Instantly the demon left the room, but a moment later he returned with a barrel on his back and poured its contents over the flower. Again and again he went and came, and poured more and more water until the floor of the room was ankle-deep.
“Enough, enough!” gasped the lad.
But the demon heeded him not. The boy did not know the words that must be spoken in order to send the demon away, and the evil spirit continued to fetch water. It rose to the boy’s knees, and yet more water was poured. It mounted to his waist, and still Beelzebub brought barrel after barrel full. It rose to the lad’s armpits, and he scrambled to the table-top. Presently the water was half way up the window and washing against the glass, and it swirled around the lad’s legs where he stood on the table. It kept on rising and reached his breast.
In vain he ordered and begged the demon to desist. The evil spirit refused to obey, and he would have been pouring water even to this day had not the master returned. He came in haste, for he had recollected that he had left his book unlocked, and he arrived just as the water had reached his pupil’s chin. Without a moment’s delay he shouted the proper words to make Beelzebub return to his fiery home, and the lad was saved.
THE WHITE TROUT
THERE was once a beautiful lady who lived beside a lake in the western part of Ireland, and she was to be the bride of a king’s son. But just before the time set for the wedding he was murdered and thrown into the lake. So of course he couldn’t keep his promise to the fair lady—more’s the pity.
The lady was that tender-hearted she went out of her mind because of losing the king’s son. She pined away, and one day disappeared, and it was thought that the fairies had taken her.
After a time a white trout was seen in a stream that flowed into the lake, and the people didn’t know what to make of the creature, for such a thing as a white trout had never been known before. Years and years the trout was there, and no harm was ever done to it until some wicked sinners of soldiers came to those parts. They laughed at the people and gibed and jeered at them for never trying to catch the white trout. One of them, in particular, swore he would have the white trout for his dinner some fine day.
Sure enough, the blackguard caught the trout, and away he went home with it, pitched the pretty little thing into the frying-pan, and put the frying-pan over the fire. The trout squealed just like a Christian when it found itself thus cruelly treated, and the soldier laughed till he was like to split; for he was a hardened villain. When he thought one side was done, he turned the trout over to fry the other, but to his surprise saw not a sign of a burn on it anywhere. “This is a queer trout that can’t be fried,” said he. “But I’ll give it another turn by and by.”