Fairy tales

by Wilhelm Hauff

PART II.

When Peter entered his glass factory on the Monday morning he found the bailiffs already in possession. He was asked if he had any money with which he could settle his debts, and on his replying that he had not, his factory, house, stables, horse, carriage and the stock in hand were all seized.

“Well,” said he, “since the little man has done nothing for me I will see what the big one will do.” And he set off running as fast as though the police were at his heels.

He reached the clump of black pines, and as he passed the spot where he had seen the little Glass-man it seemed as though an invisible hand caught him and held him back. But he tore himself loose and dashed across the boundary line into Dutch Michael’s domain. Breathlessly he called: “Dutch Michael, Dutch Michael,” and immediately the gigantic figure of the raftsman stood before him.

“So you have come,” he said, laughing. “And did they wish to sell up you and your possessions? Well, well, it was the fault of the little man, miser that he is. If one makes a present it may as well be one worth having. But follow me to my house and I will see if we cannot drive a bargain.”

“Make a bargain?” thought Peter, “what have I to exchange with him? Have I got to serve him, I wonder?”

Dutch Michael led him up a steep woodland pathway until at length they came to a steep ravine, with rugged rocky sides. Michael sprang down the rugged rocks as though they had been a polished marble staircase, but Peter almost fainted when he saw that the giant grew taller and taller until he was the height of a church tower. He stretched up an arm as long as a weaver’s beam, with a hand the size of a parlour table, and bade Peter seat himself upon it and hold tight.

Peter trembled with fright but obeyed, took his seat upon the giant’s hand, and held tight to his thumb.

They went down and down, ever deeper, but to Peter’s surprise it was not at all dark, indeed it was quite the contrary, for the sun shone so brightly in his eyes that it dazzled him. The further Peter went down, the smaller Michael became, until when they reached the bottom of the ravine he was the same size as he had been when Peter first saw him.

They were standing outside a house, such as a well-to-do peasant might have inhabited, and the room Peter was shown into was much the same as any other room except that it seemed very dreary. A tall clock in a wooden case stood by the wall, an enormous china stove and the usual furniture were all there. Michael invited him to take a seat at the table and, going out, returned speedily with glasses and a flask of wine. He poured it out and they began to talk, Dutch Michael telling Peter of all the joys there were to be met with in foreign lands. He described the beautiful towns and rivers until Peter conceived a great longing to go and see them.

Michael stretched up an arm, with a hand the size of a parlour table. (P. [246].)

“Ah!” said Michael craftily, “even if your whole body and mind wanted to undertake some great piece of business your poor silly heart would quake with fear. I can’t think what a fine fellow like you wants with a heart. When you were called a cheat and a rogue where did you feel it most? Not in your head, I’ll be bound! When the officers of the law came and took possession of all your belongings did you have a stomach-ache? Tell me, where did it hurt you most?”

“My heart,” replied Peter, placing his hand upon his heaving breast.

“Now forgive me,” said Michael, “if I remind you that you have given away many hundred crown pieces to beggars and other rabble. What good has it done you? They blessed you and wished you good health. Did that do you any good? What was it prompted you to put your hand in your pocket every time a beggar held out his ragged hat to you? Your heart, I tell you. Neither your eyes, nor your tongue, nor your arm, nor your leg, but your heart. You took things to heart as the saying is.”

“But how can I help it? I try my best to suppress it; but my heart beats until it hurts me.”

“You poor fellow,” laughed Michael, “give me that little palpitating thing and see how much better you will feel without it!”

“Give you my heart!” screamed Peter in horror, “why, I should die on the spot. No, that I will not!”

“Of course, you would die if an ordinary physician were to cut out your heart. But with me it is quite a different matter. Come with me, and I will convince you.”

He rose and beckoned to Peter to follow him into another room. Peter’s heart contracted painfully as he crossed the threshold of this room; but he paid no heed to it, such astonishing sights claimed his attention. There were rows of shelves, and upon these stood glass bottles filled with transparent fluid, and in each of these bottles there was a heart. Every bottle was labelled and Peter read the names with the greatest curiosity. There was the name of the Chief Magistrate, Fat Ezekiel’s, the Dance King, in fact all the principal people in the neighbourhood.

“Observe,” said Michael, “all these people have rid themselves of fear and sorrow for life. Not one of these hearts beats with fear or sorrow any more, and their former possessors are very well off without such unquiet guests to disturb them.”

“But what do they carry in their breasts in place of them?” enquired Peter, who felt faint and giddy.

“This,” replied Michael, and he showed him a heart of stone he had taken from a drawer.

“Oh!” said Peter with a shudder, “a heart of stone? But that must be very cold in one’s breast.”

“Yes, yes,” replied Michael, “quite pleasantly cool. What do you want with a warm heart? Even in winter a glass of good cherry brandy will warm your body better than your heart could, and in summer when it is hot and sultry it is nice and cooling. Then, as I have said, neither grief, nor foolish pity, nor sorrow of any sort can affect such a heart.”

“And is that all you have to offer me?” asked Peter ungraciously, “I had hoped for money and you offer me a stone.”

“Come, I think a hundred thousand crown pieces would be sufficient for you at first. If you deal advantageously with it you will soon be a millionaire.”

“A hundred thousand!” exclaimed the poor charcoal-burner, joyfully. “Come, come, my heart, don’t beat so wildly, for we are about to part company. Here, Michael, give me the money and the stone and you may have this disturber of my peace.”

“I thought you would prove a sensible fellow,” said Michael, “come, we will have another glass of wine and then I will count out the money.”

They seated themselves in the next room and drank so much wine that Peter fell asleep.

When he awoke it was to the friendly sound of a post horn, and see, there he was, seated in a beautiful carriage. He put his head out of the window and saw the Black Forest in the distance behind him. At first he could not believe it was himself that sat in the carriage, for his clothes were not the same as those he had worn the day before; but he remembered everything so clearly that he could no longer doubt. “Charcoal Peter am I, and no mistake,” he said.

He was surprised he felt no sadness at leaving his home and the Forest where he had lived for so long. Even the thought of his mother whom he was leaving alone, helpless and in dire poverty, provoked no feeling of remorse in him, and he could not call up a tear nor even a sigh. He felt perfectly indifferent.

“Of course,” said he, “tears and sighs, home-sickness, and grief, come from the heart and, thanks to Dutch Michael, mine is now of stone.”

He put his hand to his breast, but nothing moved there. “If he has kept his word as well regarding the hundred thousand dollars as he has kept it respecting my heart, I shall have nothing to complain of;” with that he began to search the carriage. He found everything he could possibly require in the shape of clothing, but no money. But at length he came across a pocket in the lining of the carriage which was stuffed with gold and notes, and letters of credit to all the principal cities.

“Now I have everything I can possibly want,” he said, and settling himself comfortably in the corner of his carriage drove away out into the world.

For two years he drove about the country, peering right and left from the windows of his carriage at the houses and villages he passed. When he came into a town he put up at an inn, then went round with a courier, who showed him all the beautiful and interesting sights, not one of which afforded him the least delight, for his heart of stone prevented him taking pleasure in anything. Nothing, however beautiful, appealed to his senses any longer. Nothing was left to him but to eat and drink and sleep—and so he lived without interest or aim in life; to amuse himself he ate and drank, and to prevent his being bored he slept.

Now and again he thought of the days when he had been happy and gay, although he had been obliged to work hard for a livelihood. In those days every beautiful view had delighted him, music and singing had enchanted him, and the simple food his mother cooked for him and brought to him as he sat beside his kiln had been more appetising than all the dainty dishes he partook of now. As he thought of the past it struck him as very singular that he no longer desired to smile even, whereas formerly the smallest joke had served as an excuse for laughter. When other folks laughed he drew his lips into the form of a grin out of politeness; but his heart no longer laughed. It is true he was never upset over anything, but then he was not really satisfied.

It was not home-sickness or grief; but a sense of blankness, weariness and friendlessness that at length drove him back home.

As he drove out of Strassburg and saw again the beautiful dark pine-trees of his native forest, and looked upon the honest faces of his countrymen, and heard the homely, well-remembered tones of their speech, he placed his hand quickly to his heart, for his blood was coursing wildly through his veins and he felt as though he must both weep and laugh together. But—how foolish! His heart was of stone, and stones are dead and can neither laugh nor weep.

His first visit was to Dutch Michael, who received him with friendliness as he had formerly done. “Michael,” said Peter, “I have travelled all over the world and taken pleasure in nothing; I was only bored. It is true that the stone thing I carry in my breast shielded me from a great deal of unpleasantness, I am never angry or sad, but then I am never glad either and I feel only half alive. Could you not put a little life into the stone heart, or even give me back my old heart? I had it for five-and-twenty years and had become accustomed to it, and even if it makes me commit some foolishness occasionally, still it was a merry, happy heart.”

For two years Peter drove about the country. (P. [251].)

The giant laughed a grim and bitter laugh. “When you are dead, Peter Munk,” he replied, “you shall have your soft, feeling heart back again, and experience all the sensations you knew before. But as long as you are alive you cannot have it. It would have been of little service to you either, in the life of idleness you have been living lately. Why don’t you settle down now, marry, build a house, make money? All you require is work; because you were idle you were bored and then you blame your innocent stone heart.”

Peter saw that there was sense in what Michael said and made up his mind to devote his time to money-making. Michael gave him another hundred thousand dollars and they parted good friends.

Very soon the news was spread abroad in the Black Forest that Charcoal Peter, or Gambling Peter, had returned, and that he was richer than formerly. As usual, now that he had returned a rich man he was received with open arms by those who had turned their backs on him in his misfortunes. He now pretended that he was a timber merchant, but this was only a blind, his real business was that of a money-lender and corn-dealer.

Very soon half the folks in the Black Forest owed him money, and he charged ten per cent for all he lent. Or again he sold corn to the poor, who had not the money to pay immediately, for three times its worth.

He was first-rate friends with the magistrate now, and when it happened that Peter’s debtors did not pay up to the very day the magistrate would come with his officers and sell up their homes and drive father, mother and children out into the forest. At first it caused rich Peter some inconvenience, for the poor creatures besieged his house, the men begged for some consideration, the women tried to soften his heart of stone, and the children cried for bread. But he bought a pair of fierce dogs to stop the “caterwauling,” as he called it, and so soon as a beggar appeared he set his dogs on to him.

But what caused him the most trouble was his poor old mother. She had fallen into extreme poverty, and though her son had returned a rich man he did not attempt to provide for her. She came sometimes to his door, weak and ill, her tottering steps supported by a stick, but she did not venture into the house, for once she had been driven out of it. It was a sore grief to her that she should be dependent on the charity of others when her own son could so well have afforded to care for her in her old age. But his heart of stone was never moved by the sight of the pale worn face and the withered outstretched hand.

When she knocked at his door he drew some coppers from his pocket and gave them to a servant to hand to her. He could hear her trembling voice as she thanked him and wished him well, he heard her coughing pitifully as she crept away, and then he thought no more about the matter, except that he had spent some money with no hope of its being returned.

At last Peter made up his mind to get married. He knew quite well that every father in the Black Forest would be only too glad to let him marry his daughter, but he was very difficult to please, for he wanted everyone to praise the good sense he had shown in making his choice and to be envious of his good fortune.

So he went to every dance-room in the countryside, but not one of the beautiful maidens he met there did he think sufficiently beautiful. At length he heard that a poor wood-cutter’s daughter was the most beautiful and most virtuous maiden in the whole of the Black Forest. She lived quietly, keeping her father’s house in beautiful order, and never so much as showed herself at the dance-rooms, not even at holiday times. No sooner did Peter hear of this marvel than he made up his mind to wed her, and rode out to the cottage where she dwelt. The beautiful Lisbeth’s father received this fine-looking gentleman with surprise, and was still more astonished when he heard that Peter wished to be his son-in-law. He did not take long to make up his mind, for he supposed that all his poverty and anxious striving would now be at an end, and so he agreed to his request without so much as asking Lisbeth’s consent, but she was such an obedient child that she did not venture to object, and so became Mrs. Peter Munk.

But the poor girl was not as happy as she expected to be. She had thought herself an accomplished housekeeper, but she could do nothing to please Master Peter. She was pitiful towards the poor, and, knowing her husband to be a man of means, she thought it no wrong to give them a little money or food. But when Peter happened to see her one day he told her with an angry glance and in harsh tones that she was wasting his goods. “What did you bring with you,” he cried, “that you think you can spend so lavishly? Why, your beggar father’s staff would scarcely serve to heat the soup, and yet you throw money about as though you were a princess. If I catch you doing it again you shall feel the weight of my hand.”

The beautiful Lisbeth wept bitterly when she was alone, and wished herself back again in her father’s poor little cottage instead of living in the grand house of the rich but miserly and hard-hearted Peter Munk. Had she known that he had a heart of stone in his breast and could love neither her nor anyone else she would not have been so surprised.

Sometimes, as she sat in her doorway, a beggar would pass by and hold out his hand in entreaty. Then Lisbeth closed her eyes tightly that she might not see his misery, and clenched her hands so that they should not involuntarily stray to her pocket for a coin. And so it happened that Lisbeth came to be ill-thought of throughout the whole of the Black Forest, and it was said that she was even more miserly than Peter himself.

But one day Lisbeth sat by the door of her house and sang a little song as she twirled her distaff, for she was merry because the weather was fine and Peter had ridden out into the country. She saw a little old man coming along, bent beneath the weight of an enormous sack and panting painfully. She looked at him pityingly, thinking to herself that it was not right that such an old man should be so heavily laden.

Just as the old man reached Lisbeth he stumbled and almost fell beneath the weight of his sack. “Have pity, dear lady, and give me a drink of water,” he gasped, “I can go no further, I am completely exhausted.”

“You are too old to carry such a heavy weight,” said Lisbeth.

“True,” replied the old man, “but it is on account of my poverty that I am forced to go round as a carrier, otherwise I should not be able to earn a livelihood. But a rich lady like yourself knows nothing of the pinch of poverty or how good a cool draught of fresh water seems on such a hot day.”

On hearing this Lisbeth hurried into the house, took a pitcher from the shelf and filled it with water, and when she turned to hand it to the old man and saw how wretched and tired out he looked as he sat upon his sack, she felt so much pity for him, that she could not resist giving him more substantial help. So she set the water aside and filled a cup with red wine and gave it to him with a large slice of rye bread.

“This will do you more good than water, seeing that you are so old,” she said, “but be careful, do not drink so hastily, take a morsel of bread with the wine.”

THE COLD HEART
“She saw a little old man coming along.”
(p. [258])

The old man looked at her with tears in his [!-- original location of full page illustration --] [!-- blank page --] eyes—“I am very old,” he said, “but in all my life I have seen few so pitiful as you or whose gifts were given with such gracious kindness. But such a kind heart will not go unrewarded.”

“No, indeed, and the reward she shall have at once,” cried a terrible voice, and when they turned, there stood Peter with a face purple with rage.

“And so you give my best wine to beggars, and serve it in my own cup, too. Now you shall have your reward.”

Lisbeth threw herself at his feet and begged for forgiveness, but his heart of stone knew no pity; he turned the whip he was carrying round and struck her forehead with the ebony handle with so much force that she sank back lifeless into the arms of the old man. Immediately he began to regret what he had done and stooped to see if she were yet alive. But the little old man spoke in well-known tones: “Do not trouble, Charcoal Peter, she was the sweetest and loveliest flower in the whole of the Black Forest; now that you have trodden it under foot it will never bloom again.”

Every drop of blood forsook Peter’s cheeks—“So it is you,” he said. “Well, what is done, is done. I trust you will not give me up to the hand of the law for this murder.”

“Miserable wretch!” replied the little Glass-man. “What satisfaction should I have in giving your mortal body to the hangman? It is no earthly court of justice you have to fear, but another and a more awful one, for you have sold your soul to the evil one.”

“And if I have sold my heart,” screamed Peter, “who, but you, is to blame for it, you and the deceitful tricks you played on me with the treasures I was to gain through you? You drove me to seek other help, that has been my undoing, and so the responsibility lies with you.”

But scarcely had he spoken before the little Glass-man began to grow bigger. He grew and he swelled until he became a huge giant, his eyes were as big as saucers and his mouth was the size of a baker’s oven out of which flames began to dart. Peter threw himself on his knees, for his stone heart did not prevent his limbs from shaking like an aspen tree.

With hands like vulture’s claws the wood spirit seized him by his neck, twisted him about as the whirlwind does the dry leaves, and then dashed him to the ground so that his ribs cracked.

“Earth-worm!” he cried, in a voice that rolled like thunder, “I could shatter you to pieces if I would, for you have offended the Lord of the Forest. But for the sake of this dead woman, who fed me and gave me drink, I will give you eight days’ grace. If during that time you do not repent, I will come and grind your bones to powder and you will depart in the midst of your sins.”

It was evening when some passing men found Peter Munk lying unconscious on the ground; they turned him over and sought for some sign of life, but for some time in vain. At length one of them went into the house and fetched some water and sprinkled it on his face. Then he drew a deep breath, groaned and opened his eyes, looked around him anxiously, and asked for his wife, but no one had seen her.

Some passing men found Peter Munk lying unconscious on the ground. (P. [263].)

He thanked the men for their assistance, crept into his house and searched from cellar to attic, but in vain; what he had hoped might prove a bad dream was bitter reality.

Now that he was left quite alone, strange thoughts came to him; he had no fear, for was not his heart cold? But when he thought of the death of his wife, it reminded him that his own death would come one day. And how heavily laden with sin he would be! His soul would be weighed down by the tears of the needy, the curses of those he had ruined, the groans of the wretched ones that had been dragged down by his dogs, the quiet despair of his own mother, and the innocent blood of Lisbeth. How would he be able to answer her old father when he came and demanded: “Where is my daughter, your wife?”

He was tormented in his dreams, and repeatedly awoke, hearing a sweet voice calling to him: “Peter, Peter, see that you get a warmer heart.” Even when he was awake it was the same, and he knew the voice to be Lisbeth’s. He went down to the inn to divert his thoughts, and there he met Fat Ezekiel. He sat down opposite to him and they began to talk of all sorts of things, the weather, the war, the stars, and at last of death and how quickly some had died off.

Then Peter asked the fat one what he thought of death and the hereafter.

Ezekiel answered that the body died and was buried, but the soul soared up to heaven or down to the evil one.

“Is the heart buried with the body?” asked Peter.

“Certainly that is buried too!”

“But if one had no heart?” queried Peter.

Ezekiel looked at him in horror. “What do you say? Are you trying to make game of me? Do you mean to say that I have no heart?”

“Oh! yes, you have a heart right enough,” said Peter, “but it is made of stone.”

Ezekiel stared at him in astonishment, looked round to see that no one was listening, and then said: “How do you know that? Has your own ceased to beat also?”

“It beats no longer, at least not in my breast,” answered Peter Munk. “But tell me, now you understand how it is with me, what will happen to our hearts?”

“Why worry about that, my friend,” laughed Ezekiel. “You are alive at present and that is the best of having a heart of stone, one is never afraid of such thoughts.”

“Quite true, but one thinks about them all the same,” said Peter, “and I can remember still how they would have frightened me once upon a time.”

“Of course, we can’t expect things to go very well with us,” said Ezekiel. “Once upon a time I asked a schoolmaster about it and he told me that our hearts would be weighed; the light ones went up on the scale and those heavy with sin went down, so I expect our stone hearts will be pretty heavy.”

“Sometimes I am a little uncomfortable to think that my heart should be so indifferent to such things,” said Peter.

So they talked together. That night Peter heard the voice whispering five or six times in his ear: “Peter, Peter, see that you get a warmer heart!” He felt no remorse for what he had done, but when he told his servants that his wife had gone on a journey he wondered to himself whither she had journeyed.

Six whole days and nights passed and ever it seemed to him there was a voice whispering in his ear, and he could think of nothing but the little Glass-man and his warning. And so, on the seventh day, he sprang out of bed and said: “Well, I will see if I cannot get a warm heart again, instead of this unfeeling stone in my bosom, for it makes my life both tedious and lonely.” So he dressed himself in his best and rode off to the clump of black pines. When he reached the outskirts he dismounted, tied up his horse, and hurried to the summit of the hill, and as he came to the big pine-tree he repeated his verse:

“Owner of all in the pine-woods green,

Many a hundred years thou hast seen,

Thine all the lands where the pine-trees grow—

To the Sunday-born thy face now show!”

At once the little Glass-man appeared, but he did not seem at all friendly; but looked gloomy and sad. He wore a coat of black glass, and a long crape veil floated from his hat, and Peter knew very well for whom he wore mourning.

“What do you want with me, Peter Munk?” he asked in deep tones.

“There is still a wish due to me, Mr. Glass-man,” answered Peter with downcast eyes.

“Is it possible for a heart of stone to wish for anything?” said the little man. “You have everything a man of your bad disposition requires, and I shall not readily grant your request.”

That night Peter heard the voice whispering in his ear. (P. [266].)

“But you promised me three wishes,” said Peter “and one I have not yet made use of.”

“I have the right to withhold it if it is a foolish wish,” said the little man, “but say on, what do you want?”

“Take this cold stone out of my breast and give me back my warm living heart in place of it,” Peter asked.

“Had I aught to do with the exchange?” demanded the little man. “Am I Dutch Michael, who gives fortunes and stone hearts away? You must recover your heart from him.”

“But he will never give it back to me,” answered Peter.

“Bad as you are, I am sorry for you,” said the little man after a few moments’ consideration, “and as your wish is not a foolish one I will promise to assist you. Listen, you will never obtain your heart by force and so you must employ cunning, and it may not be a difficult task, for stupid Michael always was and stupid he will remain, although he prides himself upon being extremely clever. So go straight to him and do exactly as I tell you.” The Glass-man then gave Peter a little cross of pure transparent glass, and proceeded to give him minute instructions as to how he should act. “He cannot take your life,” said the little man, “and he will let you go free if you hold this out to him and whisper a prayer. As soon as you have obtained what you want come back here to me.”

Peter Munk took the little cross, made sure he remembered every word the little man had told him, and went straight off to the spot where Michael was wont to be found. He called him three times by name and at once the giant appeared. “And so you have killed your wife,” he said with a horrible laugh. “Well, I should have done the same. Did she not waste your fortune on beggars? But it would be best for you to leave the country for a time, for there will be a fine fuss when it is found out; and so I suppose you want money and have come to fetch it from me?”

“You have guessed it exactly,” replied Peter, “but I shall require a good big sum this time. It is a long way to America.”

Michael went in advance and led the way to his home. As soon as he reached it he went to a chest and took out several packets of gold. Whilst he was counting it Peter said: “You are a rascal, Michael, for you deceived me, telling me that I had a stone in my breast, and that you had my heart.”

“And is it not so?” asked the astonished Michael, “can you feel your heart beat? Do you know what fear or remorse is?”

“Ah! you have just made my heart stand still, but I have it still in my breast and so has Ezekiel. It was he who told me you had lied to us; you are not the one to take one’s heart out without his feeling it, that would be magic.”

“But I assure you I did,” said Michael angrily. “You, and Ezekiel, and all the other rich people who have had dealings with me have hearts of stone, and your own original hearts I have here, shut up in a room.”

“Now how easily the lies trip from your tongue!” laughed Peter. “You must make some one else believe that. I have seen dozens of similar tricks on my travels. The hearts you have in your room there are merely waxen ones. You are a rich fellow, I allow, but you do not understand magic.”

The giant became furious and tore open the door of the room. “Come in and read all these labels; look at this, look at that, do you see it is labelled ‘Peter Munk’s Heart!’ do you see how it throbs? Could you make a waxen one do that?”

“All the same, it is wax,” said Peter. “A real heart does not beat like that, I have mine still in my breast. No, it is evident you do not understand magic.”

“But I will prove it to you!” cried the angry Michael; “you shall feel for yourself that it is your own heart.”

He tore Peter’s vest open, took a stone from his breast and showed it to him. Then he took the real heart, breathed on it, and put it carefully in its place, and immediately to his delight Peter felt it begin to beat.

“Now what have you to say?” laughed Michael.

“Truly you were in the right,” answered Peter, carefully drawing the little cross from his pocket. “I would not have believed it possible for a man to do such a thing.”

“Well, it was as I said,” answered Michael; “you see I do understand magic, but come, now, I must put the stone back in your breast.”

“Softly, softly, Michael!” cried Peter, and he took a step backwards and held out the cross towards him. “With a morsel of cheese the mouse is caught, and this time it is you who have been caught.” And he at once began to murmur the first prayer that came to his lips.

At once Michael began to dwindle away, fell down on the ground and writhed like a worm, and groaned and sighed, and all the hearts in the glass bottles began to throb and beat until it sounded like the clock-maker’s workshop. But Peter was afraid, and his courage began to fail him, and he turned and ran out of the house and, driven by fear, he climbed the steep face of the rocky ravine, for he could hear Michael raging and stamping and uttering fearful oaths.

“Come in and read all these labels,” said the giant. (P. [270].)

As soon as he reached the top he ran quickly to the clump of black pines. A fearful thunderstorm broke out suddenly, lightning flashed from left to right of him, striking the trees about him, but he reached the domain of the little Glass-man in safety.

His heart was beating with joy, simply because it did beat. But suddenly he saw with horror that his past life had been even as the terrible thunderstorm that had dealt destruction right and left in the beautiful forest. He thought of Lisbeth, his good and beautiful wife, whom he had murdered on account of his avarice, and he saw himself as an outcast of humanity. When he reached the little hill where the Glass-man dwelt he was weeping bitterly.

The Glass man sat beneath the pine-tree and smoked a pipe, and he looked more cheerful than previously. “Why do you weep, Charcoal Peter?” he asked. “Did you not get your heart? Have you still a stone in your breast?”

“Ah! sir!” sighed Peter, “when I had a heart of stone I never wept, my eyes were as dry as the land in July; but now my heart is breaking as I think of all I have done. My debtors I drove out to misery and want, and set my dogs upon the poor and sick, and you know alas! how my whip fell upon that snow-white brow!”

“Peter, you have been a great sinner!” said the little man. “Money and idleness spoilt you; when your heart became as a stone you could feel neither joy, nor sorrow, neither remorse nor pity. But repentance can make amends and if I knew for certain that you were sorry for your past life I would still do something for you.”

“I ask for nothing more,” answered Peter, and let his head sink mournfully upon his breast. “All is over for me, never again can I rejoice, and what can I do alone in the world? My mother will never forgive me for what I have done; even now, maybe, I have brought her to her grave, monster that I am. And Lisbeth, my wife! It were a kindness to strike me dead, Master Glass-man, so that my miserable life were at an end.”

“Good,” replied the little man, “if you insist, well, I have my axe near at hand.”

He took his pipe quietly from his mouth, tapped it and put it back again. Then he rose slowly and stepped behind the pine-tree. But Peter sat down upon the grass weeping, his life had become worthless to him, and patiently he awaited the stroke of death. Shortly afterwards he heard light footsteps behind him and thought, “He is coming now!”

“Look round, Peter Munk!” cried the little man. Peter wiped the tears from his eyes and, looking round, saw—his mother, and Lisbeth, his wife, smiling at him. He sprang up joyfully, “Then you are not dead, Lisbeth? And you are here also, Mother, and have forgiven me?”

“They pardon you,” said the little Glass-man, “because you are truly penitent, and everything shall be forgotten. Go home now to your father’s cottage and be a charcoal-burner as before; if you are honest and industrious you will learn to respect your work, and your neighbours will love and esteem you more than if you had ten tons of gold.”

Thus spoke the little Glass-man, and then bade him farewell.

The three happy people praised and blessed him and turned towards home.

Peter’s splendid house was no longer standing. It had been struck by lightning and burnt to the ground, together with all his money and treasures, but it was no great distance to the old hut, and so they turned their steps towards it and were not in the least troubled about the great loss.

But what was their surprise on reaching the little hut to find it had become a fine farm-house, furnished throughout with simplicity, but with everything that was necessary and good.

“That is the work of the little Glass-man,” cried Peter.

“How beautiful everything is,” said Lisbeth; “I shall be far happier and more at home here than in the great big house with its many servants.”

From that time Peter became an industrious and honest fellow. He was contented with what he had and plied his trade without grumbling; and so it came to pass that through his own exertions he became well off and respected and loved by everyone in the Forest.

He never quarrelled with his wife, honoured his mother, and gave to the poor who came knocking at his door.

After a time a beautiful boy came to them, to add to their happiness, and then Peter went to the clump of pine-trees and again recited his little rhyme, but the Glass-man did not show himself.

“Master Glass-man,” cried Peter loudly, “do listen to me, for I only meant to ask you to be godfather to my little son!”

But there was no reply, only a little breath of wind sighed through the pine-trees and blew a few cones to the ground.

“Well, I will take these as a remembrance, as you will not show yourself to me,” said Peter, and popped the cones into his pocket, and went home. But when he took off his best coat and his mother shook out the pockets before laying it away in the chest, out tumbled four fine big rolls of gold pieces. That was the good Glass-man’s christening present to little Peter.

And so they lived happily ever after, and when Peter Munk was an old man with grey hair he was wont to say: “It is better to be content with little, than to have money and possessions and a cold heart.”

THE ADVENTURES OF SAID.

AT the time when Harun Al-Raschid was ruler of Bagdad there lived in Balsora a man named Benezar. He had a sufficiently large fortune to be able to live comfortably and at ease without working for a livelihood.

Even when his son was born he did not change his mode of living, for he said: “Wherefore should I wear myself out working at a trade, just so that I may be able to leave Said, my son, another thousand gold pieces if I am lucky, or a thousand less if I am unlucky? What is enough for two is enough for three, as the saying is, and if he turns out well he shall want for nothing.”

Benezar and the baby Said. (P. [276].)

And so he announced his intention of not allowing his son to become a merchant, but took care to study learned books with him, and as, according to his ideas, besides learning and reverence for age, nothing became a young man more than a knowledge of arms and a courageous disposition, he had him carefully instructed in the skilful handling of weapons and all modes of defence.

And so Said was able to compare favourably not only with youths of his own age, but with his elders, as an excellent fighter, and as for riding and swimming none could compete with him.

When he was eighteen years of age his father sent him to Mecca to worship at the grave of the Prophet, as was customary.

Before he set out his father sent for him, praised his good conduct, gave him some good advice, and provided him with money for the journey. Then he told him the following story. “I am,” said he, “a man who is above sharing the superstitions of the lower classes. It is true that I like to amuse myself by listening to stories of fairies and enchanters, but I certainly do not believe, as many of the uneducated do, that there is any truth in the suggestion that they are able to have an influence on the lives and actions of men. Your mother, however, who died twelve years ago, believed in them as firmly as she believed in the Koran; indeed, she confided to me once, after making me promise never to divulge her words to anyone but her child, that she had been in communication with a fairy from the day of her birth. I tried to laugh her out of the idea, but I must confess, Said, that at your birth such strange things occurred that even I was taken by surprise. All day long there had been a thunderstorm and the sky was so dark that it was impossible to read without a light. About four o’clock in the afternoon I was told a little son had been born to me. I hurried to your mother’s apartments to see you and bless you, but I found her door closed and all her attendants standing outside it, and on my questioning them they told me your mother had turned them all out because she wished to be alone. I knocked at the door, but in vain, it remained closed.

“As I stood unwillingly amongst the attendants outside your mother’s door the thunderstorm suddenly ceased, as though it had never been, and the most surprising thing about it was that although the sky was a beautiful deep blue above our dear city of Balsora, all around it lay clouds as black as night and lightning flashed and darted around the circle of blue.

“Whilst I was observing this spectacle with great curiosity, the door of my wife’s room flew open, but I would not allow the maids to enter and went in alone. As I entered my nostrils were assailed with an overpowering scent of roses, carnations and hyacinths. Your mother laid you in my arms and pointed out a little silver whistle which hung suspended from your neck by a gold chain, as fine as silk.

“‘The beneficent fairy of whom I told you once has been here,’ said she, ‘and has given your son this present.’

“There is your gift.” (P. [280].)

“‘Perhaps she was the witch who made the weather fine and left behind her this scent of roses and carnations?’ I asked jokingly. ‘She might have given him something better than a silver whistle, a purse of gold or a fine horse would have been more acceptable.’ Your mother begged me not to make fun, as fairies are easily offended and their blessings then turn to curses.

“So to please her I said no more; but six years later she mentioned it to me again, for in spite of her youth she felt that she was at the point of death. She gave me the whistle and told me to give it to you when you were twenty years of age, and on no account to let you out of my sight before you were that age. There is your gift,” proceeded Benezar, taking a silver whistle attached to a long gold chain from a casket, “I give it to you in your eighteenth year, instead of your twentieth, as you are starting on your travels, and before you return I may be gathered to my fathers.”

“I do not see any reason for your remaining another two years with me as your mother wished, for you are a good, sensible young fellow, and understand how to handle weapons as well as though you were four-and-twenty years old at least, and therefore there is no reason why you should not be declared of age to-day as though you really were twenty. And now depart in peace, and in happiness or misfortune, from which Heaven defend you, remember your father.”

Said took an affectionate and touching farewell of his father, hung the chain around his neck, stuck the whistle in his girdle, swung himself upon his horse, and rode to the place from which the caravan for Mecca started. In a short time eighty camels and a large number of riders had assembled; the caravan was in motion, and Said rode out of the gates of Balsora, his native town, which he was not to see again for a long time.

The novelty of the journey and the different circumstances in which he found himself distracted his thoughts at first, but when they approached the desert and the surroundings became more desolate and barren, he had time to think of many things, especially his father’s last words to him.

He took out his whistle, looked at it and placed it between his lips, to judge if it had a good tone. But it gave forth no tones at all, although he blew until he nearly cracked his cheeks. Annoyed at the useless gift he had received, he tucked the whistle carelessly away again. But presently his thoughts turned to his mother’s mysterious words. He had often heard of fairies, but he had never been able to ascertain that any of their neighbours in Balsora had any connection whatever with supernatural beings; the stories he had heard had always had their foundation in foreign lands and in olden times, and so he thought that fairies and such-like apparitions had ceased to visit mankind or to take an interest in their destinies. But in spite of this he could not help thinking that something very strange had happened to his mother and he racked his brains to think what it could all mean, and thus it happened that he was so wrapped in his own thoughts that he rode all day long without taking notice of the other travellers, who sang and laughed as they journeyed on.

Said was a handsome young man with bright, fearless eyes, a sweet, good-natured mouth, and, although so young, he had a very dignified bearing. The stately manner in which he rode his horse, fully equipped as he was in warlike attire, drew the attention of many of the travellers upon him. One old man who rode beside him was so well pleased with him that he endeavoured by drawing him into conversation to find out if his character fitted his appearance, and Said, who had been brought up to reverence age, answered politely and modestly, but withal so cleverly and prudently, that the old man was delighted with him. But as Said’s whole mind was concentrated on one subject it was not long before he led up to it in conversation, and he asked the old man if he believed in fairies and such-like spirits and whether he considered they were able to have any influence over the lives of men.

The old man stroked his beard and shook his head slowly. “I have frequently heard of such visions,” he said, “but I cannot say that I have personally encountered any supernatural creature whatever; at the same time I have heard of numberless cases of fairies and genii appearing to others.” He then began to recount to Said a number of such extraordinary stories that at last the young man’s head was in a whirl, and he could not but believe that the strange circumstances that were supposed to have taken place at his birth were actually true, and that he was under the protection of some powerful fairy who would assist him if ever, finding himself in danger, he blew the little silver whistle. He dreamt that night of fairies, genii, castles in the air, and magic horses.

But unfortunately the next day he was disillusioned. The caravan had travelled all day at a leisurely pace, when towards evening some dark objects were observed at the most distant point in the desert; some thought it was only another caravan approaching, but Said’s old friend cried out to all to be prepared for an attack, for without doubt a horde of wild Arabs was approaching.

The men seized their weapons, the women and merchandise were placed in the centre, and all was prepared for an attack.

The dark mass moved slowly across the plain, looking at the distance like a number of storks about to wing their flight to foreign lands. But as they approached nearer they increased their pace, and very soon it was seen they were a body of men armed with lances who dashed forward with incredible swiftness upon the caravan. The men defended themselves bravely; but the robber force consisted of four hundred men, and they surrounded the caravan on every side, attacking skilfully with their lances. At this terrible moment Said, who had fought with the bravest, remembered his whistle and, placing it to his lips, blew with all his might. Alas! he let it fall again quickly, for it emitted not a sound. Enraged over this bitter disappointment he took aim at an Arab, who, by reason of his magnificent apparel, was distinguished from the rest. He shot him through the heart and the man fell from his horse—dead.

“Allah! what have you done, young man,” cried the old man. “Now we are lost indeed.”

And so it appeared, for when the robbers saw this man fall they uttered horrible yells and renewed the attack so fiercely that the few men who were still unwounded were soon dispersed. Said was surrounded in a few moments by five or six, but he wielded his lance so dexterously that no one could approach him. At length one of them was about to despatch him with an arrow when a comrade made a sign to him to desist, and before Said could determine what the new mode of attack was to be he felt a lassoo flung over his head; he made frantic efforts to free himself from it, but in vain, the cord only drew tighter and tighter—he was a prisoner. The caravan was now completely overcome, some of the men killed, the rest captured and, as the Arabs did not all belong to one company, they divided the prisoners and booty between them, some of them journeying to the South, others towards the East.

Four armed men rode beside Said and regarded him with angry looks, and he felt sure that the man he had killed must have been a person of importance, probably a prince or chieftain. He felt thankful that he had incurred their special wrath, for he quite expected they were taking him to their camp to kill him, and death was preferable to slavery, which was the only other alternative. The armed men watched his every movement and threatened him with their spears if he attempted to turn round. However, he managed to turn his head for a moment and was delighted to see that the old man who had been his companion, and whom he had believed to be dead, was accompanying his party.

At length he saw trees and tents in the distance, and as they came nearer a number of women and children came to meet them, and scarcely had these exchanged a few words with the robbers than they broke into fearful weeping and screaming and, raising their arms towards Said, cursed him loudly.

Said made frantic efforts to free himself. (P. [284].)

“This is he,” they shrieked, “who has killed the great and noble Almansor, the bravest of all men, this is he, and he shall die and we will give his flesh to the jackals to devour.”

They pelted him with pieces of wood, clods of earth, and anything they could lay hands on, so fiercely, that one of Said’s guards was obliged to intervene. “Back, unruly ones,” he cried, “give place, you women; the man who slew the noble Almansor must die, it is true, but by the hand of a brave man, not by the hand of a woman.”

When they reached an open space amongst the tents they stopped, the prisoners were fastened together in couples, and the booty carried into the tents. Said, however, was bound alone and was led into a large tent where an old man sat. He was magnificently clothed and his stately mien showed that he was the chief of the robber band. The men who led Said in approached him with sorrowful looks and bent heads.

“The shrieks of the women have broken to me the news of what has occurred,” he said majestically, “and your attitudes confirm it; Almansor has fallen.”

“Almansor has fallen, indeed,” answered the men, “but we bring here to you his murderer in order that you may determine what manner of death he shall die. Shall we shoot at him from a distance with our arrows, or shall we chase him down a pathway of spears, or shall we hang him, or have him torn to pieces by horses?”

“Who are you?” asked Selim, the chief, glancing gloomily at the captive, who stood before him waiting courageously to meet his death.

Said answered briefly and with truth.

“Did you murder my son treacherously, attacking him with arrow or spear from the rear?”

“Not so,” replied Said, “I killed him in fair fight, and because he had slain eight of my companions before my eyes.”

“Is it as he says?” demanded Selim of Said’s guard.

“Yes, it is true enough,” one of them made reply, “Almansor was killed in fair fight.”

“Then he only did the same as we would have done,” replied Selim; “he killed his enemy who would have robbed him of life and liberty, therefore unbind him at once.”

The men stared at him in surprise and began to obey him most unwillingly—“Is the murderer of your brave son to go unpunished?” one of them asked, “I would we had killed him at once instead of bringing him here.”

“He shall not die!” cried Selim: “I claim him as my share of the booty; he shall be my servant and I will have him in my own tent.”

Said could find no words with which to thank the old man—the men left the tent grumbling. As soon as they had communicated Selim’s decision to the women and children who were waiting outside to witness Said’s execution, there was a terrible outcry, some of them vowing to avenge Almansor’s death, as his own father would not.

The rest of the prisoners were divided amongst their capturers, some were released in order that they might go and treat for a ransom for some of their wealthy prisoners, and some were kept as slaves and sent to tend the herds of cattle; many who had formerly ten or twelve slaves to wait upon them were now set to perform the most menial duties. But not so Said. Was it his brave, heroic, appearance which prepossessed Selim in his favour or was it the intervention of some good fairy? There was no knowing which, but Said was certainly treated more like a son than a servant. But the strange affection of Selim for Said caused jealousy amongst the others. Everywhere he encountered hostile glances, and when he passed through the camp he heard murmurings and angry words, and sometimes an arrow would whizz past his breast, and at such times he could not help thinking that the little whistle he carried must in some way protect him.

If he complained to Selim it was useless, for the whole camp seemed banded together to shield the would-be murderer and to take part against Said.

And so one day Selim said: “I had hoped that you might have stood to me in place of my son whom you slew, but the fault lies neither with you nor me. They are all embittered against you, and I find I am unable to protect you. Of what good would it be to me after your death to punish your murderer?

“As soon as the men return from their present expedition I shall say I have received the ransom money from your father and send you away in charge of several trustworthy men.”

“But there is no one I can trust beside yourself,” said Said. “They will murder me as soon as we are well on the way.”

“I will make them take an oath to protect you that no one has ever yet broken.”

A few days later the men returned to camp and Selim kept his promise. He gave the youth weapons, a handsome robe, and a horse, summoned the fighting men and chose five from them to serve as Said’s escort, forced them to take a solemn oath that they would not kill him, and bade him farewell with tears.

Sometimes an arrow would whizz past his breast. (P. [288].)

The five men rode in gloomy silence through the desert with Said. The young man could not fail to see how unwillingly they executed their commission, and what troubled him also was that two of his escort had been present at the fight in which he had killed Almansor. They had ridden for about eight hours when Said noticed they were whispering together and that they looked at him more evilly than previously even. He strained every effort to overhear what they said and became aware that they were speaking in a mysterious language that they only used amongst themselves when it was necessary to keep the matters in hand perfectly secret. Selim had, however, taken care to instruct Said in this language, so that he was now able to understand what they were talking about, which was not a very reassuring subject!

“Here is the spot where we attacked the caravan,” said one, “and where one of the bravest of men fell by the hand of a mere boy.”

“The wind has obliterated the tracks of his horses’ feet,” replied another, “but I have not forgotten where they were.”

“And to our shame the one by whose hand he fell still lives,” said a third. “Has ever such a thing been heard of, that a father would not revenge the death of his only son? Selim, without doubt, is becoming old and childish.”

“But if the father neglects his duty,” spoke a fourth, “then it is left to a friend to revenge his fallen friend. Here on this spot ought we to strike him down. That is as it should be according to ancient custom.”

“But we swore to protect him,” cried the fifth. “We may not kill him, for we must not break our oath.”

“That is true,” said another, “and therefore the assassin must not die by the hands of his enemies.”

“Wait!” cried the most forbidding-looking of them all, “old Selim has a wise head, but not so wise as he would have us believe. It is true we swore that we would spare the man’s life, but if we leave him alive, but bound hand and foot, the burning sun and the sharp teeth of the jackals will soon make an end of him.”

Said had made up his mind to the worst, but was determined to make an effort to regain his liberty. Suddenly he turned his horse aside, and, setting spurs to it, rode like the wind across the desert. But the five robbers understood the desert better than he did. In a moment they separated, urged their horses forward at a furious pace, and speedily succeeded in surrounding the unhappy youth. They would not use their weapons on account of the oath they had taken, but once more using a lassoo they threw it over his head and brought him to the ground; then they beat him unmercifully, bound his hands and feet with ropes, and left him lying upon the burning sand.

Said begged for mercy, promising them a handsome sum as ransom: but they laughed mockingly and rode away. He listened to the sound of their horses’ hoofs for a few moments and then gave himself up for lost. He thought of the grief of his father when his only son did not return to him, and he thought of his own misery, in being left to die such a terrible death in the flower of his youth. The sun rose higher and higher and scorched his head and face. With great difficulty he succeeded in rising to his feet. But this gave him little relief. The little whistle had fallen from his girdle and hung loosely from his neck. He succeeded at length, after great trouble, in taking it between his lips; but again it failed him. Overcome with despair he sank down upon the sand once more and speedily became unconscious.

Several hours later he awoke, hearing a voice close to him and feeling himself seized by the shoulder. He uttered a cry of horror, for he thought it was a jackal that was about to devour him. Next he felt a touch upon his legs, and became aware that it was not the claws of a wild beast that were mauling him—but the hands of a human being tending him carefully, and then he heard a voice say, “He is alive, but evidently takes us for enemies.”

At length Said opened his eyes and saw a little man bending over him. He was very fat and had small eyes and a very long beard. He spoke to the young man in friendly tones, helped him to rise, gave him food and drink, and told him as he refreshed himself that he was a merchant from Bagdad, named Kalum-Bek, and that he dealt in shawls and veils for women. He had been on a business journey and was on his way home when he found Said lying half dead upon the sand. The young man’s brilliant apparel and the glittering jewels in his dagger had attracted his attention, and he had used every effort to revive him, and at length he had succeeded.

The young man thanked him for saving his life, for he saw that without this man’s intervention he must have perished miserably, and as he had no means of helping himself and did not take kindly to the idea of trudging afoot through the desert, he thankfully accepted a seat on one of the heavily-laden camels and determined to go to Bagdad first, [!-- original location of full page illustration --] [!-- blank page --] and then see if he could join himself to a party travelling to Balsora.

THE ADVENTURES OF SAID
“He saw a little man bending over him”
p. [292]

On the way the merchant discoursed on the excellent qualities of the Ruler of the Faithful, Harun Al-Raschid. He told him of his love of justice and his shrewdness, and how he could unravel the deepest mysteries of the law in the most remarkable manner. “But he takes good care to keep himself informed as to what is taking place among his subjects,” said Kalum-Bek. “His chief Chamberlain Messour is my cousin, and he tells me that he never goes to bed as other folks do, but just contents himself with a few hours’ sleep in the morning, but every night he disguises himself as a merchant or sailor, or in some everyday costume, and wanders about Bagdad to see that everything is right and in order, as it should be. That is the reason that folks are so polite to everyone who speaks to them, for it may just as well be the Caliph as some dirty Arab, and there is sufficient timber around Bagdad to provide rods to whip the whole populace.”

Listening to his stories Said could not help being glad that he was to visit Bagdad and probably see the celebrated Harun Al-Raschid in spite of the fact that he was so anxious to see his father.

They reached Bagdad in ten days’ time and Said was astounded at the magnificence of the city, which was then at the height of its glory. The merchant invited him to come to his house and Said accepted willingly, for he had no money to pay for a lodging. The day after his arrival he dressed himself carefully in the splendid clothing bestowed on him by the robber chieftain and thought to himself that he need not be ashamed to go out into the streets and show himself. But at that moment the merchant entered and looked at him with a cunning smile.

“It is all very well, young sir,” said he, “to have a fine appearance; but have you money in your pockets to suit your attire? What do you intend to do with yourself? It seems to me you are a bit of a dreamer, and do not consider the future at all.”

“Dear Kalum-Bek,” said the youth, blushing, for he was much confused, “it is true I have no money, but perhaps you will be kind enough to advance me a little, so that I may journey home, and my father will not fail to refund it to you.”

“Your father, fellow?” cried the merchant, laughing loudly, “I verily believe the sun has injured your brain. Do you suppose I believe a single word of the fairy tales you told me in the desert, about your father being a rich man in Balsora, you his only son, and about the robbers attacking you and so on? I know that all rich people in Balsora are merchants and I have had dealings with most of them. But I never heard of one named Benezar. Therefore, it is quite certain that either you never came from Balsora or else you are the son of a poor man, and to a young vagabond like you I will certainly advance no money.”

Said turned pale with rage; but nothing that he could say would apparently convince the merchant that he was speaking the truth. Said reminded him how he had been found lying bound in the desert, but the merchant replied that it was quite likely he was a robber himself and that the persons he had attacked had overcome and bound him.

At length, as the merchant would advance him no money, Said decided that there was nothing left for him to do but to apply to the Caliph for assistance; but Kalum-Bek reminded him that in order to approach the Caliph he would have to apply to Messour the Chamberlain, and that he would give his cousin a hint of the sort of liar Said was. Presently the artful fellow pretended to relent.

“I pity you on account of your youth,” he said, “there is still hope that you may improve, and I am willing to employ you in my shop in the Bazaar. You shall serve me for a year and at the end of that time if you are not satisfied to remain with me I will give you your wages and let you go where you will. I give you until mid-day to decide. If you consent, well and good; if not I shall seize your robe and dagger and all you have that is worth anything to repay myself for the cost of your journey here, and the price of the seat on the camel. After that I shall have you turned out of my house and you may go and beg in the bazaars or at the doors of the mosques.”

With these words the wicked little creature left the poor young man, who gazed after him with contemptuous eyes. He was disgusted to think of the cunning way in which he had been entrapped. He thought he would escape, but found the windows were barred and the door locked and so, after some consideration, he came to the conclusion that for the present he had better agree to the terms offered him and serve in the shop. There seemed nothing else to be done, for without money he could not hope to reach Balsora; but he made up his mind to appeal to the Caliph on the first opportunity.

The following day Kalum-Bek took his new servant to his shop. He showed him the shawls and veils and stuffs in which he dealt and instructed him in his duties.

Dressed as a merchant’s assistant he was to stand at the door of the shop and show off the wares. And now Said understood why the bad little man wanted him.

Kalum-Bek, being short and very ugly, excited the derision of the passers-by as he stood inviting custom. The boys teased him, the women called him a scarecrow, and everyone made fun of him, but everyone looked with admiration at the tall, handsome youth who handled the goods so cleverly and showed them off to the best advantage.

When Kalum-Bek saw that his plan answered and that Said attracted many more customers than he had been able to, he treated the young man much better, fed him well and saw that he had good clothes to show off his fine face and figure; but these attentions did not soften Said in the least and he made up his mind to escape on the first opportunity.

One day they had done an unusually good trade in the shop, so many things had been bought that the porters were all away carrying home the goods the customers had bought, but a lady entered the shop, bought some goods and asked for a man to carry them home at once.

“In half an hour, I will send them with pleasure,” said Kalum-Bek, “but just now all my men are out; if you cannot wait so long, perhaps you would prefer to engage an outside porter.”

“A fine merchant you are,” said the lady angrily, “to advise me to engage a strange man to carry home my purchases. He would doubtless make off with my goods and who would repay me then? No, according to the custom of the market, it is your duty to provide a man to carry home goods purchased, and I insist upon having one.”

“Certainly, certainly,” said Kalum-Bek, “if you will only wait half an hour I can oblige you.”

Said was to stand at the door of the shop and show off the wares. (P. [298].)

“This is a common shop indeed,” replied the enraged lady, “not to provide sufficient porters. But there stands a great idle fellow, he shall carry home my parcel and I will give him a coin for his pains.”

“Oh! no!” screamed Kalum-Bek, “I cannot spare my assistant, he is my signboard to attract folks in. He is not allowed to leave the door.”

“Nonsense,” replied the old woman, and without further parlance pushed her parcel into Said’s arms. “You cannot sell very good wares if you need to lay traps to catch your customers.”

“For goodness sake go, but be quick to return,” said the merchant, “the old wretch will make her complaints heard all over the Bazaar.”

Said followed the old lady, who walked a great deal quicker than one would have thought possible at her age. They reached a beautiful house, knocked, and the wide doors flew open and they ascended a flight of marble steps. As the old lady beckoned Said to follow her, he went into a magnificent apartment decorated in a superb style. The old lady seated herself in an exhausted condition upon a sofa and signed to the young man to put down his parcel, handed him a small silver coin and bade him depart.

He had reached the door when a silvery voice called him by name. He turned, astonished that anyone in that place should know his name, and to his surprise saw a beautiful lady, surrounded by numerous slaves and women servants, sitting upon the sofa where the old woman had been. Dumb with surprise he folded his arms and made a deep obeisance.

“Said, dear youth,” said the lady, “although I am sorry for the misfortunes that have befallen you, still Bagdad is the place appointed by fate for your fortunes to change, should it happen that you left your father’s house before the time appointed. Said, have you still your little whistle?”

“Indeed I have,” he cried joyfully as he drew forth the golden chain, “and are you the good fairy who gave it to me at my birth?”

“I was your dear mother’s friend,” answered the fairy, “and I will be yours as long as you remain worthy. Oh! how foolish was your father to disregard my instructions. You would have been saved much suffering.”

“Well, it cannot be helped,” said Said. “But dearest lady, could you not harness the North-East wind to your cloud carriage and carry me away in a few moments to my father’s house in Balsora? I will promise to patiently await the remaining six months before I am twenty years of age.”

The fairy smiled. “That is easier said than done,” she said. “Unfortunately I am unable to do anything for you at present, not even rescue you from Kalum-Bek, who happens to be under the protection of your most powerful enemy.”

“Then I have a bad fairy as well as a good one, eh?” said Said; “but if you can do nothing else you can surely help me with good advice. Shall I go to the Caliph and complain to him? He is a wise man and he will know how to protect me against Kalum-Bek.”

“Yes, Harun is very wise, but unfortunately he is but human and trusts his Chamberlain implicitly, and with justice, too, for he has tried him and proved him to be trusted. But honest Messour in his turn trusts Kalum-Bek, and there he is wrong, for Kalum is a bad man, although he is Messour’s cousin. He has told Messour a number of lies about you and these lies have been repeated to the Caliph, so that if you went to them with your true story they would not believe you; you must wait for a fitting opportunity to go to Harun, for it is written in the stars that you are to become the object of his especial favour.”

“Alas!” answered Said, “I suppose then I must submit for the present to be the servant of Kalum-Bek. But one favour you might be able to grant me. I have been brought up to the use of arms, and my greatest pleasure is to take part in tournaments where there is fighting with lance and sword. Every week the youths of this town meet together and engage in such a tournament, but only the best-born are allowed to compete, a shopman’s assistant would certainly not be allowed to enter the lists. Could you manage to let me have a horse, a suit of clothes and weapons, and to alter my face so that I should not be recognised?”

“That is a wish such as does credit to a noble youth,” replied the fairy. “Your mother’s father was the bravest man in Syria and his spirit seems to have descended on you. Take note of this house. Every week you may come here and you will find awaiting you a horse, two armed servants, robes and weapons, also a wash for your face that will transform you completely. And now, Said, farewell! Persevere in your wise and virtuous conduct and you will find that in six months’ time your whistle will sound when you blow it, and Zuleima’s ear will not be deaf to it.”

The young man parted from his protectress with thanks, carefully noted the position of the house, and went back to the Bazaar.

He arrived at the right moment to rescue his master, Kalum-Bek. The shop was crowded with people, the boys were dancing round Kalum and taunting him, and the older people stood by and laughed. The merchant was in a furious rage. He stood with a shawl in one hand and a veil in the other. The uproar was caused by Said’s absence, for scarcely had he left than Kalum took his stand at the door and began to cry his wares, but nobody would buy from the ugly old man.

Kalum had noticed two men walking up and down the Bazaar, evidently looking out for something. In reality they had come to buy presents for their wives and had been commanded by them to purchase only from the handsome young shopman.

At length Kalum called to them: “Here, my masters, you will find everything you require by me. Shawls and veils of the finest quality.”

“That may be, my good man,” they replied, “but it has become the fashion amongst the women to buy their goods from a certain handsome young man named Said, and we are looking out for him. If you can direct us to him we will come and buy from you another time.”

“Allah is good,” said Kalum, grinning in friendly fashion, “the prophet has led you to the right door. You wish to buy veils from the handsome young shopman, then step inside, this is his shop.”

One of the men laughed at his assertion that he the ugly little creature, was the tall handsome shopman but the other man, who believed he was being made fun of, lost his temper and rated him in no measured terms. Kalum was beside himself and called his neighbours to testify that his shop was the one known as the shop of the handsome young assistant. But the neighbours, who were jealous of the trade he drove, pretended to know nothing about the matter and the two men struck the “old liar,” as they called him. Kalum protected himself more by shrieking and yelling than by using his fists and so he attracted a crowd to his shop. Everyone in the town knew him to be an avaricious old cheat and so no one interfered, for they thought he deserved all he was getting. One of the men had seized him by the beard and was about to further ill-treat him when he was seized and flung violently to the ground, so that his turban and both his shoes flew off.

The crowd, who would have enjoyed seeing Kalum ill-used, began to murmur, the companion of the man who had been knocked down advanced to his assistance, but when he saw himself confronted by a tall, handsome young fellow he thought it better not to strike him. Kalum no sooner spied his assistant than he began calling out, “There he is, there is the handsome young shopman called Said.” The man who had been knocked down got up again and limped away rather ashamed of himself, without having bought either shawl or veil.

“Oh! prince of shop-assistants,” cried Kalum-Bek, “you did indeed arrive at the very moment you were wanted. How can I reward you for the service you have done me?”

Said had merely acted on the spur of the moment, and now that the affair was over he half regretted having interfered on the old man’s behalf, for he well knew he deserved a good punishment. However, he thought he might make use of the old fellow’s offer of a reward. So he asked to be given one evening a week for his own amusement, either to take a walk or to spend it as he wished, and Kalum-Bek, who knew his assistant had too much good sense to attempt to escape without money, readily granted him the favour.

The man was seized and flung violently to the ground. (P. [304].)

The following Wednesday was the day upon which the young men of high rank met to hold their tournament, and so Said asked if he could have this evening for himself. Kalum being willing, the young man went straight off to the street in which the fairy lived and knocked at the door, which immediately flew open. The servants appeared to be prepared to receive him, for, without asking his business, they took him upstairs to a fine apartment where they first gave him magic water to wash in. Having laved his face he looked at himself in a mirror and found that his face was tanned as by the sun and that he had a fine black beard, so that he looked at least ten years older than he had done previously.

After that they led him into another room where a superb suit of clothes awaited him which might not have disgraced the Caliph himself. In addition to a turban of the finest materials, having a heron’s plume fastened with a diamond clasp, there was a dress of shimmering red silk embroidered with silver flowers, a corselet of silver chain-work, so finely made that it accommodated itself to every movement of his body, and was yet so strong that neither lance nor sword could pierce it. A Damascus sword with richly-jewelled scabbard and hilt completed his warlike attire.

When he was completely equipped and about to leave the house, one of the servants gave him a silk handkerchief and told him that the mistress of the house had sent it to him, so that when he wished to become his usual self again he had but to wipe his face with it and the tan colour and beard would disappear.

In the courtyard of the house three beautiful horses were standing. Said mounted the finest and his servants the other two, and he then rode joyously forth to the tournament.

All eyes were attracted by the splendour of his dress and weapons and a murmur of surprise went round the ring as he entered it.

It was indeed a glittering assembly of all the noblest and bravest young men in Bagdad, even the brothers of the Caliph taking part in the fray. As Said entered, the son of the Grand Vizier and some of his friends approached him and asked his name and birthplace.

Said replied that his name was Almansor and that he came from Cairo, and was travelling about. Having heard rumours of the valour and skill of the young nobles of Bagdad, he had wished to witness their feats and perhaps take part in them.

A young man, approving of Said’s bold appearance, ordered a lance to be given to him and bade him choose his parties, for the whole Company had divided itself into two parties, so that they might encounter each other in a mass and then singly.

But if Said’s appearance had attracted the general attention his feats of arms did so still more. His horse was faster than a bird, and his sword flashed like lightning.

He threw his lance at the target as though it had been an arrow from the bow of an expert archer. At the conclusion of the tournament he had beaten all his opponents, and the Caliph’s brother and the Grand Vizier’s son, who had been on his side, begged him to try a bout with them. He succeeded in vanquishing the Caliph’s brother, but the contest with the Grand Vizier’s son remained undecided, and it was thought better to settle it at the next meeting.

The day after the tournament everyone in Bagdad was speaking of the handsome and brave stranger. Even those who had been beaten by him were loud in their praise of him, and Said heard folks discussing him as he stood at the door of the shop and regretting that no one knew where he lived.

When the time for the next tournament came he found in the fairy’s house a still more beautiful suit of clothes and more costly weapons. Half Bagdad had assembled to witness the fray and the Caliph himself looked down upon it from a balcony. He too was astounded at Almansor’s dexterity, and at the end of the day he hung a gold medal and chain around his neck as a mark of his admiration.

But this second and still more brilliant victory aroused the jealousy of some of the young people: they did not like to feel that a stranger should come and triumph over the flower of their young nobility, and they determined amongst themselves that five or six of them would attack him at once, as if by chance.

Said did not fail to notice the angry glances of the young men, and speedily noted that with the exception of the Caliph’s brother and the Grand Vizier’s son not one of them had any friendly inclination towards him. Strange to say, the young man who seemed to be the most set against him was the young man he had knocked down in Kalum’s shop, and he looked at him so suspiciously that Said was half afraid he had recognised him by his height or his voice. Even the friendship of the Caliph’s brother and the Grand Vizier’s son was somewhat embarrassing, for they questioned him closely as to where he was to be found.

But the plan the envious young men made against him was frustrated, for in addition to his own foresight and bravery the Caliph’s brother and the Grand Vizier’s son came to his assistance as soon as they saw him surrounded by half a dozen opponents, all of whom were trying to unhorse him. Together they scattered the whole troop and the Caliph’s brother threatened to expel the treacherous young men from the lists.

For over four months Said continued thus to prove his bravery to the astonishment of all Bagdad, when one night as he was on his way home from the place of combat he heard some voices which sounded familiar. Four men were in front of him, walking slowly and apparently discussing something of great moment.

Said approached them quietly. (P. [309].)

Said approached them quietly and then discovered that they were speaking in the dialect spoken by Selim’s robber horde, and he suspected that they were probably planning a robbery.

His first impulse was to make off as fast as he could, but on consideration he decided to listen to what they were saying in the hope of preventing some mischief.

“The porter distinctly said the street on the right-hand side of the Bazaar,” said one; “he will pass down it to-night with the Grand Vizier.”

“Good,” replied the other, “I am not afraid of the Grand Vizier, he is old and no particular hero; but the Caliph will show fight, besides I do not trust him. There will be a dozen or so bodyguards following him, I’ll be bound.”

“Not one soul,” answered a third. “Whenever he has been seen at night it was always either with the Vizier or the Chamberlain alone. To-night he must be ours; but he is not to be harmed.”

“I think the best we can do is to throw a lassoo over his head. He must not be killed, for we should not get much of a ransom for his corpse, if we had anything at all.”

“Then one hour before midnight!” they all said together, and parted, each in a different direction.

Said was not a little alarmed and at first started off to warn the Caliph, but remembering what the fairy had said about Kalum-Bek having poisoned his mind against him he determined to rely upon his own good sword to assist him.

So instead of returning to Kalum-Bek’s house he sat down upon the steps of a mosque to await the hour before midnight. Shortly before the time he went and hid himself in the porch of a house in the street the robbers had mentioned.

Presently two men came strolling down the street whom he took at first to be the Caliph and his Vizier; but when they came opposite to him they clapped their hands softly and two others came hurrying to join them. They whispered awhile and parted, three hiding themselves in another porch, not far from Said, and one walking up and down the road. The night was very dark, but quiet, and so Said had to trust to his sharp ears alone.

The fourth, seeing what had happened, fled. (P. [312].)

Half an hour passed before he heard steps coming from the direction of the Bazaar. The robber must have heard them also, for he slunk past Said towards the Bazaar. The steps came nearer and Said could just recognise some dark forms, when the robber clapped his hands softly and the same moment the three in the background darted forward. Those attacked must have been armed, for he could hear the clash of swords, so, unsheathing his own Damascus steel, he threw himself into the thick of the fray, shouting: “Down with the enemies of the noble Harun.” He felled one robber at the first stroke and then attacked two others who were about to disarm a man whom they had caught in a noose. He hewed at the cord blindly, to sever it, but in so doing struck one of the robbers so furiously across the arm that he cut his hand off. But now the fourth robber, who had been fighting another man, turned towards Said, who was still engaged with the third, but the man whose cords had been cut no sooner felt himself free than he drew his dagger and struck one of the robbers in the side. The fourth, seeing what had happened, threw away his sword and fled.

Said was not left long in doubt as to whom he had saved, for the taller of the two men approached him and said: “I do not know which is the more incomprehensible, the attack on my life or my freedom, or the surprising manner in which you came to my assistance. How did you know who I was, and did you know of these men’s intentions?” “Ruler of the Faithful,” answered Said, “for I do not doubt that you are he, this evening I chanced to walk behind four men, who were speaking a strange dialect that I once learnt. They spoke of taking you prisoner and of killing your Vizier. As it was too late to come and warn you, I determined to hide myself near the spot they had mentioned for the attack to take place, and to come to your assistance.”

“I thank you heartily,” said Harun, “but I am not anxious to remain here any longer than necessary and so I give you this ring; bring it to the palace to-morrow and I will think how best I can reward you. Come, Vizier, we had best be going.”

As he spoke he placed a ring on the young man’s finger, and then attempted to draw the Vizier away, but the latter begged him to excuse him a moment and, turning to the astonished youth, he handed him a heavy purse. “Young man,” said he, “my master, the Caliph, can raise you to any height he pleases, even to be my successor; I myself can do little, but the little I can do is better done to-day. Therefore take this purse and remember that I still count myself your debtor.”

Quite intoxicated with happiness Said hurried away home. Here, however, he met with a very bad reception, for Kalum-Bek was very angry with him for being so late. He had been afraid lest he had lost his handsome sign post, and so he raged and scolded like a madman. But Said, who had given a glance into his purse and seen that it was full of pieces of gold, thought to himself that now he had sufficient money to take him home, even without the assistance of the Caliph, which he guessed would take no mean form, and so he gave back Kalum-Bek word for word and told him plainly that he would remain with him no longer.

“You rascally vagabond,” said Kalum-Bek, “where will you obtain a dinner or a night’s lodging if I withdraw my protection from you?” “That is no concern of yours,” answered Said defiantly. “Good-bye to you, for you will see me no more.”

So saying, he ran off, whilst Kalum-Bek stared after him, dumb with surprise. The next morning, when he had had time to consider matters, he sent his porters out to spy out news of his assistant, and after some time one of them returned with the news that he had seen Said come out of a mosque and enter a caravanserai. He was wearing a handsome dress, a dagger and sword and a magnificent turban.

When Kalum-Bek heard this he said: “He must have robbed me and dressed himself up on my money. Oh! what an unfortunate man I am.”

He hastened to the chief of the police, and as it was known that he was a relative of Messour, the Chamberlain, he had no difficulty in getting an order for Said’s arrest.

Said was calmly sitting outside a caravanserai conversing with a merchant whom he had met there, about the journey to Balsora, his native town, when suddenly several men fell upon him and bound his hands behind him, in spite of his resistance.

He asked by what right they used such violence and they replied that it was in the name of the law and by the instigation of his master, Kalum-Bek. And Kalum-Bek himself, appearing at that moment, mocked and reviled Said and, plunging his hand into the young man’s pocket, drew forth, to the surprise of the surrounding people, a large purse full of gold.

“Do you see what he has stolen from me?” he yelled in triumph. And the bystanders looked at Said in disgust. “So young, so handsome, and yet so wicked,” they said. “To prison with him that he may be flogged.”

So they dragged him away to prison, followed by a crowd of people calling out, “Do you see the handsome shop-assistant from the Bazaar? He robbed his master of two hundred gold pieces and then ran away.”

Brought before the chief of the police, Said would have defended himself; but the officer would not allow him to speak and only listened to Kalum-Bek, who declared that the money and purse found upon Said belonged to him. The judge therefore ordered the money to be given to Kalum-Bek, but it did not gain him possession of the handsome young assistant, who was worth at least a thousand gold pieces to him.

“In accordance with the law passed by my illustrious master, the Caliph, a few days ago,” said the judge, “every thief who steals over a hundred gold pieces is to be sent to perpetual banishment on a desert island. This thief has fallen into my hands exactly at the right time, for he completes the number of twenty such fellows. To-morrow they will be packed on board a ship and sent to sea.”

Said was in despair; he begged the officer to listen to him and to allow him to speak one word to the Caliph, but he found no mercy. Kalum-Bek, who now regretted the false accusation, also spoke in his favour, but the judge answered: “You have your money and you can be content, go home and keep quiet, otherwise I shall fine you ten gold pieces for every word you utter in argument.” Kalum was silent then, the judge motioned with his hand, and the unhappy Said was led away.

He was taken to a dark, damp prison, where nineteen other unfortunate creatures were lying about on some mouldy straw. They received their new companion with rude laughter and horrible expressions of anger against the judge and the Caliph.

Terrible as it seemed to him to be doomed to be cast upon a desert island, yet he comforted himself with the thought of leaving his loathsome prison, thinking it could not be so bad when once they had put to sea. But he was deceived, for the twenty criminals were cast down into the hold, which was pitch dark, very close, and so low that it was impossible to stand upright.

The anchor was weighed and Said wept bitter tears as the ship receded from his native land. Once a day the prisoners received a little bread and fruit and a drink of water. The atmosphere was so close and unhealthy that almost every other day one of the prisoners was found dead, but Said’s youth and splendid health saved him.

They had been at sea about a fortnight when there was an unaccustomed running to and fro upon deck, and the roaring of the waves and pitching of the vessel having increased, Said guessed that there was a storm raging. As the rocking of the vessel grew worse and worse, shrieks and lamentations resounded from below, and when the prisoners found that the hold was filling with water they knocked at the trap-door, and as no one answered they threw themselves against it and their united strength burst it open. As they came upon deck they found that the crew had deserted them and taken to the boats. Most of the prisoners were in despair, for the violence of the storm seemed, if anything, to increase. They took a last meal of the provisions they found on the ship, when suddenly the ship, which had been stuck fast upon a rock, was washed off by an enormous wave and sank.

THE ADVENTURES OF SAID.
“It had turned into an enormous dolphin.”

Said had managed to secure a floating spar, and by using his feet as oars he had kept himself afloat for some time, when suddenly the little magic whistle on the golden chain slipped from his vest and he thought he would try it once more. This time it gave forth a clear silvery tone, and in a moment the storm had subsided as though oil had been poured upon the waves. He was about to gaze around him to see if land were in sight, when he noticed a peculiar movement in the spar upon which he sat astride, and in some alarm he saw that it had turned into an enormous dolphin and was carrying him along as swiftly as an arrow. He guessed he had his good fairy to thank for this and called out his thanks to her.

His extraordinary steed went at such speed that before evening fell he sighted land and became aware that he was in a wide river. As they were going against the stream the pace slowed down a little. By this time Said was very hungry, so he blew his whistle and wished for a meal. Immediately the huge fish stopped, a table rose up from the water, as dry as though it had been a week in the broad sunshine; it was set out with the most delicious food and drink imaginable, and Said set to and made a hearty meal, for since his imprisonment his food had been scanty and unappetising. When he had at length satisfied his hunger he uttered his thanks and the table disappeared, he dug his heels into the dolphin’s sides and it began to swim on again.

As the sun began to sink Said saw a town in the distance, the towers of which seemed to him to resemble those of Bagdad. He had no great wish to land in Bagdad, but his faith in the good fairy was so strong that he was sure she would not allow him to fall into the hands of the wicked Kalum-Bek.

About a mile distant from the town Said noticed a fine country mansion, and to his surprise the dolphin began to steer towards it.

Upon the roof of the house were several well-dressed men, and on the shore were a number of servants, all of whom were staring at him in astonishment. A flight of marble steps led from the water to the mansion, and here the dolphin stopped, and Said had scarcely set foot upon the steps when the fish disappeared.

At once some servants hurried towards him and begged him, in their master’s name, to go up to him after he had changed his wet clothing.

They brought a suit of clothes to him and, having dressed hastily, he followed the servants to the roof, where he found three men, the tallest and handsomest of whom came towards him with a friendly smile.

“Who are you, wonderful stranger,” he asked, “who can tame the fishes of the sea so that you can guide them to the right or left as a good horseman guides his charger? Are you a magician or a man like ourselves?”

“Sir,” replied Said, “I have been a most unfortunate man for some time past, but if you will give me permission I will tell you all about it.” And he commenced to tell his story from the moment he left his father’s house until the time of his wonderful escape.

He was interrupted frequently by exclamations of astonishment, but as he concluded the master of the house said: “I believe you implicitly, Said, but you tell us that you won a gold chain at the tournament and that the Caliph gave you his ring; can you produce these?”

“I carry them next my heart,” said the youth, “and would only part with them with my life, for I consider the saving of the Caliph’s life to have been the noblest action I could have performed.” With that he handed the chain and ring to the men.

“By the beard of the prophet, it is my ring,” cried the tall handsome man. “Grand Vizier, come and let us embrace our deliverer.”

It seemed to Said that he must be dreaming when the two embraced him, and immediately he flung himself upon his face and said, “Pardon me, Ruler of the Faithful, for having spoken as I did before you, for I perceive now that you are none other than Harun Al-Raschid, the Great Caliph of Bagdad.”

“I am your friend,” answered Harun, “and from this time your troubles are all over. Come with me to Bagdad and you shall be one of my most trusted officials, for you proved your metal the night you saved my life.”

Said thanked him and said how gladly he would remain with him always if only he would allow him first to go and visit his father, who must be in great sorrow and trouble on his account. The Caliph assented readily to this and so they mounted their horses and rode into Bagdad, which they reached just as the sun was setting.

The Caliph ordered a magnificent suite of apartments to be prepared for Said, and besides this promised to build him a house of his own.

The Caliph’s brother and the Grand Vizier’s son, Said’s old companions in arms, hastened to come to him as soon as they heard what had occurred. They embraced the gallant defender of their ruler and begged him to be their friend. But they were speechless with astonishment when he handed the gold chain to them and said: “I have been your friend for a long time, do you not remember this chain?”

They had only known him with a beard and a dark brown complexion, and when he told them why he had disguised himself, and when he had proved to them by a bout of fencing that he really was Almansor, they embraced him joyfully and said they reckoned themselves fortunate in having such a friend.

The following day, as Said was sitting with the Caliph and the Grand Vizier, the Chamberlain Messour entered and said, “Ruler of the Faithful, I wish to ask a favour.”

“Tell me first what it is!” answered the Caliph.

“Without stands my cousin, Kalum-Bek, a well-known merchant of the Bazaar. He has a curious affair with a man from Balsora, whose son was Kalum’s servant, but who robbed him and ran off, no one knows whither. And now the father demands his son from Kalum, who cannot produce him. And Kalum begs that you should, in virtue of your wisdom and great learning, decide between him and the man from Balsora.”

“I will judge between them,” replied Harun. “Let your cousin and his adversary appear in the Hall of Justice in half an hour’s time.”

A crier was going through the Bazaar. (P. [322].)

When Messour had thanked the Caliph and withdrawn, Harun said: “It is your father, Said, and as I fortunately know the whole truth of the case I will give judgment like Solomon. You shall conceal yourself behind the curtains of my throne until I call you, and you, Grand Vizier, send at once for the wicked and all too hasty police officer. I shall need him as a witness.” Both did as they were requested. Said’s heart beat quickly when he saw his father’s pale and careworn face and noticed the tottering steps with which he entered the Justice Hall but Kalum-Bek’s confident smile, as he whispered to his cousin the Chamberlain, enraged him so that he could scarcely restrain himself from rushing out and giving him a good beating, for he owed the greater number of his sufferings to this wicked man. The Hall was crowded with people who wished to hear the Caliph pronounce justice, and as soon as the ruler of Bagdad had taken his seat on the throne the Grand Vizier commanded silence and then asked who it was that appeared as complainant.

Kalum-Bek stepped forward with a bold look on his face and said: “Some days ago a crier was going through the Bazaar offering a purse of gold for news of Said of Balsora. As this Said had been in my employ I said, ‘Here, friend, I can earn your purse of gold.’ Then this man, who is so hostile towards me now, came to me in a friendly fashion and asked what I knew. I replied, ‘You are Benezar his father?’ and as he joyfully agreed, I went on to tell him how I had found Said in the desert, and saved him and taken care of him and brought him to Bagdad. In the joy of his heart he gave me the purse of gold, but the foolish man, when I went on to tell him how his son had served me and how he had run off with my money, would not believe me and demanded both his money and his son; neither could I give him, for the money belonged to me in payment of the news I had given him, and his worthless son I cannot give him back.”

Next Benezar spoke, defending his son and saying that he was incapable of stealing, being of a noble and virtuous mind, and he begged the Caliph to enquire deeply into the matter. “I hope you did your duty and gave information of the theft, Kalum-Bek?” said the Caliph. “Certainly!” he replied, smiling, “I took him before the magistrate.”

“Let the magistrate be called,” said the Caliph, and to everyone’s surprise he appeared immediately. The Caliph asked him if he remembered the affair, and he assured him he did. “Did you examine the young man and did he acknowledge the theft?” asked Harun.

“No, he was most obstinate and would confess to none but you!” replied the magistrate.

“But I do not remember having seen him,” said the Caliph.

“No, indeed,” answered the magistrate. “I might take up too much of your time if I sent you every vagabond who wishes to speak with you.”

“You know that my ear is open to all,” answered Harun. “But perhaps the proofs of the theft were so clear that you did not think it necessary to bring him to me. You had doubtless witnesses, Kalum, to prove that the money really was yours?”

“Witnesses?” he asked, turning pale, “no I had no witness, for you know, Ruler of the Faithful, that one piece of gold is exactly like another, so how could I bring witnesses to prove that these actual pieces were missing from my money chest?”

“Then how did you know that that particular sum of money belonged to you?” asked the Caliph.

“On account of the purse they were in,” said Kalum.

“Have you got the purse here?” he enquired further.

“Here it is,” said the merchant, and taking out a purse he handed it to the Grand Vizier that he might give it to the Caliph.

But the Vizier cried out in feigned astonishment, “By the beard of the Prophet! The purse is yours? You dog! The purse belonged to me and I gave it filled with a hundred gold pieces to a brave young man who rescued me from a great danger.”

“Can you swear to that?” asked the Caliph.

“I am perfectly certain,” replied the Vizier, “my daughter worked it for me.”

“Ah, you have received false information, magistrate,” said the Caliph. “Why did you believe the purse belonged to Kalum?”

“He swore it was his,” said the magistrate anxiously. “And so you swore falsely?” thundered the Caliph to the merchant, who stood pale and trembling before him.

“Allah! Allah!” cried he. “Of course I do not wish to say anything against the Grand Vizier, but the purse is really mine and the good-for-nothing Said stole it. I would give a thousand gold pieces if he were here on the spot.”

“What did you do with this Said then?” asked the Caliph. “Where must we send to bring him here?”

“I sent him to a desert island,” said the magistrate.

“Oh! Said, my son, my son!” cried the unhappy father.

“Then he confessed his crime?” asked the Caliph.

The magistrate turned pale, and said unsteadily, “If I remember rightly he did in the end.”

“Then you are not quite certain?” the Caliph went on in severe tones. “Very well, then we will ask him himself. Said, stand forth, and you, Kalum-Bek, pay me at once a thousand gold pieces because he is here on the spot.”

Kalum and the magistrate thought it must be a ghost. They fell to their knees crying, “Mercy, mercy.” Benezar was half fainting with joy and fell into the arms of his lost son.

Then in firm, hard tones the Caliph asked: “Magistrate, here is Said, now will you affirm that he confessed his crime?”

“No, no,” howled the magistrate, “I only listened to Kalum’s evidence, because he is looked upon as a respectable man.”

Benezar fell into the arms of his lost son. (P. [325].)

“Did I appoint you judge that you should only listen to rich people?” cried Harun with contempt and anger. “I will banish you to a desert island for ten years, so that you may have time to think on justice. And you, miserable man, who restored the dying, not for the sake of saving him, but to make him your slave, you shall pay the thousand gold pieces.”

Kalum rejoiced to be let off so cheaply and was about to thank the Caliph, when he went on: “For swearing falsely about the money you will receive a hundred strokes on the soles of your feet. Further, it is for Said to decide whether he shall take the whole of your shop and possessions with you as his slave, or whether he will be satisfied with ten pieces of gold for every day he served you.”

“Let the miserable old wretch go,” cried the youth, “I wish for nothing that was his.”

“No,” replied Harun. “I intend you to be compensated. I will choose for you the ten pieces of gold for every day, and you must reckon how many days you were in his clutches. And now away with the miserable creatures!”

When they had been taken away the Caliph led Benezar and Said into another room; there he told the father of the brave manner in which his son had saved his life, his recital being interrupted by the yells of Kalum, whose hundred gold pieces were being counted out on the soles of his feet.

The Caliph invited Benezar, together with Said, to live with him in Bagdad. He agreed, but made one journey home in order that he might fetch his large fortune. Said took up his residence at once in the palace built for him by the grateful Caliph, and lived there like a prince. The Caliph’s brother and the Grand Vizier’s son were his constant companions, and it became a password in Bagdad: “I wish I were as good and happy as Said, the son of Benezar.”

THE CAVERN OF STEENFOLL.
A SCOTTISH LEGEND.

MANY years ago two fishermen lived happily together upon one of the rocky islands off the Scottish coast. They were both unmarried and had no near relations, and their united efforts, although they were of very different dispositions, sufficed to provide them with all they needed. They were much of an age, but in appearance and character they resembled each other about as much as an eagle resembles a calf.

One big wave washed up a ball of pure gold. (P. [329].)

Caspar Stump was a short fat man with a broad fat face like a full moon, and good-tempered twinkling eyes, which seemed as though they were strangers to trouble and care.

Not only was he very fat, he was also rather lazy, and so the household duties fell to his share; he had to cook and bake, make the nets to catch fish and to sell in the market, and help to cultivate their little field.

His companion was the direct opposite, tall and thin, with bold features, a hooked nose like a hawk’s, and sharp eyes; he was the hardest-working and most intrepid of fishermen, the most venturesome climber after bird’s eggs, which were found in the rocky crevices of the cliffs, and the most industrious field labourer on the island, as well as being one of the keenest to drive a bargain in the market of Kirkwall. But as his wares were good and he always traded honestly, everyone liked to deal with him, and Will Hawk, as his neighbours nicknamed him, in spite of his fondness for money, always shared his profits willingly with Caspar Stump, so that the two of them not only made a very good living, but were able to put by something for a rainy day.

But Will Hawk was not content with that, he wanted to be rich, very rich, and as he knew that sheer hard work, such as his, rarely brought in extraordinary wealth, he began to think that he must try and find out some other means of making money, and taking it for granted that he would succeed, he discussed the matter freely with Caspar Stump. Caspar, who accepted everything that Will said as Gospel truth, told his neighbours of the fortune his companion was about to make, and so a rumour went abroad that Will Hawk had sold his soul to the evil one.

At first Will laughed at these reports, but gradually he began to wish that some spirit would appear and tell him where he might discover buried treasure, and he ceased to contradict the neighbours when they joked him about it. It is true he still continued to carry on his ordinary occupation, but with less zeal, and often wasted the time when he should have been fishing in idle wanderings after adventures which he hoped would make him rich. Unfortunately for him as he was one day standing on the sea-shore gazing out to sea, as though he expected the waves rolling in to bring a fortune to his feet, one big wave washed up a quantity of shingle and lose sea-weed, and amongst the sea-weed a yellow ball, a ball of pure gold.

Will stood as though enchanted; his hopes of untold wealth had not been empty dreams, the sea had given him gold, pure shining gold, which the action of the sea had worn down, probably from a large bar, to a ball the size of a bullet.

It seemed quite clear to him now that at some time a richly-laden vessel must have gone to pieces on the rocks, and that it was for him to find and raise the buried treasures, hidden beneath the waves. From this time he devoted all his energies to the task, carefully hiding his find from all, even from his friend. He neglected everything else and spent days and nights on the sea-shore, not casting out fishing nets, but using a drag which he had made on purpose to haul in treasure.

His only reward was poverty, for he had ceased to make money himself and Caspar’s sleepy efforts did not bring in enough to feed the two of them. In searching for riches all the little fortune they possessed was lost. But just as easy-going Caspar had once allowed Will Hawk to provide the money for his maintenance, so he now accepted poverty without complaint, and it was this silent endurance on the part of his friend that spurred Will on to further efforts to amass wealth.

But what made him still more intent on continuing the search was that, whenever he lay down to sleep, it seemed to him that someone whispered a word in his ear. It was always the same, but he never could remember it when he was awake. It is true that there seemed no connection between this circumstance and his present quest, but on a mind like Will’s everything seemed to make an impression, and even this mysterious whispering strengthened him in the belief that he was destined for a great piece of good fortune and that he would one day find a large heap of gold.

One day he was surprised by a storm whilst on the shore where he had found the ball of gold, and the violence of it caused him to take shelter in a neighbouring cave. This cave, which the people called the Cavern of Steenfoll, consisted of a long subterranean passage with two openings to the sea, which afforded the waves free passage to and fro, and there they roared and foamed as they rushed along it.

The cave was only accessible in one spot from the land, and that through a crevice in the roof, but it was seldom that any but reckless boys ventured there, for, in addition to the dangers of the place it was supposed to be haunted.

With great difficulty Will succeeded in letting himself down and took his seat upon a jutting rock about twelve feet from the surface. Here, with the waves roaring beneath his feet and the storm raging above his head, he fell into his usual way of thinking about the sunken ship and what sort of a vessel it could have been, for, in spite of having questioned all the oldest inhabitants on the island, he had been unable to obtain any news of a wreck in that place.

How long he had sat there he did not know himself, but when he at length awoke from his dreams he found that the storm had passed over, and he was just about to climb out of the cave when he heard a voice from the depths which pronounced the word “Carmil-han” quite distinctly.

Will heard a voice from the depths. (P. [331].)

“Why,” cried he, “that is the word I have heard so often in my dreams. What can it mean?”

Terrified, he began to climb quickly upwards when, just as he was creeping out of the crevice, he heard once more, “Carmilhan,” softly whispered from the depths. Then he fled like a frightened deer to his home.

Will was, however, no coward, he had merely been taken unawares; besides that, his craze for gold was too strong in him for the appearance of danger to frighten him from the path he had entered upon. One moonlight night as he was using his drag in his search for treasures near the Cavern of Steenfoll, it caught fast in something. He pulled with all his strength, but could not move it. In the meantime the wind had risen, dark clouds drifted across the sky, the boat rocked violently and threatened to overturn, but Will would not give in, he tugged and pulled until at length the resistance ceased, and as he felt no weight he thought the cords of the net must have broken. But just as the clouds were about to cover the moon a round black mass rose to the surface and once more he heard the word “Carmilhan” whispered. He would have seized it, but as he was about to stretch out his arm it disappeared in the darkness of the night and the storm broke, forcing him to seek shelter beneath the rocks. Here he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, but only to endure the same restless misery that he endured by day, owing to his everlasting longing for wealth.

The first rays of the rising sun illumined the surface of the water when Will awoke. He was about to set out upon his accustomed work when he saw something approaching him from a distance; he recognised it to be a boat with a man in it, but what aroused his curiosity was that the boat was moving along without the assistance of either sails or rudder and the bows were turned to the shore.

THE CAVERN OF STEENFOLL.
“I came to look for the Carmilhan,” he said
p. [335].

The boat came nearer and nearer and stopped at length beside Will’s boat, and Will could see that the person in it was a little wizened old man, dressed [!-- original location of full page illustration --] [!-- blank page --] in yellow linen with a red pointed night-cap on his head, his eyes were closed and he looked as though he were dead. Will called to him several times without obtaining an answer, and was about to fasten a cord to the boat in order to tow it along when the man opened his eyes and writhed about in a fashion that filled even the hardy fisherman with horror.

“Where am I?” he asked with a deep sigh, speaking in Dutch, and Will, who had learnt a few words of that language from the Dutch herring fishers, told him the name of the island, and asked him who he was and what had brought him there.

“I came to look for the Carmilhan,” he said.

“What is the Carmilhan?” cried the fisherman eagerly.

“The Carmilhan does not exist any longer,” the man said, “but it was once a fine ship, heavily laden with gold.”

“When was it wrecked, and where?”

“It happened more than a hundred years ago, I am not quite certain where. I have come to find the place and to fish up the lost gold; if you will help me we will divide whatever we find.”

“I agree with all my heart, but what must I do?” asked Will.

“What you have to do requires courage; you must go to the wildest and most deserted portion of the island at midnight, take a cow with you, kill it, and get some one to wind you up in its skin. Your companion must then lay you down on the ground and leave you, and before the clock strikes one o’clock you will know where the treasures of the Carmilhan lie.”

“But that was how old Engrol was lost, soul and body,” cried Will in terror; “you are without doubt the evil one and I will have nothing to do with you,” and he rowed hastily away.

The little man ground his teeth with rage and abused him roundly, but the fisherman bent to his oars and was soon out of hearing, and after he had turned and rounded a rock he was out of sight also. But the knowledge that the evil spirit had endeavoured to make use of his avarice in order to lure him into his toils with gold did not cure the infatuated fisherman; on the contrary he intended to make use of the information he had obtained from the little man, without getting into his clutches, and so he continued to fish all around that barren coast for gold, neglecting the wealth of fish he might have obtained in other parts of the sea, in the same way that he neglected all his other work, so that day by day he and his companion sank into deeper poverty, until at length they wanted for the necessities of life.

But although this state of things was entirely owing to Will Hawk’s obstinacy and greed and that the support of both of them fell to Caspar Stump alone, the latter never made him the slightest reproach, but showed him the same deference, the same confidence in his better judgment as in the days when all his undertakings were successful. This increased Will’s troubles considerably, but drove him still more to seek for money, because he hoped to repay his friend for his present deprivations.

The whispered word “Carmilhan” resounded ever in his slumbers. In short, want, disappointed expectations and avarice at length drove him mad, so that he decided to do what the little man had advised, although he knew from hearsay that he was selling himself to the powers of darkness.

All Caspar’s representations were in vain. Will became more violent the more he was besought to give up his intentions. The good-natured, weak-minded fellow at last gave in and consented to assist him in carrying out his plans.

Both their hearts were filled with grief as they led out a beautiful cow, the last of their possessions. They had brought her up from a calf and had forborne to sell her because they could not bear to trust her in strange hands. But the evil spirit that had taken possession of William’s mind stifled all better feeling in him, and Caspar could resist him in nothing.

It was September and the long nights of the Scottish winter had began and the dark clouds were racing along before the rough wind and seemed to lose themselves in the waters of the Clyde, deep shadows filled the mountain clefts, and the damp turfy marshes and the sullen streams looked dark and forbidding. Will Hawk went in advance and Caspar followed, shuddering at his own audacity. Tears filled his dim eyes as often as he looked at the poor cow which went so trustfully to meet its death at the hand that had hitherto tended it. They reached at length the boggy pass, overgrown with moss and heather and strewn with large stones, and surrounded by a wild chain of mountains that lost themselves in mist and were seldom crossed by the foot of man. Over the boggy ground they went until they reached a great stone in the centre, from which a frightened eagle soared screaming.

The poor cow lowed mournfully as though she recognised the horror of the place and the fate that awaited her. Caspar turned away to hide his fast-flowing tears. He looked down the rocky way they had come up and from whence one could hear the moaning of the sea, and then looked up towards the mountain tops, hidden by a black cloud from which a dull murmuring came. When he again looked at Will he had already bound the poor cow to the stone and stood with axe raised ready to strike.

This was too much for poor Caspar. Wringing his hands, he fell upon his knees and entreated Will to desist from tempting Providence and to spare the life of the poor animal.

“Be it as you will,” replied the infatuated man; “but if you have your way you may as well kill me instead of the cow, for otherwise I shall surely die of hunger.”

It was in vain for Caspar to reason with him and to protest that in future he would work hard in order to provide a living for both of them, Will would not listen; he threw away the axe, but seizing a knife declared that as Caspar preferred the cow to him he would put an end to his wretched life.

Poor Caspar seized his hand and, snatching the knife, threw it away, then taking the axe he struck the cow such a tremendous blow that it fell dead at its master’s feet.

Caspar, assisted by Will, then hurriedly removed the hide, and Will allowed his friend to envelope him in it, although he seemed suddenly to have been stricken with terror at what he was doing.

The thunderstorm had increased in violence, and by the time Will was firmly fastened into the cow’s hide it was so dark that the two friends could no longer see each other and bade each other farewell in total darkness.

Left to himself Will endured an agony of fear and suspense; at length he would gladly have disentangled himself from the hide and rushed after Caspar, but he had been too firmly tied up to be able to free himself.

Over the boggy ground they went. (P. [338].)

The storm continued to increase in fury until at length the waters rose and almost covered him and he began to think that he would be drowned, when a sort of waterspout arose and, catching him up, dashed him to the foot of the rocks with so much force that he became unconscious.

When he regained his senses he felt bruised and weak. He could hear a faint sound of singing, which at first he took to be merely the sighing and moaning of the waves, but as it grew louder he began to recognise the tune as a hymn which he had heard the fishermen singing on board a Dutch herring smack.

Nearer and nearer came the sound of the music, and presently to his surprise he saw a procession of human figures approaching him. Grief and fear were depicted on their countenances, and their clothes were all dripping with water.

As they came close up to him the singing ceased; the procession was led by several musicians, then came a number of sailors, and behind them walked a big fat man dressed in quaint, old-fashioned garments, which were richly embroidered with gold threads. He had a sword by his side and in his hand he carried a long thick Spanish cane with a gold knob.

A negro boy walked beside him carrying the long pipe from which his master drew a whiff from time to time. A number of other richly-dressed men accompanied him, all of them carrying pipes, though not such handsome ones as that of the stout man. Behind these came a number of women, all handsomely attired in old-fashioned garments, some of them carried little children in their arms, and some led children by the hand.

A crowd of Dutch sailors closed the procession, each of them having a quid of tobacco in his mouth and a pipe between his teeth, which he smoked in gloomy silence. As the whole assembly began to close round Will, the smoke from their pipes grew denser and denser and he felt as though he were about to be smothered.

He was by nature a courageous man, but a nameless terror now seemed to seize him, which was increased by the sight of the little yellow man, who had suddenly appeared and was seated close beside him.

A negro boy walked beside him, carrying the long pipe. (P. [340].)

He looked exactly as he had done before, except that now, as though to mock the assembled company, he, too, had a pipe in his mouth.

In an agony of terror Will now turned to the big stout man and cried, “In the name of him you serve, who are you and what do you want with me?”

The big man took three whiffs from his pipe in solemn silence, then he handed his pipe to his servant and replied coldly:

“I am Alfred Franz van der Swelder, captain of the ship Carmilhan from Amsterdam, which was lost with all hands on this rocky coast on the return journey from Batavia. These are my officers and passengers, and those are my brave sailors, all of whom were drowned with me. Why have you called us from out the depths of the sea? Why do you disturb our rest?”

“I wish to know where the treasures of the Carmilhan lie hidden.”

“At the bottom of the sea.”

“Where?”

“In the Cavern of Steenfoll.”

“How can I reach them?”

“A goose will dive after a herring, are not the treasures of the Carmilhan worth much more?”

“How much shall I succeed in obtaining?”

“More than you will ever be able to spend.”

The little yellow man grinned and the whole assembly burst out laughing.

“Have you finished your questioning?” asked the captain.

“I have, farewell!” replied Will.

“Farewell, until we meet again,” answered the Dutchman, and turned to go.

The musicians again led the procession, and they turned to depart in the same order in which they had come, singing the same solemn chant, which faded away in the distance until at length it became lost in the sound of the waves beating upon the shore.

Will now exerted all his strength to free himself from the hide that wrapped him round so tightly. He succeeded at last in freeing one arm and then commenced to loosen the cords that fastened him into the hide, until he had untied all the knots and rolled out of the hide. Without losing a moment he hastened home, where he found poor Caspar lying unconscious upon the floor of the hut. Having restored him to his senses with some trouble the good fellow wept tears of joy to see once again the friend of his youth, whom he believed to have lost for ever. But his joy was soon quenched when Will told him of the desperate undertaking he had now on hand.

“I could no longer endure the misery of this wretched place,” he said, “now that it is within my power to attain riches for us both. Follow me or not, as you will.”

He brought to the surface an iron chest full of gold pieces. (P. [344].)

With these words Will took up a torch, a flint and steel, and a rope and hastened away. Caspar followed as quickly as he could and found his friend standing by the crevice in the rock leading to the Cavern of Steenfoll. He was making ready to lower himself by the rope into the black depths below.

Finding that all his entreaties to desist availed nothing, Caspar prepared to descend with his friend, but Will bade him remain where he was and hold the rope. With fearful exertions, which only the blindest avarice could have driven him to make, he succeeded in climbing down into the cavern until he reached a portion of projecting rock beneath which the black waves dashed to and fro, crested with white foam. He gazed eagerly into the water and saw something gleaming in the depths. Laying aside his torch, he dived beneath the waves and seized a heavy object, which he brought up to the surface. It was an iron chest full of gold pieces. He told his companion what he had found, but paid no attention to his entreaties to be content with what he had and to re-ascend. Will thought he had but obtained the first fruits of his labours and dived again. A mocking laugh arose from the depths of the sea, and the diver rose no more.

Such was the end of Will Hawk. Caspar went home a changed man. The terrible experiences he had undergone were too much for his weak head and sensitive heart and unsettled his mind. He allowed everything belonging to him to go to rack and ruin, and wandered about day and night, staring before him with unseeing eyes, and pitied but avoided by all.

A fisherman is said to have seen and recognised Will Hawk, one stormy night, amongst the crew of the Carmilhan, close to the shore, and on the same night Caspar Stump disappeared and was never seen again, although he was sought for in every direction.

Folks aver, however, that from that time forward the crew of the Carmilhan appear at certain times in the Cavern of Steenfoll and that both Will Hawk and Caspar Stump are seen with them.

Printed in Bavaria.

Transcriber’s Note

The presence or absence of page numbers in illustration captions are all as printed.

Minor punctuation errors have been repaired.

Hyphenation has been made consistent.

Typographic errors have been corrected as follows:

Page [16]—repeated ‘and’ deleted—... towards the east and say ...

Page [63]—Madame amended to Madam (for consistency with other occurrences)—... and entered the service of Madam Ahavzi.

Page [84]—end amended to and—... they could not reduce the size of the noses and ears ...

Page [108]—call amended to all—... they all set upon Labakan and beat him soundly ...

Page [111]—be amended to the—... and had a knack of setting out her wares to the best advantage.

Page [128]—und amended to and—... his nose was enormous and reached beyond his chin, ...

Page [151]—whith amended to with—... a heart beating loudly with excitement.

Page [171]—see amended to seen—... he remembered where he had last seen him.

Page [220]—belieuve amended to believe—... and one could scarcely believe it possible for there to be such a giant.

Page [225]—bream amended to beam—... but a single board or beam ...

Page [233]—repeated ‘and’ deleted—Your father and grandfather before you ...

Page [256]—proverty amended to poverty—... for he supposed that all his poverty and anxious striving ...

Page [257]—be amended to he—“What did you bring with you,” he cried, ...

Page [261]—low amended to law—I trust you will not give me up to the hand of the law ...

Page [272]—repeated ‘the’ deleted—... his past life had been even as the terrible thunderstorm ...

Page [280]—or amended to for—... as your mother wished, for you are a good, sensible young fellow, ...

Page [283]—gashed amended to dashed—... they were a body of men armed with lances who dashed forward with incredible swiftness ...

Page [307]—expect amended to expert—... had been an arrow from the bow of an expert archer.

Page [329]—wich amended to which—... but using a drag which he had made on purpose ...

The frontispiece has been moved to follow the title page. Other illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not in the middle of a paragraph.