerous enemy. Now, it’s not so much because of her quickness, though people make so much fuss about that. If we could only notice her in time, I’ve no doubt we’re nimble enough to jump into our holes before she could do us any harm. It’s in her velvet paws, there’s where she hides her cruel claws till she gets us in her clutches—that’s where her power lies. With those paws she can tread so lightly that we can’t hear her coming. And so, while we are still dancing heedlessly about the place, she creeps close up, and before we know where we are she pounces down on us and has us in her clutches. Well, then, it’s my opinion we ought to hang a bell round her neck to warn us of her coming while there’s yet time.”

Every one applauded this proposal, and the council decided that it should be carried out.

Now the question to be settled was, who should undertake to fasten the bell round the Cat’s neck?

The president declared that no one could be better fitted for the task than he who had given such excellent advice.

But at that the young mouse became quite confused and stammered an excuse. He was too young for the deed, he said. He didn’t know the Cat well enough. His grandfather, who knew her better, would be more suited to the job.

But the grandfather declared that just because he knew the Cat very well he would take good care not to attempt such a task.

And the long and the short of it was that no other mouse would undertake the duty; and so this clever proposal was never carried out, and the Cat remained mistress of the situation.

The Magpie and her Children

Said a Magpie to her children: “It’s high time you learned to look for your own food; it is indeed.”

And with that she turned the whole lot of them out of their nest and took them into the fields.

But the Magpie’s children didn’t care about that.

“We’d rather go back to our nest!” they cried. “It’s so comfortable to have you bringing our food to us in your beak!”

“I dare say!” said their mother. “But you’re big enough to feed yourselves. I was turned out of the nest when I was much younger, I can tell you that!”

“But people will kill us with their bows and arrows,” said the young magpies.

“No fear of that!” replied their mother. “People can’t shoot without taking aim, and that takes time. When you see them raising their bows to their faces, ready to draw, you must just fly away!”

“We might do that,” said the children; “but if some one were to throw a stone at us, he wouldn’t have to take aim.”

“Well, you’ll see him stooping down to pick up the stone,” said the old Magpie.

“But supposing he carries a stone in his hand, ready?”

“Why, if you’re sharp enough to think of that,” said their mother, “you’re sharp enough to take care of yourselves!”

And with that she flew away and left them.

The Cock, the Cuckoo, and the Black-cock

Once upon a time the Cock, the Cuckoo, and the Black-cock bought a cow between them. But when they came to share it, and couldn’t agree which should buy the others out, they settled among them that he who woke first in the morning should have the cow.

So the Cock woke first.

“Now the cow’s mine!

Now the cow’s mine!

Hurrah! Hurrah!”

he crew, and so pleased was he that in his excitement he awoke the Cuckoo.

“Half cow!

Half cow!”

sang the Cuckoo, and woke up the Black-cock.

“A like share, a like share;

Dear friends, that’s only fair;

Saw see, see saw!”

That’s what the Black-cock said.

And now can you tell me which of them ought to have the cow?

The Race Between Hare and Hedgehog

It was once upon a time on a Saturday morning in autumn, while the barley-fields were still in bloom.

The sun was shining, the morning wind was blowing over the stubble, the larks were singing high in the air, the bees were buzzing in the barley blossoms, and the people were going blithely about their day’s work; in short, all the world was happy, and the Hedgehog, too.

The Hedgehog stood in front of his door with folded arms, looked at the weather, and hummed a tune as only a hedgehog can hum on a Saturday morning.

Now, as he stood there humming, he thought to himself all at once that, while his wife was washing and dressing the children, he might as well go for a little walk in the fields and see how his turnips were getting on.

The turnips grew near his house, and he and his family ate as many of them as ever they wanted, and so he looked upon them quite naturally as his property.

Well, the Hedgehog slammed his door and started for the turnip-field. He hadn’t got very far, and was just sauntering round the brier-bush that stood outside the field, when he met the Hare, who was out on the same errand—namely, to look at his cabbages.

When the Hedgehog caught sight of the Hare, he gave him a pleasant “Good morning.”

But the Hare, who was a very aristocratic person in his own way, and very high and mighty in his manner, didn’t answer the Hedgehog’s greeting, but said, with a nasty sneer:

“What are you running about the fields for so early in the morning?”

“I’m out walking,” said the Hedgehog.

“Walking?” grinned the Hare. “I should have thought you could use your legs for something better!”

This remark annoyed the Hedgehog, for, though he was a good-natured fellow enough, he was touchy on the subject of his legs, which were, by nature, bandy.

“I suppose,” he said tartly, “you think your legs are better than mine?”

“That I do,” said the Hare.

“It remains to be seen,” said the Hedgehog. “I bet you that if we two were to run a race I should outstrip you.”

“Absurd!” cried the Hare. “You with your crooked legs! But if you’re so anxious to try, I’ve no objection. What do you wager?”

“A golden guinea,” said the Hedgehog.

“Done!” said the Hare. “We’ll start right away!”

“Oh, don’t be in such a hurry,” said the Hedgehog. “I haven’t had my breakfast yet, and I feel a bit faint. I’ll come back here in an hour.”

So away he trotted, for the Hare made no objection.

Then he thought to himself:

“The Hare thinks a lot of his long legs, but I’ll get the better of him all the same. For all his haughty ways, he’s not so very clever, and I’ll make him pay; see if I don’t.”

As soon as he got home, he said to his wife:

“Quick! go and get dressed. You must come out with me.”

“What’s the matter?” said his wife.

“I’ve wagered the Hare a golden guinea. I’m to run a race with him, and I want you to be there.”

“Good gracious me!” cried the Hedgehog’s wife. “Have you lost your senses? How can you think of racing the Hare?”

“Don’t be so quick with your words, woman,” said the Hedgehog. “That’s my affair; you mustn’t meddle with what you don’t understand. Look sharp; put on your things, and come along.”

What was the wife to do? She had to obey, whether she wanted to or not.

On the way to the field, the Hedgehog said:

“Now, listen to what I’m going to tell you. In that plowed field over there we’re to run our race. The Hare will run in one furrow, and I in the other. We begin at the top. Now, all you’ve got to do is to stand at the other end of my furrow, and directly the Hare arrives, you call out to him:

“‘Here I am already!’”

With that they reached the field. The Hedgehog told his wife where to stand, and went on to the other end.

The Hare was there waiting for him.

“Shall we start?” asked the Hare.

“Right,” said the Hedgehog.

“Now then!”

Each took up his place.

The Hare counted:

“One, two, three!”

And away he went like the wind.

But the Hedgehog took about three paces, then he went back, ducked down in his furrow, and stood there as comfortably as you please, and laughing as if he would split his sides.

Now, the moment the Hare came rushing up to the other end, the Hedgehog’s wife called out to him:

“Here I am already!”

The Hare was quite taken aback, for he made sure it was the Hedgehog himself who was sitting there calling to him, since, as every one knows, a hedgehog’s wife looks exactly like her husband.

“There’s something not quite right here,” said the Hare. “We must run again back to the starting-point.”

And away he flew like the wind. But the Hedgehog’s wife never moved.

When the Hare got to the other end, the Hedgehog called out:

“Here I am already!”

But the Hare, quite beside himself with jealousy, shouted:

“We must run again!”

“Right!” said the Hedgehog. “As often as you like.”

And so the Hare went on, running backward and forward seventy-three times, and every time the Hedgehog got the better of him. Every time the Hare arrived at one end or the other, the Hedgehog or his wife called out:

“Here I am already!”

But the seventy-fourth time the Hare dropped down dead tired before he got half-way. So the Hedgehog took his golden guinea, and he and his wife went home very well pleased with themselves. And so my tale is finished.

Bruno’s Story

[From “Sylvie and Bruno.”]

“Once there were a mouse and a crocodile and a man and a goat and a lion,” said Bruno.

“And the mouse found a shoe, and it thought it were a mouse-trap. So it got right in, and it stayed in ever so long.”

“Why did it stay in?”

“‘Cause it thought it couldn’t get out again,” Bruno explained. “It were a clever mouse. It knew it couldn’t get out of traps.”

“But why did it go in, then?”

“No matter why!” said Bruno decisively; “and it jamp, and it jamp, and at last it got right out again. And it looked at the mark in the shoe. And the man’s name were in it. So it knew it wasn’t its own shoe.

So the mouse gave the man his shoe. And the man were welly glad, ‘cause he hadn’t got but one shoe, and he were hopping to get the other.

And the man took the goat out of the sack.... No, I know oo hasn’t heard of the sack before, and oo won’t again.... And he said to the goat: ‘Oo will walk about here till I comes back.’ And he went and he tumbled into a deep hole. And the goat walked round and round. And it walked under the tree. And it wug its tail. And it looked up in the tree. And it sang a sad little song. Oo never heard such a sad little song!

It singed it right froo. I sawed it singing with its long beard.

And when it had singed all the song, it ran away—for to get along to look for the man, oo know. And the crocodile got along after it—for to bite it, oo know. And the mouse got along after the crocodile.”

“Wasn’t the crocodile running?”

“He wasn’t running,” said Bruno, “and he wasn’t crawling. He went struggling along like a portmanteau. And he held his chin ever so high in the air——”

“What did he do that for?”

“‘Cause he hadn’t got a toofache!” said Bruno. “Can’t oo make out nuffin wizout I ‘splain it? Why, if he’d had a toofache, a course he’d have held his head down—like this—and he’d have put a lot of warm blankets round it!”

“Did he have any blankets?”

“Course he had blankets,” said Bruno. “Does oo think crocodiles goes walks wisout blankets? And he frowned with his eyebrows. And the goat was welly flightened at his eyebrows.”

“I’d never be afraid of eyebrows.”

“I should think oo would, though, if they’d got a crocodile fastened to them, like these had!”

And so the man jamp, and he jamp, and at last he got right out of the hole.

And he runned away—for to look for the goat, oo know. And he heard the lion grunting.

And its mouth were like a large cupboard. And it had plenty of room in its mouth. And the lion runned after the man—for to eat him, oo know. And the mouse runned after the lion.

“And first he caught the crocodile, and then he didn’t catch the lion. And when he’d caught the crocodile, what does oo think he did—‘cause he’d got pincers in his pocket? Why, he wrenched out that crocodile’s toof!”

“Which tooth?”

“The toof he were going to bite the goat with, a course!”

“And what became of the man?”

“Well, the lion springed at him. But it came so slow, it were three weeks in the air——”

“Did the man wait for it all that time?”

“Course he didn’t. He sold his house, and he packed up his things, while the lion were coming. And he went and he lived in another town. So the lion ate the wrong man.”

Lewis Carroll.

The Bluebottle Who Went Courting

A gay young Bluebottle went out courting.

And first he flew into the king’s palace to woo the king’s daughter.

Now, she was the most beautiful princess in all the world, and had a thousand suitors at her feet.

So the Bluebottle came and settled on her hand, and sang:

“Zum, zum, zoo,

I want to marry you!”

But the princess didn’t understand the song. She only saw a great bluebottle fly, and she tried to flick it off her hand. But the Bluebottle sat fast. Then the princess cried out:

“Here’s a great horrid fly on my hand, and it won’t move! Quick! some one take it away!”

At that, you may be sure, all the suitors came running up, and made grabs at the Bluebottle; and the cleverest of them caught him between his finger and thumb and nearly crushed the life out of him. But he managed to wriggle free, and in his flight he flew at the king himself and settled right on the tip of the royal nose.

Then the king gave a terrific snort and hit the Bluebottle such a blow that if it hadn’t just missed him he would certainly have been killed.

By this time, I can tell you, the Bluebottle was in such a state that he didn’t know whether he was on his head or his heels. So he buzzed round and round the room, and was chased from one courtier to the other, and dashed his wings against the window-panes, and at last the king threw his scepter at him, and the scepter hit the fattest duchess in the room, and bounded off and struck the Bluebottle on the head.

You may fancy how that confused the poor thing! And so he flew into the fireplace, and got his left wing scorched, and he only just managed to crawl up the chimney by the skin of his teeth.

But a maiden bluebottle, who was distantly related to his family, nursed his wing for him, and so pretty soon he was as gay as ever. Then he said:

“Very well, if I can’t have the princess, I’ll have the next best thing.”

And so he flew into the king’s stable and sat himself down right on the back of the princess’s favorite mare.

“Zum, zum, zoo,

I want to marry you!”

he hummed.

But the mare took not the least notice of his song. She only shifted her feet irritably, for the Bluebottle tickled her.

“Zum, zum, zoo,

I want to marry you!”

repeated the Bluebottle, quite boldly.

At that the mare gave a flick of her tail and hit the Bluebottle slap! bang! right in the middle of his bright azure waistcoat, so that he was sent spinning in among the straw that littered the floor.

So there he lay, buzzing mournfully, till the maiden bluebottle came along and rubbed him all over, and put him on his feet again.

And pretty soon he was gayer than ever, and thought how he would go courting once more.

“Better stick to your own station,” said his lady friend.

But he only tossed his head and sniffed scornfully.

And then he put on a brand-new waistcoat and flew into the king’s kitchen, where the princess’s favorite cat lay purring on the hearth.

And the Bluebottle lost no time at all, but crept straight into the cat’s right ear and sang his song:

“Zum, zum, zoo,

I want to marry you!”

Now, the cat had just been dreaming the most delicious dream about the fattest mouse you can think of, and the buzzing in her ear just woke her up in the most exciting part.

And so, you may guess, she wasn’t in the best of tempers.

Whether she heard the Bluebottle’s proposal of marriage or not, I really can’t say. If she did, you may be sure it didn’t please her, for she just made a snatch with her paw and grabbed him by the leg.

Now, it would have been all up with him if the maiden relative hadn’t flown up in the very nick of time and tickled the cat’s nose.

Very well, that made the cat sneeze so violently that she let go of the Bluebottle’s leg, and so he flew away. But his leg was broken; and the doctor came every day for a week, and then he sent in his bill. And the maiden friend brought all her savings rolled up in an old stocking of her mother’s. And so the Bluebottle paid the doctor, and there was an end of that.

Now, would you believe it, the Bluebottle was so young and giddy that his leg was scarcely well before he began to wonder where he should go courting next.

“When there are so many old maids in the world,” said he, “it’s a bachelor’s duty to look round for a wife. I do it out of charity.”

“Charity begins at home,” said his lady friend, and blushed in a modest way.

But the Bluebottle was not the kind of person to take a hint. So he just put on another new waistcoat, and away he flew into the woods.

And there a fine young lady woodpecker was hopping about digging for worms in a ladylike manner.

“Now, here is a person after my own heart,” said the Bluebottle. “She doesn’t wait for us men to bring her food; she just helps herself. I might do worse than marry her.”

And without a minute’s hesitation he began to buzz round and round the woodpecker, singing his old song:

“Zum, zum, zoo,

I want to marry you!”

When the woodpecker caught sight of him, she cocked her tail in a knowing way.

“Change of food is as good as change of air,” said she, and gave a peck that nearly finished the Bluebottle there and then, and tore his right wing from end to end.

So there he was, sprawling on his back with his legs curled up in agony, for a torn wing is no trifle. And now the woodpecker would certainly have gobbled him up; but just then the faithful maiden friend, who had followed the Bluebottle because he was bound to get into mischief, hurried up. When she saw the state of things, she didn’t stop twice to think, but took a dead leaf and dropped it right over the Bluebottle.

Now, when the woodpecker saw the maiden Bluebottle, she took her for the bachelor, and gave another peck. But the maiden flew away and hid behind a fern, and so the woodpecker went back to her worms.

“Oh! Oh! I’m dead! I’m dead!” groaned the Bluebottle under the leaf.

“Nonsense!” said his lady friend. “Rubbish doesn’t die so easily!”

You see, she was severe because her pride had been hurt.

“Oh, dear, kind friend, don’t fly away and leave me!” begged the Bluebottle meekly.

“You’ve flown away and left me often enough,” said the lady friend.

“I’ll never do it again as long as I live!” cried he.

“You couldn’t if you wanted to,” said she, and stroked the broken wing.

“Oh, why wasn’t I content with a bluebottle bride?” groaned he.

“No lady bluebottle will look at you now,” said she, “for you’ll always fly lame as long as you live.”

“Oh, won’t you take pity on me?” asked the poor Bluebottle, who felt thoroughly humble by this time.

Then his lady friend put her own strong wing under his broken one.

“I’ll marry you—out of charity,” she said, and flew away with him.

How Two Beetles Took Lodgings

Once upon a time there was a worthy set of ants, who lived together as happily as possible in their little town at the foot of a fine old oak-tree.

They were honest, peaceable folk, and always did as the three queen ants who ruled over them told them to do.

The young men stayed quietly at home until it was time for them to get married, and the young ladies, who had nothing else to do, did the same.

As for the working people—But here’s a curious state of things! You’ll never find a working “man” in an ant city as long as you live, for all the workers are females, even the soldiers, you may take my word for that!

Well, as for these, they were at it morning, noon, and night, digging and building and fetching food for the whole town, looking after the eggs—of which there were so many you could never have counted them—and seeing that all the baby ants were quite happy and comfortable.

Now, things would have gone on very well indeed if other people had only left these worthy ants alone. But they did not—and this is where my story really begins.

One fine day a set of ants belonging to quite another tribe came to the forest, and built themselves a town not far from the first.

And these ants—it grieves me to write it—were far from peaceful and honest like their neighbors. To tell the truth, they were nothing more nor less than robbers.

They had not been very long in the place before their soldiers—all womenfolk, too!—made a raid on the town of the mild and harmless ants, and carried off all the girl babies they could lay hands on. And the moment the children were old enough to work, they were made into slaves, and had to do all the roughest and hardest work.

Well, you may guess there was sorrow in the town of the peaceful ants. They were too weak to fight their foes, and so they just had to sit down and bear it as best they could.

Now, what happened once, happened again, and yet again, till at last the harmless ants made up their minds to move and build themselves a new city in another part of the forest.

And so they did. But it was all of no use, for the robbers followed them, and then the same thing happened all over again. So soon as there was a fine, fat, promising bunch of girl babies in the town, the robbers came and carried them into slavery.

One misfortune followed fast upon another. Not long after the ants had moved into their new town, a beetle and his wife came stalking in, and demanded lodgings in the queen’s palace.

They were smartly dressed in blue and green coats of the latest cut, but they carried no baggage except a tooth-brush, that stuck out of the Beetle’s wife’s pocket. This was suspicious, and they looked so hungry and thirsty, into the bargain, that it was not to be wondered at that the poor queen ant pulled a long face.

“We’re traveling for pleasure,” said the Beetle’s wife, “and we shall have much pleasure in staying here as long as we like.”

With that she walked straight up to the best bedroom, said she hoped the sheets were aired, and went to bed, while her husband talked pleasantly with the three queens, and ate three dozen new-laid ants’ eggs for his supper.

The unhappy queens soon saw what kind of visitors they had got. The Beetles made themselves at home everywhere—in the palace and out of it—and called for whatever they wanted. The working ants had to wait on them hand and foot. There was the Beetle’s shaving water to be got first thing in the morning, and the Beetle’s wife’s cup of milk fresh from the cow. For ants, you must know, keep their cows, just as human beings do, though the milk of the ant cow is more like sugar water than anything else we have.

Then there never was any one who could do with so many meals in the course of a single day as that Beetle and his wife. They just ate and drank from morning to night, and it was all the ants could do to keep the palace larder stocked.

All the choicest morsels, the finest seeds and salads the workers could bring fell to the Beetles’ share, while the queens got what was left.

There was no peace and quiet in the town. The Beetles pried into every hole and corner, spread themselves in everybody’s parlor, and paraded the streets singing and whistling when quiet folks wanted to rest.

But, what was worst of all, they showed never a sign of moving on.

“I thought you said you were traveling,” the bravest of the queens ventured to remark at last.

“Why, so we were!” said the Beetles. “But one must settle down some time or other, and your air really suits us very well.”

“Did you hear that?” whispered one young working ant to another.

The two had come to the palace with a pitcher of milk just in time to listen to the conversation.

“They’ll never leave us,” said the second ant.

“Not unless some one takes steps,” returned the first ant.

“And, pray, whose steps, and why?” asked the second.

“You always were stupid,” said the first one, and gave her waist a twitch—which is a way ants have when they are put out. “Now, if some one were to take my advice,” she went on, “but there’s nobody in all the town with two pennyworth of spirit. Nobody would take my advice.”

“I suppose you couldn’t take it yourself?” asked the second ant, who really was not quite as stupid as people thought.

“It never occurred to me,” said the first ant; “but now you mention it, perhaps I might.”

And then the first ant thought and thought, and the end of it was that she slipped out of the town so soon as her day’s work was finished and strolled away toward the town where the robber ants lived.

And presently a fierce old soldier-ant came marching out at the gate.

Then the little worker’s heart beat very fast, and she turned as pale as an ant can turn.

“‘Nothing venture, nothing win,’” she said to herself, and walked straight up to the soldier.

“Hallo! Who are you?” said the soldier.

“Oh, I’m a neighbor of yours, from Beechtown,” said the little ant. “I’m just taking a stroll before supper.”

“A stroll before supper!” cried the soldier, staring very hard. “You don’t seem to have much work to do over there.”

“Why, no, I can’t say I have,” said the little ant.

“But I can see by your dress you’re a servant,” said the soldier-woman.

“So I am,” said the little ant. “But we servants of Beechtown have an easy place. A bit of dusting now and then, and a little light needlework; that’s all.”

“I heard a very different story only the other day,” said the soldier.

“Ah, but everything’s changed since the Beetles came,” said the little worker. “They do all the dirty work; and, my goodness! they can work, you may take my word for that! It’s worth something, I can tell you, to have two fine Beetles like that in the town!”

“Aha!” thought the soldier-woman to herself, “here’s something for us!”

And she was so taken up with thinking that she forgot to bid the little ant good night, and there and then she marched straight back to her town to tell the general what she had heard.

But the little ant went home well pleased with herself. And, sure enough, what she expected would happen did happen.

The robber-ants, as soon as they heard the soldier’s story, were as eager as possible to carry off the two Beetles who could work so well.

And to prevent any fuss and bother, this is what they did:

They took a great pitcher of ant-cow’s milk and mixed with it a few drops of the poison, which, as every one knows, an ant always carries about with her in her poison-bag. Then twelve soldiers took the pitcher to Beechtown and waited outside the gate for the Beetles to come out. And directly they saw them coming they put down the pitcher and hid behind a mountain of dead leaves.

But the Beetles drank up the sweet stuff till there was not a drop left at the bottom of the pail, and immediately the poison began to work, and both the Beetle and his wife fell back in a heap on to the grass, and there they lay, and could stir neither hand nor foot.

The robbers, you may fancy, lost no time, bundled the pair on to a stout rhubarb leaf, and dragged them away to their own city as fast as they could go.

Now, scarcely had they got them there when the poison began to wear off—for ants’ poison is not very strong, you see—and pretty soon the Beetle’s wife sat up and pinched her husband. It was not long before he sat up, too; and by and by those two were as clear in their heads and as firm on their legs as any two beetles ever were.

And now there was an unpleasant surprise in store for the robber-ants. When the Beetle’s wife had looked round a bit, she said to her husband:

“Why, it seems comfortable enough here. I don’t think we’ll trouble to go back to Beechtown. I think this will suit us very well.”

“Well, well, we’ll just see what the cooking’s like,” said he, and went straight to the palace where the six queen-ants who ruled over the robbers lived. He just said: “How-d’ye-do?” to the queens in an off-hand way, and then he sat down and helped himself to all the dishes he could find in the larder.

His wife, she did the same, and between them they finished all the food there was.

And so they went on, just as they were used to doing in Beechtown, and it did not take the robbers long to find out the mistake they had made.

The Beetles had never done a day’s work in their lives, and they had no notion of beginning now, just because the robbers expected it.

When they heard how they had been carried off, and why, they thought the whole affair a very good joke, and laughed and laughed till they grew purple in the face, and had to slap each other on the back to keep from choking.

The robbers, you may believe me, were as angry as angry could be. They coaxed and they threatened, but neither the Beetle nor his wife would do a stroke of work. On the contrary, they took such a deal of waiting upon that the robbers were driven well-nigh crazy, and racked their brains for a way to get rid of them.

But the Beetles liked their new quarters very well, and there they stopped.

So things went on, till at last the robbers made up their minds to give the Beetles the slip. And one dark night, while they were asleep, they packed their trunks and left the town. But the gate wanted oiling, and creaked so as they swung it open that the Beetle’s wife got nightmare and woke up.

In a minute, you may be sure, she had found out what was going on, and had wakened her husband. Then the two crept very softly out at the gate and kept the ants at a comfortable distance.

So the end of it all was that, though the robbers went far into the forest, many leagues from their old town, they had no sooner finished building the new one than in marched the Beetles, and went on in their old way as though nothing had happened.

Now, the robbers had settled so far away from Beechtown that it was not worth their while to come and steal the children of the harmless ants, for they found another town nearer to hand.

And so the harmless ants lived together quite happily and peacefully once more, and the clever little worker, to whom they owed their good fortune, was raised to great honor and glory.

But the robbers had to make the best of the Beetles, for get rid of them they never could. And if ever you should be passing that way, why, I make no doubt you’ll find them there still.

Little Tuppen

One day an old hen whose name was Cluck-cluck went into the woods with her little chick Tuppen to get some blueberries to eat. But a berry stuck fast in the little one’s throat, and he fell upon the ground, choking and gasping. Cluck-cluck, in great fright, ran to fetch some water for him.

She ran to the Spring and said: “My dear Spring, please give me some water. I want it for my little chick Tuppen, who lies choking and gasping under the blueberry-bush in the green woods.”

The Spring said: “I will give you some water if you will bring me a cup.”

Then Cluck-cluck ran to the Oak-tree and said: “Dear Oak-tree, please give me a cup. I want it for the Spring; and then the Spring will give me water for my little chick Tuppen, who lies choking and gasping under the blueberry-bush in the green woods.”

The Oak-tree said: “I will give you a cup if some one will shake my branches.”

Then Cluck-cluck ran to Maid Marian, the wood-cutter’s child, and said: “Dear Maid Marian, please shake the Oak-tree’s branches; and then the Oak-tree will give me a cup, and I will give the cup to the Spring, and the Spring will give me water for my little chick Tuppen, who lies choking and gasping under the blueberry-bush in the green woods.”

The wood-cutter’s child, Maid Marian, said: “I will shake the Oak-tree’s branches if you will give me some shoes.”

Then Cluck-cluck ran to the Shoemaker and said: “Dear Shoemaker, please give me some shoes. I want them for Maid Marian, the wood-cutter’s child; for then Maid Marian will shake the Oak-tree’s branches, and the Oak-tree will give me a cup, and I will give the cup to the Spring, and the Spring will give me water for my little chick Tuppen, who lies choking and gasping under the blueberry-bush in the green woods.”

The Shoemaker said: “I will give you some shoes if you will give me some leather.”

Then Cluck-cluck ran to Moo-moo, the ox, and said: “Dear Moo-moo, please give me some leather. I want it for the Shoemaker; for then the Shoemaker will give me some shoes, and I will give the shoes to Maid Marian, and Maid Marian will shake the Oak-tree’s branches, and the Oak-tree will give me a cup, and I will give the cup to the Spring, and the Spring will give me water for my little chick Tuppen, who lies choking and gasping under the blueberry-bush in the green woods.”

The ox, Moo-moo, said: “I will give you some leather if you will give me some corn.”

Then Cluck-cluck ran to the Farmer and said: “Dear Farmer, please give me some corn. I want it for Moo-moo, the ox; for then the ox will give me some leather, and I will give the leather to the Shoemaker, and the Shoemaker will give me shoes, and I will give the shoes to Maid Marian, and Maid Marian will shake the Oak-tree’s branches, and the Oak-tree will give me a cup, and I will give the cup to the Spring, and the Spring will give me water for my little chick Tuppen, who lies choking and gasping under the blueberry-bush in the green woods.”

The Farmer said: “I will give you some corn if you will give me a plow.”

Then Cluck-cluck ran to the Blacksmith and said: “Dear Blacksmith, please give me a plow. I want it for the Farmer; for then the Farmer will give me some corn, and I will give the corn to the ox, and the ox will give me leather, and I will give the leather to the Shoemaker, and the Shoemaker will give me shoes, and I will give the shoes to Maid Marian, and Maid Marian will shake the Oak-tree’s branches, and the Oak-tree will give me a cup, and I will give the cup to the Spring, and the Spring will give me water for my little chick Tuppen, who lies choking and gasping under the blueberry-bush in the green woods.”

The Blacksmith said: “I will give you a plow if you will give me some iron.”

Then Cluck-cluck ran to the busy little dwarfs who live under the mountains, and have all the iron that is found in the mines. “Dear, dear dwarfs,” she said, “please give me some of your iron. I want it for the Blacksmith; for then the Blacksmith will give me a plow, and I will give the plow to the Farmer, and the Farmer will give me corn, and I will give the corn to the ox, and the ox will give me leather, and I will give the leather to the Shoemaker, and the Shoemaker will give me shoes, and I will give the shoes to Maid Marian, and Maid Marian will shake the Oak-tree’s branches, and the Oak-tree will give me a cup, and I will give the cup to the Spring, and the Spring will give me water for my little chick Tuppen, who lies choking and gasping under the blueberry-bush in the green woods.”

The little dwarfs who live under the mountains had pity on poor Cluck-cluck, and they gave her a great heap of red iron-ore from their mines.

Then she gave the iron to the Blacksmith, and the plow to the Farmer, and the corn to the ox, and the leather to the Shoemaker, and the shoes to Maid Marian; and Maid Marian shook the Oak-tree, and the Spring got the acorn cup, and Cluck-cluck carried it full of water to her little chick Tuppen.

Then little Tuppen drank the water, and was well again, and ran chirping and singing in the long grass as if nothing had happened to him.

The Story of the Four Little Children Who Went Round the World

[From “Nonsense Stories.”]

Once upon a time, a long while ago, there were four little people whose names were Violet, Slingsby, Guy, and Lionel; and they all thought they should like to see the world. So they bought a large boat to sail quite round the world by sea, and then they were to come back on the other side by land. The boat was painted blue with green spots, and the sail was yellow with red stripes; and, when they set off, they only took a small cat to steer and look after the boat, besides an elderly quangle-wangle, who had to cook the dinner and make the tea; for which purposes they took a large kettle.

For the first ten days they sailed on beautifully, and found plenty to eat, as there were lots of fish; and they had only to take them out of the sea with a long spoon, when the quangle-wangle instantly cooked them; and the pussy-cat was fed with the bones, with which she expressed herself pleased on the whole; so that all the party was very happy.

During the daytime Violet chiefly occupied herself in putting salt water into a churn, while her three brothers churned it violently in the hope that it would turn into butter, which it seldom, if ever, did; and in the evening they all retired into the tea-kettle, where they all managed to sleep very comfortably, while pussy and the quangle-wangle managed the boat.

After a time they saw some land at a distance; and, when they came to it, they found it was an island made of water quite surrounded by earth. Besides that, it was bordered by evanescent isthmuses, with a great gulf-stream running about all over it; so that it was perfectly beautiful, and contained only a single tree, five hundred and three feet high.

When they had landed, they walked about, but found, to their great surprise, that the island was quite full of veal-cutlets and chocolate-drops, and nothing else. So they all climbed up the single high tree to discover, if possible, if there were any people; but having remained on the top of the tree for a week, and not seeing anybody, they naturally concluded that there were no inhabitants; and accordingly, when they came down, they loaded the boat with two thousand veal-cutlets and a million of chocolate-drops; and these afforded them sustenance for more than a month, during which time they pursued their voyage with the utmost delight and apathy.

After this they came to a shore where there were no less than sixty-five great red parrots with blue tails, sitting on a rail all of a row, and all fast asleep. And I am sorry to say that the pussy-cat and the quangle-wangle crept softly, and bit off the tail-feathers of all the sixty-five parrots, for which Violet reproved them both severely.

Notwithstanding which, she proceeded to insert all the feathers—two hundred and sixty in number—in her bonnet; thereby causing it to have a lovely and glittering appearance, highly prepossessing and efficacious.

The next thing that happened to them was in a narrow part of the sea, which was so entirely full of fishes that the boat could go on no farther; so they remained there about six weeks, till they had eaten nearly all the fishes, which were soles, and all ready cooked, and covered with shrimp-sauce, so that there was no trouble whatever. And as the few fishes who remained uneaten complained of the cold, as well as of the difficulty they had in getting any sleep on account of the extreme noise made by the arctic bears and the tropical turnspits, which frequented the neighborhood in great numbers, Violet most amiably knitted a small woolen frock for several of the fishes, and Slingsby administered some opium-drops to them; through which kindness they became quite warm, and slept soundly.

Then they came to a country which was wholly covered with immense orange-trees of a vast size, and quite full of fruit. So they all landed, taking with them the tea-kettle, intending to gather some of the oranges and place them in it. But, while they were busy about this, a most dreadfully high wind rose, and blew out most of the parrot-tail feathers from Violet’s bonnet. That, however, was nothing compared with the calamity of the oranges falling down on their heads by millions and millions, which thumped and bumped and bumped and thumped them all so seriously that they were obliged to run as hard as they could for their lives; besides that, the sound of the oranges rattling on the tea-kettle was of the most fearful and amazing nature.

Nevertheless, they got safely to the boat, although considerably vexed and hurt; and the quangle-wangle’s right foot was so knocked about that he had to sit with his head in his slipper for at least a week.

This event made them all for a time rather melancholy, and perhaps they might never have become less so had not Lionel, with a most praiseworthy devotion and perseverance, continued to stand on one leg, and whistle to them in a loud and lively manner; which diverted the whole party so extremely that they gradually recovered their spirits, and agreed that, whenever they should reach home, they would subscribe toward a testimonial to Lionel, entirely made of gingerbread and raspberries, as an earnest token of their sincere and grateful infection.

After sailing on calmly for several more days they came to another country, where they were much pleased and surprised to see a countless multitude of white mice with red eyes, all sitting in a great circle, slowly eating custard-pudding with the most satisfactory and polite demeanor.

And as the four travelers were rather hungry, being tired of eating nothing but soles and oranges for so long a period, they held a council as to the propriety of asking the mice for some of their pudding in a humble and affecting manner, by which they could hardly be otherwise than gratified. It was agreed, therefore, that Guy should go and ask the mice, which he immediately did; and the result was, that they gave a walnut-shell only half full of custard diluted with water. Now, this displeased Guy, who said: “Out of such a lot of pudding as you have got, I must say, you might have spared a somewhat larger quantity.” But no sooner had he finished speaking than the mice turned round at once, and sneezed at him in an appalling and vindictive manner (and it is impossible to imagine a more scroobious and unpleasant sound than that caused by the simultaneous sneezing of many millions of angry mice); so that Guy rushed back to the boat, having first shied his cap into the middle of the custard-pudding, by which means he completely spoiled the mice’s dinner.

By and by the four children came to a country where there were no houses, but only an incredibly innumerable number of large bottles without corks, and of a dazzling and sweetly susceptible blue color. Each of these blue bottles contained a bluebottle fly; and all these interesting animals live continually together in the most copious and rural harmony; nor perhaps in many parts of the world is such perfect and abject happiness to be found. Violet and Slingsby and Guy and Lionel were greatly struck with this singular and instructive settlement; and, having previously asked permission of the bluebottle flies (which was most courteously granted), the boat was drawn up to the shore, and they proceeded to make tea in front of the bottles; but, as they had no tea-leaves, they merely placed some pebbles in the hot water; and the quangle-wangle played some tunes over it on an accordion, by which, of course, tea was made directly, and of the very best quality.

The four children then entered into conversation with the bluebottle flies, who discoursed in a placid and genteel manner, though with a slightly buzzing accent, chiefly owing to the fact that they each held a small clothes-brush between their teeth, which naturally occasioned a fizzy, extraneous utterance.

“Why,” said Violet, “would you kindly inform us, do you reside in bottles; and, if in bottles at all, why not, rather, in green or purple, or, indeed, in yellow bottles?”

To which questions a very aged bluebottle fly answered: “We found the bottles here all ready to live in; that is to say, our great-great-great-great-great-grandfathers did, so we occupied them at once. And, when the winter comes on, we turn the bottles upside down, and consequently rarely feel the cold at all; and you know very well that this could not be the case with bottles of any other color than blue.”

“Of course it could not,” said Slingsby. “But, if we may take the liberty of inquiring, on what do you chiefly subsist?”

“Mainly on oyster-patties,” said the bluebottle fly; “and, when these are scarce, on raspberry vinegar and Russian leather boiled down to a jelly.”

“How delicious!” said Guy.

To which Lionel added, “Huzz!” And all the bluebottle flies said, “Buzz!”

At this time an elderly fly said it was the hour for the evening song to be sung; and, on a signal being given, all the bluebottle flies began to buzz at once in a sumptuous and sonorous manner, the melodious and mucilaginous sounds echoing all over the waters, and resounding across the tumultuous tops of the transitory titmice upon the intervening and verdant mountains with a serene and sickly suavity only known to the truly virtuous. The moon was shining slobaciously from the star-bespangled sky, while her light irrigated the smooth and shiny sides and wings and backs of the bluebottle flies with a peculiar and trivial splendor, while all nature cheerfully responded to the cerulean and conspicuous circumstances.

In many long-after years the four little travelers looked back to that evening as one of the happiest in all their lives; and it was already past midnight when—the sail of the boat having been set up by the quangle-wangle, the tea-kettle and churn placed in their respective positions, and the pussy-cat stationed at the helm—the children each took a last and affectionate farewell of the bluebottle flies, who walked down in a body to the water’s edge to see the travelers embark.

As a token of parting respect and esteem, Violet made a courtesy quite down to the ground, and stuck one of her few remaining parrot-tail feathers into the back hair of the most pleasing of the bluebottle flies; while Slingsby, Guy, and Lionel offered them three small boxes, containing, respectively, black pins, dried figs, and Epsom salts; and thus they left that happy shore forever.

Overcome by their feelings, the four little travelers instantly jumped into the tea-kettle and fell fast asleep. But all along the shore, for many hours, there was distinctly heard a sound of severely suppressed sobs, and of a vague multitude of living creatures using their pocket-handkerchiefs in a subdued simultaneous snuffle, lingering sadly along the walloping waves as the boat sailed farther and farther away from the land of the happy bluebottle flies.

Nothing particular occurred for some days after these events, except that, as the travelers were passing a low tract of sand, they perceived an unusual and gratifying spectacle; namely, a large number of crabs and crawfish—perhaps six or seven hundred—sitting by the waterside, and endeavoring to disentangle a vast heap of pale pink worsted, which they moistened at intervals with a fluid composed of lavender-water and white-wine negus.

“Can we be of any service to you, oh, crusty crabbies?” said the four children.

“Thank you kindly,” said the crabs consecutively. “We are trying to make some worsted mittens, but do not know how.”

On which Violet, who was perfectly acquainted with the art of mitten-making, said to the crabs, “Do your claws unscrew, or are they fixtures?”

“They are all made to unscrew,” said the crabs; and forthwith they deposited a great pile of claws close to the boat, with which Violet uncombed all the pale pink worsted, and then made the loveliest mittens with it you can imagine. These the crabs, having resumed and screwed on their claws, placed cheerfully upon their wrists and walked away rapidly on their hind-legs, warbling songs with a silvery voice and in a minor key.

After this the four little people sailed on again till they came to a vast and wide plain of astonishing dimensions, on which nothing whatever could be discovered at first; but, as the travelers walked onward, there appeared in the extreme and dim distance a single object, which on a nearer approach, and on an accurately cutaneous inspection, seemed to be somebody in a large white wig, sitting on an arm-chair made of sponge-cakes and oyster-shells. “It does not quite look like a human being,” said Violet doubtfully; nor could they make out what it really was till the quangle-wangle (who had previously been round the world) exclaimed softly in a loud voice, “It is the coöperative cauliflower!”

And so, in truth, it was; and they soon found that what they had taken for an immense wig was in reality the top of the cauliflower, and that he had no feet at all, being able to walk tolerably well with a fluctuating and graceful movement on a single cabbage-stalk—an accomplishment which naturally saved him the expense of stockings and shoes.

Presently, while the whole party from the boat was gazing at him with mingled affection and disgust, he suddenly arose, and, in a somewhat plumdomphious manner, hurried off toward the setting sun—his steps supported by two superincumbent confidential cucumbers, and a large number of water-wagtails proceeding in advance of him by three and three in a row—till he finally disappeared on the brink of the western sky in a crystal cloud of sudorific sand.

So remarkable a sight, of course, impressed the four children very deeply; and they returned immediately to their boat with a strong sense of undeveloped asthma and a great appetite.

Shortly after this the travelers were obliged to sail directly below some high overhanging rocks, from the top of one of which a particularly odious little boy, dressed in rose-colored knickerbockers, and with a pewter plate upon his head, threw an enormous pumpkin at the boat, by which it was instantly upset.

But this upsetting was of no consequence, because all the party knew how to swim very well; and, in fact, they preferred swimming about till after the moon rose, when, the water growing chilly, they sponge-taneously entered the boat. Meanwhile the quangle-wangle threw back the pumpkin with immense force, so that it hit the rocks where the malicious little boy in rose-colored knickerbockers was sitting, when, being quite full of lucifer-matches, the pumpkin exploded surreptitiously into a thousand bits; whereon the rocks instantly took fire, and the odious little boy became unpleasantly hotter and hotter and hotter, till his knickerbockers were turned quite green, and his nose was burned off.

Two or three days after this had happened they came to another place, where they found nothing at all except some wide and deep pits full of mulberry-jam. This is the property of the tiny, yellow-nosed apes who abound in these districts, and who store up the mulberry-jam for their food in winter, when they mix it with pellucid pale periwinkle-soup, and serve it out in Wedgwood china bowls, which grow freely all over that part of the country. Only one of the yellow-nosed apes was on the spot, and he was fast asleep; yet the four travelers and the quangle-wangle and pussy were so terrified by the violence and sanguinary sound of his snoring that they merely took a small cupful of the jam, and returned to reëmbark in their boat without delay.

What was their horror on seeing the boat (including the churn and the tea-kettle) in the mouth of an enormous seeze pyder, an aquatic and ferocious creature truly dreadful to behold, and, happily, only met with in those excessive longitudes! In a moment the beautiful boat was bitten into fifty-five thousand million hundred billion bits; and it instantly became quite clear that Violet, Slingsby, Guy, and Lionel could no longer preliminate their voyage by sea.

The four travelers were therefore obliged to resolve on pursuing their wanderings by land; and, very fortunately, there happened to pass by at that moment an elderly rhinoceros, on which they seized; and, all four mounting on his back—the quangle-wangle sitting on his horn, and holding on by his ears, and the pussy-cat swinging at the end of his tail—they set off, having only four small beans and three pounds of mashed potatoes to last through their whole journey.

They were, however, able to catch numbers of the chickens and turkeys and other birds who incessantly alighted on the head of the rhinoceros for the purpose of gathering the seeds of the rhododendron plants which grew there; and these creatures they cooked in the most translucent and satisfactory manner by means of a fire lighted on the end of the rhinoceros’s back. A crowd of kangaroos and gigantic cranes accompanied them, from feelings of curiosity and complacency; so that they were never at a loss for company, and went onward, as it were, in a sort of profuse and triumphant procession.

Thus in less than eighteen weeks they all arrived safely at home, where they were received by their admiring relatives with joy tempered with contempt, and where they finally resolved to carry out the rest of their traveling plans at some more favorable opportunity.

As for the rhinoceros, in token of their grateful adherence, they had him killed and stuffed directly, and then set him up outside the door of their father’s house as a diaphanous door-scraper.

Edward Lear.

The History of the Seven Families of the Lake Pipple-Popple

[From “Nonsense Stories.”]

CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY

In former days—that is to say, once upon a time—there lived in the Land of Gramble-blamble seven families. They lived by the side of the great Lake Pipple-popple (one of the seven families, indeed, lived in the lake), and on the outskirts of the city of Tosh, which, excepting when it was quite dark, they could see plainly. The names of all these places you have probably heard of; and you have only not to look in your geography books to find out all about them.

Now, the seven families who lived on the borders of the great Lake Pipple-popple were as follows in the next chapter.

CHAPTER II
THE SEVEN FAMILIES

There was a family of two old parrots and seven young parrots.

There was a family of two old storks and seven young storks.

There was a family of two old geese and seven young geese.

There was a family of two old owls and seven young owls.

There was a family of two old guinea-pigs and seven young guinea-pigs.

There was a family of two old cats and seven young cats.

And there was a family of two old fishes and seven young fishes.

CHAPTER III
THE HABITS OF THE SEVEN FAMILIES

The parrots lived upon the soffsky-poffsky trees, which were beautiful to behold, and covered with blue leaves; and they fed upon fruit, artichokes, and striped beetles.

The storks walked in and out of the Lake Pipple-popple, and ate frogs for breakfast, and buttered toast for tea; but on account of the extreme length of their legs they could not sit down, and so they walked about continually.

The geese, having webs to their feet, caught quantities of flies, which they ate for dinner.

The owls anxiously looked after mice, which they caught and made into sago-puddings.

The guinea-pigs toddled about the gardens, and ate lettuces and Cheshire cheese.

The cats sat still in the sunshine, and fed upon sponge biscuits.

The fishes lived in the lake, and fed chiefly on boiled periwinkles.

And all these seven families lived together in the utmost fun and felicity.

CHAPTER IV
THE CHILDREN OF THE SEVEN FAMILIES ARE SENT AWAY

One day all the seven fathers and the seven mothers of the seven families agreed that they would send their children out to see the world.

So they called them all together, and gave them each eight shillings and some good advice, some chocolate-drops, and a small green morocco pocket-book to set down their expenses in.

They then particularly entreated them not to quarrel; and all the parents sent off their children with a parting injunction.

“If,” said the old parrots, “you find a cherry, do not fight about who should have it.”

“And,” said the old storks, “if you find a frog, divide it carefully into seven bits, but on no account quarrel about it.”

And the old geese said to the seven young geese: “Whatever you do, be sure you do not touch a plum-pudding flea.”

And the old owls said: “If you find a mouse, tear him up into seven slices, and eat him cheerfully, but without quarreling.”

And the old guinea-pigs said: “Have a care that you eat your lettuces, should you find any, not greedily, but calmly.”

And the old cats said: “Be particularly careful not to meddle with a clangle-wangle if you should see one.”

And the old fishes said: “Above all things, avoid eating a blue boss-woss, for they do not agree with fishes, and give them a pain in their toes.”

So all the children of each family thanked their parents, and, making in all forty-nine polite bows, they went into the wide world.

CHAPTER V
THE HISTORY OF THE SEVEN YOUNG PARROTS

The seven young parrots had not gone far when they saw a tree with a single cherry on it, which the oldest parrot picked instantly; but the other six, being extremely hungry, tried to get it also. On which all the seven began to fight; and they

scuffled,

and huffled,

and ruffled,

and shuffled,

and puffled,

and muffled,

and buffled,

and duffled,

and fluffled,

and guffled,

and bruffled, and

screamed, and shrieked, and squealed, and squeaked, and clawed, and snapped, and bit, and bumped, and thumped, and dumped, and flumped each other, till they were all torn into little bits; and at last there was nothing left to record this painful incident except the cherry and seven small green feathers.

And that was the vicious and voluble end of the seven young parrots.

CHAPTER VI
THE HISTORY OF THE SEVEN YOUNG STORKS

When the seven young storks set out, they walked or flew for fourteen weeks in a straight line, and for six weeks more in a crooked one; and after that they ran as hard as they could for one hundred and eight miles; and after that they stood still, and made a himmeltanious chatter-clatter-blattery noise with their bills.

About the same time they perceived a large frog, spotted with green, and with a sky-blue stripe under each ear.

So, being hungry, they immediately flew at him, and were going to divide him into seven pieces when they began to quarrel as to which of his legs should be taken off first. One said this, and another said that; and while they were all quarreling, the frog hopped away. And when they saw that he was gone they began to

chatter-clatter,

blatter-platter,

patter-blatter,

matter-clatter,

flatter-quatter,

more violently than ever; and after they had fought for a week they pecked each other all to little pieces, so that at last nothing was left of any of them except their bills.

And that was the end of the seven young storks.

CHAPTER VII
THE HISTORY OF THE SEVEN YOUNG GEESE

When the seven young geese began to travel, they went over a large plain, on which there was but one tree, and that was a very bad one.

So four of them went up to the top of it, and looked about them; while the other three waddled up and down, and repeated poetry, and their last six lessons in arithmetic, geography, and cookery.

Presently they perceived, a long way off, an object of the most interesting and obese appearance, having a perfectly round body exactly resembling a boiled plum-pudding, with two little wings and a beak, and three feathers growing out of his head, and only one leg.

So, after a time, all the seven young geese said to each other: “Beyond all doubt this beast must be a plum-pudding flea!”

On which they incautiously began to sing aloud:

“Plum-pudding flea,

Plum-pudding flea,

Wherever you be,

Oh! come to our tree,

And listen, oh! listen, oh! listen to me!”

And no sooner had they sung this verse than the plum-pudding flea began to hop and skip on his one leg with the most dreadful velocity, and came straight to the tree, where he stopped, and looked about him in a vacant and voluminous manner.

On which the seven young geese were greatly alarmed, and all of a tremble-bemble; so one of them put out his long neck and just touched him with the tip of his bill; but no sooner had he done this than the plum-pudding flea skipped and hopped about more and more, and higher and higher; after which he opened his mouth, and, to the great surprise and indignation of the seven geese, began to bark so loudly, and furiously, and terribly that they were totally unable to bear the noise; and by degrees every one of them suddenly tumbled down quite dead.

So that was the end of the seven young geese.

CHAPTER VIII
THE HISTORY OF THE SEVEN YOUNG OWLS

When the seven young owls set out, they sat every now and then on the branches of old trees, and never went far at one time.

And one night, when it was quite dark, they thought they heard a mouse; but, as the gas-lamps were not lighted, they could not see him.

So they called out, “Is that a mouse?”

On which a mouse answered, “Squeaky-peeky-weeky! yes, it is!”

And immediately all the young owls threw themselves off the tree, meaning to alight on the ground; but they did not perceive that there was a large well below them, into which they all fell superficially, and were every one of them drowned in less than half a minute.

So that was the end of the seven young owls.

CHAPTER IX
THE HISTORY OF THE SEVEN YOUNG GUINEA-PIGS

The seven young guinea-pigs went into a garden full of gooseberry-bushes and tiggory-trees, under one of which they fell asleep. When they awoke they saw a large lettuce, which had grown out of the ground while they had been sleeping, and which had an immense number of green leaves. At which they all exclaimed:

“Lettuce! O lettuce

Let us, O let us,

O lettuce-leaves,

O let us leave this tree, and eat

Lettuce, O let us, lettuce-leaves!”

And instantly the seven young guinea-pigs rushed with such extreme force against the lettuce-plant, and hit their heads so vividly against its stalk, that the concussion brought on directly an incipient transitional inflammation of their noses, which grew worse and worse, and worse and worse, till it incidentally killed them—all seven.

And that was the end of the seven young guinea-pigs.

CHAPTER X
THE HISTORY OF THE SEVEN YOUNG CATS

The seven young cats set off on their travels with great delight and rapacity. But, on coming to the top of a high hill, they perceived at a long distance off a clangle-wangle (or, as it is more properly written, clangel-wangel); and, in spite of the warning they had had, they ran straight up to it.

(Now, the clangle-wangles are most dangerous and delusive beasts, and by no means commonly to be met with. They live in the water as well as on land, using their long tails as a sail when in the former element. Their speed is extreme, but their habits of life are domestic and superfluous, and their general demeanor pensive and pellucid. On summer evenings they may sometimes be observed near the Lake Pipple-popple, standing on their heads, and humming their national melodies. They subsist entirely on vegetables, excepting when they eat veal or mutton, or pork or beef, or fish or saltpetre.)

The moment the clangle-wangle saw the seven young cats approach, he ran away; and as he ran straight on for four months, and the cats, though they continued to run, could never overtake him, they all gradually died of fatigue and exhaustion, and never afterward recovered.

And this was the end of the seven young cats.

CHAPTER XI
THE HISTORY OF THE SEVEN YOUNG FISHES

The seven young fishes swam across the Lake Pipple-popple, and into the river, and into the ocean, where, most unhappily for them, they saw on the fifteenth day of their travels, a bright-blue boss-woss, and instantly swam after him. But the blue boss-woss plunged into a

perpendicular,

spicular,

orbicular,

quadrangular,

circular depth of soft mud; where, in fact, his house was.

And the seven young fishes, swimming with great and uncomfortable velocity, plunged also into the mud quite against their will, and, not being accustomed to it, were all suffocated in a very short period.

And that was the end of the seven young fishes.

CHAPTER XII
OF WHAT OCCURRED SUBSEQUENTLY

After it was known that the

seven young parrots,

and the seven young storks,

and the seven young geese,

and the seven young owls,

and the seven young guinea-pigs,

and the seven young cats,

and the seven young fishes,

were all dead, then the frog, and the plum-pudding flea, and the mouse, and the clangle-wangle, and the blue boss-woss all met together to rejoice over their good fortune. And they collected the seven feathers of the seven young parrots, and the seven bills of the seven young storks, and the lettuce, and the cherry; and having placed the latter on the lettuce, and the other objects in a circular arrangement at their base, they danced a hornpipe round all these memorials until they were quite tired, after which they gave a tea-party, and a garden-party, and a ball, and a concert, and then returned to their respective homes full of joy and respect, sympathy, satisfaction, and disgust.

CHAPTER XIII
OF WHAT BECAME OF THE PARENTS OF THE FORTY-NINE CHILDREN

But when the two old parrots,

and the two old storks,

and the two old geese,

and the two old owls,

and the two old guinea-pigs,

and the two old cats,

and the two old fishes

became aware, by reading in the newspapers, of the calamitous extinction of the whole of their families, they refused all further sustenance; and, sending out to various shops, they purchased great quantities of cayenne pepper and brandy and vinegar and blue sealing-wax, besides seven immense glass bottles with air-tight stoppers. And, having done this, they ate a light supper of brown bread and Jerusalem artichokes, and took an affecting and formal leave of the whole of their acquaintance, which was very numerous and distinguished and select and responsible and ridiculous.

CHAPTER XIV
CONCLUSION

And after this they filled the bottles with the ingredients for pickling, and each couple jumped into a separate bottle; by which effort, of course, they all died immediately, and became thoroughly pickled in a few minutes, having previously made their wills (by the assistance of the most eminent lawyers of the district), in which they left strict orders that the stoppers of the seven bottles should be carefully sealed up with the blue sealing-wax they had purchased; and that they themselves, in the bottles, should be presented to the principal museum of the city of Tosh, to be labeled with parchment or any other anti-congenial succedaneum, and to be placed on a marble table with silver-gilt legs, for the daily inspection and contemplation, and for the perpetual benefit, of the pusillanimous public.

And if you ever happen to go to Gramble-blamble, and visit that museum in the city of Tosh, look for them on the ninety-eighth table in the four hundred and twenty-seventh room of the right-hand corridor of the left wing of the central quadrangle of that magnificent building; for, if you do not, you certainly will not see them.

Edward Lear.

Wee Robin’s Yule-Song

There was an auld gray Pussie Baudrons, and she gaed awa’ down by a waterside, and there she saw a Wee Robin Redbreast hoppin’ on a brier; and Pussie Baudrons says: “Where’s tu gaun, Wee Robin?” And Wee Robin says: “I’m gaun awa’ to the king to sing him a sang this guid Yule morning.” And Pussie Baudrons says: “Come here, Wee Robin, and I’ll let you see a bonny white ring round my neck.” But Wee Robin says: “Na, na! gray Poussie Baudrons, na, na! Ye worry’t the wee mousie, but ye’se no worry me.” So Wee Robin flew awa’ till he came to a fail fauld-dike (turf wall), and there he saw a gray greedy gled (hawk) sitting. And gray greedy gled says: “Where’s tu gaun, Wee Robin?” And Wee Robin says: “I’m gaun awa’ to the king to sing him a sang this guid Yule morning.” And gray greedy gled says: “Come here, Wee Robin, and I’ll let ye see a bonny feather in my wing.” But Wee Robin says: “Na, na! gray greedy gled, na, na! Ye pookit (pecked) a’ the wee lintie, but ye’se no pook me.” So Wee Robin flew awa’ till he came to the cleuch (hollow) o’ a craig, and there he saw slee Tod Lowrie (sly fox) sitting. And slee Tod Lowrie says: “Where’s tu gaun, Wee Robin?” And Wee Robin says: “I’m gaun awa’ to the king to sing him a sang this guid Yule morning.” And slee Tod Lowrie says: “Come here, Wee Robin, and I’ll let ye see a bonny spot on the tap o’ my tail.” But Wee Robin says: “Na, na! slee Tod Lowrie, na, na! Ye worry’t the wee lammie, but ye’se no worry me.” So Wee Robin flew awa’ till he came to a bonny burn-side, and there he saw a wee callant sitting. And the wee callant says: “Where’s tu gaun, Wee Robin?” And Wee Robin says: “I’m gaun awa’ to the king to sing him a sang this guid Yule morning.” And the wee callant says: “Come here, Wee Robin, and I’ll gie ye a wheen grand moolins (crumbs) out o’ my pooch.” But Wee Robin says: “Na, na! wee callant, na, na! Ye speldert (knocked down) the gowdspink (goldfinch), but ye’se no spelder me.” So Wee Robin flew awa’ till he came to the king; and there he sat on a winnock sole (plowshare), and sang the king a bonny sang. And the king says to the queen: “What’ll we gie to Wee Robin for singing us this bonny sang?” And the queen says to the king: “I think we’ll gie him the wee wran to be his wife.” So Wee Robin and the wee wran were married, and the king, and the queen, and a’ the court danced at the waddin’; syne he flew awa’ home to his ain waterside, and hoppit on a brier.

Attributed to Robert Burns.

The Giant’s Shoes

Once upon a time there was a large giant who lived in a small castle; at least he didn’t all of him live there, but he managed things in this wise. From his earliest youth up, his legs had been of a surreptitiously small size, unsuited to the rest of his body; so he sat upon the southwest wall of the castle with his legs inside, and his right foot came out of the east gate, and his left foot out of the north gate, while his gloomy but spacious coat tails covered up the south and the west gates; and in this way the castle was defended against all comers, and was deemed impregnable by the military authorities. This, however, as we shall soon see, was not the case, for the giant’s boots were inside as well as his legs, but, as he had neglected to put them on in the giddy days of his youth, he was never afterward able to do so, because there was not enough room. And in this bootless but compact manner he passed his time.

The giant slept for three weeks at a time, and two days after he woke his breakfast was brought to him, consisting of bright brown horses sprinkled on his bread and butter. Besides his boots, the giant had a pair of shoes, and in one of them his wife lived when she was at home; on other occasions she lived in the other shoe. She was a sensible, practical kind of woman, with two wooden legs and a clothes-horse; but in other respects not rich. The wooden legs were kept pointed at the end in order that, if the giant were dissatisfied with his breakfast, he might pick up any stray people that were within reach, using his wife as a fork. This annoyed the inhabitants of the district, so that they built their church in a southwestern direction from the castle behind the giant’s back, that he might not be able to pick them up as they went in. But those who stayed outside to play pitch-and-toss were exposed to great danger and sufferings.

Now, in the village there were two brothers of altogether different tastes and dispositions, and talents, and peculiarities, and accomplishments, and in this way they were discovered not to be the same person. The elder of them was most marvelously good at singing, and could sing the Old Hundredth an old hundred times without stopping. Whenever he did this, he stood on one leg and tied the other round his neck to avoid catching cold and spoiling his voice, but the neighbors fled. And he was also a rare hand at making guava dumplings out of three cats and a shoe-horn, which is an accomplishment seldom met with. But his brother was a more meager, magnanimous person, and his chief accomplishment was to eat a wagon-load of hay overnight, and wake up thatched in the morning.

The whole interest of this story depends upon the fact that the giant’s wife’s clothes-horse broke in consequence of a sudden thaw, being made of organ-pipes. So she took off her wooden legs and stuck them in the ground, tying a string from the top of one to the top of the other, and hung out her clothes to dry on that. Now, this was astutely remarked by the two brothers, who therefore went up in front of the giant after he had had his breakfast. The giant called out, “Fork! fork!” but his wife, trembling, hid herself in the more recondite toe of the second shoe. Then the singing brother began to sing, but he had not taken into account the pious disposition of the giant, who instantly joined in the psalm; and this caused the singing brother to burst his head off, but, as it was tied by the leg, he did not lose it altogether.

But the other brother, being well thatched on account of the quantity of hay he had eaten overnight, lay down between the great toe of the giant and the next, and wriggled. So the giant, being unable to bear tickling in the feet, kicked out in an orthopædal manner; whereupon the castle broke, and he fell backward, and was impaled upon the sharp steeple of the church. So they put a label on him on which was written: “Nudipes Gigantens.”

That’s all.

William Kingdon Clifford.

The Farmer and the Money-Lender

There was once a Farmer who suffered much at the hands of a Money-lender. Good harvests or bad the Farmer was always poor, the Money-lender rich. At the last, when he hadn’t a farthing left, the Farmer went to the Money-lender’s house and said: “You can’t squeeze water from a stone, and, as you have nothing to get by me now, you might tell me the secret of becoming rich.”

“My friend,” returned the Money-lender piously, “riches come from Ram—ask him.”

“Thank you, I will!” replied the simple Farmer; so he prepared three girdle-cakes to last him on the journey, and set out to find Ram.

First he met a Brahman, and to him he gave a cake, asking him to point out the road to Ram; but the Brahman only took the cake, and went on his way without a word. Next the Farmer met a yogi, or devotee, and to him he gave a cake, without receiving any help in return. At last he came upon a poor man sitting under a tree, and finding out he was hungry the kindly Farmer gave him his last cake, and, sitting down to rest beside him, entered into conversation.

“And where are you going?” asked the poor man, at length.

“Oh, I have a long journey before me, for I am going to find Ram!” replied the Farmer. “I don’t suppose you could tell me which way to go?”

“Perhaps I can,” said the poor man, smiling, “for I am Ram! What do you want of me?”

Then the Farmer told the whole story, and Ram, taking pity on him, gave him a conch-shell, and showed him how to blow it in a particular way, saying: “Remember! whatever you wish for, you have only to blow the conch that way, and your wish will be fulfilled. Only, have a care of that Money-lender, for even magic is not proof against his wiles!”

The Farmer went back to his village rejoicing. In fact, the Money-lender noticed his high spirits at once, and said to himself: “Some good fortune must have befallen the stupid fellow, to make him hold his head so jauntily.” Therefore he went over to the simple Farmer’s house, and congratulated him on his good fortune in such cunning words, pretending to have heard all about it, that before long the Farmer found himself telling the whole story—all except the secret of blowing the conch, for, with all his simplicity, the Farmer was not quite such a fool as to tell that.

Nevertheless, the Money-lender determined to have the conch by hook or by crook, and, as he was villain enough not to stick at trifles, he waited for a favorable opportunity and stole the conch.

But, after nearly bursting himself with blowing the conch in every conceivable way, he was obliged to give up the secret as a bad job. However, being determined to succeed, he went back to the Farmer, and said coolly: “Look here! I’ve got your conch, but I can’t use it; you haven’t got it, so it’s clear you can’t use it either. Business is at a standstill unless we make a bargain. Now, I promise to give you back your conch, and never to interfere with your using it, on one condition, which is this—whatever you get from it, I am to get double.”

“Never!” cried the Farmer; “that would be the old business all over again!”

“Not at all!” replied the wily Money-lender; “you will have your share! Now, don’t be a dog in the manger, for, if you get all you want, what can it matter to you if I am rich or poor?”

At last, though it went sorely against the grain to be of any benefit to a Money-lender, the Farmer was forced to yield, and from that time, no matter what he gained by the power of the conch, the Money-lender gained double. And the knowledge that this was so, preyed upon the Farmer’s mind day and night, so that he had no satisfaction out of anything.

At last there came a very dry season—so dry that the Farmer’s crops withered for want of rain. Then he blew his conch, and wished for a well to water them, and lo! there was the well, but the Money-lender had two!—two beautiful new wells! This was too much for any Farmer to stand; and our friend brooded over it, and brooded over it, till at last a bright idea came into his head. He seized the conch, blew it loudly, and cried out: “Oh, Ram! I wish to be blind of one eye!” And so he was, in a twinkling, but the Money-lender, of course, was blind of both, and in trying to steer his way between the two new wells he fell into one, and was drowned.

Now, this true story shows that a Farmer once got the better of a Money-lender—but only by losing one of his eyes.

How the Sun, the Moon, and the Wind Went Out to Dinner

One day the Sun, the Moon, and the Wind went out to dine with their uncle and aunt, the thunder and lightning. Their mother (one of the most distant stars you see far up in the sky) waited alone for her children’s return.

Now both the Sun and the Wind were greedy and selfish. They enjoyed the great feast that had been prepared for them, without a thought of saving any of it to take home to their mother; but the gentle Moon did not forget her. Of every dainty dish that was brought round, she placed a small portion under one of her beautiful long finger-nails, that the Star might also have a share in the treat.

On their return, their mother, who had kept watch for them all night long with her little bright eye, said: “Well, children, what have you brought home for me?” Then the Sun (who was the eldest) said: “I have brought nothing home for you. I went out to enjoy myself with my friends, not to fetch a dinner for my mother!” And the Wind said: “Neither have I brought anything home for you, mother. You could hardly expect me to bring a collection of good things for you when I merely went out for my own pleasure.” But the Moon said: “Mother, fetch a plate; see what I have brought you.” And, shaking her hands, she showered down such a choice dinner as never was seen before.

Then the Star turned to the Sun and spoke thus: “Because you went out to amuse yourself with your friends, and feasted and enjoyed yourself without any thought of your mother at home, you shall be cursed. Henceforth, your rays shall ever be hot and scorching, and shall burn all that they touch. And men shall hate you and cover their heads when you appear.”

(And that is why the Sun is so hot to this day.)

Then she turned to the Wind and said: “You also, who forgot your mother in the midst of your selfish pleasures, hear your doom. You shall always blow in the hot, dry weather, and shall parch and shrivel all living things. And men shall detest and avoid you from this very time.”

(And that is why the Wind in the hot weather is still so disagreeable.)

But to the Moon she said: “Daughter, because you remembered your mother, and kept for her a share in your own enjoyment, from henceforth you shall be ever cool, and calm, and bright. No noxious glare shall accompany your pure rays, and men shall always call you ‘blessed.’”

(And that is why the Moon’s light is so soft, and cool, and beautiful even to this day.)

Singh Rajah and the Cunning Little Jackals

Once upon a time, in a great jungle, there lived a great lion. He was rajah of all the country round, and every day he used to leave his den, in the deepest shadow of the rocks, and roar with a loud, angry voice; and when he roared, the other animals in the jungle, who were all his subjects, got very much frightened and ran here and there; and Singh Rajah would pounce upon them and kill them, and gobble them up for his dinner.

This went on for a long, long time until, at last, there were no living creatures left in the jungle but two little jackals—a Rajah Jackal and a Ranee Jackal—husband and wife.

A very hard time of it the poor little jackals had, running this way and that to escape the terrible Singh Rajah; and every day the little Ranee Jackal would say to her husband: “I am afraid he will catch us to-day; do you hear how he is roaring? Oh, dear! oh, dear!” And he would answer her: “Never fear; I will take care of you. Let us run on a mile or two. Come; come quick, quick, quick!” And they would both run away as fast as they could.

After some time spent in this way, they found, however, one fine day, that the lion was so close upon them that they could not escape. Then the little Ranee Jackal said: “Husband, husband, I feel much frightened. The Singh Rajah is so angry he will certainly kill us at once. What can we do?” But he answered: “Cheer up; we can save ourselves yet. Come, and I’ll show you how we may manage it.”

So what did these cunning little jackals do but they went to the great lion’s den; and, when he saw them coming, he began to roar and shake his mane, and he said: “You little wretches, come and be eaten at once! I have had no dinner for three whole days, and all that time I have been running over hill and dale to find you. Ro-a-ar! Ro-a-ar! Come and be eaten, I say!” and he lashed his tail and gnashed his teeth, and looked very terrible indeed. Then the Jackal Rajah, creeping quite close up to him, said: “Oh, great Singh Rajah, we all know you are our master, and we would have come at your bidding long ago; but, indeed, sir, there is a much bigger rajah even than you in this jungle, and he tried to catch hold of us and eat us up, and frightened us so much that we were obliged to run away.”

“What do you mean?” growled Singh Rajah. “There is no king in this jungle but me!” “Ah, sire,” answered the jackal, “in truth one would think so, for you are very dreadful. Your very voice is death. But it is as we say, for we, with our own eyes, have seen one with whom you could not compete—whose equal you can no more be than we are yours—whose face is as flaming fire, his step as thunder, and his power supreme.” “It is impossible!” interrupted the old lion; “but show me this rajah of whom you speak so much, that I may destroy him instantly!”

Then the little jackals ran on before him until they reached a great well, and, pointing down to his own reflection in the water, they said: “See, sire, there lives the terrible king of whom we spoke.” When Singh Rajah looked down the well he became very angry, for he thought he saw another lion there. He roared and shook his great mane, and the shadow lion shook his and looked terribly defiant. At last, beside himself with rage at the violence of his opponent, Singh Rajah sprang down to kill him at once, but no other lion was there—only the treacherous reflection—and the sides of the well were so steep that he could not get out again to punish the two jackals, who peeped over the top. After struggling for some time in the deep water, he sank to rise no more. And the little jackals threw stones down upon him from above, and danced round and round the well, singing: “Ao! Ao! Ao! Ao! The king of the forest is dead, is dead! We have killed the great lion who would have killed us! Ao! Ao! Ao! Ao! Ring-a-ting—ding-a-ting! Ring-a-ting—ding-a-ting! Ao! Ao! Ao!”

Harisarman

There was a certain Brahman in a certain village, named Harisarman. He was poor and foolish and in evil case for want of employment, and he had very many children, that he might reap the fruit of his misdeeds in a former life. He wandered about begging with his family, and at last he reached a certain city, and entered the service of a rich householder called Sthuladatta. His sons became keepers of Sthuladatta’s cows and other property, and his wife a servant to him, and he himself lived near his house, performing the duty of an attendant. One day there was a feast on account of the marriage of the daughter of Sthuladatta, largely attended by many friends of the bridegroom and merry-makers. Harisarman hoped that he would be able to fill himself up to the throat with ghee and flesh and other dainties, and get the same for his family, in the house of his patron. While he was anxiously expecting to be fed, no one thought of him.

Then he was distressed at getting nothing to eat, and he said to his wife at night: “It is owing to my poverty and stupidity that I am treated with such disrespect here; so I will pretend by means of an artifice to possess a knowledge of magic, so that I may become an object of respect to this Sthuladatta; so, when you get an opportunity, tell him that I possess magical knowledge.” He said this to her, and after turning the matter over in his mind, while people were asleep he took away from the house of Sthuladatta a horse on which his master’s son-in-law rode. He placed it in concealment at some distance, and in the morning the friends of the bridegroom could not find the horse, though they searched in every direction. Then, while Sthuladatta was distressed at the evil omen, and searching for the thieves who had carried off the horse, the wife of Harisarman came and said to him: “My husband is a wise man, skilled in astrology and magical sciences; he can get the horse back for you—why do you not ask him?” When Sthuladatta heard that, he called Harisarman, who said, “Yesterday I was forgotten, but to-day, now the horse is stolen, I am called to mind,” and Sthuladatta then propitiated the Brahman with these words, “I forgot you, forgive me,” and asked him to tell him who had taken away their horse. Then Harisarman drew all kinds of pretended diagrams, and said: “The horse has been placed by thieves on the boundary line south from this place. It is concealed there, and before it is carried off to a distance, as it will be at close of day, go quickly and bring it.” When they heard that, many men ran and brought the horse quickly, praising the discernment of Harisarman. Then Harisarman was honored by all men as a sage, and dwelt there in happiness, honored by Sthuladatta.

Now, as days went on, much treasure, both of gold and jewels, had been stolen by a thief from the palace of the king. As the thief was not known, the king quickly summoned Harisarman on account of his reputation for knowledge of magic. And he, when summoned, tried to gain time, and said, “I will tell you to-morrow,” and then he was placed in a chamber by the king and carefully guarded. And he was sad because he had pretended to have knowledge. Now, in that palace there was a maid named Jihva (which means Tongue), who, with the assistance of her brother, had stolen that treasure from the interior of the palace. She, being alarmed at Harisarman’s knowledge, went at night and applied her ear to the door of that chamber in order to find out what he was about. And Harisarman, who was alone inside, was at that very moment blaming his own tongue, that had made a vain assumption of knowledge. He said: “Oh, tongue, what is this that you have done through your greediness? Wicked one, you will soon receive punishment in full.” When Jihva heard this, she thought, in her terror, that she had been discovered by this wise man, and she managed to get in where he was, and, falling at his feet, she said to the supposed wizard: “Brahman, here I am, that Jihva whom you have discovered to be the thief of the treasure, and after I took it I buried it in the earth in a garden behind the palace, under a pomegranate tree. So spare me, and receive the small quantity of gold which is in my possession.”

When Harisarman heard that, he said to her proudly: “Depart, I know all this; I know the past, present, and future, but I will not denounce you, being a miserable creature that has implored my protection. But whatever gold is in your possession you must give back to me.” When he said this to the maid, she consented, and departed quickly. But Harisarman reflected in his astonishment: “Fate brings about, as if in sport, things impossible; for, when calamity was so near, who would have thought chance would have brought us success? While I was blaming my jihva, the thief Jihva suddenly flung herself at my feet. Secret crimes manifest themselves by means of fear.” Thus thinking, he passed the night happily in the chamber. And in the morning he brought the king, by some skilful parade of pretended knowledge, into the garden and led him up to the treasure, which was buried under the pomegranate tree, and said that the thief had escaped with a part of it. Then the king was pleased, and gave him the revenue of many villages.

But the minister, named Devajnanin, whispered in the king’s ear: “How can a man possess such knowledge unattainable by men without having studied the books of magic? You may be certain that this is a specimen of the way he makes a dishonest livelihood, by having a secret intelligence with thieves. It will be much better to test him by some new artifice.” Then the king of his own accord brought a covered pitcher into which he had thrown a frog, and said to Harisarman: “Brahman, if you can guess what there is in this pitcher, I will do you great honor to-day.” When the Brahman Harisarman heard that, he thought that his last hour had come, and he called to mind the pet name of “Froggie,” which his father had given him in his childhood in sport; and, impelled by luck, he called to himself by his pet name, lamenting his hard fate, and suddenly called out: “This is a fine pitcher for you, Froggie; it will soon become the swift destroyer of your helpless self.” The people there, when they heard him say that, raised a shout of applause, because his speech chimed in so well with the object presented to him, and murmured: “Ah! a great sage; he knows even about the frog!” Then the king, thinking that this was all due to knowledge of divination, was highly delighted, and gave Harisarman the revenue of more villages, with gold, an umbrella, and state carriages of all kinds. So Harisarman prospered in the world.

It Is Quite True

“What a dreadful story!” exclaimed a hen; “it so frightened me that I did not dare to sleep alone in the hen-house all night. I was glad there were so many of us.” And she began to relate to the other hens who were on the roosting-perch above, the story she had heard, till their feathers stood on end, and even the cock let his comb droop, it was so dreadful.

But we will begin at the beginning, and discover what really had happened in the hen-house on the other side of the town.

One evening just before sunset the hens as usual went early to roost, and among them was a pretty hen with white feathers and short legs, who laid regularly such fine eggs that she was very valuable, and much esteemed by all her relations.

As this hen was flying up in the hen-house to the roosting-perch, she either pecked or scratched herself with her beak till one of her feathers fell off.

“There goes another,” she said good humoredly; “how beautiful I shall look if one falls off every time I scratch myself.” This white hen was not only very much esteemed, but also the merriest of all the hens in the hen-house.

But she forgot all about the fallen feather, and was soon asleep.

It became quite dark. The hens were seated side by side near each other on the perch, but one of them could not sleep, for she had partly heard what the white hen said.

The wakeful hen stayed and thought, and then said to her next neighbor: “Have you heard? I name no one, but a hen has plucked out all her feathers, and is not fit to be seen. If I were the cock, I should despise her.”

The gossiping hen soon after left the hen-house, and went to visit an owl who lived just opposite with her husband and children. The owl families have very sharp ears, and they heard every word that their neighbor the hen said, and the little ones rolled their eyes about while the mother owl fanned herself with her wings.

“To repeat just what you have been told is nothing,” continued the hen, “but I really and truly heard what was said with my own ears, and people must hear a great deal, even if they do disapprove. It is about a hen who has forgotten what was due to herself in her high position; she has pulled out all her feathers, and then allowed the world to see her in that bare condition.”

“Prenez garde aux enfants,” said the owl father, “all this is not fit for the children to hear.”

“I will just fly over and tell my neighbor,” said the mother owl; “she is a very highly esteemed owl, and worthy of our acquaintance.”

“Hu! hu! uhu!” howled the children, as the mother flew away and passed by her neighbors, the pigeons, who were in the pigeon-house.

“Have you heard—have you heard about the hen that has plucked off all her feathers, and is going about quite bare? She will freeze to death, if she is not dead already.”

“Ooo! Ooo!” cooed the pigeons.

“I heard of it in the neighboring farm-yard,” said another; “I have as good as seen it with my own eyes. The story is really so improper that no one cares to relate it, but it is certainly true.”

“We believe it, we believe every word,” said the pigeons, and they flew down cooing to the farm-yard, and exclaimed:

“Have you heard about the hen?”

“The hen! why, people now say there are two hens who have plucked off all their feathers; yet one of them is not like the first, who did not wish to be seen, for she has positively tried to attract the attention of everybody.”

“It was a daring game; however, they caught cold, and are both dead from a fever.”

“Wake up! wake up!” crowed the cock as he flew out of the hen-house to the palings. Sleep was still in his eyes, yet he stood and crowed lustily.

“Listen,” said the hen. “There is a cock in the next farm who has unluckily lost three of his wives; they had plucked off all their feathers, and died of cold.”

“Go away!” he exclaimed. “I will not hear it—it is an ugly story. Send it away!”

“Send it away!” hissed the bat, while the hens cackled and the cock crowed.

“Send it away! send it away!” and so the story flew from one farm-yard to another, until it came back at last to the place where the original circumstance occurred.

“There are five hens,” thus now ran the story, “who have plucked off all their feathers, at least so they say; and it made the cock so unhappy that he became quite thin. And he has pecked himself so dreadfully ever since from indignation and shame that at last he has fallen down and died, covered with blood. For these hens had not only disgraced his family, but occasioned a great loss to his owner.”

And the hen who had really lost the one feather naturally could not recognize her own story, but she was a sensible, worthy hen, and she said:

“I despise these cackling hens; however, there shall be no more tittle-tattle of this sort. When people have a secret among themselves to gossip about in future, I will find it out, and send it to the newspapers, so that it may travel through the whole land and be heard of by everybody.

“This will just serve these cackling hens and their families right.”

And the newspapers took it up and so altered the wonderful story that at the last “it was actually true”—“ONE LITTLE FEATHER HAD BECOME FIVE HENS!”

Hans Christian Andersen.

Manabozho and his Toe

Manabozho, the great wizard of the Indians, was so powerful that he began to think there was nothing he could not do. Very wonderful were many of his feats, and he grew more conceited day by day. Now, it chanced that one day he was walking about amusing himself by exercising his extraordinary powers, and at length he came to an encampment where one of the first things he noticed was a child lying in the sunshine, curled up with its toe in its mouth.

Manabozho looked at the child for some time, and wondered at its extraordinary posture.

“I have never seen a child before lie like that,” said he to himself, “but I could lie like it.”

So saying, he put himself down beside the child, and, taking his right foot in his hand, drew it toward his mouth. When he had brought it as near as he could, it was yet a considerable distance away from his lips.

“I will try the left foot,” said Manabozho. He did so, and found that he was no better off; neither of his feet could he get to his mouth. He curled and twisted, and bent his large limbs, and gnashed his teeth in rage to find that he could not get his toe to his mouth. All, however, was vain.

At length he rose, worn out with his exertions and passion, and walked slowly away in a very ill humor, which was not lessened by the sound of the child’s laughter, for Manabozho’s efforts had awakened it.

“Ah, ah!” said Manabozho, “shall I be mocked by a child?”

He did not, however, revenge himself on his victor, but on his way homeward, meeting a boy who did not treat him with proper respect, he transformed him into a cedar-tree.

“At least,” said Manabozho, “I can do something.”

The Most Frugal of Men

A man who was considered the most frugal of all the dwellers in a certain kingdom heard of another man who was the most frugal in the whole world. He said to his son thereupon: “We, indeed, live upon little, but if we were more frugal still, we might live upon nothing at all. It will be well worth while for us to get instructions in economy from the Most Frugal of Men.” The son agreed, and the two decided that the son should go and inquire whether the master in economic science would take pupils. An exchange of presents being a necessary preliminary to closer intercourse, the father told the son to take the smallest of coins, one farthing, and to buy a sheet of paper of the cheapest sort. The boy, by bargaining, got two sheets of paper for the farthing. The father put away one sheet, cut the other sheet in halves, and on one half drew a picture of a pig’s head. This he put into a large covered basket, as if it were the thing which it represented—the usual gift sent in token of great respect. The son took the basket, and after a long journey reached the abode of the most frugal man in the world.

The master of the house was absent, but his son received the traveler, learned his errand, and accepted the offering. Having taken from the basket the picture of the pig’s head, he said courteously to his visitor: “I am sorry that we have nothing in the house that is worthy to take the place of the pig’s head in your basket. I will, however, signify our friendly reception of it by putting in four oranges for you to take home with you.”

Thereupon the young man, without having any oranges at hand, made the motions necessary for putting the fruit into the basket. The son of the most frugal man in the kingdom then took the basket and went to his father to tell of thrift surpassing his own.

When the most frugal man in the world returned home, his son told him that a visitor had been there, having come from a great distance to take lessons in economy. The father inquired what offering he brought as an introduction, and the son showed the small outline of the pig’s head on thin brown paper. The father looked at it, and then asked his son what he had sent as a return present. The son told him he had merely made the motions necessary for transferring four oranges, and showed how he had clasped the imaginary fruit and deposited it in the visitor’s basket. The father immediately flew into a terrible rage and boxed the boy’s ears, exclaiming: “You extravagant wretch! With your fingers thus far apart you appeared to give him large oranges. Why didn’t you measure out small ones?”

The Moon-Cake

A little boy had a cake that a big boy coveted. Designing to get the cake without making the little boy cry so loud as to attract his mother’s attention, the big boy remarked that the cake would be prettier if it were more like the moon. The little boy thought that a cake like the moon must be desirable, and on being assured by the big boy that he had made many such, he handed over his cake for manipulation. The big boy took out a mouthful, leaving a crescent with jagged edge. The little boy was not pleased by the change, and began to whimper; whereupon the big boy pacified him by saying that he would make the cake into a half-moon. So he nibbled off the horns of the crescent, and gnawed the edge smooth; but when the half-moon was made, the little boy perceived that there was hardly any cake left, and he again began to snivel. The big boy again diverted him by telling him that, if he did not like so small a moon, he should have one that was just the size of the real orb. He then took the cake, and explained that, just before the new moon is seen, the old moon disappears. Then he swallowed the rest of the cake and ran off, leaving the little boy waiting for the new moon.

The Ladle that Fell from the Moon

Once there was an old woman who lived on what she got by wile from her relatives and neighbors. Her husband’s brother lived alone with his only son, in a house near hers, and when the son brought home a wife the old woman went to call on the bride. During the call she inquired of the bride whether she had not, since her arrival in the house, heard a scratching at night among the boxes containing her wedding outfit. The bride said she had not. A few days later the old woman came again, and during the visit the bride remarked that, before the matter was mentioned, she had heard no scratching among her boxes, but that since that time she had listened for it, and had heard it every night. The old woman advised her to look carefully after her clothing, saying that there were evidently many mice in the house, and that she would be likely at any time to find her best garments nibbled into shreds. The old woman knew there was no cat in the house, but she inquired whether there was one, and on hearing that there was not, she offered to lend the young woman her own black-and-white cat, saying that it would soon extirpate all the mice. The bride accepted the loan, and the old woman brought the cat, and left it in the bride’s apartment. After a few hours the cat disappeared, and the bride, supposing it to have gone home, made no search for it. It did, indeed, go home, and the old woman secretly disposed of it; but several days later she came to the young woman and said that, when she lent the cat, her house had been free from mice, but that, as soon as the cat was gone, the mice came and multiplied so fast that now everything was overrun by them, and she would be obliged to take the cat home again. The young woman told her that the cat went away the same day that it came, and she had supposed it had gone home. The old woman said it had not, and that nothing could compensate her for the loss of it, for she had reared it herself; that there was never before seen such a cat for catching mice; that a cat, spotted as that one was, was seldom found; and that it was of the rare breed which gave rise to the common saying:

A coal-black cat, with snowy loins,

Is worth its weight in silver coins.

and that the weight of her cat was two hundred ounces.

The young woman was greatly surprised by this estimate of the value of the lost cat, and went to her father-in-law and related all that had occurred. The father-in-law, knowing the character of the old woman, could neither eat nor sleep, so harassed was he by the expectation that she would worry his daughter-in-law till the two hundred ounces of silver should be paid. The young woman, being a new-comer, thought but lightly of the matter, till the old woman came again and again to make mention of the cat. When it became apparent that she must defend herself, the young woman asked her father-in-law if he had ever lent anything to the old woman; and when he said he could not remember having lent anything, she begged him to think carefully, and see if he could not recall the loan of a tool, a dish, or a fagot. He finally recollected that he had lent to her an old wooden ladle, but he said it originally cost but a few farthings, and was certainly not worth speaking about.

The next time the old woman came to dun for the amount due for her cat, the young woman asked her to return the borrowed ladle. The old woman said that the ladle was old and valueless; that she had allowed the children to play with it, and that they had dropped it in the dirt, where it had lain until she had picked it up and used it for kindlings. The bride responded: “You expect to enrich yourself and your family by means of your cat. I and my family also want money. Since you cannot give back the ladle, we will both go before the magistrate and present our cases. If your cat is adjudged to be worth more than my ladle, I will pay you the excess; and if my ladle be worth more than your cat, then you must pay me.” Being sure that the cat would, by any judge, be considered of greater value than the ladle, the old woman agreed to the proposition, and the two went before the magistrate. The young woman courteously gave precedence to the elder, and allowed her to make the accusation. The old woman set forth her case, and claimed two hundred ounces of silver as a compensation for the loss of the cat. When she had concluded her statement, the judge called on the young woman for her defense. She said she could not disprove the statement, but that the claim was offset by a ladle that had been borrowed by the plaintiff. There was a common saying:

In the moon overhead, at its full, you can see

The trunk, branch, and leaf of a cinnamon tree.

A branch from this tree had one night been blown down before her father-in-law’s door, and he had had a ladle made from the wood. Whatever the ladle was put into never diminished by use. Whether wine, oil, rice, or money, the bulk remained the same if no ladle beside this one were used in dipping it. A foreign innkeeper, hearing of this ladle, came and offered her father-in-law three thousand ounces of silver for it, but the offer was refused. And this ladle was the one that the plaintiff had borrowed and destroyed.

The magistrate, on hearing this defense, understood that the cat had been a pretext for extortion, and decided that the two claims offset each other, so that no payment was due from either one.

The Young Head of the Family

There was once a family consisting of a father, his three sons, and his two daughters-in-law. The two daughters-in-law, wives of the two elder sons, had but recently been brought into the house, and were both from one village a few miles away. Having no mother-in-law living, they were obliged to appeal to their father-in-law whenever they wished to visit their former homes, and as they were lonesome and homesick they perpetually bothered the old man by asking leave of absence.

Vexed by these constant petitions, he set himself to invent a method of putting an end to them, and at last gave them leave in this wise: “You are always begging me to allow you to go and visit your mothers, and thinking that I am very hard-hearted because I do not let you go. Now you may go, but only upon condition that when you come back you will each bring me something I want. The one shall bring me some fire wrapped in paper, and the other some wind in a paper. Unless you promise to bring me these, you are never to ask me to let you go home; and if you go, and fail to get these for me, you are never to come back.”

The old man did not suppose that these conditions would be accepted, but the girls were young and thoughtless, and in their anxiety to get away did not consider the impossibility of obtaining the articles required. So they made ready with speed, and in great glee started off on foot to visit their mothers. After they had walked a long distance, chatting about what they should do and whom they should see in their native village, the high heel of one of them slipped from under her foot, and she fell down. Owing to this mishap both stopped to adjust the misplaced footgear, and while doing this the conditions under which alone they could return to their husbands came to mind, and they began to cry.

While they sat there crying by the roadside a young girl came riding along from the fields on a water buffalo. She stopped and asked them what was the matter, and whether she could help them. They told her she could do them no good; but she persisted in offering her sympathy and inviting their confidence, till they told her their story, and then she at once said that if they would go home with her she would show them a way out of their trouble. Their case seemed so hopeless to themselves, and the child was so sure of her own power to help them, that they finally accompanied her to her father’s house, where she showed them how to comply with their father-in-law’s demand.

For the first a paper lantern only would be needed. When lighted it would be a fire, and its paper surface would compass the blaze, so that it would truly be “some fire wrapped in paper.” For the second a paper fan would suffice. When flapped, wind would issue from it, and the “wind wrapped in paper” could thus be carried to the old man.

The two young women thanked the wise child, and went on their way rejoicing. After a pleasant visit to their old homes, they took a lantern and a fan, and returned to their father-in-law’s house. As soon as he saw them he began to vent his anger at their light regard for his commands, but they assured him that they had perfectly obeyed him, and showed him that what they had brought fulfilled the conditions prescribed. Much astonished, he inquired how it was that they had suddenly become so astute, and they told him the story of their journey, and of the little girl who had so opportunely come to their relief. He inquired whether the little girl was already betrothed, and, finding that she was not, engaged a go-between to see if he could get her for a wife for his youngest son.

Having succeeded in securing the girl as a daughter-in-law, he brought her home, and told all the rest of the family that as there was no mother in the house, and as this girl had shown herself to be possessed of extraordinary wisdom, she should be the head of the household.

The wedding festivities being over, the sons of the old man made ready to return to their usual occupations on the farm; but, according to their father’s order, they came to the young bride for instructions. She told them that they were never to go to or from the fields empty-handed. When they went they must carry fertilizers of some sort for the land, and when they returned they must bring bundles of sticks for fuel. They obeyed, and soon had the land in fine condition, and so much fuel gathered that none need be bought. When there were no more sticks, roots, or weeds to bring, she told them to bring stones instead; and they soon accumulated an immense pile of stones, which were heaped in a yard near their house.

One day an expert in the discovery of precious stones came along, and saw in this pile a block of jade of great value. In order to get possession of this stone at a small cost, he undertook to buy the whole heap, pretending that he wished to use them in building. The little head of the family asked an exorbitant price for them, and, as he could not induce her to take less, he promised to pay her the sum she asked, and to come two days later to bring the money and to remove the stones. That night the girl thought about the reason for the buyer’s being willing to pay so large a sum for the stones, and concluded that the heap must contain a gem. The next morning she sent her father-in-law to invite the buyer to supper, and she instructed the men of her family in regard to his entertainment. The best of wine was to be provided, and the father-in-law was to induce him to talk of precious stones, and to cajole him into telling in what way they were to be distinguished from other stones.

The head of the family, listening behind a curtain, heard how the valuable stone in her heap could be discovered. She hastened to find and remove it from the pile; and, when her guest had recovered from the effect of the banquet, he saw that the value had departed from his purchase. He went to negotiate again with the seller, and she conducted the conference with such skill that she obtained the price originally agreed upon for the heap of stones, and a large sum besides for the one in her possession.

The family, having become wealthy, built an ancestral hall of fine design and elaborate workmanship, and put the words “No Sorrow” as an inscription over the entrance. Soon after, a mandarin passed that way, and, noticing this remarkable inscription, had his sedan-chair set down, that he might inquire who were the people that professed to have no sorrow. He sent for the head of the family, was much surprised on seeing so young a woman thus appear, and remarked: “Yours is a singular family. I have never before seen one without sorrow, nor one with so young a head. I will fine you for your impudence. Go and weave me a piece of cloth as long as this road.”

“Very well,” responded the little woman; “so soon as your Excellency shall have found the two ends of the road, and informed me as to the number of feet in its length, I will at once begin the weaving.”

Finding himself at fault, the mandarin added, “And I also fine you as much oil as there is water in the sea.”

“Certainly,” responded the woman; “as soon as you shall have measured the sea, and sent me correct information as to the number of gallons, I will at once begin to press out the oil from my beans.”

“Indeed,” said the mandarin, “since you are so sharp, perhaps you can penetrate my thoughts. If you can, I will fine you no more. I hold this pet quail in my hand; now tell me whether I mean to squeeze it to death, or to let it fly in the air.”

“Well,” said the woman, “I am an obscure commoner, and you are a famed magistrate; if you are no more knowing than I, you have no right to fine me at all. Now I stand with one foot on one side my threshold and the other foot on the other side; tell me whether I mean to go in or come out. If you cannot guess my riddle, you should not require me to guess yours.”

Being unable to guess her intention the mandarin took his departure, and the family lived long in opulence and good repute under its chosen head.

A Dreadful Boar

A poor old woman who lived with her one little granddaughter in a wood was out gathering sticks for fuel, and found a green stalk of sugar-cane, which she added to her bundle. She presently met an elf in the form of a wild Boar, that asked her for the cane, but she declined giving it to him, saying that, at her age, to stoop and to rise again was to earn what she picked up, and that she was going to take the cane home, and let her little granddaughter suck its sap. The Boar, angry at her refusal, said that he would, during the coming night, eat her granddaughter instead of the cane, and went off into the wood.

When the old woman reached her cabin she sat down by the door and wailed, for she knew she had no means of defending herself against the Boar. While she sat crying, a vender of needles came along and asked her what was the matter. She told him, and he said that all he could do for her was to give her a box of needles. This he did, and went on his way. The old woman stuck the needles thickly over the lower half of her door, on its outer side, and then she went on crying. Just then a man came along with a basket of crabs, heard her lamentations, and stopped to inquire what ailed her. She told him, and he said he knew no help for her, but he would do the best he could for her by giving her half his crabs. The old woman put the crabs in her water-jar, behind her door, and again sat down and cried. A farmer soon came along from the fields, leading his ox, and he also asked the cause of her distress and heard her sad story. He said he was sorry he could not think of any way of preventing the evil she expected, but that he would leave his ox to stay all night with her, as it might be a sort of company for her in her loneliness. She led the ox into her cabin, tied it to the head of her bedstead, gave it some straw, and then cried again.

A courier, returning on horseback from a neighboring town, next passed her door, and dismounted to inquire what troubled her. Having heard her tale, he said he would leave his horse to stay with her, and make the ox more contented. So she tied the horse to the foot of her bed, and, thinking how surely evil was coming upon her with the night, she burst out crying anew. A boy just then came along with a snapping-turtle that he had caught, and stopped to ask what had happened to her. On learning the cause of her weeping, he said it was of no use to contend against sprites, but that he would give her his snapping-turtle as a proof of his sympathy. She took the turtle, tied it in front of her bedstead, and continued to cry.

Some men who were carrying mill-stones then came along, inquired into her trouble, and expressed their compassion by giving her a mill-stone, which they rolled into her back yard. A little later a man arrived carrying hoes and pickax, and asked her why she was crying so hard. She told him her grief, and he said he would gladly help her if he could, but he was only a well-digger, and could do nothing for her other than to dig her a well. She pointed out a place in the middle of her back yard, and he went to work and quickly dug a well.

On his departure the old woman cried again, until a paper-seller came and inquired what was the matter. When she had told him, he gave her a large sheet of white paper, as a token of pity, and she laid it smoothly over the mouth of the well.

Nightfall came; the old woman shut and barred her door, put her granddaughter snugly on the wall-side of the bed, and then lay down beside her, to await the foe.

At midnight the Boar came, and threw himself against the door to break it in. The needles wounded him sorely, so that when he had gained an entrance he was heated and thirsty, and went to the water-jar to drink. When he thrust in his snout the crabs attacked him, clung to his bristles and pinched his ears, till he rolled over and over to disencumber himself. Then in a rage he approached the front of the bed, but the snapping-turtle nipped his tail, and made him retreat under the feet of the horse, who kicked him over to the ox, who tossed him back to the horse; and thus beset, he was glad to escape to the back yard to take a rest, and to consider the situation. Seeing a clean paper spread on the ground, he went to lie upon it, and fell into the well. The old woman heard the fall, rushed out, rolled the mill-stone down on him, and crushed him.

The Old Man and the Devils

A long time ago there was an old man who had a big lump on the right side of his face. One day he went into the mountain to cut wood, when the rain began to pour and the wind to blow so very hard that, finding it impossible to return home, and filled with fear, he took refuge in the hollow of an old tree. While sitting there doubled up and unable to sleep, he heard the confused sound of many voices in the distance gradually approaching to where he was. He said to himself: “How strange! I thought I was all alone in the mountain, but I hear the voices of many people.” So, taking courage, he peeped out, and saw a great crowd of strange-looking beings. Some were red, and dressed in green clothes; others were black, and dressed in red clothes; some had only one eye; others had no mouth; indeed, it is quite impossible to describe their varied and strange looks. They kindled a fire, so that it became as light as day. They sat down in two cross-rows, and began to drink wine and make merry just like human beings. They passed the wine-cup around so often that many of them soon drank too much. One of the young devils got up and began to sing a merry song and to dance; so also many others; some danced well, others badly. One said: “We have had uncommon fun tonight, but I would like to see something new.”

Then the old man, losing all fear, thought he would like to dance, and saying, “Let come what will, if I die for it, I will have a dance, too,” crept out of the hollow tree and, with his cap slipped over his nose and his ax sticking in his belt, began to dance. The devils in great surprise jumped up, saying, “Who is this?” but the old man advancing and receding, swaying to and fro, and posturing this way and that way, the whole crowd laughed and enjoyed the fun, saying: “How well the old man dances! You must always come and join us in our sport; but, for fear you might not come, you must give us a pledge that you will.” So the devils consulted together, and, agreeing that the lump on his face, which was a token of wealth, was what he valued most highly, demanded that it should be taken. The old man replied: “I have had this lump many years, and would not without good reason part with it; but you may have it, or an eye, or my nose either if you wish.” So the devils laid hold of it, twisting and pulling, and took it off without giving him any pain, and put it away as a pledge that he would come back. Just then the day began to dawn, and the birds to sing, so the devils hurried away.

The old man felt his face and found it quite smooth, and not a trace of the lump left. He forgot all about cutting wood, and hastened home. His wife, seeing him, exclaimed in great surprise, “What has happened to you?” So he told her all that had befallen him.

Now, among the neighbors there was another old man who had a big lump on the left side of his face. Hearing all about how the first old man had got rid of his misfortune, he determined that he would also try the same plan. So he went and crept into the hollow tree, and waited for the devils to come. Sure enough, they came just as he was told, and they sat down, drank wine, and made merry just as they did before. The second old man, afraid and trembling, crept out of the hollow tree. The devils welcomed him, saying: “The old man has come; now let us see him dance.” This old fellow was awkward, and did not dance as well as the other, so the devils cried out: “You dance badly, and are getting worse and worse; we will give you back the lump which we took from you as a pledge.” Upon this, one of the devils brought the lump, and stuck it on the other side of his face; so the poor old fellow returned home with a lump on each side.

The Wonderful Tea-Kettle

A long, long time ago, at the temple of Morinji, in the province of Kotsuke, there lived an old priest.

This old priest was very fond of the ceremonial preparing and drinking of tea known as Chanoyu; indeed, it was his chief interest and pleasure in life to conduct this ceremony.

One day he chanced to find in a second-hand shop a very nice-looking old Tea-kettle, which he bought and took home with him, highly pleased by its fine shape and artistic appearance.

Next day he brought out his new purchase, and sat for a long time turning it round on this side and on that, and admiring it.

“You are a regular beauty, that’s what you are,” he said; “I shall invite all my friends to the Chanoyu, and how astonished they will be at finding such an exquisite kettle as this!”

He placed his treasure on the top of a box where he could see it to the best advantage, and sat admiring it and planning how he should invite his guests. After a while he became drowsy and began to nod, and at last fell forward, his head on his desk, fast asleep.

Then a wonderful transformation took place. The Tea-kettle began to move. From its spout appeared a hairy head; at the other side out came a fine bushy tail; next, four feet made themselves visible, while fine fur seemed gradually to cover the surface of the kettle. At last, jumping off the box, it began capering about the room for all the world just like a badger.

Three young novices, pupils of the priest, who were at study in the next room, heard the noise; and, when one of them peeped through the sliding doors, what was his astonishment to see the Tea-kettle on four feet dancing up and down the room!

He cried out: “Oh! what a wonderful thing! The Tea-kettle is changed into a badger!”

“What!” said the second novice. “Do you mean to say that the Tea-kettle is turned into a badger? What nonsense!” So saying, he pushed his companion to one side and peeped in, but he also was terrified by what he saw, and screamed: “It’s a goblin! It’s coming at us; let us run away!”

The third novice was not so easily frightened.

“Come, this is rather fun,” said he; “how the creature does jump, to be sure! I will rouse the master, and let him see, too.”

So he went into the room and shook the priest, crying: “Wake! Master, wake! A strange thing has happened.”

“What’s the matter?” said the old man, drowsily rubbing his eyes, “what a noisy fellow you are!”

“Any one would be noisy when such a strange thing as this is going on,” said the novice. “Only look, master, your Tea-kettle has got feet, and is running about.”

“What! what! what! What’s that you say?” asked the priest again. “The kettle got feet! What’s this! Let me see!”

But by the time the old man was thoroughly roused, the Tea-kettle had turned into its ordinary shape, and stood quietly on its box again.

“What foolish young fellows you are!” said the priest. “There stands a kettle on the top of a box; surely there is nothing very strange in that. No, no, I have heard of the rolling-pin that grew a pair of wings and flew away, but, long as I have lived, never have I heard before of a tea-kettle walking about on its own feet. You will never make me believe that.”

But for all that, the priest was a little uneasy in his mind, and kept thinking of the incident all that day. When evening came, and he was alone in his room, he took down the kettle, filled it with water, and set it upon the embers to boil, intending to make some tea. But, as soon as the water began to boil, “Hot! hot!” cried the kettle, and jumped off the fire.

“Help! help!” cried the priest, terrified out of his wits. But when the novices rushed to his help, the kettle at once resumed its natural form; so one of them, seizing a stick, cried, “We’ll soon find out whether it’s alive or not,” and began beating it with might and main. There was evidently no life in the thing, and only a metallic clang! clang! responded to his lusty blows.

Then the old priest heartily repented having bought the mischievous Tea-kettle, and was debating in his own mind how he should get rid of it when who should drop in but the tinker?

“Here’s the very man,” thought the priest. A bargain was soon struck; the tinker bought the Tea-kettle for a few coppers, and carried it home, well pleased with his purchase.

Before going to bed he took another look at it, and found it still better than he had at first thought, so he went to sleep that night in the best of spirits.

In the midst of a pleasant dream the tinker suddenly started up, thinking he heard somebody moving in the room, but, when he opened his eyes and looked about, he could see nobody.

“It was only a dream, I suppose,” said he to himself as he turned over and went to sleep again.

But he was disturbed once more by some one calling: “Tinker! tinker! Get up! get up!”

This time he sprang up, wide awake, and lo and behold! there was the Tea-kettle, with the head, tail, feet, and fur of a badger strutting up and down the room!

“Goblin! goblin!” shrieked the tinker. But the Tea-kettle laughed and said:

“Don’t be frightened, my dear tinker. I am not a goblin, only a wonderful tea-kettle. My name is Bumbuku-Chagama, and I will bring good luck to any one who treats me well; but, of course, I don’t like to be set on the fire, and then beaten with sticks, as happened to me up at the temple yesterday.”

“How can I please you, then?” asked the tinker. “Shall I keep you in a box?”

“Oh! no, no!” answered the Tea-kettle; “I like nice sweet things to eat, and sometimes a little wine to drink, just like yourself. Will you keep me in your house and feed me? And, as I would not be a burden upon you, I will work for you in any way you like.”

To this the tinker agreed.

Next morning he provided a good feast for Bumbuku, who then spoke:

“I certainly am a wonderful and accomplished Tea-kettle, and my advice is that you take me round the country as a show, with accompaniments of singing and music.”

The tinker, thinking well of this advice, at once started a show, which he named the Bumbuku-Chagama. The lucky Tea-kettle at once made the affair a success, for not only did he walk about on four legs, but he danced the tight rope, and went through all kinds of acrobatic performances, ending by making a profound bow to the spectators, and begging for their future patronage.

The fame of these performances soon spread abroad, and the theater was filled daily to overflowing until, at length, even the princes of the land sent to order the tinker and his kettle to come to them, and the show would take place, to the great delight of the princesses and ladies of the court.

At last the tinker grew so rich that he retired from business, and, wishing his faithful kettle also to be at rest, he took it back, together with a large share of his wealth, to the temple of Morinji, where it was laid up as a precious treasure and, some say, even worshiped as a saint.

The Wonderful Mallet

Once upon a time there were two brothers. The elder was an honest and good man, but he was very poor, while the younger, who was dishonest and stingy, had managed to pile up a large fortune. The name of the elder was Kané, and that of the younger was Chô.

Now, one day Kané went to Chô’s house, and begged for the loan of some seed-rice and some silkworms’ eggs, for last season had been unfortunate, and he was in want of both.

Chô had plenty of good rice and excellent silkworms’ eggs, but he was such a miser that he did not want to lend them. At the same time, he felt ashamed to refuse his brother’s request, so he gave him some worm-eaten musty rice and some dead eggs, which he felt sure would never hatch.

Kané, never suspecting that his brother would play him such a shabby trick, put plenty of mulberry leaves with the eggs, to be food for the silkworms when they should appear. Appear they did, and throve and grew wonderfully, much better than those of the stingy brother, who was angry and jealous when he heard of it.

Going to Kané’s house one day, and finding his brother was out, Chô took a knife and killed all the silkworms, cutting each poor little creature in two; then he went home without having been seen by anybody.

When Kané came home he was dismayed to find his silkworms in this state, but he did not suspect who had done him this bad trick, and tried to feed them with mulberry leaves as before. The silkworms came to life again, and doubled the number, for now each half was a living worm. They grew and throve, and the silk they spun was twice as much as Kané had expected. So now he began to prosper.

The envious Chô, seeing this, cut all his own silkworms in half, but, alas! they did not come to life again, so he lost a great deal of money, and became more jealous than ever.

Kané also planted the rice-seed which he had borrowed from his brother, and it sprang up, and grew and flourished far better than Chô’s had done.

The rice ripened well, and he was just intending to cut and harvest it when a flight of thousands upon thousands of swallows came and began to devour it. Kané was much astonished, and shouted and made as much noise as he could in order to drive them away. They flew away, indeed, but came back immediately, so that he kept driving them away, and they kept flying back again.

At last he pursued them into a distant field, where he lost sight of them. He was by this time so hot and tired that he sat down to rest. By little and little his eyes closed, his head dropped upon a mossy bank, and he fell fast asleep.

Then he dreamed that a merry band of children came into the field, laughing and shouting. They sat down upon the ground in a ring, and one who seemed the eldest, a boy of fourteen or fifteen, came close to the bank on which he lay asleep, and, raising a big stone near his head, drew from under it a small wooden Mallet.

Then in his dream Kané saw this big boy stand in the middle of the ring with the Mallet in his hand, and ask the children each in turn, “What would you like the Mallet to bring you?” The first child answered, “A kite.” The big boy shook the Mallet, upon which appeared immediately a fine kite with tail and string all complete. The next cried, “A battledore.” Out sprang a splendid battledore and a shower of shuttlecocks. Then a little girl shyly whispered, “A doll.” The Mallet was shaken, and there stood a beautifully dressed doll. “I should like all the fairy-tale books that have ever been written in the whole world,” said a bright-eyed intelligent maiden, and no sooner had she spoken than piles upon piles of beautiful books appeared. And so at last the wishes of all the children were granted, and they stayed a long time in the field with the things the Mallet had given them. At last they got tired, and prepared to go home; the big boy first carefully hiding the Mallet under the stone from whence he had taken it. Then all the children went away.

Presently Kané awoke, and gradually remembered his dream. In preparing to rise he turned round, and there, close to where his head had lain, was the big stone he had seen in his dream. “How strange!” he thought, expecting he hardly knew what; he raised the stone, and there lay the Mallet!

He took it home with him, and, following the example of the children he had seen in his dream, shook it, at the same time calling out, “Gold” or “Rice,” “Silk” or “Saké.” Whatever he called for immediately flew out of the Mallet, so that he could have everything he wanted, and as much of it as he liked.

Kané being now a rich and prosperous man, Chô was of course jealous of him, and determined to find a magic mallet which would do as much for him. He came, therefore, to Kané and borrowed seed-rice, which he planted and tended with care, being impatient for it to grow and ripen soon.

It grew well and ripened soon, and now Chô watched daily for the swallows to appear. And, to be sure, one day a flight of swallows came and began to eat up the rice.

Chô was delighted at this, and drove them away, pursuing them to the distant field where Kané had followed them before. There he lay down, intending to go to sleep as his brother had done, but the more he tried to go to sleep the wider awake he seemed.

Presently the band of children came skipping and jumping, so he shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep, but all the time watched anxiously what the children would do. They sat down in a ring, as before, and the big boy came close to Chô’s head and lifted the stone. He put down his hand to lift the Mallet, but no mallet was there.

One of the children said, “Perhaps that lazy old farmer has taken our Mallet.” So the big boy laid hold of Chô’s nose, which was rather long, and gave it a good pinch, and all the other children ran up and pinched and pulled his nose, and the nose itself got longer and longer; first it hung down to his chin, then over his chest, next down to his knees, and at last to his very feet.

It was in vain that Chô protested his innocence; the children pinched and pummeled him to their hearts’ content, then capered round him, shouting and laughing, and making game of him, and so at last went away.

Now Chô was left alone, a sad and angry man. Holding his long nose painfully in both hands, he slowly took his way toward his brother Kané’s house. Here he related all that had happened to him from the very day when he had behaved so badly about the seed-rice and silkworms’ eggs. He humbly begged his brother to pardon him, and, if possible, do something to restore his unfortunate nose to its proper size.

The kind-hearted Kané pitied him, and said: “You have been dishonest and mean, and selfish and envious, and that is why you have got this punishment. If you promise to behave better for the future, I will try what can be done.”

So saying, he took the Mallet and rubbed Chô’s nose with it gently, and the nose gradually became shorter and shorter until at last it came back to its proper shape and size. But ever after, if at any time Chô felt inclined to be selfish and dishonest, as he did now and then, his nose began to smart and burn, and he fancied he felt it beginning to grow. So great was his terror of having a long nose again that these symptoms never failed to bring him back to his good behavior.

The Tongue-Cut Sparrow

Once upon a time a cross old woman laid some starch in a basin, intending to put it in the clothes in her washtub; but a Sparrow that a woman, her neighbor, kept as a pet, ate it up. Seeing this, the cross old woman seized the Sparrow and, saying “You hateful thing!” cut its tongue and let it go.

When the neighbor woman heard that her pet Sparrow had got its tongue cut for its offense, she was greatly grieved, and set out with her husband over mountains and plains to find where it had gone, crying: “Where does the tongue-cut Sparrow stay? Where does the tongue-cut Sparrow stay?”

At last they found its home. When the Sparrow saw that its old master and mistress had come to see it, it rejoiced, and brought them into its house and thanked them for their kindness in old times. It spread a table for them, and loaded it with sake and fish till there was no more room, and made its wife and children and grandchildren all serve the table.

At last, throwing away its drinking-cup, it danced a jig called the Sparrow’s dance, and thus they spent the day. When it began to grow dark, and there was talk of going home, the Sparrow brought out two wicker baskets and said: “Will you take the heavy one, or shall I give you the light one?” The old people replied: “We are old, so give us the light one; it will be easier to carry it.” The Sparrow then gave them the light basket, and they returned with it to their home. “Let us open and see what is in it,” they said. And when they had opened it and looked, they found gold and silver and jewels and rolls of silk. They never expected anything like this. The more they took out, the more they found inside. The supply was inexhaustible, so that the house at once became rich and prosperous. When the cross old woman who had cut the Sparrow’s tongue saw this, she was filled with envy, and went and asked her neighbor where the Sparrow lived, and all about the way. “I will go, too,” she said, and at once set out on her search.

Again the Sparrow brought out two wicker baskets, and asked as before: “Will you take the heavy one, or shall I give you the light one?”

Thinking the treasure would be great in proportion to the weight of the basket, the old woman replied, “Let me have the heavy one.”

Receiving this, she started home with it on her back, the sparrows laughing at her as she went. It was as heavy as a stone, and hard to carry, but at last she got back with it to her house.

Then, when she took off the lid and looked in, a whole troop of frightful creatures came bouncing out from the inside, and at once they caught her up and flew away with her.

Battle of the Monkey and the Crab

A Monkey and a Crab once met when going round a mountain.

The Monkey had picked up a persimmon-seed, and the Crab had a piece of toasted rice-cake. The Monkey, seeing this, and wishing to get something that could be turned to good account at once, said, “Pray, exchange that rice-cake for this persimmon-seed.” The Crab, without a word, gave up his cake, and took the persimmon-seed and planted it. At once it sprung up, and soon became a tree so high one had to look far up to see it. The tree was full of persimmons, but the Crab had no means of climbing it, so he asked the Monkey to scramble up and get the fruit for him. The Monkey got up on a limb of the tree and began to eat the persimmons. The unripe ones he threw at the Crab, but all the ripe and good ones he put in his pouch. The Crab under the tree thus got his shell badly bruised, and only by good luck escaped into his hole, where he lay distressed with pain, and not able to get up. Now, when the relatives and household of the Crab heard how matters stood, they were surprised and angry, and declared war, and attacked the Monkey, who, leading forth a numerous following, bade defiance to the other party. The crabs, finding themselves unable to meet and cope with this force, became still more exasperated and enraged, and retreated into their hole and held a council of war. Then came a rice-mortar, a pestle, a bee, and an egg, and together they devised a deep-laid plot to be avenged.

First, they requested that peace be made with the crabs; and thus they induced the king of the monkeys to enter their hole unattended, and seated him on the hearth. The Monkey, not suspecting any plot, took the hibashi, or poker, to stir up the slumbering fire, when bang! went the egg, which was lying hidden in the ashes, and burned the Monkey’s arm. Surprised and alarmed, he plunged his arm into the pickle-tub in the kitchen to relieve the pain of the burn. Then the bee which was hidden near the tub stung him sharply in his face, already wet with tears. Without waiting to brush off the bee, and howling bitterly, he rushed for the back door; but just then some seaweed entangled his legs and made him slip. Then down came the pestle, tumbling on him from a shelf, and the mortar, too, came rolling down on him from the roof of the porch and broke his back, and so weakened him that he was unable to rise up. Then out came the crabs in a crowd, and brandishing on high their pinchers they pinched the Monkey so sorely that he begged them for forgiveness and promised never to repeat his meanness and treachery.

The Cub’s Triumph

Once upon a time there lived in a forest a badger and a mother fox with one little Cub.

There were no other beasts in the wood, because the hunters had killed them all with bows and arrows, or by setting snares. The deer, and the wild boar, the hares, the weasels, and the stoats—even the bright little squirrels—had been shot, or had fallen into traps. At last, only the badger and the fox, with her young one, were left, and they were starving, for they dared not venture from their holes for fear of the traps.

They did not know what to do, or where to turn for food. At last the badger said:

“I have thought of a plan. I will pretend to be dead. You must change yourself into a man, and take me into the town and sell me. With the money you get for me, you must buy food and bring it into the forest. When I get a chance I will run away, and come back to you, and we will eat our dinner together. Mind you wait for me, and don’t eat any of it until I come. Next week it will be your turn to be dead, and my turn to sell—do you see?”

The fox thought this plan would do very well; so, as soon as the badger had lain down and pretended to be dead, she said to her little Cub:

“Be sure not to come out of the hole until I come back. Be very good and quiet, and I will soon bring you some nice dinner.”

She then changed herself into a wood-cutter, took the badger by the heels and swung him over her shoulders, and trudged off into the town. There she sold the badger for a fair price, and with the money bought some fish, some tofu,[^[8]] and some vegetables. She then ran back to the forest as fast as she could, changed herself into a fox again, and crept into her hole to see if little Cub was all right. Little Cub was there, safe enough, but very hungry, and wanted to begin upon the tofu at once.

[8]. Curd made from white beans.

“No, no,” said the mother fox. “Fair play’s a jewel. We must wait for the badger.”

Soon the badger arrived, quite out of breath with running so fast.

“I hope you haven’t been eating any of the dinner,” he panted. “I could not get away sooner. The man you sold me to, brought his wife to look at me, and boasted how cheap he had bought me. You should have asked twice as much. At last they left me alone, and then I jumped up and ran away as fast as I could.”

The badger, the fox, and the Cub now sat down to dinner, and had a fine feast, the badger taking care to get the best bits for himself.

Some days after, when all the food was finished, and they had begun to get hungry again, the badger said to the fox:

“Now it’s your turn to die.” So the fox pretended to be dead, and the badger changed himself into a hunter, shouldered the fox, and went off to the town, where he made a good bargain, and sold her for a nice little sum of money.

You have seen already that the badger was greedy and selfish. What do you think he did now? He wished to have all the money, and all the food it would buy for himself, so he whispered to the man who had bought the fox:

“That fox is only pretending to be dead; take care he doesn’t run away.”

“We’ll soon settle that,” said the man, and he knocked the fox on the head with a big stick, and killed her.

The badger next laid out the money in buying all the nice things he could think of. He carried them off to the forest, and there ate them all up himself, without giving one bit to the poor little Cub, who was all alone, crying for its mother, very sad, and very hungry.

Poor little motherless Cub! But, being a clever little fox, he soon began to put two and two together, and at last felt quite sure that the badger had, in some way, caused the loss of his mother.

He made up his mind that he would punish the badger; and, as he was not big enough or strong enough to do it by force, he was obliged to try another plan.

He did not let the badger see how angry he was with him, but said in a friendly way:

“Let us have a game of changing ourselves into men. If you can change yourself so cleverly that I cannot find you out, you will have won the game; but, if I change myself so that you cannot find me out, then I shall have won the game. I will begin, if you like; and, you may be sure, I shall turn myself into somebody very grand while I am about it.”

The badger agreed. So then, instead of changing himself at all, the cunning little Cub just went and hid himself behind a tree, and watched to see what would happen. Presently there came along the bridge leading into the town a nobleman, seated in a sedan-chair, a great crowd of servants and men at arms following him.

The badger was quite sure that this must be the fox, so he ran up to the sedan-chair, put in his head, and cried:

“I’ve found you out! I’ve won the game!”

“A badger! A badger! Off with his head,” cried the nobleman.

So one of the retainers cut off the badger’s head with one blow of his sharp sword, the little Cub all the time laughing unseen behind the tree.

The Silly Jelly-Fish

Once upon a time the king of the dragons, who had till then lived as a bachelor, took it into his head to get married. His bride was a young dragonette just sixteen years old—lovely enough, in very sooth, to become the wife of a king. Great were the rejoicings on the occasion. The fishes, both great and small, came to pay their respects, and to offer gifts to the newly wedded pair; and for some days all was feasting and merriment.

But, alas! even dragons have their trials. Before a month had passed, the young dragon queen fell ill. The doctors dosed her with every medicine that was known to them, but all to no purpose. At last they shook their heads, declaring that there was nothing more to be done. The illness must take its course, and she would probably die. But the sick queen said to her husband:

“I know of something that will cure me. Only fetch me a live monkey’s liver to eat, and I shall get well at once.”

“A live monkey’s liver!” exclaimed the king. “What are you thinking of, my dear? Why! you forget that we dragons live in the sea, while monkeys live far away from here, among the forest trees on land. A monkey’s liver! Why! darling, you must be mad.” Hereupon the young dragon queen burst into tears. “I only ask you for one small thing,” whimpered she, “and you won’t get it for me. I always thought you didn’t really love me. Oh! I wish I had stayed at home with my own m-m-m-mama and my own papa-a-a-a!” Here her voice choked with sobs, and she could say no more.

Well, of course the dragon king did not like to have it thought that he was unkind to his beautiful young wife. So he sent for his trusty servant, the Jelly-fish, and said: “It is rather a difficult job, but what I want you to try to do is to swim across to the land, and persuade a live monkey to come here with you. In order to make the monkey willing to come, you can tell him how much nicer everything is here in dragon-land than away where he lives. But what I really want him for is to cut out his liver, and use it as medicine for your young mistress, who, as you know, is dangerously ill.”

So the Jelly-fish went off on his strange errand. In those days he was just like any other fish, with eyes, and fins, and a tail. He even had little feet, which made him able to walk on the land as well as to swim in the water. It did not take him many hours to swim across to the country where the monkeys lived; and, fortunately, there just happened to be a fine monkey skipping about among the branches of the trees near the place where he landed. So the Jelly-fish said: “Mr. Monkey, I have come to tell you of a country far more beautiful than this. It lies beyond the waves, and is called dragon-land. There is pleasant weather there all the year round; there is always plenty of ripe fruit on the trees, and there are none of those mischievous creatures called men. If you will come with me, I will take you there. Just get on my back.”

The monkey thought it would be fun to see a new country. So he leaped on to the Jelly-fish’s back, and off they started across the water. But when they had gone about half-way, he began to fear that perhaps there might be some hidden danger, for it seemed so odd to be fetched suddenly in that way by a stranger. So he said to the Jelly-fish: “What made you think of coming for me?” The Jelly-fish answered: “My master, the king of the dragons, wants you in order to cut out your liver, and give it as medicine to his wife, the queen, who is sick.”

“Oh! that’s your little game, is it?” thought the monkey. But he kept his thoughts to himself, and only said: “Nothing could please me better than to be of service to their Majesties, but it so happens that I left my liver hanging to a branch of that big chestnut-tree where you found me skipping about. A liver is a thing that weighs a good deal, so I generally take it out, and play about without it during the daytime. We must go back for it.” The Jelly-fish agreed that there was nothing else to be done under the circumstances; for, silly creature that he was, he did not see that the monkey was telling a story in order to avoid getting killed, and having his liver used as medicine for the fanciful young dragon queen.

When they reached the shore of monkey-land again, the monkey bounded off the Jelly-fish’s back, and up to the topmost branch of the chestnut-tree in less than no time. Then he said: “I do not see my liver here. Perhaps somebody has taken it away. But I will look for it. You, meantime, had better go back and tell your master what has happened. He might be anxious about you if you did not get home before dark.”

So the Jelly-fish started off a second time, and when he got home he told the dragon king everything just as it had happened. But the king flew into a passion with him for his stupidity, and hallooed to his officers, saying: “Away with this fellow! Take him, and beat him to a jelly! Don’t let a single bone remain unbroken in his body!” So the officers seized him and beat him, as the king had commanded. That is the reason why, to this very day, jelly-fishes have no bones, but are just nothing more than a mass of pulp.

As for the dragon queen, when she found she could not have the monkey’s liver, why, she made up her mind that the I only thing to do was to get well without it.

Chin-Chin Kobakama

Once there was a little girl who was very pretty, but also very lazy. Her parents were rich, and had a great many servants; and these servants were very fond of the little girl, and did everything for her which she ought to have been able to do for herself. Perhaps this was what made her so lazy. When she grew up into a beautiful woman she still remained lazy; but as the servants always dressed and undressed her, and arranged her hair, she looked very charming, and nobody thought about her faults.

At last she was married to a brave warrior, and went away with him to live in another house where there were but few servants. She was sorry not to have as many servants as she had had at home, because she was obliged to do several things for herself which other folks had always done for her, and it was a great deal of trouble to her to dress herself, and take care of her own clothes, and keep herself looking neat and pretty to please her husband. But as he was a warrior, and often had to be far away from home with the army, she could sometimes be just as lazy as she wished, and her husband’s parents were very old and good-natured, and never scolded her.

Well, one night while her husband was away with the army, she was awakened by queer little noises in her room. By the light of a big paper lantern she could see very well, and she saw strange things.

Hundreds of little men, dressed just like Japanese warriors, but only about one inch high, were dancing all around her pillow. They wore the same kind of dress her husband wore on holidays (Kamishimo, a long robe with square shoulders), and their hair was tied up in knots, and each wore two tiny swords. They all looked at her as they danced, and laughed, and they all sang the same song over and over again:

Chin-chin Kobakama,

Yomo fuké sōro—

Oshizumare, Hime-gimi!—

Ya ton ton!—

Which meant: “We are the Chin-chin Kobakama; the hour is late; sleep, honorable, noble darling!”

The words seemed very polite, but she soon saw that the little men were only making cruel fun of her. They also made ugly faces at her.

She tried to catch some of them, but they jumped about so quickly that she could not. Then she tried to drive them away, but they would not go, and they never stopped singing:

Chin-chin Kobakama ...

and laughing at her. Then she knew they were little fairies, and became so frightened that she could not even cry out. They danced around her until morning; then they all vanished suddenly.

She was ashamed to tell anybody what had happened, because, as she was the wife of a warrior, she did not wish anybody to know how frightened she had been.

Next night, again, the little men came and danced; and they came also the night after that, and every night, always at the same hour, which the old Japanese used to call the “hour of the ox”; that is, about two o’clock in the morning by our time. At last she became very sick, through want of sleep and through fright. But the little men would not leave her alone.

When her husband came back home he was very sorry to find her sick in bed. At first she was afraid to tell him what had made her ill, for fear that he would laugh at her. But he was so kind, and coaxed her so gently, that after a while she told him what happened every night.

He did not laugh at her at all, but looked very serious for a time. Then he asked:

“At what time do they come?”

She answered, “Always at the same hour—the ‘hour of the ox.’”

“Very well,” said her husband; “to-night I shall hide, and watch for them. Do not be frightened.”

So that night the warrior hid himself in a closet in the sleeping-room, and kept watch through a chink between the sliding doors.

He waited and watched until the “hour of the ox.” Then, all at once, the little men came up through the mats, and began their dance and their song:

Chin-chin Kobakama,

Yomo fuké Sōro....

They looked so queer, and danced in such a funny way, that the warrior could scarcely keep from laughing. But he saw his young wife’s frightened face; and then, remembering that nearly all Japanese ghosts and goblins are afraid of a sword, he drew his blade and rushed out of the closet, and struck at the little dancers. Immediately they all turned into—what do you think?

Toothpicks!

There were no more little warriors—only a lot of old toothpicks scattered over the mats.

The young wife had been too lazy to put her toothpicks away properly; and every day, after having used a new toothpick, she would stick it down between the mats on the floor, to get rid of it. So the little fairies who take care of the floor-mats became angry with her, and tormented her.

Her husband scolded her, and she was so ashamed that she did not know what to do. A servant was called, and the toothpicks were taken away and burned, and after that the little men never came back again.

The Old Woman who Lost her Dumplings

Long, long ago there was a funny old woman who liked to laugh and to make dumplings of rice-flour.

One day, while she was preparing some dumplings for dinner, she let one fall, and it rolled into a hole in the earthen floor of her little kitchen and disappeared. The old woman tried to reach it by putting her hand down the hole, and all at once the earth gave way, and the old woman fell in.

She fell quite a distance, but was not a bit hurt; and when she got up on her feet again, she saw that she was standing on a road just like the road before her house. It was quite light down there; and she could see plenty of rice-fields, but no one in them. How all this happened I cannot tell you, but it seems that the old woman had fallen into another country.

The road she had fallen upon sloped very much; so, after having looked for her dumpling in vain, she thought that it must have rolled farther away down the hill. She ran down the road to look, crying: “My dumpling! my dumpling! Where is that dumpling of mine?”

After a little while she saw a stone image standing by the roadside, and she said, calling it by its name:

“O Jizō San, did you see my dumpling?”

Jizō answered:

“Yes, I saw your dumpling rolling by me down the road. But you had better not go any farther, because there is a wicked oni living down there who eats people.”

But the old woman only laughed, and ran on farther down the road, crying: “My dumpling! my dumpling! Where is that dumpling of mine?” And she came to another statue of Jizō, and asked it:

“O kind Jizō, did you see my dumpling?”

And Jizō said:

“Yes, I saw your dumpling go by a little while ago. But you must not run any farther, because there is a wicked oni down there who eats people.”

But she only laughed and ran on, still crying out: “My dumpling! my dumpling! Where is that dumpling of mine?” And she came to a third Jizō, and asked it:

“O dear Jizō, did you see my dumpling?”

But Jizō said:

“Don’t talk about your dumpling now. Here is the oni coming. Squat down here behind my sleeve, and don’t make any noise.”

Presently the oni came very close, and stopped and bowed to Jizō, and said:

“Good day, Jizō San!”

Jizō said good day, too, very politely.

Then the oni suddenly snuffed the air two or three times in a suspicious way, and cried out: “Jizō San, Jizō San! I smell a smell of mankind somewhere—don’t you?”

“Oh!” said Jizō, “perhaps you are mistaken.”

“No, no!” said the oni after snuffing the air again; “I smell a smell of mankind.”

Then the old woman could not help laughing—“Te-he-he!”—and the oni immediately reached down his big hairy hand behind Jizō’s sleeve, and pulled her out—still laughing, “Te-he-he!”

“Ah! ha!” cried the oni.

Then Jizō said:

“What are you going to do with that good old woman? You must not hurt her.”

“I won’t,” said the oni; “but I will take her home with me to cook for us.”

“Te-he-he!” laughed the old woman.

“Very well,” said Jizō, “but you must really be kind to her. If you are not, I shall be very angry.”

“I won’t hurt her at all,” promised the oni; “and she will only have to do a little work for us every day. Good-by, Jizō San.”

Then the oni took the old woman far down the road till they came to a wide deep river, where there was a boat. He put her into the boat, and took her across the river to his house. It was a very large house. He led her at once into the kitchen, and told her to cook some dinner for himself and the other oni who lived with him. And he gave her a small wooden rice-paddle, and said:

“You must always put only one grain of rice into the pot, and, when you stir that one grain of rice in the water with this paddle, the grain will multiply until the pot is full.”

So the old woman put just one rice-grain into the pot, as the oni told her, and began to stir it with the paddle; and, as she stirred, the one grain became two, then four, then eight, then sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, and so on. Every time she moved the paddle the rice increased in quantity, and in a few minutes the great pot was full.

After that, the funny old woman stayed a long time in the house of the oni, and every day cooked food for him and for all his friends. The oni never hurt or frightened her, and her work was made quite easy by the magic paddle, although she had to cook a very, very great quantity of rice, because an oni eats much more than any human being eats.

But she felt lonely, and always wished very much to go back to her own little house, and make her dumplings; and one day, when the oni were all out somewhere, she thought she would try to run away.

She first took the magic paddle and slipped it under her girdle, and then she went down to the river. No one saw her, and the boat was there. She got into it and pushed off, and, as she could row very well, she was soon far away from the shore.

But the river was very wide, and she had not rowed more than one-fourth of the way across when the oni, all of them, came back to the house.

They found that their cook was gone, and the magic paddle, too. They ran down to the river at once, and saw the old woman rowing away very fast.

Perhaps they could not swim; at all events, they had no boat, and they thought the only way they could catch the funny old woman would be to drink up all the water of the river before she got to the other bank. So they knelt down, and began to drink so fast that, before the old woman had got half-way over, the water had become quite low.

But the old woman kept on rowing until the water had got so shallow that the oni stopped drinking, and began to wade across. Then she dropped her oar, took the magic paddle from her girdle, and shook it at the oni, and made such funny faces that the oni all burst out laughing.

But, the moment they laughed, all the water came up that they had drunk, and so the river became full again. The oni could not cross, and the funny old woman got safely over to the other side, and ran away up the road as fast as she could. She never stopped running until she found herself at home again.

After that she was very happy, for she could make dumplings whenever she pleased. Besides, she had the magic paddle to make rice for her. She sold her dumplings to her neighbors and passengers, and in quite a short time she became rich.

The Three Goats

Once upon a time there were three goats that were sent to some pasture-lands in order to be fattened, and all three happened to be named Brausewind. On their road to the pasture there was a bridge across a river which they must pass, and under the bridge lived a gigantic and horrible spirit, whose eyes were as large as two pewter plates, and whose nose was as long as the handle of a hoe.

The youngest goat Brausewind first came along, and stepped upon the bridge.

“Creak, creak!” complained the bridge.

“Who is tripping over my bridge?” cried the elf underneath.

“Oh! it is only the smallest of the goats named Brausewind,” said the goat in a very shrill voice.

“Then I shall come and fetch you,” cried the elf.

“Nay, do not come for me, for I am still so little,” said the goat; “wait a bit, till the second Brausewind comes, for he is much larger than I am.”

“Very well,” quoth the elf.

After a while the other goat Brausewind came along, and he began to go over the bridge.

“Creaky creak!” cried the bridge again.

“Who is tramping over my bridge?” cried the elf.

“Oh! it is only the second goat Brausewind; I am going to the pasture-lands to get a little fatter,” answered the goat, but in a less soft voice than the first.

“Then I shall come and fetch you,” said the elf.

“Nay, do not take me, but wait a bit till the large goat Brausewind comes, for he is a great deal bigger than I am.”

“Very well,” replied the elf.

It was not long before the big goat Brausewind reached the same spot.

“Creak, creak!” went the bridge, as if it were going to split.

“Who comes thundering over my bridge?” cried the elf.

“The big goat Brausewind,” said the goat in a gruff voice.

“Then I shall come and fetch you,” cried the elf.

“Well, come if you like; I’ve two spears in my head,

With which I can easily strike you dead.

Yes, come if you like; and with thundering stones

I shiver to powder your brains and your bones,”

replied the goat; and, butting at the elf, he easily broke every bone in his body, after which he threw him into the river, and followed the other goats to the pastures.

And here the goats grew so very, very, very fat that they were not able to come home again; and, unless they have grown thinner since, they are probably there still.

The Fox Turned Shepherd

There was once a farmer’s wife who rode out to try and find a shepherd. She happened to meet a bear on the way, and the bear inquired whither she was going.

“Oh, I’m going to hire a shepherd,” answered she.

“Will you take me for a shepherd?” asked the bear.

“Yes,” said the woman, “provided you can call the sheep properly.”

“Ho—o—y!” growled the bear.

“No,” said the woman on hearing this, “I can’t hire you,” and on she went.

Soon after she met a wolf. “Where are you going?” asked the wolf.

“Oh, I’m going to hire a shepherd,” answered the woman.

“Will you take me for a shepherd?” asked the wolf.

“Yes, if you can call the sheep properly,” replied the woman.

“Uh—uh!” howled the wolf.

“No, I can’t hire you,” said the woman.

A little farther on she met a Fox. “Where are you going?” asked he.

“Oh, I’m only going to hire a shepherd,” answered the woman.

“Will you take me for a shepherd?” asked the Fox.

“Yes, provided you can but call the sheep properly,” replied the woman.

“Dil—dal—holom!” cried the Fox in a pretty, proper tone.

“Yes, I will hire you,” said the woman; and she took him for a shepherd to watch over the cattle.

The first day, on driving the cattle to the meadows, the Fox ate up all the goats. On the second day he made a dainty meal upon the sheep, and on the third day it was the turn for the cows to be eaten.

On returning home in the evening, the woman asked him where he had left the cattle. “Their heads are in the brook, and their bones are in the bushes,” replied the Fox. The farmer’s wife was just then at the butter-tub, busy making butter; still, she wanted to go and see for herself how things stood. While she went to look, the Fox put his head into the butter-tub and drank up all the cream.

When the woman came back and saw what he had done, she was so exasperated that she seized a clot of cream that still remained in the tub and flung it at the Fox, so that it made a spot upon his tail. And this is the reason why the Fox’s tail has a white tip.

The Seven Boys and the Monster

It was Saturday afternoon, and Caspar, Michael, Fritz, and little Bessy were playing before their house, when presently little Hans came running toward them, and breathlessly cried:

“What have I seen? what have I seen?”

“What have you seen, then?” exclaimed all the children with one voice, collecting around him.

“A monster! a frightful monster!” answered Hans, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“You are afraid of your own shadow, fearful Hans,” said Caspar mockingly; “perhaps your neighbor’s black cat has turned her fiery eyes on you again.”

“I am not afraid of my shadow,” answered Hans angrily; “had you only been there, your ridicule would soon have vanished. A cat is not a bit like a grasshopper—a fearful great grasshopper, on which one could ride!”

At this the children wondered very much; and when Hans related that he had seen the monster in the shepherd’s hut in the field—that it had horns, and such a voice that the whole hut trembled—they almost believed him; and little Fritz thought: “Who knows if it is not one of the rhinoceroses of which Herr Gulmann told us yesterday?”

“Has the monster done you any harm?” asked little Bessy.

“No,” answered Hans; “when I screamed, it shrank back into its house.”

“But I must go and see it,” said Caspar; “and, if you will all follow, I will go now.”

The children determined to go, but little Hans said:

“I will not go unarmed!”

So Caspar mounted his horse-stick, put on his helmet, and buckled his saber to his side; Michael took his gun, Fritz the drum, and little Hans his lance.

“You must remain at home, little Bessy,” said Hans; “I won’t bear the blame if the monster hurts you.”

“But I want to go with you,” answered little Bessy, almost crying; “and, if you will not take me, I will tell my mother.”

“Let her go, then,” said Fritz; “but remember, Bessy, you must always keep ten yards behind.”

Thus, having armed themselves, they took courage, and Caspar thought: “Oh, if we could only catch the monster, dead or alive! Ah! here come Peter, and Frank, and George—they can also go with us, but they must take the great bean-pole out of the garden, that we may be able to attack the monster at a distance.”

Now the little army set itself in motion. Caspar on “Roho” (for so his horse was named) came first, as commander; then came Hans with the spear, Fritz with the drum, Michael with the gun, and lastly, Peter, Frank, and George, with the pole. Little Bessy came ten yards behind them. All were full of courage, and they sang:

The general on his horse comes first,

And next the spear and drum;

The soldier, with his gun; and three

Armed with a bean-pole come.

But Bessy marches after all,

That unto her no harm may fall.

When they came to the little wood through which one must go in order to get to the great meadow where the shepherd’s cot stands, Hans cried out all at once, his flag nearly falling from his hand:

“Did you not hear a noise?”

“Yes!” cried all, trembling; but Fritz had still courage enough to say:

“Bessy must remain behind.”

Then they whispered to one another, “The monster, perhaps, has hidden here”; but they dared not run away, for fear the monster should fall on them from behind, and they resolved to lie on the ground and listen. So they laid down all apart, and presently they whispered:

“Hans trembles very much.”

After a long time Fritz asked:

“Have you heard nothing, Caspar?”

“No,” said he, and the others also said “no”; and Frank thought, perhaps, it was only the wind. At this they took courage, and, in order to show they were not afraid, they sang:

O wind, in the wood whistle all the day long,

We’ll whistle as boldly, we’ll whistle as strong,

and they began to whistle, with all their strength, against the wind.

When they had come out of the wood they saw the shepherd’s hut standing quite alone; in the distance the sheep were peacefully feeding, and their little bells sounded merrily along the meadows. Only an old ram saw the young band of heroes, and it ventured nearer in order to look wonderingly. But Caspar rode against it, brandishing his sword, which made the ram bleat and gallop away.

“Now is the time!” said Caspar; “we will first walk three times round the hut, but no one must make any noise!”

“Bessy still stops behind!” cried Fritz, out of the strength of his love.

“Once more I say,” exclaimed Caspar loudly and forcibly, “no one must make a noise. We will now walk around, and when we are about to attack, Fritz shall give the signal with his drum.”

So they began to walk round the hut, but they marched round much oftener than three times, and each time they stopped at the same place.

“We cannot go round any more,” said Caspar, “we must attack the monster from some place. Do you hide first, behind the oak-tree, one behind another, that the monster may not see you; I will step on to the wheel there, and look in at the window, but—mind you are all ready at the first call.”

As they hid themselves behind the oak, he walked slowly with drawn sword to the hut, and little Hans whispered behind the tree:

“If there should be a wolf in the hut! Do you remember the story of ‘Little Red Riding-hood’?”

This made them very much afraid, and they held the faster to one another. Only Frank dared look out to see how their captain got on.

He had arrived at the hut, and, having fastened his horse to a stake, he mounted the wheel in order to look through the window. But—what a monster!—a great bearded beast with horns sprang with a loud cry at him; and Caspar, pale as death from terror, fell back, and could scarcely cry:

“Help! help!—the monster!”

As he called out, Franz said, “It has a beard and horns, and such a voice!” and Hans, who stood next to the oak, fell back on the rest, and one after the other fell to the ground.

Fritz picked himself up first, and called to Caspar from afar:

“Has he eaten you up yet, dear Caspar?”

“Who?” cried Caspar, springing up, “who?” And out of the hut sounded again the cry; it shook the door, and all fell back again. A goat came running up, with playful jumps, to our heroes.

“Herr Gulmann’s sick goat!” cried out all, “which, since the day before yesterday, we have not seen in the schoolyard.”

“Did I not say so?” cried Caspar. “But, ah, fearful Hans! where is the monster?”

“That must still be within,” protested Hans. “You also have seen it.”

“We will look again,” cried the enraged Caspar, in anger; “but, as the monster has not eaten the goat, it is no cannibal. Just come here, and stand around while Hans and I go in; and do you hold the bar of the door, that the monster may not come out.”

All were, in spite of their former terror, become courageous; still, Hans would willingly have gone back if he had not disliked to be called “fearful Hans.” He placed himself, therefore, at the door, behind Caspar, holding his banner before his eyes, and pressing it close to him. But Caspar did not remark that Hans had placed himself behind him; and Hans, on the other hand, did not see Caspar turn himself angrily and quickly round, the hut being very dark; and it so happened that he overturned Hans and fell over him.

“The monster! the monster!” cried Hans; and Caspar exclaimed, too, “The monster! the monster!” for each thought that it had overthrown him. With the quickness of lightning they sprang up again, in order to escape through the door, but those outside only held the bar faster from terror; and Hans and Caspar kicked with such violence against the wood that the others cried, “The monster! the monster!”

But this time it was not a goat, but the specter, which every one sometimes sees and feels. This our hero, Caspar, very soon found out; and springing up, he stamped thrice on the ground with his foot, and seizing poor Hans by the collar, he shook him angrily, and cried out in a voice nearly choked with rage:

“You are a coward! you are a coward!”

“Dear Caspar, let me go; I will not do it again!”

“Hans, you are a coward!” replied Caspar, for the third time shaking him.

But as little Hans said, “I will certainly show you a monster!” and as the others begged for his life, he let him loose, stamped again on the ground, and exclaimed:

“Oh, I would have commanded a band of heroes; I would have caught the monster, and led it in triumph home, but now it is gone, and you are the cause!”

But meanwhile the goat, which at first had so frightened them, approached again, and performed various playful capers to induce them to play with it. This increased Caspar’s rage, who would have seized the animal and beaten it; but it ran back, and then lowering its horns rushed against Caspar, not very softly. This excited him the more; he made a bold spring, seized the brute by the hair, and mounted it, in order the better to hold it; but, lo! the goat ran wildly away with him, with mad jumps through the wood, past shrieking Bessy, away into the village, where the people pointed their fingers at him mockingly.

Where did the goat stop?—for Caspar, while he lives, will not forget this! It easily found the way to the schoolhouse where it once joyfully fed, and flying to the yard, where the affrighted dog tried to seize it, it rushed into the school at the principal entrance, and stood suddenly in the schoolroom, where Herr Gulmann was correcting the exercises of his scholars. He heard the tremendous noise and outcry, and putting on his spectacles he discovered all!

What further happened I will omit, out of pity for Caspar, who may read this history some time. Only this must I mention: that Herr Gulmann made him read and explain on Monday morning, for a religious exercise, the history of David and Goliath, and soon after he unwillingly related the story of the Seven Suabians, who allowed themselves to be conquered by a hare, and at that seven little boys blushed very deeply. I believe, however, that seven times seven-and-seventy little boys would blush at this story I have just told if it had happened to them!

The Story of Little Black Mingo

Once upon a time there was a little black girl, and her name was Little Black Mingo.

She had no father and mother, so she had to live with a horrid cross old woman called Black Noggy, who used to scold her every day, and sometimes beat her with a stick, even though she had done nothing naughty.

One day Black Noggy called her, and said: “Take this chatty down to the river and fill it with water, and come back as fast as you can—quick now!”

So Little Black Mingo took the chatty and ran down to the river as fast as she could, and began to fill it with water, when cr-r-rrrack!!! bang!!! a horrible big mugger poked its nose up through the bottom of the chatty and said: “Ha, ha! Little Mingo, I’m going to eat you up!”

Little Black Mingo did not say anything. She turned and ran away as fast as ever she could, and the mugger ran after her. But the broken chatty round his neck caught his paws, so he could not overtake her.

But when she got back to Black Noggy, and told her how the mugger had broken the chatty, Black Noggy was fearfully angry. “You naughty girl,” she said, “you have broken the chatty yourself. I have a good mind to beat you.” And if she had not been in such a hurry for the water she would have beaten her.

Then she went and fetched the great big chatty that the dhobi used to boil the clothes in. “Take this,” said she, “and mind you don’t break it, or I will beat you.”

“But I can’t carry that when it is full of water,” said Little Black Mingo.

“You must go twice, and bring it half-full each time,” said Black Noggy.

So Little Black Mingo took the dhobi’s great big chatty, and started again to go to the river. But first she went to a little bank above the river, and peeped up and down to see if she could see the old mugger anywhere. But she could not see him, for he was hiding under the very bank she was standing on, and, though his tail stuck out a little, she never saw him at all.

She would have liked to run home, but she was too much afraid that Black Noggy would beat her.

So Little Black Mingo crept down to the river, and began to fill the big chatty with water. And while she was filling it the mugger came creeping softly down behind her and caught her by the leg, saying: “Aha, Little Black Mingo, now I’ve got you.”

And Little Black Mingo said: “Oh! please don’t eat me up, great big mugger!”

“What will you give me if I don’t eat you up?” said the mugger. But Little Black Mingo was so poor she had nothing to give. So the mugger caught her in his great cruel mouth and swam away with her to an island in the middle of the river, and set her down beside a huge pile of eggs.

“Those are my eggs,” said he; “to-morrow a little mugger will come out of each, and then we will have a great feast, and we will eat you up.”

Then he waddled off to catch fish for himself, and left Little Black Mingo alone beside the big pile of eggs.

And Little Black Mingo sat down on a big stone and hid her face in her hands, and cried bitterly, because she couldn’t swim, and she didn’t know how to get away.

Presently she heard a queer little squeaky noise that sounded like “Squeak, squeak, squeak!!! Oh, Little Black Mingo, help me, or I shall be drowned.” She got up and looked to see what was calling, and she saw a bush coming floating down the river with something wriggling and scrambling about in it, and as it came near she saw that it was a mongoose that was in the bush. So she waded out as far as she could, and caught hold of the bush and pulled it in, and the poor mongoose crawled up her arm on to her shoulder, and she carried him to shore.

When they got to shore the mongoose shook himself, and Little Black Mingo wrung out her petticoat, and so they both very soon got dry.

The mongoose then began to poke about for something to eat, and very soon he found the great big pile of muggers’ eggs. “Oh, joy!” said he, “what’s this?”

“Those are muggers’ eggs,” said Little Black Mingo.

“I’m not afraid of muggers!” said the mongoose; and he sat down and began to crack the eggs, and eat the little muggers as they came out. And he threw the shells into the water, so that the old mugger should not see that any one had been eating them. But he was careless, and he left one egg-shell on the edge, and he was hungry, and he ate so many that the pile got much smaller, and when the old mugger came back he saw at once that some one had been meddling with them.

So he ran to Little Black Mingo, and said, “How dare you eat my eggs?”

“Indeed, indeed, I didn’t,” said Little Black Mingo.

“Then who could it have been?” said the mugger, and he ran back to the eggs as fast as he could, and, sure enough, when he got back he found the mongoose had eaten a whole lot more!!

Then he said to himself, “I must stay beside my eggs till they are hatched into little muggers, or the mongoose will eat them all.” So he curled himself into a ring round the eggs and went to sleep.

But while he was asleep the mongoose came to eat some more of the eggs, and ate as many as he wanted, and when the mugger woke this time, oh! what a rage he was in, for there were only six eggs left! He roared so loud that all the little muggers inside the shells gnashed their teeth, and tried to roar, too.

Then he said: “I know what I’ll do. I’ll fetch Little Black Mingo’s big chatty, and cover my eggs with that; then the mongoose won’t be able to get at them.” So he swam across to the shore, and fetched the dhobi’s big chatty, and covered the eggs with it. “Now, you wicked little mongoose, come and eat my eggs if you can,” said he, and he went off quite proud and happy.

By and by the mongoose came back, and he was terribly disappointed when he found the eggs all covered with the big chatty.

So he ran off to Little Black Mingo, and asked her to help him, and Little Black Mingo came and took the big chatty off the eggs, and the mongoose ate them, every one.

“Now,” said he, “there will be no little muggers to make a feast for to-morrow.”

“No,” said Little Black Mingo, “but the mugger will eat me all by himself, I am afraid.”

“No, he won’t,” said the mongoose, “for we will sail away together in the big chatty before he comes back.”

So he climbed on to the edge of the chatty, and Little Black Mingo pushed the chatty out into the water, and then she clambered into it and paddled with her two hands as hard as she could, and the big chatty just sailed beautifully.

So they got across safely, and Little Black Mingo filled the chatty half-full of water and took it on her head, and they went up the bank together.

But when the mugger came back, and found only empty egg-shells, he was fearfully angry. He roared and he raged, and he howled and he yelled, till the whole island shook, and his tears ran down his cheeks and pattered on the sand like rain.

So he started to chase Little Black Mingo and the mongoose, and he swam across the river as fast as ever he could, and when he was half-way across he saw them landing, and as he landed they hurried over the first ridge.

So he raced after them, but they ran, and just before he caught them they got into the house, and banged the door in his face. Then they shut all the windows, so he could not get in anywhere.

“All right,” said he, “you will have to come out some time, and then I will catch you both, and eat you up.”

So he hid behind the back of the house and waited.

Now, Black Noggy was just coming home from the bazaar with a tin of kerosene on her head and a box of matches in her hand.

And when he saw her the mugger rushed out and gobbled her up, kerosene tin, matches, and all!!!

When Black Noggy found herself in the mugger’s dark inside, she wanted to see where she was, so she felt for the match-box, and took out a match and lit it. But the mugger’s teeth had made holes in the kerosene tin, so that the flame of the match caught the kerosene, and Bang!! the kerosene exploded, and blew the old mugger and Black Noggy into little bits.

At the fearful noise Little Black Mingo and the mongoose came running out, and there they found Black Noggy and the old mugger all blown to bits.

So Little Black Mingo and the mongoose got the nice little house for their very own, and there they lived happy ever after. And Little Black Mingo got the mugger’s head for her seat, and the mongoose got Black Noggy’s handkerchief for his. But he was so wee he used to put it on the mugger’s nose, and there they sat, and had their tea every evening.

Helen Bannerman.

The Cock and the Crested Hen

There was once a Cock who had a whole farm-yard of hens to look after and manage; and among them was a tiny little Crested Hen. She thought she was altogether too grand to be in company with the other hens, for they looked so old and shabby; she wanted to go out and strut about all by herself, so that people could see how fine she was, and admire her pretty crest and beautiful plumage.

So one day when all the hens were strutting about on the dust-heap and showing themselves off, and picking and clucking, as they were wont to do, this desire seized her, and she began to cry:

“Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, over the fence! cluck, cluck, cluck, over the fence!” and wanted to get away.

The Cock stretched his neck and shook his comb and feathers, and cried:

“Go not there!” And all the old hens cackled:

“Go-go-go-go not there!”

But she set off for all that; and was not a little proud when she got away, and could go about pluming and showing herself off quite alone.

Just then a hawk began to fly round in a circle above her, and all of a sudden he swooped down upon her. The Cock, as he stood on top of the dust-heap, stretching his neck and peering first with one eye and then with the other, had long noticed him, and cried with all his might:

“Come, come, come and help! Come, come, come and help!” till the people came running to see what was the matter. They frightened the hawk so that he let go the Hen, and had to be satisfied with her tuft and her finest feathers, which he had plucked from her. And then, you may be sure, she lost no time in running home; she stretched her neck, and tripped along, crying:

“See, see, see, see how I look! See, see, see, see how I look!”

The Cock came up to her in his dignified way, drooped one of his wings, and said:

“Didn’t I tell you?”

From that time the Hen did not consider herself too good to be in the company of the old hens on the dust-heap.

The Old Woman and the Fish

There was once upon a time an old woman who lived in a miserable cottage on the brow of a hill overlooking the town. Her husband had been dead for many years, and her children were in service round about the parish, so she felt rather lonely and dreary by herself, and otherwise she was not particularly well off either.

But when it has been ordained that one shall live, one cannot think of one’s funeral; and so one has to take the world as it is, and still be satisfied; and that was about all the old woman could console herself with. But that the road up which she had to carry the pails from the well should be so heavy; and that the ax should have such a blunt and rusty edge, so that it was only with the greatest difficulty that she could cut the little firewood she had; and that the stuff she was weaving was not sufficient—all this grieved her greatly, and caused her to complain from time to time.

So one day, when she had pulled the bucket up from the well, she happened to find a small pike in the bucket, which did not at all displease her.

“Such fish does not come into my pot every day,” she said; and now she could have a really grand dish, she thought. But the fish that she had got this time was no fool; it had the gift of speech, that it had.

“Let me go!” said the fish.

The old woman began to stare, you may be sure. Such a fish she had never before seen in this world.

“Are you so much better than other fish, then?” she said, “and too good to be eaten?”

“Wise is he who does not eat all he gets hold of,” said the fish; “only let me go, and you shall not remain without reward for your trouble.”

“I like a fish in the bucket better than all those frisking about free and frolicsome in the lakes,” said the old woman. “And what one can catch with one hand, one can also carry to one’s mouth,” she said.

“That may be,” said the fish; “but if you do as I tell you, you shall have three wishes.”

“Wish in one fist, and pour water in the other, and you’ll soon see which you will get filled first,” said the woman. “Promises are well enough, but keeping them is better, and I sha’n’t believe much in you till I have got you in the pot,” she said.

“You should mind that tongue of yours,” said the fish, “and listen to my words. Wish for three things, and then you’ll see what will happen,” he said.

Well, the old woman knew well enough what she wanted to wish, and there might not be so much danger in trying how far the fish would keep his word, she thought.

She then began thinking of the heavy hill up from the well.

“I would wish that the pails could go of themselves to the well and home again,” she said.

“So they shall,” said the fish.

Then she thought of the ax, and how blunt it was.

“I would wish that whatever I strike shall break right off,” she said.

“So it shall,” said the fish.

And then she remembered that the stuff she was weaving was not long enough.

“I would wish that whatever I pull shall become long,” she said.

“That it shall,” said the fish. “And now, let me down into the well again.”

Yes, that she would, and all at once the pails began to shamble up the hill.

“Dear me, did you ever see anything like it?” The old woman became so glad and pleased that she slapped herself across the knees.

Crack, crack! it sounded; and then both her legs fell off, and she was left sitting on the top of the lid over the well.

Now came a change. She began to cry and wail, and the tears started from her eyes, whereupon she began blowing her nose with her apron, and as she tugged at her nose it grew so long, so long, that it was terrible to see.

That is what she got for her wishes! Well, there she sat, and there she no doubt still sits, on the lid of the well. And if you want to know what it is to have a long nose, you had better go there and ask her, for she can tell you all about it, she can.

The Lad and the Fox

There was once upon a time a little lad, who was on his way to church, and when he came to a clearing in the forest he caught sight of a fox, that was lying on the top of a big stone so fast asleep that he did not know the lad had seen him.

“If I kill that fox,” said the lad, taking a heavy stone in his fist, “and sell the skin, I shall get money for it, and with that money I shall buy some rye, and that rye I shall sow in father’s corn-field at home. When the people who are on their way to church pass by my field of rye they’ll say: ‘Oh, what splendid rye that lad has got!’ Then I shall say to them: ‘I say, keep away from my rye!’ But they won’t heed me. Then I shall shout to them: ‘I say, keep away from my rye!’ But still they won’t take any notice of me. Then I shall scream with all my might: ‘Keep away from my rye!’ and then they’ll listen to me.”

But the lad screamed so loudly that the fox woke up and made off at once for the forest, so that the lad did not even get as much as a handful of his hair.

No; it’s best always to take what you can reach, for of undone deeds you should never screech, as the saying goes.

The Old Woman and the Tramp

There was once a tramp who went plodding his way through a forest. The distance between the houses was so great that he had little hope of finding a shelter before the night set in. But all of a sudden he saw some lights between the trees. He then discovered a cottage, where there was a fire burning on the hearth. How nice it would be to roast one’s self before that fire, and to get a bite of something, he thought; and so he dragged himself toward the cottage.

Just then an old woman came toward him.

“Good evening, and well met!” said the tramp.

“Good evening,” said the woman. “Where do you come from?”

“South of the sun, and east of the moon,” said the tramp; “and now I am on the way home again, for I have been all over the world with the exception of this parish,” he said.

“You must be a great traveler, then,” said the woman. “What may be your business here?”

“Oh, I want a shelter for the night,” he said.

“I thought as much,” said the woman; “but you may as well get away from here at once, for my husband is not at home, and my place is not an inn,” she said.

“My good woman,” said the tramp, “you must not be so cross and hard-hearted, for we are both human beings, and should help one another, as it is written.”

“Help one another?” said the woman, “help? Did you ever hear such a thing? Who’ll help me, do you think? I haven’t got a morsel in the house! No, you’ll have to look for quarters elsewhere,” she said.

But the tramp was like the rest of his kind; he did not consider himself beaten at the first rebuff. Although the old woman grumbled and complained as much as she could, he was just as persistent as ever, and went on begging and praying like a starved dog, until at last she gave in, and he got permission to lie on the floor for the night.

That was very kind, he thought, and he thanked her for it.

“Better on the floor without sleep, than suffer cold in the forest deep,” he said; for he was a merry fellow, this tramp, and was always ready with a rhyme.

When he came into the room he could see that the woman was not so badly off as she had pretended; but she was a greedy and stingy woman of the worst sort, and was always complaining and grumbling.

He now made himself very agreeable, of course, and asked her in his most insinuating manner for something to eat.

“Where am I to get it from?” said the woman. “I haven’t tasted a morsel myself the whole day.”

But the tramp was a cunning fellow, he was.

“Poor old granny, you must be starving,” he said. “Well, well, I suppose I shall have to ask you to have something with me, then?”

“Have something with you!” said the woman. “You don’t look as if you could ask any one to have anything! What have you got to offer one, I should like to know?”

“He who far and wide does roam sees many things not known at home; and he who many things has seen has wits about him and senses keen,” said the tramp. “Better dead than lose one’s head! Lend me a pot, granny!”

The old woman now became very inquisitive, as you may guess, and so she let him have a pot.

He filled it with water and put it on the fire, and then he blew with all his might till the fire was burning fiercely all round it. Then he took a four-inch nail from his pocket, turned it three times in his hand, and put it into the pot.

The woman stared with all her might.

“What’s this going to be?” she asked.

“Nail broth,” said the tramp, and began to stir the water with the porridge-stick.

“Nail broth?” asked the woman.

“Yes, nail broth,” said the tramp.

The old woman had seen and heard a good deal in her time, but that anybody could have made broth with a nail, well, she had never heard the like before.

“That’s something for poor people to know,” she said, “and I should like to learn how to make it.”

“That which is not worth having will always go a-begging,” said the tramp, but if she wanted to learn how to make it she had only to watch him, he said, and went on stirring the broth.

The old woman squatted on the ground, her hands clasping her knees, and her eyes following his hand as he stirred the broth.

“This generally makes good broth,” he said; “but this time it will very likely be rather thin, for I have been making broth the whole week with the same nail. If one only had a handful of sifted oatmeal to put in, that would make it all right,” he said. “But what one has to go without, it’s no use thinking more about,” and so he stirred the broth again.

“Well, I think I have a scrap of flour somewhere,” said the old woman, and went out to fetch some, and it was both good and fine.

The tramp began putting the flour into the broth, and went on stirring, while the woman sat staring now at him and then at the pot until her eyes nearly burst their sockets.

“This broth would be good enough for company,” he said, putting in one handful of flour after another. “If I had only a bit of salted beef and a few potatoes to put in, it would be fit for gentlefolks, however particular they might be,” he said. “But what one has to go without, it’s no use thinking more about.”

When the old woman really began to think it over, she thought she had some potatoes, and perhaps a bit of beef as well; and these she gave the tramp, who went on stirring, while she sat and stared as hard as ever.

“This will be grand enough for the best in the land,” he said.

“Well, I never!” said the woman; “and just fancy—all with a nail!”

He was really a wonderful man, that tramp! He could do more than drink a sup and turn the tankard up, he could.

“If one had only a little barley and a drop of milk, we could ask the king himself to have some of it,” he said; “for this is what he has every blessed evening—that I know, for I have been in service under the king’s cook,” he said.

“Dear me! Ask the king to have some! Well, I never!” exclaimed the woman, slapping her knees. She was quite awestruck at the tramp and his grand connections.

“But what one has to go without, it’s no use thinking more about,” said the tramp.

And then she remembered she had a little barley; and as for milk, well, she wasn’t quite out of that, she said, for her best cow had just calved. And then she went to fetch both the one and the other.

The tramp went on stirring, and the woman sat staring, one moment at him and the next at the pot.

Then all at once the tramp took out the nail.

“Now it’s ready, and now we’ll have a real good feast,” he said. “But to this kind of soup the king and the queen always take a dram or two, and one sandwich at least. And then they always have a cloth on the table when they eat,” he said. “But what one has to go without, it’s no use thinking more about.”

But by this time the old woman herself had begun to feel quite grand and fine, I can tell you; and if that was all that was wanted to make it just as the king had it, she thought it would be nice to have it exactly the same way for once, and play at being king and queen with the tramp. She went straight to a cupboard and brought out the brandy bottle, dram glasses, butter and cheese, smoked beef and veal, until at last the table looked as if it were decked out for company.

Never in her life had the old woman had such a grand feast, and never had she tasted such broth, and just fancy, made only with a nail!

She was in such a good and merry humor at having learned such an economical way of making broth that she did not know how to make enough of the tramp who had taught her such a useful thing.

So they ate and drank, and drank and ate, until they became both tired and sleepy.

The tramp was now going to lie down on the floor. But that would never do, thought the old woman; no, that was impossible. “Such a grand person must have a bed to lie in,” she said.

He did not need much pressing. “It’s just like the sweet Christmas time,” he said, “and a nicer woman I never came across. Ah, well! Happy are they who meet with such good people,” said he; and he lay down on the bed and went asleep.

And next morning, when he woke, the first thing he got was coffee and a dram.

When he was going, the old woman gave him a bright dollar piece.

“And thanks, many thanks, for what you have taught me,” she said. “Now I shall live in comfort, since I have learned how to make broth with a nail.”

“Well, it isn’t very difficult if one only has something good to add to it,” said the tramp as he went his way.

The woman stood at the door staring after him.

“Such people don’t grow on every bush,” she said.

THE END

McCLURE’S LIBRARY OF CHILDREN’S CLASSICS

“The Crimson Classics”

EDITED BY

Kate Douglas Wiggin

AND

Nora Archibald Smith

The problem of children’s reading is one of the greatest with which parents and teachers are confronted. It is the purpose of this series to provide the very best literature in every field for the use of children and young people of all ages,—poetry, fairy lore, fables, nursery rhymes, short entertaining stories, etc., etc. To accomplish this purpose the editors have spared no trouble and the publishers no expense, to the end that this series may take its place permanently in the home and in the school library, superseding all others less complete and less carefully selected with reference to the mental and spiritual needs and the simple æsthetic tastes of children. A full description of the five volumes already published will be found on the following pages.

PINAFORE PALACE

A BOOK OF RHYMES FOR THE NURSERY

This volume is absolutely unique in scope and conception. It is a collection of all the best nursery rhymes, nonsense verses, guessing games, lullabies and slumber songs for the delectation of the very littlest readers, just as The Posy Ring was designed for children a little older, and Golden Numbers for their brothers and sisters who are beginning to grow up and to prepare for school and college. The editors have, as in the case of the former volumes in the series, gone through the entire field of available material, and drawn upon many sources that are remote or inaccessible for the general reader. In this way they have been able to recover many a veritable little masterpiece of nursery lore, as well as to bring together all the old favorites from Mother Goose and other collections in a form at once compact and comprehensive. Teachers of kindergartens everywhere, as well as mothers with children to entertain at home, will welcome this little book and keep it on the most convenient shelf of the nursery bookcase. “Every home, large or small, poor or rich,” writes Mrs. Wiggin in her delightful Introduction to The Mother in Pinafore Palace; and, she adds later, “no greater love for a task nor happiness in doing it, no more ardent wish to please a child or meet a mother’s need, ever went into a book than has been brought into this volume.”

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GOLDEN NUMBERS

A BOOK OF VERSE FOR YOUTH

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A BOOK OF VERSE FOR CHILDREN

A companion volume to “Golden Numbers,” suitable for children from the ages of 7 to 12. The compilers have drawn largely on the works of Longfellow, Stevenson, Lewis Carroll, Eugene Field, Mary Mapes Dodge and James Whitcomb Riley. Every poem will give delight to the child, and also to the mother who would read them to the little ones.

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