{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_14241/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_14241","id":"gutenberg_14241","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14241","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Children's Myths, Fairy Tales, etc.","Fairy tales -- England","Folklore -- England"],"text":"[Illustration: Janet casts the Flaming Sword into the Well]\n\n\n\n\nMORE ENGLISH FAIRY TALES\n\n\n\nCollected and Edited by\n\nJOSEPH JACOBS\n\nEditor of \"Folk-Lore\"\n\n\nIllustrated by\n\nJOHN D. BATTEN\n\n\n\nG.P. Putnam's Sons\nNew York and London\n\n\n\n\n     _YOU KNOW HOW\n      TO GET INTO THIS BOOK_\n\n   _Knock at the Knocker on the Door,\n   Pull the Bell at the side._\n\n_Then, if you are_ very _quiet, you will hear\n a teeny tiny voice say through the grating_\n \"Take down the Key.\" _This you will find at the\n back: you cannot mistake it, for it has J. J.\n in the wards. Put the Key in the Keyhole, which\n it fits exactly, unlock the door, and_\n\n     _WALK IN_\n\n\n\nFourteenth Impression\n\n\n\n\nTo\n\nMY SON SYDNEY\n\n\u00c6TAT. XIII\n\n\n\n\nPreface\n\n\nThis volume will come, I fancy, as a surprise both to my brother\nfolk-lorists and to the public in general. It might naturally have been\nthought that my former volume (_English Fairy Tales_) had almost\nexhausted the scanty remains of the traditional folk-tales of England.\nYet I shall be much disappointed if the present collection is not found\nto surpass the former in interest and vivacity, while for the most part\nit goes over hitherto untrodden ground, the majority of the tales in\nthis book have either never appeared before, or have never been brought\nbetween the same boards.\n\nIn putting these tales together, I have acted on the same principles as\nin the preceding volume, which has already, I am happy to say,\nestablished itself as a kind of English Grimm. I have taken English\ntales wherever I could find them, one from the United States, some from\nthe Lowland Scotch, and a few have been adapted from ballads, while I\nhave left a couple in their original metrical form. I have rewritten\nmost of them, and in doing so have adopted the traditional English style\nof folk-telling, with its \"Wells\" and \"Lawkamercy\" and archaic touches,\nwhich are known nowadays as vulgarisms. From former experience, I find\nthat each of these principles has met with some dissent from critics who\nhave written from the high and lofty standpoint of folk-lore, or from\nthe lowlier vantage of \"mere literature.\" I take this occasion to soften\ntheir ire, or perhaps give them further cause for reviling.\n\nMy folk-lore friends look on with sadness while they view me laying\nprofane hands on the sacred text of my originals. I have actually at\ntimes introduced or deleted whole incidents, have given another turn to\na tale, or finished off one that was incomplete, while I have had no\nscruple in prosing a ballad or softening down over-abundant dialect.\nThis is rank sacrilege in the eyes of the rigid orthodox in matters\nfolk-lorical. My defence might be that I had a cause at heart as sacred\nas our science of folk-lore--the filling of our children's imaginations\nwith bright trains of images. But even on the lofty heights of folk-lore\nscience I am not entirely defenceless. Do my friendly critics believe\nthat even Campbell's materials had not been modified by the various\nnarrators before they reached the great J.F.? Why may I not have the\nsame privilege as any other story-teller, especially when I know the\nways of story-telling as she is told in English, at least as well as a\nDevonshire or Lancashire peasant? And--conclusive argument--wilt thou,\noh orthodox brother folk-lorist, still continue to use Grimm and\nAsbj\u00f6rnsen? Well, they did the same as I.\n\nThen as to using tales in Lowland Scotch, whereat a Saturday Reviewer,\nwhose identity and fatherland were not difficult to guess, was so\nshocked. Scots a dialect of English! Scots tales the same as English!\nHorror and Philistinism! was the Reviewer's outcry. Matter of fact is my\nreply, which will only confirm him, I fear, in his convictions. Yet I\nappeal to him, why make a difference between tales told on different\nsides of the Border? A tale told in Durham or Cumberland in a dialect\nwhich only Dr. Murray could distinguish from Lowland Scotch, would on\nall hands be allowed to be \"English.\" The same tale told a few miles\nfarther North, why should we refuse it the same qualification? A tale in\nHenderson is English: why not a tale in Chambers, the majority of whose\ntales are to be found also south of the Tweed?\n\nThe truth is, my folk-lore friends and my Saturday Reviewer differ with\nme on the important problem of the origin of folk-tales. They think that\na tale probably originated where it was found. They therefore attribute\nmore importance than I to the exact form in which it is found and\nrestrict it to the locality of birth. I consider the probability to lie\nin an origin elsewhere: I think it more likely than not that any tale\nfound in a place was rather brought there than born there. I have\ndiscussed this matter elsewhere[1] with all the solemnity its\nimportance deserves, and cannot attempt further to defend my position\nhere. But even the reader innocent of folk-lore can see that, holding\nthese views, I do not attribute much anthropological value to tales\nwhose origin is probably foreign, and am certainly not likely to make a\nhard-and-fast division between tales of the North Countrie and those\ntold across the Border.\n\nAs to how English folk-tales should be told authorities also differ. I\nam inclined to follow the tradition of my old nurse, who was not bred at\nGirton and who scorned at times the rules of Lindley Murray and the\ndiction of smart society. I have been recommended to adopt a diction not\ntoo remote from that of the Authorised Version. Well, quite apart from\nmemories of my old nurse, we have a certain number of tales actually\ntaken down from the mouths of the people, and these are by no means in\nAuthorised form; they even trench on the \"vulgar\"--_i.e._, the archaic.\nNow there is just a touch of snobbery in objecting to these archaisms\nand calling them \"vulgar.\" These tales have been told, if not from time\nimmemorial, at least for several generations, in a special form which\nincludes dialect and \"vulgar\" words. Why desert that form for one which\nthe children cannot so easily follow with \"thous\" and \"werts\" and all\nthe artificialities of pseudo-Elizabethan? Children are not likely to\nsay \"darter\" for \"daughter,\" or to ejaculate \"Lawkamercyme\" because they\ncome across these forms in their folk-tales. They recognise the unusual\nforms while enjoying the fun of them. I have accordingly retained the\narchaisms and the old-world formul\u00e6 which go so well with the folk-tale.\n\nIn compiling the present collection I have drawn on the store of 140\ntales with which I originally started; some of the best of these I\nreserved for this when making up the former one. That had necessarily to\ncontain the old favourites _Jack the Giant Killer, Dick Whittington_,\nand the rest, which are often not so interesting or so well told as the\nless familiar ones buried in periodicals or folk-lore collections. But\nsince the publication of _English Fairy Tales_, I have been specially\nfortunate in obtaining access to tales entirely new and exceptionally\nwell told, which have been either published during the past three years\nor have been kindly placed at my disposal by folk-lore friends. Among\nthese, the tales reported by Mrs. Balfour, with a thorough knowledge of\nthe peasants' mind and mode of speech, are a veritable acquisition. I\nonly regret that I have had to tone down so much of dialect in her\nversions. She has added to my indebtedness to her by sending me several\ntales which are entirely new and inedited. Mrs. Gomme comes only second\nin rank among my creditors for thanks which I can scarcely pay without\nbecoming bankrupt in gratitude. Other friends have been equally kind,\nespecially Mr. Alfred Nutt, who has helped by adapting some of the book\nversions, and by reading the proofs, while to the Councils of the\nAmerican and English Folk-Lore Societies I have again to repeat my\nthanks for permission to use materials which first appeared in their\npublications. Finally, I have had Mr. Batten with me once again--what\nshould I or other English children do without him?\n\nJOSEPH JACOBS.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: See \"The Science of Folk Tales and the Problem of\nDiffusion\" in _Transactions of the International Folk-Lore Congress_,\n1891. Mr. Lang has honoured me with a rejoinder, which I regard as a\npalinode, in his Preface to Miss Roalfe Cox's volume of variants of\n_Cinderella_ (Folk-Lore Society, 1892).]\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\nTHE PIED PIPER OF FRANCHVILLE\n\nHEREAFTERTHIS\n\nTHE GOLDEN BALL\n\nMY OWN SELF\n\nTHE BLACK BULL OF NORROWAY\n\nYALLERY BROWN\n\nTHREE FEATHERS\n\nSIR GAMMER VANS\n\nTOM HICKATHRIFT\n\nTHE HEDLEY KOW\n\nGOBBORN SEER\n\nLAWKAMERCYME\n\nTATTERCOATS\n\nTHE WEE BANNOCK\n\nJOHNNY GLOKE\n\nCOAT O' CLAY\n\nTHE THREE COWS\n\nTHE BLINDED GIANT\n\nSCRAPEFOOT\n\nTHE PEDLAR OF SWAFFHAM\n\nTHE OLD WITCH\n\nTHE THREE WISHES\n\nTHE BURIED MOON\n\nA SON OF ADAM\n\nTHE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD\n\nTHE HOBYAHS\n\nA POTTLE O' BRAINS\n\nTHE KING OF ENGLAND AND HIS THREE SONS\n\nKING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY\n\nRUSHEN COATIE\n\nTHE KING 'O THE CATS\n\nTAMLANE\n\nTHE STARS IN THE SKY\n\nNEWS!\n\nPUDDOCK, MOUSIE AND RATTON\n\nTHE LITTLE BULL-CALF\n\nTHE WEE, WEE MANNIE\n\nHABETROT AND SCANTLIE MAB\n\nOLD MOTHER WIGGLE-WAGGLE\n\nCATSKIN\n\nSTUPID'S CRIES\n\nTHE LAMBTON WORM\n\nTHE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM\n\nTHE PRINCESS OF CANTERBURY\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNOTES AND REFERENCES\n\n\n\n\n\nFull Page Illustrations\n\n\nTAMLANE\n\nTHE BLACK BULL OF NORROWAY\n\nTATTERCOATS\n\nTHE OLD WITCH\n\nTHE CASTLE OF MELVALES\n\nTHE LITTLE BULL-CALF\n\nTHE LAMBTON WORM\n\nWARNING TO CHILDREN\n\n\n\n\n\nMORE ENGLISH FAIRY TALES\n\n\n\n\nThe Pied Piper\n\n\nNewtown, or Franchville, as 't was called of old, is a sleepy little\ntown, as you all may know, upon the Solent shore. Sleepy as it is now,\nit was once noisy enough, and what made the noise was--rats. The place\nwas so infested with them as to be scarce worth living in. There wasn't\na barn or a corn-rick, a store-room or a cupboard, but they ate their\nway into it. Not a cheese but they gnawed it hollow, not a sugar\npuncheon but they cleared out. Why the very mead and beer in the barrels\nwas not safe from them. They'd gnaw a hole in the top of the tun, and\ndown would go one master rat's tail, and when he brought it up round\nwould crowd all the friends and cousins, and each would have a suck at\nthe tail.\n\nHad they stopped here it might have been borne. But the squeaking and\nshrieking, the hurrying and scurrying, so that you could neither hear\nyourself speak nor get a wink of good honest sleep the live-long night!\nNot to mention that, Mamma must needs sit up, and keep watch and ward\nover baby's cradle, or there'd have been a big ugly rat running across\nthe poor little fellow's face, and doing who knows what mischief.\n\nWhy didn't the good people of the town have cats? Well they did, and\nthere was a fair stand-up fight, but in the end the rats were too many,\nand the pussies were regularly driven from the field. Poison, I hear you\nsay? Why, they poisoned so many that it fairly bred a plague.\nRatcatchers! Why there wasn't a ratcatcher from John o' Groat's house to\nthe Land's End that hadn't tried his luck. But do what they might, cats\nor poison, terrier or traps, there seemed to be more rats than ever, and\nevery day a fresh rat was cocking his tail or pricking his whiskers.\n\nThe Mayor and the town council were at their wits' end. As they were\nsitting one day in the town hall racking their poor brains, and\nbewailing their hard fate, who should run in but the town beadle.\n\"Please your Honour,\" says he, \"here is a very queer fellow come to\ntown. I don't rightly know what to make of him.\" \"Show him in,\" said the\nMayor, and in he stepped. A queer fellow, truly. For there wasn't a\ncolour of the rainbow but you might find it in some corner of his dress,\nand he was tall and thin, and had keen piercing eyes.\n\n\"I'm called the Pied Piper,\" he began. \"And pray what might you be\nwilling to pay me, if I rid you of every single rat in Franchville?\"\n\nWell, much as they feared the rats, they feared parting with their money\nmore, and fain would they have higgled and haggled. But the Piper was\nnot a man to stand nonsense, and the upshot was that fifty pounds were\npromised him (and it meant a lot of money in those old days) as soon as\nnot a rat was left to squeak or scurry in Franchville.\n\nOut of the hall stepped the Piper, and as he stepped he laid his pipe to\nhis lips and a shrill keen tune sounded through street and house. And as\neach note pierced the air you might have seen a strange sight. For out\nof every hole the rats came tumbling. There were none too old and none\ntoo young, none too big and none too little to crowd at the Piper's\nheels and with eager feet and upturned noses to patter after him as he\npaced the streets. Nor was the Piper unmindful of the little toddling\nones, for every fifty yards he'd stop and give an extra flourish on his\npipe just to give them time to keep up with the older and stronger of\nthe band.\n\nUp Silver Street he went, and down Gold Street, and at the end of Gold\nStreet is the harbour and the broad Solent beyond. And as he paced\nalong, slowly and gravely, the townsfolk flocked to door and window, and\nmany a blessing they called down upon his head.\n\nAs for getting near him there were too many rats. And now that he was at\nthe water's edge he stepped into a boat, and not a rat, as he shoved off\ninto deep water, piping shrilly all the while, but followed him,\nplashing, paddling, and wagging their tails with delight. On and on he\nplayed and played until the tide went down, and each master rat sank\ndeeper and deeper in the slimy ooze of the harbour, until every mother's\nson of them was dead and smothered.\n\nThe tide rose again, and the Piper stepped on shore, but never a rat\nfollowed. You may fancy the townsfolk had been throwing up their caps\nand hurrahing and stopping up rat holes and setting the church bells\na-ringing. But when the Piper stepped ashore and not so much as a single\nsqueak was to be heard, the Mayor and the Council, and the townsfolk\ngenerally, began to hum and to ha and to shake their heads.\n\nFor the town money chest had been sadly emptied of late, and where was\nthe fifty pounds to come from? Such an easy job, too! Just getting into\na boat and playing a pipe! Why the Mayor himself could have done that if\nonly he had thought of it.\n\nSo he hummed and ha'ad and at last, \"Come, my good man,\" said he, \"you\nsee what poor folk we are; how can we manage to pay you fifty pounds?\nWill you not take twenty? When all is said and done, 't will be good pay\nfor the trouble you've taken.\"\n\n\"Fifty pounds was what I bargained for,\" said the piper shortly; \"and if\nI were you I'd pay it quickly. For I can pipe many kinds of tunes, as\nfolk sometimes find to their cost.\"\n\n\"Would you threaten us, you strolling vagabond?\" shrieked the Mayor, and\nat the same time he winked to the Council; \"the rats are all dead and\ndrowned,\" muttered he; and so \"You may do your worst, my good man,\" and\nwith that he turned short upon his heel.\n\n\"Very well,\" said the Piper, and he smiled a quiet smile. With that he\nlaid his pipe to his lips afresh, but now there came forth no shrill\nnotes, as it were, of scraping and gnawing, and squeaking and scurrying,\nbut the tune was joyous and resonant, full of happy laughter and merry\nplay. And as he paced down the streets the elders mocked, but from\nschool-room and play-room, from nursery and workshop, not a child but\nran out with eager glee and shout following gaily at the Piper's call.\nDancing, laughing, joining hands and tripping feet, the bright throng\nmoved along up Gold Street and down Silver Street, and beyond Silver\nStreet lay the cool green forest full of old oaks and wide-spreading\nbeeches. In and out among the oak-trees you might catch glimpses of the\nPiper's many-coloured coat. You might hear the laughter of the children\nbreak and fade and die away as deeper and deeper into the lone green\nwood the stranger went and the children followed.\n\nAll the while, the elders watched and waited. They mocked no longer now.\nAnd watch and wait as they might, never did they set their eyes again\nupon the Piper in his parti-coloured coat. Never were their hearts\ngladdened by the song and dance of the children issuing forth from\namongst the ancient oaks of the forest.\n\n\n\n\nHereafterthis\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a farmer called Jan, and he lived all alone\nby himself in a little farmhouse.\n\nBy-and-by he thought that he would like to have a wife to keep it all\nvitty for him.\n\nSo he went a-courting a fine maid, and he said to her: \"Will you marry\nme?\"\n\n\"That I will, to be sure,\" said she.\n\nSo they went to church, and were wed. After the wedding was over, she\ngot up on his horse behind him, and he brought her home. And they lived\nas happy as the day was long.\n\nOne day, Jan said to his wife, \"Wife can you milk-y?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, Jan, I can milk-y. Mother used to milk-y, when I lived home.\"\n\nSo he went to market and bought her ten red cows. All went well till one\nday when she had driven them to the pond to drink, she thought they did\nnot drink fast enough. So she drove them right into the pond to make\nthem drink faster, and they were all drowned.\n\nWhen Jan came home, she up and told him what she had done, and he said,\n\"Oh, well, there, never mind, my dear, better luck next time.\"\n\nSo they went on for a bit, and then, one day, Jan said to his wife,\n\"Wife can you serve pigs?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, Jan, I can serve pigs. Mother used to serve pigs when I lived\nhome.\"\n\nSo Jan went to market and bought her some pigs. All went well till one\nday, when she had put their food into the trough she thought they did\nnot eat fast enough, and she pushed their heads into the trough to make\nthem eat faster, and they were all choked.\n\nWhen Jan came home, she up and told him what she had done, and he said,\n\"Oh, well, there, never mind, my dear, better luck next time.\"\n\nSo they went on for a bit, and then, one day, Jan said to his wife,\n\"Wife can you bake-y?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, Jan, I can bake-y. Mother used to bake-y when I lived home.\"\n\nSo he bought everything for his wife so that she could bake bread. All\nwent well for a bit, till one day, she thought she would bake white\nbread for a treat for Jan. So she carried her meal to the top of a high\nhill, and let the wind blow on it, for she thought to herself that the\nwind would blow out all the bran. But the wind blew away meal and bran\nand all--so there was an end of it.\n\nWhen Jan came home, she up and told him what she had done, and he said,\n\"Oh, well, there, never mind, my dear, better luck next time.\"\n\nSo they went on for a bit, and then, one day, Jan said to his wife,\n\"Wife can you brew-y?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, Jan, I can brew-y. Mother used to brew-y when I lived home.\"\n\nSo he bought everything proper for his wife to brew ale with. All went\nwell for a bit, till one day when she had brewed her ale and put it in\nthe barrel, a big black dog came in and looked up in her face. She drove\nhim out of the house, but he stayed outside the door and still looked up\nin her face. And she got so angry that she pulled out the plug of the\nbarrel, threw it at the dog, and said, \"What dost look at me for? I be\nJan's wife.\" Then the dog ran down the road, and she ran after him to\nchase him right away. When she came back again, she found that the ale\nhad all run out of the barrel, and so there was an end of it.\n\nWhen Jan came home, she up and told him what she had done, and he said,\n\"Oh well, there, never mind, my dear, better luck next time.\"\n\nSo they went on for a bit, and then, one day, she thought to herself,\n\"'T is time to clean up my house.\" When she was taking down her big bed\nshe found a bag of groats on the tester. So when Jan came home, she up\nand said to him, \"Jan, what is that bag of groats on the tester for?\"\n\n\"That is for Hereafterthis, my dear.\"\n\nNow, there was a robber outside the window, and he heard what Jan said.\nNext day, he waited till Jan had gone to market, and then he came and\nknocked at the door. \"What do you please to want?\" said Mally.\n\n\"I am Hereafterthis,\" said the robber, \"I have come for the bag of\ngroats.\"\n\nNow the robber was dressed like a fine gentleman, so she thought to\nherself it was very kind of so fine a man to come for the bag of groats,\nso she ran upstairs and fetched the bag of groats, and gave it to the\nrobber and he went away with it.\n\nWhen Jan came home, she said to him, \"Jan, Hereafterthis has been for\nthe bag of groats.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, wife?\" said Jan.\n\nSo she up and told him, and he said, \"Then I'm a ruined man, for that\nmoney was to pay our rent with. The only thing we can do is to roam the\nworld over till we find the bag of groats.\" Then Jan took the house-door\noff its hinges, \"That's all we shall have to lie on,\" he said. So Jan\nput the door on his back, and they both set out to look for\nHereafterthis. Many a long day they went, and in the night Jan used to\nput the door on the branches of a tree, and they would sleep on it. One\nnight they came to a big hill, and there was a high tree at the foot. So\nJan put the door up in it, and they got up in the tree and went to\nsleep. By-and-by Jan's wife heard a noise, and she looked to see what it\nwas. It was an opening of a door in the side of the hill. Out came two\ngentlemen with a long table, and behind them fine ladies and gentlemen,\neach carrying a bag, and one of them was Hereafterthis with the bag of\ngroats. They sat round the table, and began to drink and talk and count\nup all the money in the bags. So then Jan's wife woke him up, and asked\nwhat they should do.\n\n\"Now's our time,\" said Jan, and he pushed the door off the branches,\nand it fell right in the very middle of the table, and frightened the\nrobbers so that they all ran away. Then Jan and his wife got down from\nthe tree, took as many money-bags as they could carry on the door, and\nwent straight home. And Jan bought his wife more cows, and more pigs,\nand they lived happy ever after.\n\n\n\n\nThe Golden Ball\n\n\nThere were two lasses, daughters of one mother, and as they came from\nthe fair, they saw a right bonny young man stand at the house-door\nbefore them. They never saw such a bonny man before. He had gold on his\ncap, gold on his finger, gold on his neck, a red gold watch-chain--eh!\nbut he had brass. He had a golden ball in each hand. He gave a ball to\neach lass, and she was to keep it, and if she lost it, she was to be\nhanged. One of the lasses, 't was the youngest, lost her ball. I'll tell\nthee how. She was by a park-paling, and she was tossing her ball, and it\nwent up, and up, and up, till it went fair over the paling; and when she\nclimbed up to look, the ball ran along the green grass, and it went\nright forward to the door of the house, and the ball went in and she saw\nit no more.\n\nSo she was taken away to be hanged by the neck till she was dead because\nshe'd lost her ball.\n\nBut she had a sweetheart, and he said he would go and get the ball. So\nhe went to the park-gate, but 't was shut; so he climbed the hedge, and\nwhen he got to the top of the hedge, an old woman rose up out of the\ndyke before him, and said, if he wanted to get the ball, he must sleep\nthree nights in the house. He said he would.\n\nThen he went into the house, and looked for the ball, but could not find\nit. Night came on and he heard bogles move in the courtyard; so he\nlooked out o' the window, and the yard was full of them.\n\nPresently he heard steps coming upstairs. He hid behind the door, and\nwas as still as a mouse. Then in came a big giant five times as tall as\nhe, and the giant looked round but did not see the lad, so he went to\nthe window and bowed to look out; and as he bowed on his elbows to see\nthe bogles in the yard, the lad stepped behind him, and with one blow of\nhis sword he cut him in twain, so that the top part of him fell in the\nyard, and the bottom part stood looking out of the window.\n\nThere was a great cry from the bogles when they saw half the giant come\ntumbling down to them, and they called out, \"There comes half our\nmaster, give us the other half.\"\n\nSo the lad said, \"It's no use of thee, thou pair of legs, standing\nalone at the window, as thou hast no eye to see with, so go join thy\nbrother;\" and he cast the lower part of the giant after the top part.\nNow when the bogles had gotten all the giant they were quiet.\n\nNext night the lad was at the house again, and now a second giant came\nin at the door, and as he came in the lad cut him in twain, but the legs\nwalked on to the chimney and went up them. \"Go, get thee after thy\nlegs,\" said the lad to the head, and he cast the head up the chimney\ntoo.\n\nThe third night the lad got into bed, and he heard the bogles striving\nunder the bed, and they had the ball there, and they were casting it to\nand fro.\n\nNow one of them has his leg thrust out from under the bed, so the lad\nbrings his sword down and cuts it off. Then another thrusts his arm out\nat other side of the bed, and the lad cuts that off. So at last he had\nmaimed them all, and they all went crying and wailing off, and forgot\nthe ball, but he took it from under the bed, and went to seek his\ntrue-love.\n\nNow the lass was taken to York to be hanged; she was brought out on the\nscaffold, and the hangman said, \"Now, lass, thou must hang by the neck\ntill thou be'st dead.\" But she cried out:\n\n     \"Stop, stop, I think I see my mother coming!\n     O mother, hast brought my golden ball\n       And come to set me free?\"\n\n     \"I've neither brought thy golden ball\n       Nor come to set thee free,\n     But I have come to see thee hung\n       Upon this gallows-tree.\"\n\nThen the hangman said, \"Now, lass, say thy prayers for thou must die.\"\nBut she said:\n\n     \"Stop, stop, I think I see my father coming!\n     O father, hast brought my golden ball\n       And come to set me free?\"\n\n     \"I've neither brought thy golden ball\n       Nor come to set thee free,\n     But I have come to see thee hung\n       Upon this gallows-tree.\"\n\nThen the hangman said, \"Hast thee done thy prayers? Now, lass, put thy\nhead into the noose.\"\n\nBut she answered, \"Stop, stop, I think I see my brother coming!\" And\nagain she sang, and then she thought she saw her sister coming, then her\nuncle, then her aunt, then her cousin; but after this the hangman said,\n\"I will stop no longer, thou 'rt making game of me. Thou must be hung at\nonce.\"\n\nBut now she saw her sweetheart coming through the crowd, and he held\nover his head in the air her own golden ball; so she said:\n\n     \"Stop, stop, I see my sweetheart coming!\n     Sweetheart, hast brought my golden ball\n       And come to set me free?\"\n\n     \"Aye, I have brought thy golden ball\n       And come to set thee free,\n     I have not come to see thee hung\n       Upon this gallows-tree.\"\n\nAnd he took her home, and they lived happy ever after.\n\n\n\n\nMy Own Self\n\n\nIn a tiny house in the North Countrie, far away from any town or\nvillage, there lived not long ago, a poor widow all alone with her\nlittle son, a six-year-old boy.\n\nThe house-door opened straight on to the hill-side and all round about\nwere moorlands and huge stones, and swampy hollows; never a house nor a\nsign of life wherever you might look, for their nearest neighbours were\nthe \"ferlies\" in the glen below, and the \"will-o'-the-wisps\" in the long\ngrass along the pathside.\n\nAnd many a tale she could tell of the \"good folk\" calling to each other\nin the oak-trees, and the twinkling lights hopping on to the very window\nsill, on dark nights; but in spite of the loneliness, she lived on from\nyear to year in the little house, perhaps because she was never asked to\npay any rent for it.\n\nBut she did not care to sit up late, when the fire burnt low, and no one\nknew what might be about; so, when they had had their supper she would\nmake up a good fire and go off to bed, so that if anything terrible\n_did_ happen, she could always hide her head under the bed-clothes.\n\nThis, however, was far too early to please her little son; so when she\ncalled him to bed, he would go on playing beside the fire, as if he did\nnot hear her.\n\nHe had always been bad to do with since the day he was born, and his\nmother did not often care to cross him; indeed, the more she tried to\nmake him obey her, the less heed he paid to anything she said, so it\nusually ended by his taking his own way.\n\nBut one night, just at the fore-end of winter, the widow could not make\nup her mind to go off to bed, and leave him playing by the fireside; for\nthe wind was tugging at the door, and rattling the window-panes, and\nwell she knew that on such a night, fairies and such like were bound to\nbe out and about, and bent on mischief. So she tried to coax the boy\ninto going at once to bed:\n\n\"The safest bed to bide in, such a night as this!\" she said: but no, he\nwouldn't.\n\nThen she threatened to \"give him the stick,\" but it was no use.\n\nThe more she begged and scolded, the more he shook his head; and when at\nlast she lost patience and cried that the fairies would surely come and\nfetch him away, he only laughed and said he wished they _would_, for he\nwould like one to play with.\n\nAt that his mother burst into tears, and went off to bed in despair,\ncertain that after such words something dreadful would happen; while her\nnaughty little son sat on his stool by the fire, not at all put out by\nher crying.\n\nBut he had not long been sitting there alone, when he heard a\nfluttering sound near him in the chimney and presently down by his side\ndropped the tiniest wee girl you could think of; she was not a span\nhigh, and had hair like spun silver, eyes as green as grass, and cheeks\nred as June roses. The little boy looked at her with surprise.\n\n\"Oh!\" said he; \"what do they call ye?\"\n\n\"My own self,\" she said in a shrill but sweet little voice, and she\nlooked at him too. \"And what do they call ye?\"\n\n\"Just my own self too!\" he answered cautiously; and with that they began\nto play together.\n\nShe certainly showed him some fine games. She made animals out of the\nashes that looked and moved like life; and trees with green leaves\nwaving over tiny houses, with men and women an inch high in them, who,\nwhen she breathed on them, fell to walking and talking quite properly.\n\nBut the fire was getting low, and the light dim, and presently the\nlittle boy stirred the coals with a stick to make them blaze; when out\njumped a red-hot cinder, and where should it fall, but on the fairy\nchild's tiny foot.\n\nThereupon she set up such a squeal, that the boy dropped the stick, and\nclapped his hands to his ears but it grew to so shrill a screech, that\nit was like all the wind in the world whistling through one tiny\nkeyhole.\n\nThere was a sound in the chimney again, but this time the little boy did\nnot wait to see what it was, but bolted off to bed, where he hid under\nthe blankets and listened in fear and trembling to what went on.\n\nA voice came from the chimney speaking sharply:\n\n\"Who's there, and what's wrong?\" it said.\n\n\"It's my own self,\" sobbed the fairy-child; \"and my foot's burnt sore.\nO-o-h!\"\n\n\"Who did it?\" said the voice angrily; this time it sounded nearer, and\nthe boy, peeping from under the clothes, could see a white face looking\nout from the chimney-opening.\n\n\"Just my own self too!\" said the fairy-child again.\n\n\"Then if ye did it your own self,\" cried the elf-mother shrilly, \"what's\nthe use o' making all this fash about it?\"--and with that she\nstretched out a long thin arm, and caught the creature by its ear, and,\nshaking it roughly, pulled it after her, out of sight up the chimney.\n\nThe little boy lay awake a long time, listening, in case the\nfairy-mother should come back after all; and next evening after supper,\nhis mother was surprised to find that he was willing to go to bed\nwhenever she liked.\n\n\"He's taking a turn for the better at last!\" she said to herself; but he\nwas thinking just then that, when next a fairy came to play with him, he\nmight not get off quite so easily as he had done this time.\n\n\n\n\nBlack Bull of Norroway\n\n\nIn Norroway, long time ago, there lived a certain lady, and she had\nthree daughters: The oldest of them said to her mother: \"Mother, bake me\na bannock, and roast me a collop, for I'm going away to seek my\nfortune.\" Her mother did so; and the daughter went away to an old witch\nwasherwife and told her purpose. The old wife bade her stay that day,\nand look out of her back-door, and see what she could see. She saw\nnought the first day. The second day she did the same, and saw nought.\nOn the third day she looked again, and saw a coach-and-six coming along\nthe road. She ran in and told the old wife what she saw. \"Well,\" quoth\nthe old woman, \"yon's for you.\" So they took her into the coach and\ngalloped off.\n\nThe second daughter next says to her mother: \"Mother, bake me a bannock,\nand roast me a collop, for I'm going away to seek my fortune.\" Her\nmother did so; and away she went to the old wife, as her sister had\ndone. On the third day she looked out of the back-door, and saw a\ncoach-and-four coming along the road. \"Well,\" quoth the old woman,\n\"yon's for you.\" So they took her in, and off they set.\n\nThe third daughter says to her mother: \"Mother, bake me a bannock, and\nroast me a collop, for I'm going away to seek my fortune.\" Her mother\ndid so; and away she went to the old witch. She bade her look out of her\nback-door, and see what she could see She did so; and when she came\nback, said she saw nought. The second day she did the same, and saw\nnought. The third day she looked again, and on coming back said to the\nold wife she saw nought but a great Black Bull coming crooning along the\nroad. \"Well,\" quoth the old witch, \"yon's for you.\" On hearing this she\nwas next to distracted with grief and terror; but she was lifted up and\nset on his back, and away they went.\n\nAye they travelled, and on they travelled, till the lady grew faint with\nhunger. \"Eat out of my right ear,\" says the Black Bull, \"and drink out\nof my left ear, and set by your leaving.\" So she did as he said, and was\nwonderfully refreshed. And long they rode, and hard they rode, till\nthey came in sight of a very big and bonny castle. \"Yonder we must be\nthis night,\" quoth the Bull; \"for my elder brother lives yonder;\" and\npresently they were at the place. They lifted her off his back, and took\nher in, and sent him away to a park for the night. In the morning, when\nthey brought the Bull home, they took the lady into a fine shining\nparlour, and gave her a beautiful apple, telling her not to break it\ntill she was in the greatest strait ever mortal was in the world, and\nthat would bring her out of it. Again she was lifted on the Bull's back,\nand after she had ridden far, and farther than I can tell, they came in\nsight of a far bonnier castle, and far farther away than the last. Says\nthe Bull to her: \"Yonder we must be this night, for my second brother\nlives yonder;\" and they were at the place directly. They lifted her down\nand took her in, and sent the Bull to the field for the night. In the\nmorning they took the lady into a fine and rich room, and gave her the\nfinest pear she had ever seen, bidding her not to break it till she was\nin the greatest strait ever mortal could be in, and that would get her\nout of it. Again she was lifted and set on his back, and away they went.\nAnd long they rode, and hard they rode, till they came in sight of the\nfar biggest castle and far farthest off, they had yet seen. \"We must be\nyonder to-night,\" says the Bull, \"for my young brother lives yonder;\"\nand they were there directly. They lifted her down, took her in, and\nsent the Bull to the field for the night. In the morning they took her\ninto a room, the finest of all, and gave her a plum, telling her not to\nbreak it till she was in the greatest strait mortal could be in, and\nthat would get her out of it. Presently they brought home the Bull, set\nthe lady on his back, and away they went.\n\nAnd aye they rode, and on they rode, till they came to a dark and ugsome\nglen, where they stopped, and the lady lighted down. Says the Bull to\nher: \"Here you must stay till I go and fight the Old One. You must seat\nyourself on that stone, and move neither hand nor foot till I come back,\nelse I'll never find you again. And if everything round about you turns\nblue, I have beaten the Old One; but should all things turn red, he'll\nhave conquered me.\" She set herself down on the stone, and by-and-by all\nround her turned blue. Overcome with joy, she lifted one of her feet,\nand crossed it over the other, so glad was she that her companion was\nvictorious. The Bull returned and sought for her, but never could find\nher.\n\nLong she sat, and aye she wept, till she wearied. At last she rose and\nwent away, she didn't know where. On she wandered, till she came to a\ngreat hill of glass, that she tried all she could to climb, but wasn't\nable. Round the bottom of the hill she went, sobbing and seeking a\npassage over, till at last she came to a smith's house; and the smith\npromised, if she would serve him seven years, he would make her iron\nshoon, wherewith she could climb over the glassy hill. At seven years'\nend she got her iron shoon, clomb the glassy hill, and chanced to come\nto the old washerwife's habitation. There she was told of a gallant\nyoung knight that had given in some clothes all over blood to wash, and\nwhoever washed them was to be his wife. The old wife had washed till she\nwas tired, and then she set her daughter at it, and both washed, and\nthey washed, and they washed, in hopes of getting the young knight; but\nfor all they could do they couldn't bring out a stain. At length they\nset the stranger damsel to work; and whenever she began, the stains came\nout pure and clean, and the old wife made the knight believe it was her\ndaughter had washed the clothes. So the knight and the eldest daughter\nwere to be married, and the stranger damsel was distracted at the\nthought of it, for she was deeply in love with him. So she bethought her\nof her apple and breaking it, found it filled with gold and precious\njewellery, the richest she had ever seen. \"All these,\" she said to the\neldest daughter, \"I will give you, on condition that you put off your\nmarriage for one day and allow me to go into his room alone at night.\"\nThe lady consented; but meanwhile the old wife had prepared a sleeping\ndrink, and given it to the knight who drank it, and never wakened till\nnext morning. The live-long night the damsel sobbed and sang:\n\n     \"Seven long years I served for thee,\n      The glassy hill I clomb for thee,\n      Thy bloody clothes I wrang for thee;\n      And wilt thou not waken and turn to me?\"\n\n[Illustration: THE GLASSY HILL I CLOMB FOR THEE]\n\nNext day she knew not what to do for grief. Then she broke the pear, and\nfound it filled with jewellery far richer than the contents of the\napple. With these jewels she bargained for permission to be a second\nnight in the young knight's chamber; but the old wife gave him another\nsleeping drink, and again he slept till morning. All night she kept\nsighing and singing as before:\n\n     \"Seven long years I served for thee,\n      The glassy hill I clomb for thee,\n      Thy bloody clothes I wrang for thee;\n      And wilt thou not waken and turn to me?\"\n\nStill he slept, and she nearly lost hope altogether, But that day, when\nhe was out hunting, somebody asked him what noise and moaning was that\nthey heard all last night in his bedchamber. He said: \"I have heard no\nnoise.\" But they assured him there was; and he resolved to keep waking\nthat night to try what he could hear. That being the third night and the\ndamsel being between hope and despair, she broke her plum, and it held\nfar the richest jewellery of the three. She bargained as before; and the\nold wife, as before, took in the sleeping drink to the young knight's\nchamber; but he told her he couldn't drink it that night without\nsweetening. And when she went away for some honey to sweeten it with, he\npoured out the drink, and so made the old wife think he had drunk it.\nThey all went to bed again, and the damsel began, as before, singing:\n\n     \"Seven long years I served for thee,\n      The glassy hill I clomb for thee,\n      Thy bloody clothes I wrang for thee;\n      And wilt thou not waken and turn to me?\"\n\nHe heard, and turned to her. And she told him all that had befallen\nher, and he told her all that had happened to him. And he caused the old\nwasherwife and her daughter to be burnt. And they were married, and he\nand she are living happy to this day for aught I know.\n\n\n\n\nYallery Brown\n\n\nOnce upon a time, and a very good time it was, though it wasn't in my\ntime, nor in your time, nor any one else's time, there was a young lad\nof eighteen or so named Tom Tiver working on the Hall Farm. One Sunday\nhe was walking across the west field, 't was a beautiful July night,\nwarm and still and the air was full of little sounds as though the trees\nand grass were chattering to themselves. And all at once there came a\nbit ahead of him the pitifullest greetings ever he heard, sob, sobbing,\nlike a bairn spent with fear, and nigh heartbroken; breaking off into a\nmoan and then rising again in a long whimpering wailing that made him\nfeel sick to hark to it. He began to look everywhere for the poor\ncreature. \"It must be Sally Bratton's child,\" he thought to himself;\n\"she was always a flighty thing, and never looked after it. Like as not,\nshe's flaunting about the lanes, and has clean forgot the babby.\" But\nthough he looked and looked, he could see nought. And presently the\nwhimpering got louder and stronger in the quietness, and he thought he\ncould make out words of some sort. He hearkened with all his ears, and\nthe sorry thing was saying words all mixed up with sobbing--\n\n\"Ooh! the stone, the great big stone! ooh! the stones on top!\"\n\nNaturally he wondered where the stone might be, and he looked again, and\nthere by the hedge bottom was a great flat stone, nigh buried in the\nmools, and hid in the cotted grass and weeds. One of the stones was\ncalled the \"Strangers' Table.\" However, down he fell on his knee-bones\nby that stone, and hearkened again. Clearer than ever, but tired and\nspent with greeting came the little sobbing voice--\"Ooh! ooh! the stone,\nthe stone on top.\" He was gey, and mis-liking to meddle with the thing,\nbut he couldn't stand the whimpering babby, and he tore like mad at the\nstone, till he felt it lifting from the mools, and all at once it came\nwith a sough out o' the damp earth and the tangled grass and growing\nthings. And there in the hole lay a tiddy thing on its back, blinking up\nat the moon and at him. 'T was no bigger than a year-old baby, but it\nhad long cotted hair and beard, twisted round and round its body so that\nyou couldn't see its clothes; and the hair was all yaller and shining\nand silky, like a bairn's; but the face of it was old and as if 't were\nhundreds of years since 't was young and smooth. Just a heap of\nwrinkles, and two bright black eyne in the midst, set in a lot of\nshining yaller hair; and the skin was the colour of the fresh turned\nearth in the spring--brown as brown could be, and its bare hands and\nfeet were brown like the face of it. The greeting had stopped, but the\ntears were standing on its cheek, and the tiddy thing looked mazed like\nin the moonshine and the night air.\n\nThe creature's eyne got used like to the moonlight, and presently he\nlooked up in Tom's face as bold as ever was; \"Tom,\" says he, \"thou 'rt a\ngood lad!\" as cool as thou can think, says he, \"Tom, thou 'rt a good\nlad!\" and his voice was soft and high and piping like a little bird\ntwittering.\n\nTom touched his hat, and began to think what he ought to say. \"Houts!\"\nsays the thing again, \"thou needn't be feared o' me; thou 'st done me a\nbetter turn than thou know'st, my lad, and I'll do as much for thee.\"\nTom couldn't speak yet, but he thought; \"Lord! for sure 't is a bogle!\"\n\n\"No!\" says he as quick as quick, \"I am no bogle, but ye 'd best not ask\nme what I be; anyways I be a good friend o' thine.\" Tom's very\nknee-bones struck, for certainly an ordinary body couldn't have known\nwhat he'd been thinking to himself, but he looked so kind like, and\nspoke so fair, that he made bold to get out, a bit quavery like--\n\n\"Might I be axing to know your honour's name?\"\n\n\"H'm,\" says he, pulling his beard; \"as for that\"--and he thought a\nbit--\"ay so,\" he went on at last, \"Yallery Brown thou mayst call me,\nYallery Brown; 't is my nature seest thou, and as for a name 't will do\nas any other. Yallery Brown, Tom, Yallery Brown's thy friend, my lad.\"\n\n\"Thankee, master,\" says Tom, quite meek like.\n\n\"And now,\" he says, \"I'm in a hurry to-night, but tell me quick, what'll\nI do for thee? Wilt have a wife? I can give thee the finest lass in the\ntown. Wilt be rich? I'll give thee gold as much as thou can carry. Or\nwilt have help wi' thy work? Only say the word.\"\n\nTom scratched his head. \"Well, as for a wife, I have no hankering after\nsuch; they're but bothersome bodies, and I have women folk at home as\n'll mend my clouts; and for gold that's as may be, but for work, there,\nI can't abide work, and if thou 'lt give me a helpin' hand in it I'll\nthank--\"\n\n\"Stop,\" says he, quick as lightning, \"I'll help thee and welcome, but if\never thou sayest that to me--if ever thou thankest me, see'st thou, thou\n'lt never see me more. Mind that now; I want no thanks, I'll have no\nthanks;\" and he stampt his tiddy foot on the earth and looked as wicked\nas a raging bull.\n\n\"Mind that now, great lump that thou be,\" he went on, calming down a\nbit, \"and if ever thou need'st help, or get'st into trouble, call on me\nand just say, 'Yallery Brown, come from the mools, I want thee!' and\nI'll be wi' thee at once; and now,\" says he, picking a dandelion puff,\n\"good-night to thee,\" and he blowed it up, and it all came into Tom's\neyne and ears. Soon as Tom could see again the tiddy creature was gone,\nand but for the stone on end and the hole at his feet, he'd have thought\nhe'd been dreaming.\n\nWell, Tom went home and to bed; and by the morning he'd nigh forgot all\nabout it. But when he went to the work, there was none to do! all was\ndone already, the horses seen to, the stables cleaned out, everything in\nits proper place, and he'd nothing to do but sit with his hands in his\npockets. And so it went on day after day, all the work done by Yallery\nBrown, and better done, too, than he could have done it himself. And if\nthe master gave him more work, he sat down, and the work did itself, the\nsingeing irons, or the broom, or what not, set to, and with ne'er a hand\nput to it would get through in no time. For he never saw Yallery Brown\nin daylight; only in the darklins he saw him hopping about, like a\nWill-o-th'-wyke without his lanthorn.\n\nAt first 't was mighty fine for Tom; he'd nought to do and good pay for\nit; but by-and-by things began to grow vicey-varsy. If the work was done\nfor Tom, 't was undone for the other lads; if his buckets were filled,\ntheirs were upset; if his tools were sharpened, theirs were blunted and\nspoiled; if his horses were clean as daisies, theirs were splashed with\nmuck, and so on; day in and day out, 't was the same. And the lads saw\nYallery Brown flitting about o' nights, and they saw the things working\nwithout hands o' days, and they saw that Tom's work was done for him,\nand theirs undone for them; and naturally they begun to look shy on him,\nand they wouldn't speak or come nigh him, and they carried tales to the\nmaster and so things went from bad to worse.\n\nFor Tom could do nothing himself; the brooms wouldn't stay in his hand,\nthe plough ran away from him, the hoe kept out of his grip. He thought\nthat he'd do his own work after all, so that Yallery Brown would leave\nhim and his neighbours alone. But he couldn't--true as death he\ncouldn't. He could only sit by and look on, and have the cold shoulder\nturned on him, while the unnatural thing was meddling with the others,\nand working for him.\n\nAt last, things got so bad that the master gave Tom the sack, and if he\nhadn't, all the rest of the lads would have sacked him, for they swore\nthey'd not stay on the same garth with Tom. Well, naturally Tom felt\nbad; 't was a very good place, and good pay too; and he was fair mad\nwith Yallery Brown, as 'd got him into such a trouble. So Tom shook his\nfist in the air and called out as loud as he could, \"Yallery Brown, come\nfrom the mools; thou scamp, I want thee!\"\n\nYou'll scarce believe it, but he'd hardly brought out the words but he\nfelt something tweaking his leg behind, while he jumped with the smart\nof it; and soon as he looked down, there was the tiddy thing, with his\nshining hair, and wrinkled face, and wicked glinting black eyne.\n\nTom was in a fine rage, and he would have liked to have kicked him, but\n't was no good, there wasn't enough of it to get his boot against; but he\nsaid, \"Look here, master, I'll thank thee to leave me alone after this,\ndost hear? I want none of thy help, and I'll have nought more to do with\nthee--see now.\"\n\nThe horrid thing broke into a screeching laugh, and pointed its brown\nfinger at Tom. \"Ho, ho, Tom!\" says he. \"Thou 'st thanked me, my lad, and\nI told thee not, I told thee not!\"\n\n\"I don't want thy help, I tell thee,\" Tom yelled at him--\"I only want\nnever to see thee again, and to have nought more to do with 'ee--thou\ncan go.\"\n\nThe thing only laughed and screeched and mocked, as long as Tom went on\nswearing, but so soon as his breath gave out--\n\n\"Tom, my lad,\" he said with a grin, \"I'll tell 'ee summat, Tom. True's\ntrue I'll never help thee again, and call as thou wilt, thou 'lt never\nsee me after to-day; but I never said that I'd leave thee alone, Tom,\nand I never will, my lad! I was nice and safe under the stone, Tom, and\ncould do no harm; but thou let me out thyself, and thou can't put me\nback again! I would have been thy friend and worked for thee if thou had\nbeen wise; but since thou bee'st no more than a born fool I'll give 'ee\nno more than a born fool's luck; and when all goes vicey-varsy, and\neverything agee--thou 'lt mind that it's Yallery Brown's doing though\nm'appen thou doesn't see him. Mark my words, will 'ee?\"\n\nAnd he began to sing, dancing round Tom, like a bairn with his yellow\nhair, but looking older than ever with his grinning wrinkled bit of a\nface:\n\n             \"Work as thou will\n              Thou 'lt never do well;\n              Work as thou mayst\n              Thou 'lt never gain grist;\n     For harm and mischance and Yallery Brown\n     Thou 'st let out thyself from under the stone.\"\n\nTom could never rightly mind what he said next. 'T was all cussing and\ncalling down misfortune on him; but he was so mazed in fright that he\ncould only stand there shaking all over, and staring down at the horrid\nthing; and if he'd gone on long, Tom would have tumbled down in a fit.\nBut by-and-by, his yaller shining hair rose up in the air, and wrapt\nitself round him till he looked for all the world like a great dandelion\npuff; and it floated away on the wind over the wall and out o' sight,\nwith a parting skirl of wicked voice and sneering laugh.\n\nAnd did it come true, sayst thou? My word! but it did, sure as death! He\nworked here and he worked there, and turned his hand to this and to\nthat, but it always went agee, and 't was all Yallery Brown's doing. And\nthe children died, and the crops rotted--the beasts never fatted, and\nnothing ever did well with him; and till he was dead and buried, and\nm'appen even afterwards, there was no end to Yallery Brown's spite at\nhim; day in and day out he used to hear him saying--\n\n              \"Work as thou wilt\n               Thou 'lt never do well;\n               Work as thou mayst\n               Thou 'lt never gain grist;\n     For harm and mischance and Yallery Brown\n     Thou 'st let out thyself from under the stone.\"\n\n\n\n\nThree Feathers\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a girl who was married to a husband that she\nnever saw. And the way this was, was that he was only at home at night,\nand would never have any light in the house. The girl thought that was\nfunny, and all her friends told her there must be something wrong with\nher husband, some great deformity that made him want not to be seen.\n\nWell, one night when he came home she suddenly lit a candle and saw him.\nHe was handsome enough to make all the women of the world fall in love\nwith him. But scarcely had she seen him when he began to change into a\nbird, and then he said: \"Now you have seen me, you shall see me no more,\nunless you are willing to serve seven years and a day for me, so that I\nmay become a man once more.\" Then he told her to take three feathers\nfrom under his side, and whatever she wished through them would come to\npass. Then he left her at a great house to be laundry-maid for seven\nyears and a day.\n\nAnd the girl used to take the feathers and say:\n\n\"By virtue of my three feathers may the copper be lit, and the clothes\nwashed, and mangled, and folded, and put away to the missus's\nsatisfaction.\"\n\nAnd then she had no more care about it. The feathers did the rest, and\nthe lady set great store by her for a better laundress she had never\nhad. Well, one day the butler, who had a notion to have the pretty\nlaundry-maid for his wife, said to her, he should have spoken before but\nhe did not want to vex her. \"Why should it when I am but a\nfellow-servant?\" the girl said. And then he felt free to go on, and\nexplain he had \u00a370 laid by with the master, and how would she like him\nfor a husband.\n\nAnd the girl told him to fetch her the money, and he asked his master\nfor it, and brought it to her. But as they were going upstairs, she\ncried, \"O John, I must go back, sure I've left my shutters undone, and\nthey'll be slashing and banging all night.\"\n\nThe butler said, \"Never you trouble, I'll put them right.\" and he ran\nback, while she took her feathers, and said: \"By virtue of my three\nfeathers may the shutters slash and bang till morning, and John not be\nable to fasten them nor yet to get his fingers free from them.\"\n\nAnd so it was. Try as he might the butler could not leave hold, nor yet\nkeep the shutters from blowing open as he closed them. And he _was_\nangry, but could not help himself, and he did not care to tell of it and\nget the laugh on him, so no one knew.\n\nThen after a bit the coachman began to notice her, and she found he had\nsome \u00a340 with the master, and he said she might have it if she would\ntake him with it.\n\nSo after the laundry-maid had his money in her apron as they went\nmerrily along, she stopt, exclaiming: \"My clothes are left outside, I\nmust run back and bring them in.\" \"Stop for me while I go; it is a cold\nfrost night,\" said William, \"you'd be catching your death.\" So the girl\nwaited long enough to take her feathers out and say, \"By virtue of my\nthree feathers may the clothes slash and blow about till morning, and\nmay William not be able to take his hand from them nor yet to gather\nthem up.\" And then she was away to bed and to sleep.\n\nThe coachman did not want to be every one's jest, and he said nothing.\nSo after a bit the footman comes to her and said he: \"I have been with\nmy master for years and have saved up a good bit, and you have been\nthree years here, and must have saved up as well. Let us put it\ntogether, and make us a home or else stay on at service as pleases you.\"\nWell, she got him to bring the savings to her as the others had, and\nthen she pretended she was faint, and said to him: \"James, I feel so\nqueer, run down cellar for me, that's a dear, and fetch me up a drop of\nbrandy.\" Now no sooner had he started than she said: \"By virtue of my\nthree feathers may there be slashing and spilling, and James not be able\nto pour the brandy straight nor yet to take his hand from it until\nmorning.\"\n\nAnd so it was. Try as he might James could not get his glass filled, and\nthere was slashing and spilling, and right on it all, down came the\nmaster to know what it meant!\n\nSo James told him he could not make it out, but he could not get the\ndrop of brandy the laundry-maid had asked for, and his hand would shake\nand spill everything, and yet come away he could not.\n\nThis got him in for a regular scrape, and the master when he got back to\nhis wife said: \"What has come over the men, they were all right until\nthat laundry-maid of yours came. Something is up now though. They have\nall drawn out their pay, and yet they don't leave, and what can it be\nanyway?\"\n\nBut his wife said she could not hear of the laundry-maid being blamed,\nfor she was the best servant she had and worth all the rest put\ntogether.\n\nSo it went on until one day as the girl stood in the hall door, the\ncoachman happened to say to the footman: \"Do you know how that girl\nserved me, James?\" And then William told about the clothes. The butler\nput in, \"That was nothing to what she served me,\" and he told of the\nshutters clapping all night.\n\nJust then the master came through the hall, and the girl said: \"By\nvirtue of my three feathers may there be slashing and striving between\nmaster and men, and may all get splashed in the pond.\"\n\nAnd so it was, the men fell to disputing which had suffered the most by\nher, and when the master came up all would be heard at once and none\nlistened to him, and it came to blows all round, and the first they knew\nthey had shoved one another into the pond.\n\nWhen the girl thought they had had enough she took the spell off, and\nthe master asked her what had begun the row, for he had not heard in the\nconfusion.\n\nAnd the girl said: \"They were ready to fall on any one; they'd have beat\nme if you had not come by.\"\n\nSo it blew over for that time, and through her feathers she made the\nbest laundress ever known. But to make a long story short, when the\nseven years and a day were up, the bird-husband, who had known her\ndoings all along, came after her, restored to his own shape again. And\nhe told her mistress he had come to take her from being a servant, and\nthat she should have servants under her. But he did not tell of the\nfeathers.\n\nAnd then he bade her give the men back their savings.\n\n\"That was a rare game you had with them,\" said he, \"but now you are\ngoing where there is plenty, leave them each their own.\" So she did; and\nthey drove off to their castle, where they lived happy ever after.\n\n\n\n\nSir Gammer Vans\n\n\nLast Sunday morning at six o'clock in the evening as I was sailing over\nthe tops of the mountains in my little boat, I met two men on horseback\nriding on one mare: So I asked them, \"Could they tell me whether the\nlittle old woman was dead yet who was hanged last Saturday week for\ndrowning herself in a shower of feathers?\" They said they could not\npositively inform me, but if I went to Sir Gammer Vans he could tell me\nall about it. \"But how am I to know the house?\" said I. \"Ho, 't is easy\nenough,\" said they, \"for 't is a brick house, built entirely of flints,\nstanding alone by itself in the middle of sixty or seventy others just\nlike it.\"\n\n\"Oh, nothing in the world is easier,\" said I.\n\n\"Nothing _can_ be easier,\" said they: so I went on my way.\n\nNow this Sir G. Vans was a giant, and a bottle-maker. And as all giants\nwho _are_ bottle-makers usually pop out of a little thumb-bottle from\nbehind the door, so did Sir G. Vans.\n\n\"How d'ye do?\" says he.\n\n\"Very well, I thank you,\" says I.\n\n\"Have some breakfast with me?\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" says I.\n\nSo he gave me a slice of beer, and a cup of cold veal; and there was a\nlittle dog under the table that picked up all the crumbs.\n\n\"Hang him,\" says I.\n\n\"No, don't hang him,\" says he; \"for he killed a hare yesterday. And if\nyou don't believe me, I'll show you the hare alive in a basket.\"\n\nSo he took me into his garden to show me the curiosities. In one corner\nthere was a fox hatching eagle's eggs; in another there was an iron\napple tree, entirely covered with pears and lead; in the third there was\nthe hare which the dog killed yesterday alive in the basket; and in the\nfourth there were twenty-four _hipper switches_ threshing tobacco, and\nat the sight of me they threshed so hard that they drove the plug\nthrough the wall, and through a little dog that was passing by on the\nother side. I, hearing the dog howl, jumped over the wall; and turned it\nas neatly inside out as possible, when it ran away as if it had not an\nhour to live. Then he took me into the park to show me his deer: and I\nremembered that I had a warrant in my pocket to shoot venison for his\nmajesty's dinner. So I set fire to my bow, poised my arrow, and shot\namongst them. I broke seventeen ribs on one side, and twenty-one and a\nhalf on the other; but my arrow passed clean through without ever\ntouching it, and the worst was I lost my arrow: however, I found it\nagain in the hollow of a tree. I felt it; it felt clammy. I smelt it; it\nsmelt honey. \"Oh, ho,\" said I, \"here's a bee's nest,\" when out sprang a\ncovey of partridges. I shot at them; some say I killed eighteen; but I\nam sure I killed thirty-six, besides a dead salmon which was flying over\nthe bridge, of which I made the best apple-pie I ever tasted.\n\n\n\n\nTom Hickathrift\n\n\nBefore the days of William the Conqueror there dwelt a man in the marsh\nof the Isle of Ely whose name was Thomas Hickathrift, a poor day\nlabourer, but so stout that he could do two days' work in one. His one\nson he called by his own name, Thomas Hickathrift, and he put him to\ngood learning, but the lad was none of the wisest, and indeed seemed to\nbe somewhat soft, so he got no good at all from his teaching.\n\nTom's father died, and his mother being tender of him, kept him as well\nas she could. The slothful fellow would do nothing but sit in the\nchimney-corner, and eat as much at a time as would serve four or five\nordinary men. And so much did he grow that when but ten years old he was\nalready eight feet high, and his hand like a shoulder of mutton.\n\nOne day his mother went to a rich farmer's house to beg a bottle of\nstraw for herself and Tom. \"Take what you will,\" said the farmer, an\nhonest charitable man. So when she got home she told Tom to fetch the\nstraw, but he wouldn't and, beg as she might, he wouldn't till she\nborrowed him a cart rope. So off he went, and when he came to the\nfarmer's, master and men were all a-trashing in the barn.\n\n\"I'm come for the straw,\" said Tom.\n\n\"Take as much as thou canst carry,\" said the farmer.\n\nSo Tom laid down his rope and began to make his bottle.\n\n\"Your rope is too short,\" said the farmer by way of a joke; but the joke\nwas on Tom's side, for when he had made up his load there was some\ntwenty hundred-weight of straw, and though they called him a fool for\nthinking he could carry the tithe of it, he flung it over his shoulder\nas if it had been a hundred-weight, to the great admiration of master\nand men.\n\nTom's strength being thus made known there was no longer any basking by\nthe fire for him; every one would be hiring him to work, and telling\nhim 't was a shame to live such a lazy life. So Tom seeing them wait on\nhim as they did, went to work first with one, then with another. And one\nday a woodman desired his help to bring home a tree. Off went Tom and\nfour men besides, and when they came to the tree they began to draw it\ninto the cart with pulleys. At last Tom, seeing them unable to lift it,\n\"Stand away, you fools,\" said he, and taking the tree, set it on one end\nand laid it in the cart. \"Now,\" said he, \"see what a man can do.\"\n\"Marry, 't is true,\" said they, and the woodman asked what reward he'd\ntake. \"Oh, a stick for my mother's fire,\" said Tom; and espying a tree\nbigger than was in the cart, he laid it on his shoulders and went home\nwith it as fast as the cart and six horses could draw it.\n\nTom now saw that he had more strength than twenty men, and began to be\nvery merry, taking delight in company, in going to fairs and meetings,\nin seeing sports and pastimes. And at cudgels, wrestling, or throwing\nthe hammer, not a man could stand against him, so that at last none\ndurst go into the ring to wrestle with him, and his fame was spread more\nand more in the country.\n\nFar and near he would go to any meetings, as football play or the like.\nAnd one day in a part of the country where he was a stranger, and none\nknew him, he stopped to watch the company at football play; rare sport\nit was; but Tom spoiled it all, for meeting the ball he took it such a\nkick that away it flew none could tell whither. They were angry with Tom\nas you may fancy, but got nothing by that as Tom took hold of a big\nspar, and laid about with a will, so that though the whole country-side\nwas up in arms against him, he cleared his way wherever he came.\n\nIt was late in the evening ere he could turn homeward, and on the road\nthere met him four lusty rogues that had been robbing passengers all\nday. They thought they had a good prize in Tom, who was all alone, and\nmade cocksure of his money.\n\n\"Stand and deliver!\" said they.\n\n\"What should I deliver?\" said Tom.\n\n\"Your money, sirrah,\" said they.\n\n\"You shall give me better words for it first,\" said Tom.\n\n\"Come, come, no more prating; money we want, and money we'll have before\nyou stir.\"\n\n\"Is it so?\" said Tom, \"nay, then come and take it.\"\n\nThe long and the short of it was that Tom killed two of the rogues and\ngrieviously wounded the other two, and took all their money, which was\nas much as two hundred pounds. And when he came home he made his old\nmother laugh with the story of how he served the football players and\nthe four thieves.\n\nBut you shall see that Tom sometimes met his match. In wandering one day\nin the forest he met a lusty tinker that had a good staff on his\nshoulder, and a great dog to carry his bag and tools.\n\n\"Whence come you and whither are you going?\" said Tom, \"this is no\nhighway.\"\n\n\"What's that to you?\" said the tinker; \"fools must needs be meddling.\"\n\n\"I'll make you know,\" said Tom, \"before you and I part, what it is to\nme.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the tinker, \"I'm ready for a bout with any man, and I hear\nthere is one Tom Hickathrift in the country of whom great things are\ntold. I'd fain see him to have a turn with him.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Tom, \"methinks he might be master with you. Anyhow, I am the\nman; what have you to say to me?\"\n\n\"Why, verily, I'm glad we are so happily met.\"\n\n\"Sure, you do but jest,\" said Tom.\n\n\"Marry, I'm in earnest,\" said the tinker. \"A match?\" \"'T is done.\" \"Let\nme first get a twig,\" said Tom. \"Ay,\" said the tinker, \"hang him that\nwould fight a man unarmed.\"\n\nSo Tom took a gate-rail for his staff, and at it they fell, the tinker\nat Tom, and Tom at the tinker, like two giants they laid on at each\nother. The tinker had a leathern coat on, and at every blow Tom gave the\ntinker his coat roared again, yet the tinker did not give way one inch.\nAt last Tom gave him a blow on the side of his head which felled him.\n\n\"Now tinker where are you?\" said Tom.\n\nBut the tinker being a nimble fellow, leapt up again, gave Tom a blow\nthat made him reel again, and followed his blow with one on the other\nside that made Tom's neck crack again. So Tom flung down his weapon and\nyielded the tinker the better on it, took him home to his house, where\nthey nursed their bruises and from that day forth there was no\nstauncher pair of friends than they two.\n\nTom's fame was thus spread abroad till at length a brewer at Lynn,\nwanting a good lusty man to carry his beer to Wisbeach went to hire Tom,\nand promised him a new suit of clothes from top to toe, and that he\nshould eat and drink of the best, so Tom yielded to be his man and his\nmaster told him what way he should go, for you must understand there was\na monstrous giant who kept part of the marsh-land, so that none durst go\nthat way.\n\nSo Tom went every day to Wisbeach a good twenty miles by the road. 'T\nwas a wearisome journey thought Tom and he soon found that the way kept\nby the giant was nearer by half. Now Tom had got more strength than\never, being well kept as he was and drinking so much strong ale as he\ndid. One day, then, as he was going to Wisbeach, without saying anything\nto his master or any of his fellow servants, he resolved to take the\nnearest road or to lose his life; as they say, to win horse or lose\nsaddle. Thus resolved, he took the near road, flinging open the gates\nfor his cart and horses to go through. At last the giant spied him, and\ncame up speedily, intending to take his beer for a prize.\n\nHe met Tom like a lion as though he would have swallowed him. \"Who gave\nyou authority to come this way?\" roared he. \"I'll make you an example\nfor all rogues under the sun. See how many heads hang on yonder tree.\nYours shall hang higher than all the rest for a warning.\"\n\nBut Tom made him answer, \"A fig in your teeth you shall not find me like\none of them, traitorly rogue that you are.\"\n\nThe giant took these words in high disdain, and ran into his cave to\nfetch his great club, intending to dash out Tom's brains at the first\nblow.\n\nTom knew not what to do for a weapon; his whip would be but little good\nagainst a monstrous beast twelve foot in length and six foot about the\nwaist. But whilst the giant went for his club, bethinking him of a very\ngood weapon, he made no more ado, but took his cart, turned it upside\ndown, and took axle-tree and wheel for shield and buckler. And very good\nweapons they were found!\n\nOut came the giant and began to stare at Tom. \"You are like to do great\nservice with those weapons,\" roared he. \"I have here a twig that will\nbeat you and your wheel to the ground.\" Now this twig was as thick as\nsome mileposts are, but Tom was not daunted for all that, though the\ngiant made at him with such force that the wheel cracked again. But Tom\ngave as good as he got, taking the giant such a weighty blow on the side\nof the head that he reeled again. \"What,\" said Tom, \"are you drunk with\nmy strong beer already?\"\n\nSo at it they went, Tom laying such huge blows at the giant, down whose\nface sweat and blood ran together, so that, being fat and foggy and\ntired with the long fighting, he asked Tom would he let him drink a\nlittle? \"Nay, nay,\" said Tom, \"my mother did not teach me such wit;\nwho'd be a fool then?\" And seeing the giant beginning to weary and fail\nin his blows, Tom thought best to make hay whilst the sun shone, and,\nlaying on as fast as though he had been mad, he brought the giant to the\nground. In vain were the giant's roars and prayers and promises to yield\nhimself and be Tom's servant. Tom laid at him till he was dead, and\nthen, cutting off his head, he went into the cave, and found a great\nstore of silver and gold, which made his heart to leap. So he loaded his\ncart, and after delivering his beer at Wisbeach, he came home and told\nhis master what had befallen him. And on the morrow he and his master\nand more of the towns-folk of Lynn set out for the giant's cave. Tom\nshowed them the head, and what silver and gold there was in the cave,\nand not a man but leapt for joy, for the giant was a great enemy to all\nthe country.\n\nThe news was spread all up and down the country-side how Tom Hickathrift\nhad killed the giant. And well was he that could run to see the cave;\nall the folk made bonfires for joy, and if Tom was respected before, he\nwas much more so now. With common consent he took possession of the cave\nand every one said, had it been twice as much, he would have deserved\nit. So Tom pulled down the cave, and built himself a brave house. The\nground that the giant kept by force for himself, Tom gave part to the\npoor for their common land, and part he turned into good wheat-land to\nkeep himself and his old mother, Jane Hickathrift. And now he was become\nthe chiefest man in the country-side; 't was no longer plain Tom, but\nMr. Hickathrift, and he was held in due respect I promise you. He kept\nmen and maids and lived most bravely; made him a park to keep deer, and\ntime passed with him happily in his great house till the end of his\ndays.\n\n\n\n\nThe Hedley Kow\n\n\nThere was once an old woman, who earned a poor living by going errands\nand such like, for the farmers' wives round about the village where she\nlived. It wasn't much she earned by it; but with a plate of meat at one\nhouse, and a cup of tea at another, she made shift to get on somehow,\nand always looked as cheerful as if she hadn't a want in the world.\n\nWell, one summer evening as she was trotting away homewards, she came\nupon a big black pot lying at the side of the road.\n\n\"Now _that_,\" said she, stopping to look at it, \"would be just the very\nthing for me if I had anything to put into it! But who can have left it\nhere?\" and she looked round about, as if the person it belonged to must\nbe not far off. But she could see no one.\n\n\"Maybe it'll have a hole in it,\" she said thoughtfully:--\n\n\"Ay, that'll be how they've left it lying, hinny. But then it 'd do fine\nto put a flower in for the window; I'm thinking I'll just take it home,\nanyways.\" And she bent her stiff old back, and lifted the lid to look\ninside.\n\n\"Mercy me!\" she cried, and jumped back to the other side of the road;\n\"_if it is fit brim full o' gold_ PIECES!!\"\n\nFor a while she could do nothing but walk round and round her treasure,\nadmiring the yellow gold and wondering at her good luck, and saying to\nherself about every two minutes, \"Well, I _do_ be feeling rich and\ngrand!\" But presently she began to think how she could best take it home\nwith her; and she couldn't see any other way than by fastening one end\nof her shawl to it, and so dragging it after her along the road.\n\n\"It'll certainly be soon dark,\" she said to herself, \"and folk'll not\nsee what I'm bringing home with me, and so I'll have all the night to\nmyself to think what I'll do with it. I could buy a grand house and all,\nand live like the Queen herself, and not do a stroke of work all day,\nbut just sit by the fire with a cup of tea; or maybe I'll give it to the\npriest to keep for me, and get a piece as I'm wanting; or maybe I'll\njust bury it in a hole at the garden-foot, and put a bit on the chimney,\nbetween the chiney teapot and the spoons--for ornament like. Ah! I feel\nso grand, I don't know myself rightly!\"\n\nAnd by this time, being already rather tired with dragging such a heavy\nweight after her, she stopped to rest for a minute, turning to make sure\nthat her treasure was safe.\n\nBut when she looked at it, it wasn't a pot of gold at all, but a great\nlump of shining silver!\n\nShe stared at it, and rubbed her eyes and stared at it again; but she\ncouldn't make it look like anything but a great lump of silver. \"I'd\nhave sworn it was a pot of gold,\" she said at last, \"but I reckon I must\nhave been dreaming. Ay, now, that's a change for the better; it'll be\nfar less trouble to look after, and none so easy stolen; yon gold pieces\nwould have been a sight of bother to keep 'em safe. Ay, I'm well quit of\nthem; and with my bonny lump I'm as rich as rich--!\"\n\nAnd she set off homewards again, cheerfully planning all the grand\nthings she was going to do with her money. It wasn't very long, however,\nbefore she got tired again and stopped once more to rest for a minute or\ntwo.\n\nAgain she turned to look at her treasure, and as soon as she set eyes on\nit she cried out in astonishment. \"Oh, my!\" said she; \"now it's a lump\no' iron! Well, that beats all; and it's just real convenient! I can sell\nit as _easy_ as _easy_, and get a lot o' penny pieces for it. Ay, hinny,\nan' it's much handier than a lot o' yer gold and silver as 'd have kept\nme from sleeping o' nights thinking the neighbours were robbing me--an'\nit's a real good thing to have by you in a house, ye niver can tell what\nye mightn't use it for, an' it'll sell--ay, for a real lot. Rich? I'll\nbe just _rolling!_\"\n\nAnd on she trotted again chuckling to herself on her good luck, till\npresently she glanced over her shoulder, \"just to make sure it was there\nstill,\" as she said to herself.\n\n\"Eh, my!\" she cried as soon as she saw it; \"if it hasn't gone and turned\nitself into a great stone this time! Now, how could it have known that I\nwas just _terrible_ wanting something to hold my door open with? Ay, if\nthat isn't a good change! Hinny, it's a fine thing to have such good\nluck.\"\n\nAnd, all in a hurry to see how the stone would look in its corner by her\ndoor, she trotted off down the hill, and stopped at the foot, beside her\nown little gate.\n\nWhen she had unlatched it, she turned to unfasten her shawl from the\nstone, which this time seemed to lie unchanged and peaceably on the path\nbeside her, There was still plenty of light, and she could see the stone\nquite plainly as she bent her stiff back over it, to untie the shawl\nend; when, all of a sudden, it seemed to give a jump and a squeal, and\ngrew in a moment as big as a great horse; then it threw down four lanky\nlegs, and shook out two long ears, flourished a tail, and went off\nkicking its feet into the air and laughing like a naughty mocking boy.\n\nThe old woman stared after it, till it was fairly out of sight.\n\n\"WELL!\" she said at last, \"I _do_ be the luckiest body hereabouts! Fancy\nme seeing the Hedley Kow all to myself, and making so free with it too!\nI can tell you, I _do_ feel that GRAND--\"\n\nAnd she went into her cottage, and sat down by the fire to think over\nher good luck.\n\n\n\n\nGobborn Seer\n\n\nOnce there was a man Gobborn Seer, and he had a son called Jack.\n\nOne day he sent him out to sell a sheep skin, and Gobborn said, \"You\nmust bring me back the skin and the value of it as well.\"\n\nSo Jack started, but he could not find any who would leave him the skin\nand give him its price too. So he came home discouraged.\n\nBut Gobborn Seer said, \"Never mind, you must take another turn at it\nto-morrow.\"\n\nSo he tried again, and nobody wished to buy the skin on those terms.\n\nWhen he came home his father said, \"You must go and try your luck\nto-morrow,\" and the third day it seemed as if it would be the same thing\nover again. And he had half a mind not to go back at all, his father\nwould be so vexed. As he came to a bridge, like the Creek Road one\nyonder, he leaned on the parapet thinking of his trouble, and that\nperhaps it would be foolish to run away from home, but he could not tell\nwhich to do; when he saw a girl washing her clothes on the bank below.\nShe looked up and said:\n\n\"If it may be no offence asking, what is it you feel so badly about?\"\n\n\"My father has given me this skin, and I am to fetch it back and the\nprice of it beside.\"\n\n\"Is that all? Give it here, and it's easy done.\"\n\nSo the girl washed the skin in the stream, took the wool from it, and\npaid him the value of it, and gave him the skin to carry back.\n\nHis father was well pleased, and said to Jack, \"That was a witty woman;\nshe would make you a good wife. Do you think you could tell her again?\"\n\nJack thought he could, so his father told him to go by-and-by to the\nbridge, and see if she was there, and if so bid her come home to take\ntea with them.\n\nAnd sure enough Jack spied her and told her how his old father had a\nwish to meet her, and would she be pleased to drink tea with them.\n\nThe girl thanked him kindly, and said she could come the next day; she\nwas too busy at the moment.\n\n\"All the better,\" said Jack, \"I'll have time to make ready.\"\n\nSo when she came Gobborn Seer could see she was a witty woman, and he\nasked her if she would marry his Jack. She said \"Yes,\" and they were\nmarried.\n\nNot long after, Jack's father told him he must come with him and build\nthe finest castle that ever was seen, for a king who wished to outdo all\nothers by his wonderful castle.\n\nAnd as they went to lay the foundation-stone, Gobborn Seer said to Jack,\n\"Can't you shorten the way for me?\"\n\nBut Jack looked ahead and there was a long road before them, and he\nsaid, \"I don't see, father, how I could break a bit off.\"\n\n\"You're no good to me, then, and had best be off home.\"\n\nSo poor Jack turned back, and when he came in his wife said, \"Why, how's\nthis you've come alone?\" and he told her what his father had said and\nhis answer.\n\n\"You stupid,\" said his witty wife, \"if you had told a tale you would\nhave shortened the road! Now listen till I tell you a story, and then\ncatch up with Gobborn Seer and begin it at once. He will like hearing\nit, and by the time you are done you will have reached the\nfoundation-stone.\"\n\nSo Jack sweated and overtook his father. Gobborn Seer said never a word,\nbut Jack began his story, and the road was shortened as his wife had\nsaid.\n\nWhen they came to the end of their journey, they started building of\nthis castle which was to outshine all others. Now the wife had advised\nthem to be intimate with the servants, and so they did as she said, and\nit was \"Good-morning\" and \"Good-day to you\" as they passed in and out.\n\nNow, at the end of a twelvemonth, Gobborn, the wise man, had built such\na castle thousands were gathered to admire it.\n\nAnd the king said: \"The castle is done. I shall return to-morrow and pay\nyou all.\"\n\n\"I have just a ceiling to finish in an upper lobby,\" said Gobborn, \"and\nthen it wants nothing.\"\n\nBut after the king was gone off, the housekeeper sent for Gobborn and\nJack, and told them that she had watched for a chance to warn them, for\nthe king was so afraid they should carry their art away and build some\nother king as fine a castle, he meant to take their lives on the morrow.\nGobborn told Jack to keep a good heart, and they would come off all\nright.\n\nWhen the king had come back Gobborn told him he had been unable to\ncomplete the job for lack of a tool left at home, and he should like to\nsend Jack after it.\n\n\"No, no,\" said the king, \"cannot one of the men do the errand?\"\n\n\"No, they could not make themselves understood,\" said the Seer, \"but\nJack could do the errand.\"\n\n\"You and your son are to stop here. But how will it do if I send my own\nson?\"\n\n\"That will do.\"\n\nSo Gobborn sent by him a message to Jack's wife. \"Give him _Crooked and\nStraight_!\"\n\nNow there was a little hole in the wall rather high up, and Jack's wife\ntried to reach up into a chest there after \"crooked and straight,\" but\nat last she asked the king's son to help her, because his arms were\nlongest.\n\nBut when he was leaning over the chest she caught him by the two heels,\nand threw him into the chest, and fastened it down. So there he was,\nboth \"crooked and straight!\"\n\nThen he begged for pen and ink, which she brought him, but he was not\nallowed out, and holes were bored that he might breathe.\n\nWhen his letter came, telling the king, his father, he was to be let\nfree when Gobborn and Jack were safe home, the king saw he must settle\nfor the building, and let them come away.\n\nAs they left Gobborn told him: Now that Jack was done with this work, he\nshould soon build a castle for his witty wife far superior to the\nking's, which he did, and they lived there happily ever after.\n\n\n\n\nLawkamercyme\n\n     There was an old woman, as I've heard tell.\n     She went to the market her eggs for to sell;\n     She went to the market, all on a market-day,\n     And she fell asleep on the king's highway.\n\n     There came by a pedlar, whose name was Stout,\n     He cut her petticoats round about;\n     He cut her petticoats up to the knees,\n     Which made the old woman to shiver and freeze.\n\n     When this old woman first did wake,\n     She began to shiver, and she began to shake;\n     She began to wonder, and she began to cry--\n     \"Lawkamercyme, this is none of I!\"\n\n     \"But if it be I, as I do hope it be,\n     I've a little dog at home, and he'll know me;\n     If it be I, he'll wag his little tail,\n     And if it be not I, he'll loudly bark and wail.\"\n\n     Home went the little woman, all in the dark;\n     Up got the little dog, and he began to bark;\n     He began to bark, so she began to cry--\n     \"Lawkamercyme, this is none of I!\"\n\n\n\n\nTattercoats\n\n\nIn a great Palace by the sea there once dwelt a very rich old lord, who\nhad neither wife nor children living, only one little granddaughter,\nwhose face he had never seen in all her life. He hated her bitterly,\nbecause at her birth his favourite daughter died; and when the old nurse\nbrought him the baby, he swore, that it might live or die as it liked,\nbut he would never look on its face as long as it lived.\n\nSo he turned his back, and sat by his window looking out over the sea,\nand weeping great tears for his lost daughter, till his white hair and\nbeard grew down over his shoulders and twined round his chair and crept\ninto the chinks of the floor, and his tears, dropping on to the\nwindow-ledge, wore a channel through the stone, and ran away in a little\nriver to the great sea. And, meanwhile, his granddaughter grew up with\nno one to care for her, or clothe her; only the old nurse, when no one\nwas by, would sometimes give her a dish of scraps from the kitchen, or a\ntorn petticoat from the rag-bag; while the other servants of the Palace\nwould drive her from the house with blows and mocking words, calling\nher \"Tattercoats,\" and pointing at her bare feet and shoulders, till she\nran away crying, to hide among the bushes.\n\nAnd so she grew up, with little to eat or wear, spending her days in the\nfields and lanes, with only the gooseherd for a companion, who would\nplay to her so merrily on his little pipe, when she was hungry, or cold,\nor tired, that she forgot all her troubles, and fell to dancing, with\nhis flock of noisy geese for partners.\n\nBut, one day, people told each other that the King was travelling\nthrough the land, and in the town near by was to give a great ball, to\nall the lords and ladies of the country, when the Prince, his only son,\nwas to choose a wife.\n\nOne of the royal invitations was brought to the Palace by the sea, and\nthe servants carried it up to the old lord who still sat by his window,\nwrapped in his long white hair and weeping into the little river that\nwas fed by his tears.\n\nBut when he heard the King's command, he dried his eyes and bade them\nbring shears to cut him loose, for his hair had bound him a fast\nprisoner and he could not move. And then he sent them for rich clothes,\nand jewels, which he put on; and he ordered them to saddle the white\nhorse, with gold and silk, that he might ride to meet the King.\n\nMeanwhile Tattercoats had heard of the great doings in the town, and she\nsat by the kitchen-door weeping because she could not go to see them.\nAnd when the old nurse heard her crying she went to the Lord of the\nPalace, and begged him to take his granddaughter with him to the King's\nball.\n\nBut he only frowned and told her to be silent, while the servants\nlaughed and said: \"Tattercoats is happy in her rags, playing with the\ngooseherd, let her be--it is all she is fit for.\"\n\nA second, and then a third time, the old nurse begged him to let the\ngirl go with him, but she was answered only by black looks and fierce\nwords, till she was driven from the room by the jeering servants, with\nblows and mocking words.\n\nWeeping over her ill-success, the old nurse went to look for\nTattercoats; but the girl had been turned from the door by the cook, and\nhad run away to tell her friend the gooseherd, how unhappy she was\nbecause she could not go to the King's ball.\n\nBut when the gooseherd had listened to her story, he bade her cheer up,\nand proposed that they should go together into the town to see the King,\nand all the fine things; and when she looked sorrowfully down at her\nrags and bare feet, he played a note or two upon his pipe, so gay and\nmerry, that she forgot all about her tears and her troubles, and before\nshe well knew, the herdboy had taken her by the hand, and she, and he,\nand the geese before them, were dancing down the road towards the town.\n\nBefore they had gone very far, a handsome young man, splendidly dressed,\nrode up and stopped to ask the way to the castle where the King was\nstaying; and when he found that they too were going thither, he got off\nhis horse and walked beside them along the road.\n\nThe herdboy pulled out his pipe and played a low sweet tune, and the\nstranger looked again and again at Tattercoats' lovely face till he fell\ndeeply in love with her, and begged her to marry him.\n\nBut she only laughed, and shook her golden head.\n\n\"You would be finely put to shame if you had a goosegirl for your wife!\"\nsaid she; \"go and ask one of the great ladies you will see to-night at\nthe King's ball, and do not flout poor Tattercoats.\"\n\nBut the more she refused him the sweeter the pipe played, and the deeper\nthe young man fell in love; till at last he begged her, as a proof of\nhis sincerity, to come that night at twelve to the King's ball, just as\nshe was, with the herdboy and his geese, and in her torn petticoat and\nbare feet, and he would dance with her before the King and the lords and\nladies, and present her to them all, as his dear and honoured bride.\n\nSo when night came, and the hall in the castle was full of light and\nmusic, and the lords and ladies were dancing before the King, just as\nthe clock struck twelve, Tattercoats and the herdboy, followed by his\nflock of noisy geese, entered at the great doors, and walked straight up\nthe ball-room, while on either side the ladies whispered, the lords\nlaughed, and the King seated at the far end stared in amazement.\n\nBut as they came in front of the throne, Tattercoats' lover rose from\nbeside the King, and came to meet her. Taking her by the hand, he kissed\nher thrice before them all, and turned to the King.\n\n[Illustration: TATTERCOATS.]\n\n\"Father!\" he said, for it was the Prince himself, \"I have made my\nchoice, and here is my bride, the loveliest girl in all the land, and\nthe sweetest as well!\"\n\nBefore he had finished speaking, the herdboy put his pipe to his lips\nand played a few low notes that sounded like a bird singing far off in\nthe woods; and as he played, Tattercoats' rags were changed to shining\nrobes sewn with glittering jewels, a golden crown lay upon her golden\nhair, and the flock of geese behind her, became a crowd of dainty pages,\nbearing her long train.\n\nAnd as the King rose to greet her as his daughter, the trumpets sounded\nloudly in honour of the new Princess, and the people outside in the\nstreet said to each other:\n\n\"Ah! now the Prince has chosen for his wife the loveliest girl in all\nthe land!\"\n\nBut the gooseherd was never seen again, and no one knew what became of\nhim; while the old lord went home once more to his Palace by the sea,\nfor he could not stay at Court, when he had sworn never to look on his\ngranddaughter's face.\n\nSo there he still sits by his window, if you could only see him, as you\nsome day may, weeping more bitterly than ever, as he looks out over the\nsea.\n\n\n\n\nThe Wee Bannock\n\n\n     _\"Grannie, grannie, come tell us the story of the wee bannock.\"_\n\n     _\"Hout, childer, ye've heard it a hundred times afore. I needn't\n     tell it over again.\"_\n\n     _\"Ah! but, grannie, it's such a fine one. You must tell it. Just\n     once.\"_\n\n     _\"Well, well, if ye'll all promise to be good, I'll tell it ye\n     again.\"_\n\nThere lived an old man and an old woman at the side of a burn. They had\ntwo cows, five hens, and a cock, a cat and two kittens. The old man\nlooked after the cows, and the old wife span on the distaff. The kittens\noft gripped at the old wife's spindle, as it tussled over the\nhearthstone. \"Sho, sho,\" she would say, \"go away;\" and so it tussled\nabout.\n\nOne day, after breakfast, she thought she would have a bannock. So she\nbaked two oatmeal bannocks, and set them on to the fire to harden. After\na while, the old man came in, and sat down beside the fire, and takes\none of the bannocks, and snaps it through the middle. When the other one\nsees this, it runs off as fast as it could, and the old wife after it,\nwith the spindle in the one hand, and the distaff in the other. But the\nwee bannock ran away and out of sight, and ran till it came to a pretty\nlarge thatched house, and it ran boldly up inside to the fireside; and\nthere were three tailors sitting on a big bench. When they saw the wee\nbannock come in, they jumped up, and got behind the goodwife, that was\ncarding tow by the fire. \"Hout,\" quoth she, \"be no afeard; it's but a\nwee bannock. Grip it, and I'll give ye a sup of milk with it.\" Up she\ngets with the tow-cards and the tailor with the goose, and the two\n'prentices, the one with the big shears, and the other with the lawbrod;\nbut it dodged them, and ran round about the fire; and one of the\n'prentices, thinking to snap it with the shears, fell into the ashes.\nThe tailor cast the goose, and the goodwife the tow-cards; but it\nwouldn't do. The bannock ran away, and ran till it came to a wee house\nat the roadside; and in it runs and there was a weaver sitting at the\nloom, and the wife winding a clue of yarn.\n\n\"Tibby,\" quoth he, \"what's that?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" quoth she, \"it's a wee bannock.\"\n\n\"It's well come,\" quoth he, \"for our porrage were but thin to-day. Grip\nit, my woman; grip it.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" quoth she; \"what recks! That's a clever bannock. Catch it, Willie;\ncatch it, man.\"\n\n\"Hout,\" quoth Willie, \"cast the clue at it.\"\n\nBut the bannock dodged round about, and off it went, and over the hill,\nlike a new-tarred sheep or a mad cow. And forward it runs to the\nneat-house, to the fireside; and there was the goodwife churning.\n\n\"Come away, wee bannock,\" quoth she; \"I'll have cream and bread to-day.\"\nBut the wee bannock dodged round about the churn, and the wife after it,\nand in the hurry she had near-hand overturned the churn. And before she\ngot it set right again, the wee bannock was off and down the brae to the\nmill; and in it ran.\n\nThe miller was sifting meal in the trough; but, looking up: \"Ay,\" quoth\nhe, \"it's a sign of plenty when ye're running about, and nobody to look\nafter ye. But I like a bannock and cheese. Come your way hither, and\nI'll give ye a night's quarters.\" But the bannock wouldn't trust itself\nwith the miller and his cheese. So it turned and ran its way out; but\nthe miller didn't fash his head with it.\n\nSo it toddled away and ran till it came to the smithy; and in it runs,\nand up to the anvil. The smith was making horse-nails. Quoth he: \"I like\na glass of good ale and a well-toasted bannock. Come your way in by\nhere.\" But the bannock was frightened when it heard about the ale, and\nturned and was off as hard as it could, and the smith after it, and cast\nthe hammer. But it missed, and the bannock was out of sight in a crack,\nand ran till it came to a farmhouse with a good peat-stack at the end of\nit. Inside it runs to the fireside. The goodman was cloving lint, and\nthe goodwife heckling. \"O Janet,\" quoth he, \"there's a wee bannock; I'll\nhave the half of it.\"\n\n\"Well, John, I'll have the other half. Hit it over the back with the\nclove.\" But the bannock played dodgings. \"Hout, tout,\" quoth the wife,\nand made the heckle flee at it. But it was too clever for her.\n\nAnd off and up the burn it ran to the next house, and rolled its way to\nthe fireside. The goodwife was stirring the soup, and the goodman\nplaiting sprit-binnings for the cows. \"Ho, Jock,\" quoth the goodwife,\n\"here come. You're always crying about a wee bannock. Here's one. Come\nin, haste ye, and I'll help ye to grip it.\"\n\n\"Ay, mother, where is it?\"\n\n\"See there. Run over on that side.\"\n\nBut the bannock ran in behind the goodman's chair. Jock fell among the\nsprits. The goodman cast a binning, and the goodwife the spurtle. But it\nwas too clever for Jock and her both. It was off and out of sight in a\ncrack, and through among the whins, and down the road to the next house,\nand in and snug by the fireside. The folk were just sitting down to\ntheir soup, and the goodwife scraping the pot. \"Look,\" quoth she,\n\"there's a wee bannock come in to warm itself at our fireside.\"\n\n\"Shut the door,\" quoth the goodman, \"and we'll try to get a grip of it.\"\n\nWhen the bannock heard that, it ran out of the house and they after it\nwith their spoons, and the goodman shied his hat. But it rolled away and\nran, and ran, till it came to another house; and when it went in the\nfolk were just going to their beds. The goodman was taking off his\nbreeches, and the goodwife raking the fire.\n\n\"What's that?\" quoth he.\n\n\"Oh,\" quoth she, \"it's a wee bannock.\"\n\nQuoth he, \"I could eat the half of it.\"\n\n\"Grip it,\" quoth the wife, \"and I'll have a bit too.\"\n\n\"Cast your breeches at it!\" The goodman shied his breeches, and had\nnearly smothered it. But it wriggled out and ran, and the goodman after\nit without his breeches; and there was a clean chase over the craft\npark, and in among the whins; and the goodman lost it, and had to come\naway, trotting home half naked. But now it was grown dark, and the wee\nbannock couldn't see; but it went into the side of a big whin bush, and\ninto a fox's hole. The fox had had no meat for two days. \"O welcome,\nwelcome,\" quoth the fox, and snapped it in two in the middle. And that\nwas the end of the wee bannock.\n\n\n\n\nJohnny Gloke\n\n\nJohnny Gloke was a tailor by trade, but like a man of spirit he grew\ntired of his tailoring, and wished to follow some other path that would\nlead to honour and fame. But he did not know what to do at first to gain\nfame and fortune, so for a time he was fonder of basking idly in the sun\nthan in plying the needle and scissors. One warm day as he was enjoying\nhis ease, he was annoyed by the flies alighting on his bare ankles. He\nbrought his hand down on them with force and killed a goodly number of\nthem. On counting the victims of his valour, he was overjoyed at his\nsuccess; his heart rose to the doing of great deeds, and he gave vent to\nhis feelings in the saying:--\n\n     \"Well done! Johnny Gloke,\n      Kilt fifty flies at one stroke.\"\n\nHis resolution was now taken to cut out his path to fortune and honour.\nSo he took down from its resting-place a rusty old sword that had\nbelonged to some of his forebears, and set out in search of adventures.\nAfter travelling a long way, he came to a country that was much troubled\nby two giants, whom no one was bold enough to meet, and strong enough to\novercome. He was soon told of the giants, and learned that the King of\nthe country had offered a great reward and the hand of his daughter in\nmarriage to the man who should rid his land of this scourge. John's\nheart rose to the deed, and he offered himself for the service. The\ngreat haunt of the giants was a wood, and John set out with his old\nsword to perform his task. When he reached the wood, he laid himself\ndown to think what course he would follow, for he knew how weak he was\ncompared to those he had undertaken to kill. He had not waited long,\nwhen he saw them coming with a waggon to fetch wood for fuel. My! they\nwere big ones, with huge heads and long tusks for teeth. Johnny hid\nhimself in the hollow of a tree, thinking only of his own safety.\nFeeling himself safe, he peeped out of his hiding-place, and watched the\ntwo at work. Thus watching he formed his plan of action. He picked up a\npebble, threw it with force at one of them, and struck him a sharp blow\non the head. The giant in his pain turned at once on his companion, and\nblamed him in strong words for hitting him. The other denied in anger\nthat he had thrown the pebble. John now saw himself on the high way to\ngain his reward and the hand of the King's daughter. He kept still, and\ncarefully watched for an opportunity of striking another blow. He soon\nfound it, and right against the giant's head went another pebble. The\ninjured giant fell on his companion in fury, and the two belaboured each\nother till they were utterly tired out. They sat down on a log to\nbreathe, rest, and recover themselves.\n\nWhile sitting, one of them said, \"Well, all the King's army was not able\nto take us, but I fear an old woman with a rope's end would be too much\nfor us now.\"\n\n\"If that be so,\" said Johnny Gloke, as he sprang, bold as a lion, from\nhis hiding-place, \"What do you say to Johnny Gloke with his old roosty\nsword?\" So saying he fell upon them, cut off their heads, and returned\nin triumph. He received the King's daughter in marriage and for a time\nlived in peace and happiness. He never told the mode he followed in his\ndealing with the giants.\n\nSome time after a rebellion broke out among the subjects of his\nfather-in-law. John, on the strength of his former valiant deed, was\nchosen to quell the rebellion. His heart sank within him, but he could\nnot refuse, and so lose his great name. He was mounted on the fiercest\nhorse that ever saw sun or wind, and set out on his desperate task. He\nwas not accustomed to ride on horseback, and he soon lost all control of\nhis steed. It galloped off at full speed, in the direction of the rebel\narmy. In its wild career it passed under the gallows that stood by the\nwayside. The gallows was somewhat old and frail, and down it fell on the\nhorse's neck. Still the horse made no stop, but always forward at\nfurious speed towards the rebels. On seeing this strange sight\napproaching towards them at such a speed they were seized with terror,\nand cried out to one another, \"There comes Johnny Gloke that killed the\ntwo giants with the gallows on his horse's neck to hang us all.\" They\nbroke their ranks, fled in dismay, and never stopped till they reached\ntheir homes. Thus was Johnny Gloke a second time victorious. So in due\ntime he came to the throne and lived a long, happy, and good life as\nking.\n\n\n\n\nCoat o' Clay\n\n\nOnce on a time, in the parts of Lindsey, there lived a wise woman. Some\nsaid she was a witch, but they said it in a whisper, lest she should\noverhear and do them a mischief, and truly it was not a thing one could\nbe sure of, for she was never known to hurt any one, which, if she were\na witch, she would have been sure to do. But she could tell you what\nyour sickness was, and how to cure it with herbs, and she could mix rare\npossets that would drive the pain out of you in a twinkling; and she\ncould advise you what to do if your cows were ill, or if you'd got into\ntrouble, and tell the maids whether their sweethearts were likely to be\nfaithful.\n\nBut she was ill-pleased if folks questioned her too much or too long,\nand she sore misliked fools. A many came to her asking foolish things,\nas was their nature, and to them she never gave counsel--at least of a\nkind that could aid them much.\n\nWell, one day, as she sat at her door paring potatoes, over the stile\nand up the path came a tall lad with a long nose and goggle eyes and his\nhands in his pockets.\n\n\"That's a fool, if ever was one, and a fool's luck in his face,\" said\nthe wise woman to herself with a nod of her head, and threw a potato\nskin over her left shoulder to keep off ill-chance.\n\n\"Good-day, missis,\" said the fool. \"I be come to see thee.\"\n\n\"So thou art,\" said the wise woman; \"I see that. How's all in thy folk\nthis year?\"\n\n\"Oh, fairly,\" answered he. \"But they say I be a fool.\"\n\n\"Ay, so thou art,\" nodded she, and threw away a bad potato. \"I see that\ntoo. But wouldst o' me? I keep no brains for sale.\"\n\n\"Well, see now. Mother says I'll ne'er be wiser all my born days; but\nfolks tell us thou canst do everything. Can't thee teach me a bit, so\nthey'll think me a clever fellow at home?\"\n\n\"Hout-tout!\" said the wise woman; \"thou 'rt a bigger fool than I\nthought. Nay, I can't teach thee nought, lad; but I tell thee summat.\nThou 'lt be a fool all thy days till thou gets a coat o' clay; and then\nthou 'lt know more than me.\"\n\n\"Hi, missis; what sort of a coat's that?\" said he.\n\n\"That's none o' my business,\" answered she, \"Thou 'st got to find out\nthat.\"\n\nAnd she took up her potatoes and went into her house.\n\nThe fool took off his cap and scratched his head.\n\n\"It's a queer kind of coat to look for, sure-_ly_,\" said he, \"I never\nheard of a coat o' clay. But then I be a fool, that's true.\"\n\nSo he walked on till he came to the drain near by, with just a pickle of\nwater and a foot of mud in it.\n\n\"Here's muck,\" said the fool, much pleased, and he got in and rolled in\nit spluttering. \"Hi, yi!\" said he--for he had his mouth full--\"I've got\na coat o' clay now to be sure. I'll go home and tell my mother I'm a\nwise man and not a fool any longer.\" And he went on home.\n\nPresently he came to a cottage with a lass at the door.\n\n\"Morning, fool,\" said she; \"hast thou been ducked in the horse-pond?\"\n\n\"Fool yourself,\" said he, \"the wise woman says I'll know more 'n she\nwhen I get a coat o' clay, and here it is. Shall I marry thee, lass?\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said she, for she thought she'd like a fool for a husband, \"when\nshall it be?\"\n\n\"I'll come and fetch thee when I've told my mother,\" said the fool, and\nhe gave her his lucky penny and went on.\n\nWhen he got home his mother was on the doorstep.\n\n\"Mother, I 've got a coat o' clay,\" said he.\n\n\"Coat o' muck,\" said she; \"and what of that?\"\n\n\"Wise woman said I'd know more than she when I got a coat o' clay,\" said\nhe, \"so I down in the drain and got one, and I'm not a fool any longer.\"\n\n\"Very good,\" said his mother, \"now thou canst get a wife.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said he, \"I'm going to marry so-an'-so.\"\n\n\"What!\" said his mother, \"_that_ lass? No, and that thou 'lt not. She's\nnought but a brat, with ne'er a cow or a cabbage o' her own.\"\n\n\"But I gave her my luck penny,\" said the fool.\n\n\"Then thou 'rt a bigger fool than ever, for all thy coat o' clay!\" said\nhis mother, and banged the door in his face.\n\n\"Dang it!\" said the fool, and scratched his head, \"that's not the right\nsort o' clay sure-_ly_.\"\n\nSo back he went to the highroad and sat down on the bank of the river\nclose by, looking at the water, which was cool and clear.\n\nBy-and-by he fell asleep, and before he knew what he was\nabout--plump--he rolled off into the river with a splash, and scrambled\nout, dripping like a drowned rat.\n\n\"Dear, dear,\" said he, \"I'd better go and get dry in the sun.\" So up he\nwent to the highroad, and lay down in the dust, rolling about so that\nthe sun should get at him all over.\n\nPresently, when he sat up and looked down at himself, he found that the\ndust had caked into a sort of skin over his wet clothes till you could\nnot see an inch of them, they were so well covered. \"Hi, yi!\" said he,\n\"here's a coat o' clay ready made, and a fine one. See now, I'm a clever\nfellow this time sure-_ly_, for I've found what I wanted without looking\nfor it! Wow, but it's a fine feeling to be so smart!\"\n\nAnd he sat and scratched his head, and thought about his own cleverness.\n\nBut all of a sudden, round the corner came the squire on horseback, full\ngallop, as if the boggles were after him; but the fool had to jump,\neven though the squire pulled his horse back on his haunches.\n\n\"What the dickens,\" said the squire, \"do you mean by lying in the middle\nof the road like that?\"\n\n\"Well, master,\" said the fool, \"I fell into the water and got wet, so I\nlay down in the road to get dry; and I lay down a fool an' got up a wise\nman.\"\n\n\"How's that?\" said the squire.\n\nSo the fool told him about the wise woman and the coat o' clay.\n\n\"Ah, ah!\" laughed the squire, \"whoever heard of a wise man lying in the\nmiddle of the highroad to be ridden over? Lad, take my word for it, you\nare a bigger fool than ever,\" and he rode on laughing.\n\n\"Dang it!\" said the fool, as he scratched his head. \"I've not got the\nright sort of coat yet, then.\" And he choked and spluttered in the dust\nthat the squire's horse had raised.\n\nSo on he went in a melancholy mood till he came to an inn, and the\nlandlord at his door smoking.\n\n\"Well, fool,\" said he, \"thou 'rt fine and dirty.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said the fool, \"I be dirty outside an' dusty in, but it's not the\nright thing yet.\"\n\nAnd he told the landlord all about the wise woman and the coat o' clay.\n\n\"Hout-tout!\" said the landlord, with a wink. \"I know what's wrong. Thou\n'st got a skin o' dirt outside and all dry dust inside. Thou must\nmoisten it, lad, with a good drink, and then thou 'lt have a real\nall-over coat o' clay.\"\n\n\"Hi,\" said the fool, \"that's a good word.\"\n\nSo down he sat and began to drink. But it was wonderful how much liquor\nit took to moisten so much dust; and each time he got to the bottom of\nthe pot he found he was still dry. At last he began to feel very merry\nand pleased with himself.\n\n\"Hi, yi!\" said he. \"I've got a real coat o' clay now outside and\nin--what a difference it do make, to be sure. I feel another man now--so\nsmart.\"\n\nAnd he told the landlord he was certainly a wise man now, though he\ncouldn't speak over-distinctly after drinking so much. So up he got, and\nthought he would go home and tell his mother she hadn't a fool for a son\nany more.\n\nBut just as he was trying to get through the inn-door which would\nscarcely keep still long enough for him to find it, up came the landlord\nand caught him by the sleeve.\n\n\"See here, master,\" said he, \"thou hasn't paid for thy score--where's\nthy money?\"\n\n\"Haven't any!\" said the fool, and pulled out his pockets to show they\nwere empty.\n\n\"What!\" said the landlord, and swore; \"thou 'st drunk all my liquor and\nhaven't got nought to pay for it with!\"\n\n\"Hi!\" said the fool. \"You told me to drink so as to get a coat o' clay;\nbut as I'm a wise man now I don't mind helping thee along in the world\na bit, for though I'm a smart fellow I'm not too proud to my friends.\"\n\n\"Wise man! smart fellow!\" said the landlord, \"and help me along, wilt\nthee? Dang it! thou 'rt the biggest fool I ever saw, and it's I'll help\n_thee_ first--out o' this!\"\n\nAnd he kicked him out of the door into the road and swore at him.\n\n\"Hum,\" said the fool, as he lay in the dust, \"I'm not so wise as I\nthought. I guess I'll go back to the wise woman and tell her there's a\nscrew loose somewhere.\"\n\nSo up he got and went along to her house, and found her sitting at the\ndoor.\n\n\"So thou 'rt come back,\" said she, with a nod. \"What dost thou want with\nme now?\"\n\nSo he sat down and told her how he'd tried to get a coat o' clay, and he\nwasn't any wiser for all of it.\n\n\"No,\" said the wise woman, \"thou 'rt a bigger fool than ever, my lad.\"\n\n\"So they all say,\" sighed the fool; \"but where can I get the right sort\nof coat o' clay, then, missis?\"\n\n\"When thou 'rt done with this world, and thy folk put thee in the\nground,\" said the wise woman. \"That's the only coat o' clay as 'll make\nsuch as _thee_ wise, lad. Born a fool, die a fool, and be a fool thy\nlife long, and that's the truth!\"\n\nAnd she went into the house and shut the door.\n\n\"Dang it,\" said the fool. \"I must tell my mother she was right after\nall, and that she'll never have a wise man for a son!\"\n\nAnd he went off home.\n\n\n\n\nThe Three Cows\n\n\nThere was a farmer, and he had three cows, fine fat beauties they were.\nOne was called Facey, the other Diamond, and the third Beauty. One\nmorning he went into his cowshed, and there he found Facey so thin that\nthe wind would have blown her away. Her skin hung loose about her, all\nher flesh was gone, and she stared out of her great eyes as though she'd\nseen a ghost; and what was more, the fireplace in the kitchen was one\ngreat pile of wood-ash. Well, he was bothered with it; he could not see\nhow all this had come about.\n\nNext morning his wife went out to the shed, and see! Diamond was for all\nthe world as wisht a looking creature as Facey--nothing but a bag of\nbones, all the flesh gone, and half a rick of wood was gone too; but the\nfireplace was piled up three feet high with white wood-ashes. The farmer\ndetermined to watch the third night; so he hid in a closet which opened\nout of the parlour, and he left the door just ajar, that he might see\nwhat passed.\n\nTick, tick, went the clock, and the farmer was nearly tired of waiting;\nhe had to bite his little finger to keep himself awake, when suddenly\nthe door of his house flew open, and in rushed maybe a thousand pixies,\nlaughing and dancing and dragging at Beauty's halter till they had\nbrought the cow into the middle of the room. The farmer really thought\nhe should have died with fright, and so perhaps he would had not\ncuriosity kept him alive.\n\nTick, tick, went the clock, but he did not hear it now. He was too\nintent staring at the pixies and his last beautiful cow. He saw them\nthrow her down, fall on her, and kill her; then with their knives they\nripped her open, and flayed her as clean as a whistle. Then out ran some\nof the little people and brought in firewood and made a roaring blaze on\nthe hearth, and there they cooked the flesh of the cow--they baked and\nthey boiled, they stewed and they fried.\n\n\"Take care,\" cried one, who seemed to be the king, \"let no bone be\nbroken.\"\n\nWell, when they had all eaten, and had devoured every scrap of beef on\nthe cow, they began playing games with the bones, tossing them one to\nanother. One little leg-bone fell close to the closet door, and the\nfarmer was so afraid lest the pixies should come there and find him in\ntheir search for the bone, that he put out his hand and drew it in to\nhim. Then he saw the king stand on the table and say, \"Gather the\nbones!\"\n\nRound and round flew the imps, picking up the bones. \"Arrange them,\"\nsaid the king; and they placed them all in their proper positions in the\nhide of the cow. Then they folded the skin over them, and the king\nstruck the heap of bone and skin with his rod. Whisht! up sprang the cow\nand lowed dismally. It was alive again; but, alas! as the pixies dragged\nit back to its stall, it halted in the off forefoot, for a bone was\nmissing.\n\n     \"The cock crew,\n      Away they flew.\"\n\nand the farmer crept trembling to bed.\n\n\n\n\nThe Blinded Giant\n\n\nAt Dalton, near Thirsk, in Yorkshire, there is a mill. It has quite\nrecently been rebuilt; but when I was at Dalton, six years ago, the old\nbuilding stood. In front of the house was a long mound which went by the\nname of \"the giant's grave,\" and in the mill you can see a long blade of\niron something like a scythe-blade, but not curved, which was called\n\"the giant's knife,\" because of a very curious story which is told of\nthis knife. Would you like to hear it? Well, it isn't very long.\n\nThere once lived a giant at this mill who had only one eye in the middle\nof his forehead, and he ground men's bones to make his bread. One day he\ncaptured on Pilmoor a lad named Jack, and instead of grinding him in the\nmill he kept him grinding as his servant, and never let him get away.\nJack served the giant seven years, and never was allowed a holiday the\nwhole time. At last he could bear it no longer. Topcliffe fair was\ncoming on, and Jack begged that he might be allowed to go there.\n\n\"No, no,\" said the giant, \"stop at home and mind your grinding.\"\n\n\"I've been grinding and grinding these seven years,\" said Jack, \"and not\na holiday have I had. I'll have one now, whatever you say.\"\n\n\"We'll see about that,\" said the giant.\n\nWell, the day was hot, and after dinner the giant lay down in the mill\nwith his head on a sack and dozed. He had been eating in the mill, and\nhad laid down a great loaf of bone bread by his side, and the knife I\ntold you about was in his hand, but his fingers relaxed their hold of it\nin sleep. Jack seized the knife, and holding it with both his hands\ndrove the blade into the single eye of the giant, who woke with a howl\nof agony, and starting up, barred the door. Jack was again in\ndifficulties, for he couldn't get out, but he soon found a way out of\nthem. The giant had a favourite dog, which had also been sleeping when\nhis master was blinded. So Jack killed the dog, skinned it, and threw\nthe hide over his back.\n\n\"Bow, wow,\" says Jack.\n\n\"At him, Truncheon,\" said the giant; \"at the little wretch that I've fed\nthese seven years, and now has blinded me.\"\n\n\"Bow, wow,\" says Jack, and ran between the giant's legs on all-fours,\nbarking till he got to the door. He unlatched it and was off, and never\nmore was seen at Dalton Mill.\n\n\n\n\nScrapefoot\n\n\nOnce upon a time, there were three Bears who lived in a castle in a\ngreat wood. One of them was a great big Bear, and one was a middling\nBear, and one was a little Bear. And in the same wood there was a Fox\nwho lived all alone, his name was Scrapefoot. Scrapefoot was very much\nafraid of the Bears, but for all that he wanted very much to know all\nabout them. And one day as he went through the wood he found himself\nnear the Bears' Castle, and he wondered whether he could get into the\ncastle. He looked all about him everywhere, and he could not see any\none. So he came up very quietly, till at last he came up to the door of\nthe castle, and he tried whether he could open it. Yes! the door was not\nlocked, and he opened it just a little way, and put his nose in and\nlooked, and he could not see any one. So then he opened it a little way\nfarther, and put one paw in, and then another paw, and another and\nanother, and then he was all in the Bears' Castle. He found he was in a\ngreat hall with three chairs in it--one big, one middling, and one\nlittle chair; and he thought he would like to sit down and rest and\nlook about him; so he sat down on the big chair. But he found it so hard\nand uncomfortable that it made his bones ache, and he jumped down at\nonce and got into the middling chair, and he turned round and round in\nit, but he couldn't make himself comfortable. So then he went to the\nlittle chair and sat down in it, and it was so soft and warm and\ncomfortable that Scrapefoot was quite happy; but all at once it broke to\npieces under him and he couldn't put it together again! So he got up and\nbegan to look about him again, and on one table he saw three saucers, of\nwhich one was very big, one was middling, one was quite a little saucer.\nScrapefoot was very thirsty, and he began to drink out of the big\nsaucer. But he only just tasted the milk in the big saucer, which was so\nsour and so nasty that he would not taste another drop of it. Then he\ntried the middling saucer, and he drank a little of that. He tried two\nor three mouthfuls, but it was not nice, and then he left it and went to\nthe little saucer, and the milk in the little saucer was so sweet and so\nnice that he went on drinking it till it was all gone.\n\nThen Scrapefoot thought he would like to go upstairs; and he listened\nand he could not hear any one. So upstairs he went, and he found a great\nroom with three beds in it; one was a big bed, and one was a middling\nbed, and one was a little white bed; and he climbed up into the big bed,\nbut it was so hard and lumpy and uncomfortable that he jumped down again\nat once, and tried the middling bed. That was rather better, but he\ncould not get comfortably in it, so after turning about a little while\nhe got up and went to the little bed; and that was so soft and so warm\nand so nice that he fell fast asleep at once.\n\nAnd after a time the Bears came home, and when they got into the hall\nthe big Bear went to his chair and said, \"WHO'S BEEN SITTING IN MY\nCHAIR?\" and the middling Bear said, \"WHO'S BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR?\"\nand the little Bear said, \"_Who's been sitting in my chair and has\nbroken it all to pieces?_\" And then they went to have their milk, and\nthe big Bear said, \"WHO'S BEEN DRINKING MY MILK?\" and the middling Bear\nsaid, \"WHO'S BEEN DRINKING MY MILK?\" and the little Bear said, \"_Who's\nbeen drinking my milk and has drunk it all up?_\" Then they went upstairs\nand into the bedroom, and the big Bear said, \"WHO'S BEEN SLEEPING IN MY\nBED?\" and the middling Bear said, \"WHO'S BEEN SLEEPING IN MY BED?\" and\nthe little Bear said, \"_Who's been sleeping in my bed?--and see here he\nis!_\" So then the Bears came and wondered what they should do with him;\nand the big Bear said, \"Let's hang him!\" and then the middling Bear\nsaid, \"Let's drown him!\" and then the little Bear said, \"Let's throw him\nout of the window.\" And then the Bears took him to the window, and the\nbig Bear took two legs on one side and the middling Bear took two legs\non the other side, and they swung him backwards and forwards, backwards\nand forwards, and out of the window. Poor Scrapefoot was so frightened,\nand he thought every bone in his body must be broken. But he got up and\nfirst shook one leg--no, that was not broken; and then another, and that\nwas not broken; and another and another, and then he wagged his tail and\nfound there were no bones broken. So then he galloped off home as fast\nas he could go, and never went near the Bears' Castle again.\n\n\n\n\nThe Pedlar of Swaffham\n\n\nIn the old days when London Bridge was lined with shops from one end to\nthe other, and salmon swam under the arches, there lived at Swaffham, in\nNorfolk, a poor pedlar. He'd much ado to make his living, trudging about\nwith his pack at his back and his dog at his heels, and at the close of\nthe day's labour was but too glad to sit down and sleep. Now it fell out\nthat one night he dreamed a dream, and therein he saw the great bridge\nof London town, and it sounded in his ears that if he went there he\nshould hear joyful news. He made little count of the dream, but on the\nfollowing night it come back to him, and again on the third night.\n\nThen he said within himself, \"I must needs try the issue of it,\" and so\nhe trudged up to London town. Long was the way and right glad was he\nwhen he stood on the great bridge and saw the tall houses on right hand\nand left, and had glimpses of the water running and the ships sailing\nby. All day long he paced to and fro, but he heard nothing that might\nyield him comfort. And again on the morrow he stood and he gazed--he\npaced afresh the length of London Bridge, but naught did he see and\nnaught did he hear.\n\nNow the third day being come as he still stood and gazed, a shopkeeper\nhard by spoke to him.\n\n\"Friend,\" said he, \"I wonder much at your fruitless standing. Have you\nno wares to sell?\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" quoth the pedlar.\n\n\"And you do not beg for alms.\"\n\n\"Not so long as I can keep myself.\"\n\n\"Then what, I pray thee, dost thou want here, and what may thy business\nbe?\"\n\n\"Well, kind sir, to tell the truth, I dreamed that if I came hither, I\nshould hear good news.\"\n\nRight heartily did the shopkeeper laugh.\n\n\"Nay, thou must be a fool to take a journey on such a silly errand. I'll\ntell thee, poor silly country fellow, that I myself dream too o' nights,\nand that last night I dreamt myself to be in Swaffham, a place clean\nunknown to me, but in Norfolk if I mistake not, and methought I was in\nan orchard behind a pedlar's house, and in that orchard was a great\noak-tree. Then meseemed that if I digged I should find beneath that tree\na great treasure. But think you I'm such a fool as to take on me a long\nand wearisome journey and all for a silly dream. No, my good fellow,\nlearn wit from a wiser man than thyself. Get thee home, and mind thy\nbusiness.\"\n\nWhen the pedlar heard this he spoke no word, but was exceeding glad in\nhimself, and returning home speedily, digged underneath the great\noak-tree, and found a prodigious great treasure. He grew exceeding rich,\nbut he did not forget his duty in the pride of his riches. For he built\nup again the church at Swaffham, and when he died they put a statue of\nhim therein all in stone with his pack at his back and his dog at his\nheels. And there it stands to this day to witness if I lie.\n\n\n\n\nThe Old Witch\n\n\nOnce upon a time there were two girls who lived with their mother and\nfather. Their father had no work, and the girls wanted to go away and\nseek their fortunes. Now one girl wanted to go to service, and her\nmother said she might if she could find a place. So she started for the\ntown. Well, she went all about the town, but no one wanted a girl like\nher. So she went on farther into the country, and she came to the place\nwhere there was an oven where there was lots of bread baking. And the\nbread said, \"Little girl, little girl, take us out, take us out. We have\nbeen baking seven years, and no one has come to take us out.\" So the\ngirl took out the bread, laid it on the ground, and went on her way.\nThen she met a cow, and the cow said, \"Little girl, little girl, milk\nme, milk me! Seven years have I been waiting, and no one has come to\nmilk me.\" The girl milked the cow into the pails that stood by. As she\nwas thirsty she drank some, and left the rest in the pails by the cow.\nThen she went on a little bit farther, and came to an apple tree, so\nloaded with fruit that its branches were breaking down, and the tree\nsaid, \"Little girl, little girl, help me shake my fruit. My branches are\nbreaking, it is so heavy.\" And the girl said, \"Of course I will, you\npoor tree.\" So she shook the fruit all off, propped up the branches, and\nleft the fruit on the ground under the tree. Then she went on again till\nshe came to a house. Now in this house there lived a witch, and this\nwitch took girls into her house as servants. And when she heard that\nthis girl had left her home to seek service, she said that she would try\nher, and give her good wages. The witch told the girl what work she was\nto do. \"You must keep the house clean and tidy, sweep the floor and the\nfireplace; but there is one thing you must never do. You must never look\nup the chimney, or something bad will befall you.\"\n\nSo the girl promised to do as she was told, but one morning as she was\ncleaning, and the witch was out, she forgot what the witch said, and\nlooked up the chimney. When she did this a great bag of money fell down\nin her lap. This happened again and again. So the girl started to go off\nhome.\n\nWhen she had gone some way she heard the witch coming after her. So she\nran to the apple tree and cried:\n\n     \"Apple-tree, apple-tree hide me,\n      So the old witch can't find me;\n      If she does she'll pick my bones,\n      And bury me under the marble stones.\"\n\nSo the apple-tree hid her. When the witch came up she said:\n\n[Illustration:\n\n     \"Tree of mine, tree of mine,\n      Have you seen a girl\n      With a willy-willy wag, and a long-tailed bag,\n      Who's stole my money, all I had?\"]\n\n     \"Tree of mine, tree of mine,\n      Have you seen a girl\n      With a willy-willy wag, and a long-tailed bag,\n      Who's stole my money, all I had?\"\n\nAnd the apple-tree said, \"No, mother; not for seven year.\"\n\nWhen the witch had gone down another way, the girl went on again, and\njust as she got to the cow heard the witch coming after her again, so\nshe ran to the cow and cried:\n\n     \"Cow, cow, hide me,\n      So the old witch can't find me;\n      If she does she'll pick my bones,\n      And bury me under the marble stones.\"\n\nSo the cow hid her.\n\nWhen the old witch came up, she looked about and said to the cow:\n\n     \"Cow of mine, cow of mine,\n      Have you seen a girl\n      With a willy-willy wag, and a long-tailed bag,\n      Who's stole my money, all I had?\"\n\nAnd the cow said, \"No, mother, not for seven year.\"\n\nWhen the witch had gone off another way, the little girl went on again,\nand when she was near the oven she heard the witch coming after her\nagain, so she ran to the oven and cried:\n\n     \"Oven, oven, hide me,\n      So the old witch can't find me;\n      If she does she'll break my bones,\n      And bury me under the marble stones.\"\n\nAnd the oven said, \"I've no room, ask the baker,\" and the baker hid her\nbehind the oven.\n\nWhen the witch came up she looked here and there and everywhere, and\nthen said to the baker:\n\n     \"Man of mine, man of mine,\n      Have you seen a girl,\n      With a willy-willy wag, and a long-tailed bag,\n      Who's stole my money, all I had?\"\n\nSo the baker said, \"Look in the oven.\" The old witch went to look, and\nthe oven said, \"Get in and look in the furthest corner.\" The witch did\nso, and when she was inside the oven shut her door, and the witch was\nkept there for a very long time.\n\nThe girl then went off again, and reached her home with her money bags,\nmarried a rich man, and lived happy ever afterwards.\n\nThe other sister then thought she would go and do the same. And she went\nthe same way. But when she reached the oven, and the bread said, \"Little\ngirl, little girl, take us out. Seven years have we been baking, and no\none has come to take us out,\" the girl said, \"No, I don't want to burn\nmy fingers.\" So she went on till she met the cow, and the cow said,\n\"Little girl, little girl, milk me, milk me, do. Seven years have I been\nwaiting, and no one has come to milk me.\" But the girl said, \"No, I\ncan't milk you, I'm in a hurry,\" and went on faster. Then she came to\nthe apple-tree, and the apple-tree asked her to help shake the fruit.\n\"No, I can't; another day p'raps I may,\" and went on till she came to\nthe witch's house. Well, it happened to her just the same as to the\nother girl--she forgot what she was told, and one day when the witch was\nout, looked up the chimney, and down fell a bag of money. Well, she\nthought she would be off at once. When she reached the apple-tree, she\nheard the witch coming after her, and she cried:\n\n     \"Apple-tree, apple-tree, hide me,\n      So the old witch can't find me;\n      If she does she'll break my bones,\n      And bury me under the marble stones.\"\n\nBut the tree didn't answer, and she ran on further. Presently the witch\ncame up and said:\n\n     \"Tree of mine, tree of mine,\n      Have you seen a girl,\n      With a willy-willy wag, and a long-tailed bag,\n      Who's stole my money, all I had?\"\n\nThe tree said, \"Yes, mother; she's gone down that way.\"\n\nSo the old witch went after her and caught her, she took all the money\naway from her, beat her, and sent her off home just as she was.\n\n\n\n\nThe Three Wishes\n\n\nOnce upon a time, and be sure 't was a long time ago, there lived a poor\nwoodman in a great forest, and every day of his life he went out to fell\ntimber. So one day he started out, and the goodwife filled his wallet\nand slung his bottle on his back, that he might have meat and drink in\nthe forest. He had marked out a huge old oak, which, thought he, would\nfurnish many and many a good plank. And when he was come to it, he took\nhis axe in his hand and swung it round his head as though he were minded\nto fell the tree at one stroke. But he hadn't given one blow, when what\nshould he hear but the pitifullest entreating, and there stood before\nhim a fairy who prayed and beseeched him to spare the tree. He was\ndazed, as you may fancy, with wonderment and affright, and he couldn't\nopen his mouth to utter a word. But he found his tongue at last, and,\n\"Well,\" said he, \"I'll e'en do as thou wishest.\"\n\n\"You've done better for yourself than you know,\" answered the fairy,\n\"and to show I'm not ungrateful, I'll grant you your next three wishes,\nbe they what they may.\" And therewith the fairy was no more to be seen,\nand the woodman slung his wallet over his shoulder and his bottle at his\nside, and off he started home.\n\nBut the way was long, and the poor man was regularly dazed with the\nwonderful thing that had befallen him, and when he got home there was\nnothing in his noddle but the wish to sit down and rest. Maybe, too, 't\nwas a trick of the fairy's. Who can tell? Anyhow down he sat by the\nblazing fire, and as he sat he waxed hungry, though it was a long way\noff supper-time yet.\n\n\"Hasn't thou naught for supper, dame?\" said he to his wife.\n\n\"Nay, not for a couple of hours yet,\" said she.\n\n\"Ah!\" groaned the woodman, \"I wish I'd a good link of black pudding here\nbefore me.\"\n\nNo sooner had he said the word, when clatter, clatter, rustle, rustle,\nwhat should come down the chimney but a link of the finest black pudding\nthe heart of man could wish for.\n\nIf the woodman stared, the goodwife stared three times as much. \"What's\nall this?\" says she.\n\nThen all the morning's work came back to the woodman, and he told his\ntale right out, from beginning to end, and as he told it the goodwife\nglowered and glowered, and when he had made an end of it she burst out,\n\"Thou bee'st but a fool, Jan, thou bee'st but a fool; and I wish the\npudding were at thy nose, I do indeed.\"\n\nAnd before you could say Jack Robinson, there the goodman sat and his\nnose was the longer for a noble link of black pudding.\n\nHe gave a pull but it stuck, and she gave a pull but it stuck, and they\nboth pulled till they had nigh pulled the nose off, but it stuck and\nstuck.\n\n\"What's to be done now?\" said he.\n\n\"'T isn't so very unsightly,\" said she, looking hard at him.\n\nThen the woodman saw that if he wished, he must need wish in a hurry;\nand wish he did, that the black pudding might come off his nose. Well!\nthere it lay in a dish on the table, and if the goodman and goodwife\ndidn't ride in a golden coach, or dress in silk and satin, why, they had\nat least as fine a black pudding for their supper as the heart of man\ncould desire.\n\n\n\n\nThe Buried Moon\n\n\nLong ago, in my grandmother's time, the Carland was all in bogs, great\npools of black water, and creeping trickles of green water, and squishy\nmools which squirted when you stepped on them.\n\nWell, granny used to say how long before her time the Moon herself was\nonce dead and buried in the marshes, and as she used to tell me, I'll\ntell you all about it.\n\nThe Moon up yonder shone and shone, just as she does now, and when she\nshone she lighted up the bog-pools, so that one could walk about almost\nas safe as in the day.\n\nBut when she didn't shine, out came the Things that dwelt in the\ndarkness and went about seeking to do evil and harm; Bogles and Crawling\nHorrors, all came out when the Moon didn't shine.\n\nWell, the Moon heard of this, and being kind and good--as she surely is,\nshining for us in the night instead of taking her natural rest--she was\nmain troubled. \"I'll see for myself, I will,\" said she, \"maybe it's not\nso bad as folks make out.\"\n\nSure enough, at the month's end down she stept, wrapped up in a black\ncloak, and a black hood over her yellow shining hair. Straight she went\nto the bog edge and looked about her. Water here and water there; waving\ntussocks and trembling mools, and great black snags all twisted and\nbent. Before her all was dark--dark but for the glimmer of the stars in\nthe pools, and the light that came from her own white feet, stealing out\nof her black cloak.\n\nThe Moon drew her cloak faster about and trembled, but she wouldn't go\nback without seeing all there was to be seen; so on she went, stepping\nas light as the wind in summer from tuft to tuft between the greedy\ngurgling water holes. Just as she came near a big black pool her foot\nslipped and she was nigh tumbling in. She grabbed with both hands at a\nsnag near by to steady herself with, but as she touched it, it twined\nitself round her wrists, like a pair of handcuffs, and gript her so that\nshe couldn't move. She pulled and twisted and fought, but it was no\ngood. She was fast, and must stay fast.\n\nPresently as she stood trembling in the dark, wondering if help would\ncome, she heard something calling in the distance, calling, calling, and\nthen dying away with a sob, till the marshes were full of this pitiful\ncrying sound; then she heard steps floundering along, squishing in the\nmud and slipping on the tufts, and through the darkness she saw a white\nface with great feared eyes.\n\n'T was a man strayed in the bogs. Mazed with fear he struggled on toward\nthe flickering light that looked like help and safety. And when the\npoor Moon saw that he was coming nigher and nigher to the deep hole,\nfurther and further from the path, she was so mad and so sorry that she\nstruggled and fought and pulled harder than ever. And though she\ncouldn't get loose, she twisted and turned, till her black hood fell\nback off her shining yellow hair, and the beautiful light that came from\nit drove away the darkness.\n\nOh, but the man cried with joy to see the light again. And at once all\nevil things fled back into the dark corners, for they cannot abide the\nlight. So he could see where he was, and where the path was, and how he\ncould get out of the marsh. And he was in such haste to get away from\nthe Quicks, and Bogles, and Things that dwelt there, that he scarce\nlooked at the brave light that came from the beautiful shining yellow\nhair, streaming out over the black cloak and falling to the water at his\nfeet. And the Moon herself was so taken up with saving him, and with\nrejoicing that he was back on the right path, that she clean forgot that\nshe needed help herself, and that she was held fast by the Black Snag.\n\nSo off he went; spent and gasping, and stumbling and sobbing with joy,\nflying for his life out of the terrible bogs. Then it came over the\nMoon, she would main like to go with him. So she pulled and fought as if\nshe were mad, till she fell on her knees, spent with tugging, at the\nfoot of the snag. And as she lay there, gasping for breath, the black\nhood fell forward over her head. So out went the blessed light and back\ncame the darkness, with all its Evil Things, with a screech and a howl.\nThey came crowding round her, mocking and snatching and beating;\nshrieking with rage and spite, and swearing and snarling, for they knew\nher for their old enemy, that drove them back into the corners, and kept\nthem from working their wicked wills.\n\n\"Drat thee!\" yelled the witch-bodies, \"thou 'st spoiled our spells this\nyear agone!\"\n\n\"And us thou sent'st to brood in the corners!\" howled the Bogles.\n\nAnd all the Things joined in with a great \"Ho, ho!\" till the very\ntussocks shook and the water gurgled. And they began again.\n\n\"We'll poison her--poison her!\" shrieked the witches.\n\nAnd \"Ho, ho!\" howled the Things again.\n\n\"We'll smother her--smother her!\" whispered the Crawling Horrors, and\ntwined themselves round her knees.\n\nAnd \"Ho, ho!\" mocked the rest of them.\n\nAnd again they all shouted with spite and ill-will. And the poor Moon\ncrouched down, and wished she was dead and done with.\n\nAnd they fought and squabbled what they should do with her, till a pale\ngrey light began to come in the sky; and it drew nigh the dawning. And\nwhen they saw that, they were feared lest they shouldn't have time to\nwork their will; and they caught hold of her, with horrid bony fingers,\nand laid her deep in the water at the foot of the snag. And the Bogles\nfetched a strange big stone and rolled it on top of her, to keep her\nfrom rising. And they told two of the Will-o-the-wykes to take turns in\nwatching on the black snag, to see that she lay safe and still, and\ncouldn't get out to spoil their sport.\n\nAnd there lay the poor Moon, dead and buried in the bog, till some one\nwould set her loose; and who'd know where to look for her.\n\nWell, the days passed, and 't was the time for the new moon's coming,\nand the folk put pennies in their pockets and straws in their caps so as\nto be ready for her, and looked about, for the Moon was a good friend to\nthe marsh folk, and they were main glad when the dark time was gone, and\nthe paths were safe again, and the Evil Things were driven back by the\nblessed Light into the darkness and the waterholes.\n\nBut days and days passed, and the new Moon never came, and the nights\nwere aye dark, and the Evil Things were worse than ever. And still the\ndays went on, and the new Moon never came. Naturally the poor folk were\nstrangely feared and mazed, and a lot of them went to the Wise Woman who\ndwelt in the old mill, and asked if so be she could find out where the\nMoon was gone.\n\n\"Well,\" said she, after looking in the brewpot, and in the mirror, and\nin the Book, \"it be main queer, but I can't rightly tell ye what's\nhappened to her. If ye hear of aught, come and tell me.\"\n\nSo they went their ways; and as days went by, and never a Moon came,\nnaturally they talked--my word! I reckon they _did_ talk! their tongues\nwagged at home, and at the inn, and in the garth. But so came one day,\nas they sat on the great settle in the Inn, a man from the far end of\nthe bog lands was smoking and listening, when all at once he sat up and\nslapped his knee. \"My faicks!\" says he, \"I'd clean forgot, but I reckon\nI kens where the Moon be!\" and he told them of how he was lost in the\nbogs, and how, when he was nigh dead with fright, the light shone out,\nand he found the path and got home safe.\n\nSo off they all went to the Wise Woman, and told her about it, and she\nlooked long in the pot and the Book again, and then she nodded her\nhead.\n\n\"It's dark still, childer, dark!\" says she, \"and I can't rightly see,\nbut do as I tell ye, and ye 'll find out for yourselves. Go all of ye,\njust afore the night gathers, put a stone in your mouth, and take a\nhazel-twig in your hands, and say never a word till you're safe home\nagain. Then walk on and fear not, far into the midst of the marsh, till\nye find a coffin, a candle, and a cross. Then ye'll not be far from your\nMoon; look, and m'appen ye 'll find her.\"\n\nSo came the next night in the darklings, out they went all together,\nevery man with a stone in his mouth, and a hazel-twig in his hand, and\nfeeling, thou may'st reckon, main feared and creepy. And they stumbled\nand stottered along the paths into the midst of the bogs; they saw\nnought, though they heard sighings and flutterings in their ears, and\nfelt cold wet fingers touching them; but all at once, looking around for\nthe coffin, the candle, and the cross, while they came nigh to the pool\nbeside the great snag, where the Moon lay buried. And all at once they\nstopped, quaking and mazed and skeery, for there was the great stone,\nhalf in, half out of the water, for all the world like a strange big\ncoffin; and at the head was the black snag, stretching out its two arms\nin a dark gruesome cross, and on it a tiddy light flickered, like a\ndying candle. And they all knelt down in the mud, and said, \"Our Lord,\nfirst forward, because of the cross, and then backward, to keep off the\nBogles; but without speaking out, for they knew that the Evil Things\nwould catch them, if they didn't do as the Wise Woman told them.\"\n\nThen they went nigher, and took hold of the big stone, and shoved it up,\nand afterwards they said that for one tiddy minute they saw a strange\nand beautiful face looking up at them glad-like out of the black water;\nbut the Light came so quick and so white and shining, that they stept\nback mazed with it, and the very next minute, when they could see again,\nthere was the full Moon in the sky, bright and beautiful and kind as\never, shining and smiling down at them, and making the bogs and the\npaths as clear as day, and stealing into the very corners, as though\nshe'd have driven the darkness and the Bogles clean away if she could.\n\n\n\n\nA Son of Adam\n\n\nA man was one day working. It was very hot, and he was digging.\nBy-and-by he stopped to rest and wipe his face; and he was very angry to\nthink he had to work so hard only because of Adam's sin. So he\ncomplained bitterly, and said some very hard words about Adam.\n\nIt happened that his master heard him, and he asked, \"Why do you blame\nAdam? You'd ha' done just like Adam, if you'd a-been in his place.\"\n\n\"No, I shouldn't,\" said the man; \"I should ha' know'd better.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll try you,\" says his master; \"come to me at dinner-time.\"\n\nSo come dinner-time, the man came, and his master took him into a room\nwhere the table was a-set with good things of all sorts. And he said:\n\"Now, you can eat as much as ever you like from any of the dishes on the\ntable; but don't touch the covered dish in the middle till I come back.\"\nAnd with that the master went out of the room and left the man there all\nby himself.\n\nSo the man sat down and helped himself, and ate some o' this dish and\nsome o' that, and enjoyed himself finely. But after awhile, as his\nmaster didn't come back, he began to look at the covered dish, and to\nwonder whatever was in it. And he wondered more and more, and he says to\nhimself, \"It must be something very nice. Why shouldn't I just look at\nit? I won't touch it. There can't be any harm in just peeping.\" So at\nlast he could hold back no longer, and he lifted up the cover a tiny\nbit; but he couldn't see anything. Then he lifted it up a bit more, and\nout popped a mouse. The man tried to catch it; but it ran away and\njumped off the table and he ran after it. It ran first into one corner,\nand then, just as he thought he'd got it, into another, and under the\ntable, and all about the room. And the man made such a clatter, jumping\nand banging and running round after the mouse, a-trying to catch it,\nthat at last his master came in.\n\n\"Ah!\" he said; \"never you blame Adam again, my man!\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Children in the Wood\n\n\n     Now ponder well, you parents dear,\n       These words which I shall write;\n     A doleful story you shall hear,\n       In time brought forth to light.\n     A gentleman of good account,\n       In Norfolk dwelt of late,\n     Who did in honour far surmount\n       Most men of his estate.\n\n     Sore sick he was and like to die,\n       No help his life could save;\n     His wife by him as sick did lie,\n       And both possest one grave.\n     No love between these two was lost,\n       Each was to other kind;\n     In love they lived, in love they died,\n       And left two babes behind.\n\n     The one a fine and pretty boy\n       Not passing three years old,\n     The other a girl more young than he,\n       And framed in beauty's mould.\n     The father left his little son,\n       As plainly did appear,\n     When he to perfect age should come,\n       Three hundred pounds a year;\n\n     And to his little daughter Jane\n       Five hundred pounds in gold,\n     To be paid down on marriage-day,\n       Which might not be controlled.\n     But if the children chanced to die\n       Ere they to age should come,\n     Their uncle should possess their wealth;\n       For so the will did run.\n\n     \"Now, brother,\" said the dying man,\n       \"Look to my children dear;\n     Be good unto my boy and girl,\n       No friends else have they here;\n     To God and you I recommend\n       My children dear this day;\n     But little while be sure we have\n       Within this world to stay.\n\n     \"You must be father and mother both,\n       And uncle, all in one;\n     God knows what will become of them\n       When I am dead and gone.\"\n     With that bespake their mother dear:\n       \"O brother kind,\" quoth she,\n     \"You are the man must bring our babes\n       To wealth or misery.\n\n     \"And if you keep them carefully,\n       Then God will you reward;\n     But if you otherwise should deal,\n       God will your deeds regard.\"\n     With lips as cold as any stone,\n       They kissed their children small:\n     \"God bless you both, my children dear!\"\n       With that the tears did fall.\n\n     These speeches then their brother spake\n       To this sick couple there:\n     \"The keeping of your little ones,\n       Sweet sister, do not fear;\n     God never prosper me nor mine,\n       Nor aught else that I have,\n     If I do wrong your children dear\n       When you are laid in grave!\"\n\n     The parents being dead and gone,\n       The children home he takes,\n     And brings them straight unto his house\n       Where much of them he makes.\n     He had not kept these pretty babes\n       A twelvemonth and a day,\n     But, for their wealth, he did devise\n       To make them both away.\n\n     He bargained with two ruffians strong,\n       Which were of furious mood,\n     That they should take these children young,\n       And slay them in a wood.\n     He told his wife an artful tale\n       He would the children send\n     To be brought up in London town\n       With one that was his friend.\n\n     Away then went those pretty babes,\n       Rejoicing at that tide,\n     Rejoicing with a merry mind\n       They should on cock-horse ride.\n     They prate and prattle pleasantly,\n       As they ride on the way,\n     To those that should their butchers be\n       And work their lives' decay:\n\n     So that the pretty speech they had\n       Made Murder's heart relent;\n     And they that undertook the deed\n       Full sore now did repent.\n     Yet one of them, more hard of heart,\n       Did vow to do his charge,\n     Because the wretch that hired him\n       Had paid him very large.\n\n     The other won't agree thereto,\n       So there they fall to strife;\n     With one another they did fight\n       About the children's life;\n     And he that was of mildest mood\n       Did slay the other there,\n     Within an unfrequented wood;\n       The babes did quake for fear!\n\n     He took the children by the hand,\n       Tears standing in their eye,\n     And bade them straightway follow him,\n       And look they did not cry;\n     And two long miles he led them on,\n       While they for food complain:\n     \"Stay here,\" quoth he, \"I'll bring you bread,\n       When I come back again.\"\n\n     These pretty babes, with hand in hand,\n       Went wandering up and down;\n     But never more could see the man\n       Approaching from the town.\n     Their pretty lips with blackberries\n       Were all besmeared and dyed;\n     And when they saw the darksome night,\n       They sat them down and cried.\n\n     Thus wandered these poor innocents,\n       Till death did end their grief;\n     In one another's arms they died,\n       As wanting due relief:\n     No burial this pretty pair\n       From any man receives,\n     Till Robin Redbreast piously\n       Did cover them with leaves.\n\n     And now the heavy wrath of God\n       Upon their uncle fell;\n     Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,\n       His conscience felt an hell:\n     His barns were fired, his goods consumed,\n       His lands were barren made,\n     His cattle died within the field,\n       And nothing with him stayed.\n\n     And in a voyage to Portugal\n       Two of his sons did die;\n     And to conclude, himself was brought\n       To want and misery:\n     He pawned and mortgaged all his land\n       Ere seven years came about.\n     And now at last this wicked act\n       Did by this means come out,\n\n     The fellow that did take in hand\n       These children for to kill,\n     Was for a robbery judged to die,\n       Such was God's bless\u00e8d will:\n     Who did confess the very truth,\n       As here hath been displayed:\n     The uncle having died in jail,\n       Where he for debt was laid.\n\n     You that executors be made,\n       And overseers eke,\n     Of children that be fatherless,\n       And infants mild and meek,\n     Take you example by this thing,\n       And yield to each his right,\n     Lest God with suchlike misery\n       Your wicked minds requite.\n\n\n\n\nThe Hobyahs\n\n\nOnce there was an old man and woman and a little girl, and they all\nlived in a house made of hempstalks. Now the old man had a little dog\nnamed Turpie; and one night the Hobyahs came and said, \"Hobyah! Hobyah!\nHobyah! Tear down the hempstalks, eat up the old man and woman, and\ncarry off the little girl!\" But little dog Turpie barked so that the\nHobyahs ran off; and the old man said, \"Little dog Turpie barks so that\nI cannot sleep nor slumber, and if I live till morning I will cut off\nhis tail.\" So in the morning the old man cut off little dog Turpie's\ntail.\n\nThe next night the Hobyahs came again, and said, \"Hobyah! Hobyah!\nHobyah! Tear down the hempstalks, eat up the old man and woman, and\ncarry off the little girl!\" But little dog Turpie barked so that the\nHobyahs ran off; and the old man said, \"Little dog Turpie barks so that\nI cannot sleep nor slumber, and if I live till morning I will cut off\none of his legs.\" So in the morning the old man cut off one of little\ndog Turpie's legs.\n\nThe next night the Hobyahs came again, and said, \"Hobyah! Hobyah!\nHobyah! Tear down the hempstalks, eat up the old man and woman, and\ncarry off the little girl!\" But little dog Turpie barked so that the\nHobyahs ran off; and the old man said, \"Little dog Turpie barks so that\nI cannot sleep nor slumber, and if I live till morning I will cut off\nanother of his legs.\" So in the morning the old man cut off another of\nlittle dog Turpie's legs.\n\nThe next night the Hobyahs came again, and said, \"Hobyah! Hobyah!\nHobyah! Tear down the hempstalks, eat up the old man and woman, and\ncarry off the little girl!\" But little dog Turpie barked so that the\nHobyahs ran off; and the old man said, \"Little dog Turpie barks so that\nI cannot sleep nor slumber, and if I live till morning I will cut off\nanother of his legs.\" So in the morning the old man cut off another of\nlittle dog Turpie's legs.\n\nThe next night the Hobyahs came again, and said, \"Hobyah! Hobyah!\nHobyah! Tear down the hempstalks, eat up the old man and woman, and\ncarry off the little girl!\" But little dog Turpie barked so that the\nHobyahs ran off; and the old man said, \"Little dog Turpie barks so that\nI cannot sleep nor slumber, and if I live till morning I will cut off\nanother of his legs.\" So in the morning the old man cut off another of\nlittle dog Turpie's legs.\n\nThe next night the Hobyahs came again, and said, \"Hobyah! Hobyah!\nHobyah! Tear down the hempstalks, eat up the old man and woman, and\ncarry off the little girl!\" But little dog Turpie barked so that the\nHobyahs ran off; and the old man said, \"Little dog Turpie barks so that\nI cannot sleep nor slumber, and if I live till morning I will cut off\nlittle dog Turpie's head.\" So in the morning the old man cut off little\ndog Turpie's head.\n\nThe next night the Hobyahs came again, and said, \"Hobyah! Hobyah!\nHobyah! Tear down the hempstalks, eat up the old man and woman, and\ncarry off the little girl!\" And when the Hobyahs found that little dog\nTurpie's head was off they tore down the hempstalks, ate up the old man\nand woman, and carried the little girl off in a bag.\n\nAnd when the Hobyahs came to their home they hung up the bag with the\nlittle girl in it, and every Hobyah knocked on the top of the bag and\nsaid, \"Look me! look me!\" And then they went to sleep until the next\nnight, for the Hobyahs slept in the daytime.\n\nThe little girl cried a great deal, and a man with a big dog came that\nway and heard her crying. When he asked her how she came there and she\ntold him, he put the dog in the bag and took the little girl to his\nhome.\n\nThe next night the Hobyahs took down the bag and knocked on the top of\nit, and said \"Look me! look me!\" and when they opened the bag--the big\ndog jumped out and ate them all up; so there are no Hobyahs now.\n\n\n\n\nA Pottle o' Brains\n\n\nOnce in these parts, and not so long gone neither, there was a fool that\nwanted to buy a pottle o' brains, for he was ever getting into scrapes\nthrough his foolishness, and being laughed at by every one. Folk told\nhim that he could get everything he liked from the wise woman that lived\non the top o' the hill, and dealt in potions and herbs and spells and\nthings, and could tell thee! all as 'd come to thee or thy folk. So he\ntold his mother, and asked her if he could seek the wise woman and buy a\npottle o' brains.\n\n\"That ye should,\" says she; \"thou 'st sore need o' them, my son: and if\nI should die, who'd take care o' a poor fool such 's thou, no more fit\nto look after thyself than an unborn baby? but mind thy manners, and\nspeak her pretty, my lad; for they wise folk are gey and light\nmispleased.\"\n\nSo off he went after his tea, and there she was, sitting by the fire,\nand stirring a big pot.\n\n\"Good e'en, missis,\" says he, \"it's a fine night.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" says she, and went on stirring.\n\n\"It'll maybe rain,\" says he, and fidgeted from one foot to t' other.\n\n\"Maybe,\" says she.\n\n\"And m'appen it won't,\" says he, and looked out o' the window.\n\n\"M'appen,\" says she.\n\nAnd he scratched his head and twisted his hat.\n\n\"Well,\" says he, \"I can't mind nothing else about the weather, but let\nme see; the crops are getting on fine.\"\n\n\"Fine,\" says she.\n\n\"And--and--the beasts is fattening,\" says he.\n\n\"They are,\" says she.\n\n\"And--and--\" says he, and comes to a stop--\"I reckon we'll tackle\nbusiness now, having done the polite like. Have you any brains for to\nsell?\"\n\n\"That depends,\" says she, \"if thou wants king's brains, or soldier's\nbrains, or schoolmaster's brains, I dinna keep 'em.\"\n\n\"Hout no,\" says he, \"jist ordinary brains--fit for any fool--same as\nevery one has about here; something clean common-like.\"\n\n\"Aye so,\" says the wise woman, \"I might manage that, if so be thou 'lt\nhelp thyself.\"\n\n\"How's that for, missis?\" says he.\n\n\"Jest so,\" says she, looking in the pot; \"bring me the heart of the\nthing thou likest best of all, and I'll tell thee where to get thy\npottle o' brains.\"\n\n\"But,\" says he, scratching his head, \"how can I do that?\"\n\n\"That's no for me to say,\" says she, \"find out for thyself, my lad! if\nthou doesn't want to be a fool all thy days. But thou 'll have to read\nme a riddle so as I can see thou 'st brought the right thing, and if thy\nbrains is about thee. And I've something else to see to,\" says she, \"so\ngode'en to thee,\" and she carried the pot away with her into the back\nplace.\n\nSo off went the fool to his mother, and told her what the wise woman\nsaid.\n\n\"And I reckon I'll have to kill that pig,\" says he, \"for I like fat\nbacon better than anything.\"\n\n\"Then do it, my lad,\" said his mother, \"for certain 't will be a strange\nand good thing fur thee, if thou canst buy a pottle o' brains, and be\nable to look after thy own self.\"\n\nSo he killed his pig, and next day off he went to the wise woman's\ncottage, and there she sat, reading in a great book.\n\n\"Gode'en, missis,\" says he, \"I've brought thee the heart o' the thing I\nlike the best of all; and I put it hapt in paper on the table.\"\n\n\"Aye so?\" says she, and looked at him through her spectacles. \"Tell me\nthis then, what runs without feet?\"\n\nHe scratched his head, and thought, and thought, but he couldn't tell.\n\n\"Go thy ways,\" says she, \"thou 'st not fetched me the right thing yet.\nI've no brains for thee to-day.\" And she clapt the book together, and\nturned her back.\n\nSo off the fool went to tell his mother. But as he got nigh the house,\nout came folk running to tell him that his mother was dying.\n\nAnd when he got in, his mother only looked at him and smiled as if to\nsay she could leave him with a quiet mind since he had got brains enough\nnow to look after himself--and then she died.\n\nSo down he sat and the more he thought about it the badder he felt. He\nminded how she'd nursed him when he was a tiddy brat, and helped him\nwith his lessons, and cooked his dinners, and mended his clouts, and\nbore with his foolishness; and he felt sorrier and sorrier, while he\nbegan to sob and greet.\n\n\"Oh, mother, mother!\" says he, \"who'll take care of me now? Thou\nshouldn't have left me alone, for I liked thee better than everything!\"\n\nAnd as he said that, he thought of the words of the wise woman. \"Hi,\nyi!\" says he, \"must I take mother's heart to her?\"\n\n\"No! I can't do that,\" says he. \"What'll I do? what'll I do to get that\npottle o' brains, now I'm alone in the world?\" So he thought and thought\nand thought, and next day he went and borrowed a sack, and bundled his\nmother in, and carried it on his shoulder up to the wise woman's\ncottage.\n\n\"Gode'en, missis,\" says he, \"I reckon I've fetched thee the right thing\nthis time, surely,\" and he plumped the sack down kerflap! in the\ndoorsill.\n\n\"Maybe,\" says the wise woman, \"but read me this, now, what's yellow and\nshining but isn't gold?\"\n\nAnd he scratched his head, and thought and thought, but he couldn't\ntell.\n\n\"Thou 'st not hit the right thing, my lad,\" says she. \"I doubt thou 'rt\na bigger fool than I thought!\" and shut the door in his face.\n\n\"See there!\" says he, and set down by the road side and greets.\n\n\"I've lost the only two things as I cared for, and what else can I find\nto buy a pottle o' brains with!\" and he fair howled, till the tears ran\ndown into his mouth. And up came a lass that lived near at hand, and\nlooked at him.\n\n\"What's up with thee, fool?\" says she.\n\n\"Oo, I've killed my pig, and lost my mother and I'm nobbut a fool\nmyself,\" says he, sobbing.\n\n\"That's bad,\" says she; \"and haven't thee anybody to look after thee?\"\n\n\"No,\" says he, \"and I canna buy my pottle o' brains, for there's nothing\nI like best left!\"\n\n\"What art talking about?\" says she.\n\nAnd down she sets by him, and he told her all about the wise woman and\nthe pig, and his mother and the riddles, and that he was alone in the\nworld.\n\n\"Well,\" says she, \"I wouldn't mind looking after thee myself.\"\n\n\"Could thee do it?\" says he.\n\n\"Ou, ay!\" says she; \"folks say as fools make good husbands, and I reckon\nI'll have thee, if thou 'rt willing.\"\n\n\"Can'st cook?\" says he.\n\n\"Ay, I can,\" says she.\n\n\"And scrub?\" says he.\n\n\"Surely,\" says she.\n\n\"And mend my clouts?\" says he.\n\n\"I can that,\" says she.\n\n\"I reckon thou 'lt do then as well as anybody,\" says he; \"but what'll I\ndo about this wise woman?\"\n\n\"Oh, wait a bit,\" says she, \"something may turn up, and it'll not matter\nif thou 'rt a fool, so long'st thou 'st got me to look after thee.\"\n\n\"That's true,\" says he, and off they went and got married. And she kept\nhis house so clean and neat, and cooked his dinner so fine, that one\nnight he says to her: \"Lass, I'm thinking I like thee best of everything\nafter all.\"\n\n\"That's good hearing,\" says she, \"and what then?\"\n\n\"Have I got to kill thee, dost think, and take thy heart up to the wise\nwoman for that pottle o' brains?\"\n\n\"Law, no!\" says she, looking skeered, \"I winna have that. But see here;\nthou didn't cut out thy mother's heart, did thou?\"\n\n\"No; but if I had, maybe I'd have got my pottle o' brains,\" says he.\n\n\"Not a bit of it,\" says she; \"just thou take me as I be, heart and all,\nand I'll wager I'll help thee read the riddles.\"\n\n\"Can thee so?\" says he, doubtful like; \"I reckon they're too hard for\nwomen folk.\"\n\n\"Well,\" says she, \"let's see now. Tell me the first\"\n\n\"What runs without feet?\" says he.\n\n\"Why, water!\" says she.\n\n\"It do,\" says he, and scratched his head.\n\n\"And what's yellow and shining but isn't gold?\"\n\n\"Why, the sun!\" says she.\n\n\"Faith, it be!\" says he. \"Come, we'll go up to the wise woman at once,\"\nand off they went. And as they came up the pad, she was sitting at the\ndoor, twining straws.\n\n\"Gode'en, missis,\" says he.\n\n\"Gode'en, fool,\" says she.\n\n\"I reckon I've fetched thee the right thing at last,\" says he.\n\nThe wise woman looked at them both, and wiped her spectacles.\n\n\"Canst tell me what that is as has first no legs, and then two legs, and\nends with four legs?\"\n\nAnd the fool scratched his head and thought and thought, but he couldn't\ntell.\n\nAnd the lass whispered in his ear:\n\n\"It's a tadpole.\"\n\n\"M'appen,\" says he then, \"it may be a tadpole, missis.\"\n\nThe wise woman nodded her head.\n\n\"That's right,\" says she, \"and thou 'st got thy pottle o' brains\nalready.\"\n\n\"Where be they?\" says he, looking about and feeling in his pockets.\n\n\"In thy wife's head,\" says she. \"The only cure for a fool is a good wife\nto look after him, and that thou 'st got, so gode'en to thee!\" And with\nthat she nodded to them, and up and into the house.\n\nSo they went home together, and he never wanted to buy a pottle o'\nbrains again, for his wife had enough for both.\n\n\n\n\nThe King of England and His Three Sons\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was an old king who had three sons; and the old\nking fell very sick one time and there was nothing at all could make him\nwell but some golden apples from a far country. So the three brothers\nwent on horseback to look for some of these apples. They set off\ntogether, and when they came to cross-roads they halted and refreshed\nthemselves a bit; and then they agreed to meet on a certain time, and\nnot one was to go home before the other. So Valentine took the right,\nand Oliver went straight on, and poor Jack took the left.\n\nTo make my long story short, I shall follow poor Jack, and let the other\ntwo take their chance, for I don't think there was much good in them.\nOff poor Jack rides over hills, dales, valleys, and mountains, through\nwoolly woods and sheepwalks, where the old chap never sounded his hollow\nbugle-horn, farther than I can tell you to-night or ever intend to tell\nyou.\n\nAt last he came to an old house, near a great forest, and there was an\nold man sitting out by the door, and his look was enough to frighten you\nor any one else; and the old man said to him:\n\n\"Good morning, my king's son.\"\n\n\"Good morning to you, old gentleman,\" was the young prince's answer;\nfrightened out of his wits though he was, he didn't like to give in.\n\nThe old gentleman told him to dismount and to go in to have some\nrefreshment, and to put his horse in the stable, such as it was. Jack\nsoon felt much better after having something to eat, and began to ask\nthe old gentleman how he knew he was a king's son.\n\n\"Oh dear!\" said the old man, \"I knew that you were a king's son, and I\nknow what is your business better than what you do yourself. So you will\nhave to stay here to-night; and when you are in bed you mustn't be\nfrightened whatever you may hear. There will come all manner of frogs\nand snakes, and some will try to get into your eyes and your mouth, but\nmind, don't stir the least bit or you will turn into one of those things\nyourself.\"\n\nPoor Jack didn't know what to make of this, but, however, he ventured to\ngo to bed. Just as he thought to have a bit of sleep, round and over and\nunder him they came, but he never stirred an inch all night.\n\n\"Well, my young son, how are you this morning?\"\n\n\"Oh, I am very well, thank you, but I didn't have much rest.\"\n\n\"Well, never mind that; you have got on very well so far, but you have\na great deal to go through before you can have the golden apples to go\nto your father. You'd better come and have some breakfast before you\nstart on your way to my other brother's house. You will have to leave\nyour own horse here with me until you come back again, and tell me\neverything about how you get on.\"\n\nAfter that out came a fresh horse for the young prince, and the old man\ngave him a ball of yarn, and he flung it between the horse's two ears.\n\nOff he went as fast as the wind, which the wind behind could not catch\nthe wind before, until he came to the second oldest brother's house.\nWhen he rode up to the door he had the same salute as from the first old\nman, but this one was even uglier than the first one. He had long grey\nhair, and his teeth were curling out of his mouth, and his finger- and\ntoe-nails had not been cut for many thousand years. He put the horse\ninto a much better stable, and called Jack in, and gave him plenty to\neat and drink, and they had a bit of a chat before they went to bed.\n\n\"Well, my young son,\" said the old man, \"I suppose you are one of the\nking's children come to look for the golden apples to bring him back to\nhealth.\"\n\n\"Yes, I am the youngest of the three brothers, and I should like to get\nthem to go back with.\"\n\n\"Well, don't mind, my young son. Before you go to bed to-night I will\nsend to my eldest brother, and will tell him what you want, and he won't\nhave much trouble in sending you on to the place where you must get the\napples. But mind not to stir to-night no matter how you get bitten and\nstung, or else you will work great mischief to yourself.\"\n\nThe young man went to bed and bore all, as he did the first night, and\ngot up the next morning well and hearty. After a good breakfast out\ncomes a fresh horse, and a ball of yarn to throw between his ears. The\nold man told him to jump up quick, and said that he had made it all\nright with his eldest brother, not to delay for anything whatever,\n\"For,\" said he, \"you have a good deal to go through with in a very short\nand quick time.\"\n\nHe flung the ball, and off he goes as quick as lightning, and comes to\nthe eldest brother's house. The old man receives him very kindly and\ntold him he long wished to see him, and that he would go through his\nwork like a man and come back safe and sound. \"To-night,\" said he, \"I\nwill give you rest; there shall nothing come to disturb you, so that you\nmay not feel sleepy for to-morrow. And you must mind to get up middling\nearly, for you've got to go and come all in the same day; there will be\nno place for you to rest within thousands of miles of that place; and if\nthere was, you would stand in great danger never to come from there in\nyour own form. Now, my young prince, mind what I tell you. To-morrow,\nwhen you come in sight of a very large castle, which will be surrounded\nwith black water, the first thing you will do you will tie your horse to\na tree, and you will see three beautiful swans in sight, and you will\nsay, 'Swan, swan, carry me over in the name of the Griffin of the\nGreenwood,' and the swans will swim you over to the earth. There will\nbe three great entrances, the first guarded by four great giants with\ndrawn swords in their hands, the second by lions, the other by fiery\nserpents and dragons. You will have to be there exactly at one o'clock;\nand mind and leave there precisely at two and not a moment later. When\nthe swans carry you over to the castle, you will pass all these things,\nall fast asleep, but you must not notice any of them.\n\n\"When you go in, you will turn up to the right; you will see some grand\nrooms, then you will go downstairs through the cooking kitchen, and\nthrough; a door on your left you go into a garden, where you will find\nthe apples you want for your father to get well. After you fill your\nwallet, you make all speed you possibly can, and call out for the swans\nto carry you over the same as before. After you get on your horse,\nshould you hear anything shouting or making any noise after you, be sure\nnot to look back, as they will follow you for thousands of miles; but\nwhen the time is up and you get near my place, it will be all over. Well\nnow, my young man, I have told you all you have to do to-morrow; and\nmind, whatever you do, don't look about you when you see all those\nfrightful things asleep. Keep a good heart, and make haste from there,\nand come back to me with all the speed you can. I should like to know\nhow my two brothers were when you left them, and what they said to you\nabout me.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Castle of Melvales\n\n     Swan Swan,\n     Carry me over,\n     In the name of the Griffin of Greenwood.]\n\n\"Well, to tell the truth, before I left London my father was sick, and\nsaid I was to come here to look for the golden apples, for they were the\nonly things that would do him good; and when I came to your youngest\nbrother, he told me many things I had to do before I came here. And I\nthought once that your youngest brother put me in the wrong bed, when he\nput all those snakes to bite me all night long, until your second\nbrother told me 'So it was to be,' and said, 'It is the same here,' but\nsaid you had none in your beds.\"\n\n\"Well, let's go to bed. You need not fear. There are no snakes here.\"\n\nThe young man went to bed, and had a good night's rest, and got up the\nnext morning as fresh as newly caught trout. Breakfast being over, out\ncomes the other horse, and, while saddling and fettling, the old man\nbegan to laugh, and told the young gentleman that if he saw a pretty\nyoung lady, not to stay with her too long, because she might waken, and\nthen he would have to stay with her or to be turned into one of those\nunearthly monsters, like those he would have to pass by going into the\ncastle.\n\n\"Ha! ha! ha! you make me laugh so that I can scarcely buckle the\nsaddle-straps. I think I shall make it all right, my uncle, if I see a\nyoung lady there, you may depend.\"\n\n\"Well, my boy, I shall see how you will get on.\"\n\nSo he mounts his Arab steed, and off he goes like a shot out of a gun.\nAt last he comes in sight of the castle. He ties his horse safe to a\ntree, and pulls out his watch. It was then a quarter to one, when he\ncalled out, \"Swan, swan, carry me over, for the name of the old Griffin\nof the Greenwood.\" No sooner said than done. A swan under each side,\nand one in front, took him over in a crack. He got on his legs, and\nwalked quietly by all those giants, lions, fiery serpents, and all\nmanner of other frightful things too numerous to mention, while they\nwere fast asleep, and that only for the space of one hour, when into the\ncastle he goes neck or nothing. Turning to the right, upstairs he runs,\nand enters into a very grand bedroom, and sees a beautiful Princess\nlying full stretch on a gold bedstead, fast asleep. He gazed on her\nbeautiful form with admiration, and he takes her garter off, and buckles\nit on his own leg, and he buckles his on hers; he also takes her gold\nwatch and pocket-handkerchief, and exchanges his for hers; after that he\nventures to give her a kiss, when she very nearly opened her eyes.\nSeeing the time short, off he runs downstairs, and passing through the\nkitchen to go into the garden for the apples, he could see the cook\nall-fours on her back on the middle of the floor, with the knife in one\nhand and the fork in the other. He found the apples, and filled the\nwallet; and on passing through the kitchen the cook near wakened, but he\nwas obliged to make all the speed he possibly could, as the time was\nnearly up. He called out for the swans, and they managed to take him\nover; but they found that he was a little heavier than before. No sooner\nthan he had mounted his horse he could hear a tremendous noise, the\nenchantment was broke, and they tried to follow him, but all to no\npurpose. He was not long before he came to the oldest brother's house;\nand glad enough he was to see it, for the sight and the noise of all\nthose things that were after him nearly frightened him to death.\n\n\"Welcome, my boy; I am proud to see you. Dismount and put the horse in\nthe stable, and come in and have some refreshments; I know you are\nhungry after all you have gone through in that castle. And tell me all\nyou did, and all you saw there. Other kings' sons went by here to go to\nthat castle, but they never came back alive, and you are the only one\nthat ever broke the spell. And now you must come with me, with a sword\nin your hand, and must cut my head off, and must throw it in that well.\"\n\nThe young Prince dismounts, and puts his horse in the stable, and they\ngo in to have some refreshments, for I can assure you he wanted some;\nand after telling everything that passed, which the old gentleman was\nvery pleased to hear, they both went for a walk together, the young\nPrince looking around and seeing the place looking dreadful, as did the\nold man. He could scarcely walk from his toe-nails curling up like ram's\nhorns that had not been cut for many hundred years, and big long hair.\nThey come to a well, and the old man gives the Prince a sword, and tells\nhim to cut his head off, and throw it in that well. The young man has to\ndo it against his wish, but has to do it.\n\nNo sooner has he flung the head in the well, than up springs one of the\nfinest young gentlemen you would wish to see; and instead of the old\nhouse and the frightful-looking place, it was changed into a beautiful\nhall and grounds. And they went back and enjoyed themselves well, and\nhad a good laugh about the castle.\n\nThe young Prince leaves this young gentleman in all his glory, and he\ntells the young Prince before leaving that he will see him again before\nlong. They have a jolly shake-hands, and off he goes to the next oldest\nbrother; and, to make my long story short, he has to serve the other two\nbrothers the same as the first.\n\nNow the youngest brother began to ask him how things went on. \"Did you\nsee my two brothers?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"How did they look?\"\n\n\"Oh! they looked very well. I liked them much. They told me many things\nwhat to do.\"\n\n\"Well, did you go to the castle?\"\n\n\"Yes, my uncle.\"\n\n\"And will you tell me what you see in there? Did you see the young\nlady?\"\n\n\"Yes, I saw her, and plenty of other frightful things.\"\n\n\"Did you hear any snake biting you in my oldest brother's bed?\"\n\n\"No, there were none there; I slept well.\"\n\n\"You won't have to sleep in the same bed to-night. You will have to cut\nmy head off in the morning.\"\n\nThe young Prince had a good night's rest, and changed all the appearance\nof the place by cutting his friend's head off before he started in the\nmorning. A jolly shake-hands, and the uncle tells him it's very probable\nhe shall see him again soon when he is not aware of it. This one's\nmansion was very pretty, and the country around it beautiful, after his\nhead was cut off. Off Jack goes, over hills, dales, valleys, and\nmountains, and very near losing his apples again.\n\nAt last he arrives at the cross-roads, where he has to meet his brothers\non the very day appointed. Coming up to the place, he sees no tracks of\nhorses, and, being very tired, he lays himself down to sleep, by tying\nthe horse to his leg, and putting the apples under his head. Presently\nup come the other brothers the same time to the minute, and found him\nfast asleep; and they would not waken him, but said one to another, \"Let\nus see what sort of apples he has got under his head.\" So they took and\ntasted them, and found they were different to theirs. They took and\nchanged his apples for theirs, and off to London as fast as they could,\nand left the poor fellow sleeping.\n\nAfter a while he awoke, and, seeing the tracks of other horses, he\nmounted and off with him, not thinking anything about the apples being\nchanged. He had still a long way to go, and by the time he got near\nLondon he could hear all the bells in the town ringing, but did not know\nwhat was the matter till he rode up to the palace, when he came to know\nthat his father was recovered by his brothers' apples. When he got there\nhis two brothers were off to some sports for a while; and the King was\nglad to see his youngest son, and very anxious to taste his apples. But\nwhen he found out that they were not good, and thought that they were\nmore for poisoning him, he sent immediately for the headsman to behead\nhis youngest son, who was taken away there and then in a carriage. But\ninstead of the headsman taking his head off, he took him to a forest not\nfar from the town, because he had pity on him, and there left him to\ntake his chance, when presently up comes a big hairy bear, limping upon\nthree legs. The Prince, poor fellow, climbed up a tree, frightened of\nhim, but the bear told him to come down, that it was no use of him to\nstop there. With hard persuasion poor Jack comes down, and the bear\nspeaks to him and bids him \"Come here to me; I will not do you any harm.\nIt's better for you to come with me and have some refreshments; I know\nthat you are hungry all this time.\"\n\nThe poor young Prince says, \"No, I am not hungry; but I was very\nfrightened when I saw you coming to me first, as I had no place to run\naway from you.\"\n\nThe bear said, \"I was also afraid of you when I saw that gentleman\nsetting you down from the carriage. I thought you would have guns with\nyou, and that you would not mind killing me if you saw me; but when I\nsaw the gentleman going away with the carriage, and leaving you behind\nby yourself, I made bold to come to you, to see who you were, and now I\nknow who you are very well. Are you not the king's youngest son? I have\nseen you and your brothers and lots of other gentlemen in this wood many\ntimes. Now before we go from here, I must tell you that I am in\ndisguise; and I shall take you where we are stopping.\"\n\nThe young Prince tells him everything from first to last, how he started\nin search of the apples, and about the three old men, and about the\ncastle, and how he was served at last by his father after he came home;\nand instead of the headsman taking his head off, he was kind enough to\nleave him his life, \"and here I am now, under your protection.\"\n\nThe bear tells him, \"Come on, my brother; there shall no harm come to\nyou as long as you are with me.\"\n\nSo he takes him up to the tents; and when they see 'em coming, the girls\nbegin to laugh, and say, \"Here is our Jubal coming with a young\ngentleman.\" When he advanced nearer the tents, they all knew that he was\nthe young Prince that had passed by that way many times before; and when\nJubal went to change himself, he called most of them together into one\ntent, and told them all about him, and to be kind to him. And so they\nwere, for there was nothing that he desired but what he had, the same as\nif he was in the palace with his father and mother. Jubal, after he\npulled off his hairy coat, was one of the finest young men amongst them,\nand he was the young Prince's closest companion. The young Prince was\nalways very sociable and merry, only when he thought of the gold watch\nhe had from the young Princess in the castle, and which he had lost he\nknew not where.\n\nHe passed off many happy days in the forest; but one day he and poor\nJubal were strolling through the trees, when they came to the very spot\nwhere they first met, and, accidentally looking up, he could see his\nwatch hanging in the tree which he had to climb when he first saw poor\nJubal coming to him in the form of a bear; and he cries out, \"Jubal,\nJubal, I can see my watch up in that tree.\"\n\n\"Well, I am sure, how lucky!\" exclaimed poor Jubal; \"shall I go and get\nit down?\"\n\n\"No, I'd rather go myself,\" said the young Prince.\n\nNow whilst all this was going on, the young Princess in that castle,\nseeing that one of the King of England's sons had been there by the\nchanging of the watch and other things, got herself ready with a large\narmy, and sailed off for England. She left her army a little out of the\ntown, and she went with her guards straight up to the palace to see the\nKing, and also demanded to see his sons. They had a long conversation\ntogether about different things. At last she demands one of the sons to\ncome before her; and the oldest comes, when she asks him, \"Have you ever\nbeen at the Castle of Melvales?\" and he answers, \"Yes.\" She throws down\na pocket handkerchief and bids him to walk over it without stumbling. He\ngoes to walk over it, and no sooner did he put his foot on it, than he\nfell down and broke his leg. He was taken off immediately and made a\nprisoner of by her own guards. The other was called upon, and was asked\nthe same questions, and I had to go through the same performance, and he\nalso was made a prisoner of. Now she says, \"Have you not another son?\"\nwhen the King began so to shiver and shake and knock his two knees\ntogether that he could scarcely stand upon his legs, and did not know\nwhat to say to her, he was so much frightened. At last a thought came to\nhim to send for his headsman, and inquire of him particularly, Did he\nbehead his son, or was he alive?\n\n\"He is saved, O King.\"\n\n\"Then bring him here immediately, or else I shall be done for.\"\n\nTwo of the fastest horses they had were put in the carriage, to go and\nlook for the poor Prince; and when they got to the very spot where they\nleft him, it was the time when the Prince was up the tree, getting his\nwatch down, and poor Jubal standing a distance off. They cried out to\nhim, Had he seen another young man in this wood? Jubal, seeing such a\nnice carriage, thought something, and did not like to say No, and said\nYes, and pointed up the tree; and they told him to come down\nimmediately, as there was a young lady in search of him.\n\n\"Ha! ha! ha! Jubal, did you ever hear such a thing in all your life, my\nbrother?\"\n\n\"Do you call him your brother?\"\n\n\"Well, he has been better to me than my brothers.\"\n\n\"Well, for his kindness he shall accompany you to the palace, and see\nhow things turn out.\"\n\nAfter they go to the palace, the Prince has a good wash, and appears\nbefore the Princess, when she asks him, Had he ever been at the Castle\nof Melvales? With a smile upon his face, he gives a graceful bow. And\nsays my Lady, \"Walk over that handkerchief without stumbling.\" He walks\nover it many times, and dances upon it, and nothing happened to him. She\nsaid, with a proud and smiling air, \"That is the young man;\" and out\ncome the objects exchanged by both of them. Presently she orders a very\nlarge box to be brought in and to be opened, and out come some of the\nmost costly uniforms that were ever worn on an emperor's back; and when\nhe dressed himself up, the King could scarcely look upon him from the\ndazzling of the gold and diamonds on his coat. He orders his two\nbrothers to be in confinement for a period of time; and before the\nPrincess asks him to go with her to her own country, she pays a visit to\nthe bear's camp, and she makes some very handsome presents for their\nkindness to the young Prince. And she gives Jubal an invitation to go\nwith them, which he accepts; wishes them a hearty farewell for a while,\npromising to see them all again in some little time.\n\nThey go back to the King and bid farewell, and tell him not to be so\nhasty another time to order people to be beheaded before having a proper\ncause for it. Off they go with all their army with them; but while the\nsoldiers were striking their tents, the Prince bethought himself of his\nWelsh harp, and had it sent for immediately to take with him in a\nbeautiful wooden case. They called to see each of those three brothers\nwhom the Prince had to stay with when he was on his way to the Castle of\nMelvales; and I can assure you, when they all got together, they had a\nvery merry time of it. And there we will leave them.\n\n\n\n\nKing John and the Abbot of Canterbury\n\n\nIn the reign of King John there lived an Abbot of Canterbury who kept up\ngrand state in his Abbey. A hundred of the Abbot's men dined each day\nwith him in his refectory, and fifty knights in velvet coats and gold\nchains waited upon him daily. Well, King John, as you know, was a very\nbad king, and he couldn't brook the idea of any one in his kingdom,\nhowever holy he might be, being honoured more than he. So he summoned\nthe Abbot of Canterbury to his presence.\n\nThe Abbot came with a goodly retinue, with his fifty knights-at-arms in\nvelvet cloaks and gold chains. The King went to meet him, and said to\nhim, \"How now, father Abbot? I hear it of thee, thou keepest far greater\nstate than I. This becomes not our royal dignity, and savours of treason\nin thee.\"\n\n\"My liege,\" quoth the Abbot, bending low, \"I beg to say that all I spend\nhas been freely given to the Abbey out of the piety of the folk. I trust\nyour Grace will not take it ill that I spend for the Abbey's sake what\nis the Abbey's.\"\n\n\"Nay, proud prelate,\" answered the King, \"all that is in this fair realm\nof England is our own, and thou hast no right to put me to shame by\nholding such state. However, of my clemency I will spare thee thy life\nand thy property if you can answer me but three questions.\"\n\n\"I will do so, my liege,\" said the Abbot, \"so far as my poor wit can\nextend.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said the King, \"tell me where is the centre of all the\nworld round; then let me know how soon can I ride the whole world about;\nand, lastly, tell me what I think.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty jesteth,\" stammered the Abbot.\n\n\"Thou wilt find it no jest,\" said the King. \"Unless thou canst answer me\nthese questions three before a week is out, thy head will leave thy\nbody;\" and he turned away.\n\nWell, the Abbot rode off in fear and trembling, and first he went to\nOxford to see if any learned doctor could tell him the answer to those\nquestions three; but none could help him, and he took his way to\nCanterbury, sad and sorrowful, to take leave of his monks. But on his\nway he met his shepherd as he was going to the fold.\n\n\"Welcome home, Lord Abbot,\" quoth the shepherd; \"what news from good\nKing John?\"\n\n\"Sad news, sad news, my shepherd,\" said the Abbot, and told him all that\nhad happened.\n\n\"Now, cheer up, Sir Abbot,\" said the shepherd. \"A fool may perhaps\nanswer what a wise man knows not. I will go to London in your stead;\ngrant me only your apparel and your retinue of knights. At the least I\ncan die in your place.\"\n\n\"Nay, shepherd, not so,\" said the Abbot; \"I must meet the danger in my\nown person. And to that, thou canst not pass for me.\"\n\n\"But I can and I will, Sir Abbot. In a cowl, who will know me for what I\nam?\"\n\nSo at last the Abbot consented, and sent him to London in his most\nsplendid array, and he approached King John with all his retinue as\nbefore, but dressed in his simple monk's dress and his cowl over his\nface.\n\n\"Now welcome, Sir Abbot,\" said King John; \"thou art prepared for thy\ndoom, I see.\"\n\n\"I am ready to answer your Majesty,\" said he.\n\n\"Well, then, question first--where is the centre of the round earth?\"\nsaid the King.\n\n\"Here,\" said the shepherd Abbot, planting his crozier in the ground;\n\"an' your Majesty believe me not, go measure it and see.\"\n\n\"By St. Botolph,\" said the King, \"a merry answer and a shrewd; so to\nquestion the second. How soon may I ride this round world about?\"\n\n\"If your Majesty will graciously rise with the sun, and ride along with\nhim until the next morning he rise, your Grace will surely have ridden\nit round.\"\n\n\"By St. John,\" laughed King John, \"I did not think it could be done so\nsoon. But let that pass, and tell me question third and last, and that\nis--What do I think?\"\n\n\"That is easy, your Grace,\" said he. \"Your Majesty thinks I am my lord\nthe Abbot of Canterbury; but as you may see,\" and here he raised his\ncowl, \"I am but his poor shepherd, that am come to ask your pardon for\nhim and for me.\"\n\nLoud laughed the King. \"Well caught. Thou hast more wit than thy lord,\nand thou shalt be Abbot in his place.\"\n\n\"Nay, that cannot be,\" quoth the shepherd; \"I know not to write nor to\nread.\"\n\n\"Well, then, four nobles a week thou shalt have for the ready wit. And\ntell the Abbot from me that he has my pardon.\" And with that King John\nsent away the shepherd with a right royal present, besides his pension.\n\n\n\n\nRushen Coatie\n\n\nThere was once a king and a queen, as many a one has been; few have we\nseen, and as few may we see. But the queen died, leaving only one bonny\ngirl, and she told her on her death-bed: \"My dear, after I am gone,\nthere will come to you a little red calf, and whenever you want\nanything, speak to it, and it will give it you.\"\n\nNow, after a while, the king married again an ill-natured wife, with\nthree ugly daughters of her own. And they hated the king's daughter\nbecause she was so bonny. So they took all her fine clothes away from\nher, and gave her only a coat made of rushes. So they called her Rushen\nCoatie, and made her sit in the kitchen nook, amid the ashes. And when\ndinner-time came, the nasty stepmother sent her out a thimbleful of\nbroth, a grain of barley, a thread of meat, and a crumb of bread. But\nwhen she had eaten all this, she was just as hungry as before, so she\nsaid to herself: \"Oh! how I wish I had something to eat.\" Just then, who\nshould come in but a little red calf, and said to her: \"Put your finger\ninto my left ear.\" She did so, and found some nice bread. Then the calf\ntold her to put her finger into its right ear, and she found there some\ncheese, and made a right good meal of the bread and cheese. And so it\nwent on from day to day.\n\nNow the king's wife thought Rushen Coatie would soon die from the scanty\nfood she got, and she was surprised to see her as lively and healthy as\never. So she set one of her ugly daughters on the watch at meal times to\nfind out how Rushen Coatie got enough to live on. The daughter soon\nfound out that the red calf gave food to Rushen Coatie, and told her\nmother. So her mother went to the king and told him she was longing to\nhave a sweetbread from a red calf. Then the king sent for his butcher,\nand had the little red calf killed. And when Rushen Coatie heard of it,\nshe sate down and wept by its side, but the dead calf said:\n\n     \"Take me up, bone by bone,\n      And put me beneath yon grey stone;\n      When there is aught you want\n      Tell it me, and that I'll grant.\"\n\nSo she did so, but could not find the shank-bone of the calf.\n\nNow the very next Sunday was Yuletide, and all the folk were going to\nchurch in their best clothes, so Rushen Coatie said: \"Oh! I should like\nto go to church, too,\" but the three ugly sisters said: \"What would you\ndo at the church, you nasty thing? You must bide at home and make the\ndinner.\" And the king's wife said: \"And this is what you must make the\nsoup of, a thimbleful of water, a grain of barley, and a crumb of\nbread.\"\n\nWhen they all went to church, Rushen Coatie sat down and wept, but\nlooking up, who should she see coming in limping, lamping, with a shank\nwanting, but the dear red calf? And the red calf said to her: \"Do not\nsit there weeping, but go, put on these clothes, and above all, put on\nthis pair of glass slippers, and go your way to church.\"\n\n\"But what will become of the dinner?\" said Rushen Coatie.\n\n\"Oh, do not fash about that,\" said the red calf, \"all you have to do is\nto say to the fire:\n\n     \"'Every peat make t'other burn,\n       Every spit make t'other turn,\n       Every pot make t'other play,\n       Till I come from church this good Yuleday,'\n\nand be off to church with you. But mind you come home first.\"\n\nSo Rushen Coatie said this, and went off to church, and she was the\ngrandest and finest lady there. There happened to be a young prince\nthere, and he fell at once in love with her. But she came away before\nservice was over, and was home before the rest, and had off her fine\nclothes and on with her rushen coatie, and she found the calf had\ncovered the table, and the dinner was ready, and everything was in good\norder when the rest came home. The three sisters said to Rushen Coatie:\n\"Eh, lassie, if you had seen the bonny fine lady in church to-day, that\nthe young prince fell in love with!\" Then she said: \"Oh! I wish you\nwould let me go with you to the church to-morrow,\" for they used to go\nthree days together to church at Yuletide.\n\nBut they said: \"What should the like of you do at church, nasty thing?\nThe kitchen nook is good enough for you.\"\n\nSo the next day they all went to church, and Rushen Coatie was left\nbehind, to make dinner out of a thimbleful of water, a grain of barley,\na crumb of bread, and a thread of meat. But the red calf came to her\nhelp again, gave her finer clothes than before, and she went to church,\nwhere all the world was looking at her, and wondering where such a grand\nlady came from, and the prince fell more in love with her than ever, and\ntried to find out where she went to. But she was too quick for him, and\ngot home long before the rest, and the red calf had the dinner all\nready.\n\nThe next day the calf dressed her in even grander clothes than before,\nand she went to the church. And the young prince was there again, and\nthis time he put a guard at the door to keep her, but she took a hop and\na run and jumped over their heads, and as she did so, down fell one of\nher glass slippers. She didn't wait to pick it up, you may be sure, but\noff she ran home, as fast as she could go, on with the rushen coatie,\nand the calf had all things ready.\n\nThen the young prince put out a proclamation that whoever could put on\nthe glass slipper should be his bride. All the ladies of his court went\nand tried to put on the slipper. And they tried and tried and tried, but\nit was too small for them all. Then he ordered one of his ambassadors to\nmount a fleet horse and ride through the kingdom and find an owner for\nthe glass shoe. He rode and he rode to town and castle, and made all the\nladies try to put on the shoe. Many a one tried to get it on that she\nmight be the prince's bride. But no, it wouldn't do, and many a one\nwept, I warrant, because she couldn't get on the bonny glass shoe. The\nambassador rode on and on till he came at the very last to the house\nwhere there were the three ugly sisters. The first two tried it and it\nwouldn't do, and the queen, mad with spite, hacked off the toes and\nheels of the third sister, and she could then put the slipper on, and\nthe prince was brought to marry her, for he had to keep his promise. The\nugly sister was dressed all in her best and was put up behind the prince\non horseback, and off they rode in great gallantry. But ye all know,\npride must have a fall, for as they rode along a raven sang out of a\nbush--\n\n     \"Hack\u00e8d Heels and Pinch\u00e8d Toes\n      Behind the young prince rides,\n      But Pretty Feet and Little Feet\n      Behind the cauldron bides.\"\n\n\"What's that the birdie sings?\" said the young prince.\n\n\"Nasty, lying thing,\" said the step-sister, \"never mind what it says.\"\n\nBut the prince looked down and saw the slipper dripping with blood, so\nhe rode back and put her down. Then he said, \"There must be some one\nthat the slipper has not been tried on.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" said they, \"there's none but a dirty thing that sits in the\nkitchen nook and wears a rushen coatie.\"\n\nBut the prince was determined to try it on Rushen Coatie, but she ran\naway to the grey stone, where the red calf dressed her in her bravest\ndress, and she went to the prince and the slipper jumped out of his\npocket on to her foot, fitting her without any chipping or paring. So\nthe prince married her that very day, and they lived happy ever after.\n\n\n\n\nThe King o' the Cats\n\n\nOne winter's evening the sexton's wife was sitting by the fireside with\nher big black cat, Old Tom, on the other side, both half asleep and\nwaiting for the master to come home. They waited and they waited, but\nstill he didn't come, till at last he came rushing in, calling out,\n\"Who's Tommy Tildrum?\" in such a wild way that both his wife and his cat\nstared at him to know what was the matter.\n\n\"Why, what's the matter?\" said his wife, \"and why do you want to know\nwho Tommy Tildrum is?\"\n\n\"Oh, I've had such an adventure. I was digging away at old Mr. Fordyce's\ngrave when I suppose I must have dropped asleep, and only woke up by\nhearing a cat's _Miaou_.\"\n\n\"_Miaou!_\" said Old Tom in answer.\n\n\"Yes, just like that! So I looked over the edge of the grave, and what\ndo you think I saw?\"\n\n\"Now, how can I tell?\" said the sexton's wife.\n\n\"Why, nine black cats all like our friend Tom here, all with a white\nspot on their chestesses. And what do you think they were carrying? Why,\na small coffin covered with a black velvet pall, and on the pall was a\nsmall coronet all of gold, and at every third step they took they cried\nall together, _Miaou_--\"\n\n\"_Miaou!_\" said Old Tom again.\n\n\"Yes, just like that!\" said the Sexton; \"and as they came nearer and\nnearer to me I could see them more distinctly, because their eyes shone\nout with a sort of green light. Well, they all came towards me, eight of\nthem carrying the coffin, and the biggest cat of all walking in front\nfor all the world like--but look at our Tom, how he's looking at me.\nYou'd think he knew all I was saying.\"\n\n\"Go on, go on,\" said his wife; \"never mind Old Tom.\"\n\n\"Well, as I was a-saying, they came towards me slowly and solemnly, and\nat every third step crying all together, _Miaou!_--\"\n\n\"_Miaou!_\" said Old Tom again.\n\n\"Yes, just like that, till they came and stood right opposite Mr.\nFordyce's grave, where I was, when they all stood still and looked\nstraight at me. I did feel queer, that I did! But look at Old Tom; he's\nlooking at me just like they did.\"\n\n\"Go on, go on,\" said his wife; \"never mind Old Tom.\"\n\n\"Where was I? Oh, they all stood still looking at me, when the one that\nwasn't carrying the coffin came forward and, staring straight at me,\nsaid to me--yes, I tell 'ee, _said_ to me, with a squeaky voice, 'Tell\nTom Tildrum that Tim Toldrum's dead,' and that's why I asked you if you\nknew who Tom Tildrum was, for how can I tell Tom Tildrum Tim Toldrum's\ndead if I don't know who Tom Tildrum is?\"\n\n\"Look at Old Tom, look at Old Tom!\" screamed his wife.\n\nAnd well he might look, for Tom was swelling and Tom was staring, and at\nlast Tom shrieked out, \"What--old Tim dead! then I'm the King o' the\nCats!\" and rushed up the chimney and was never more seen.\n\n\n\n\nTamlane\n\n\nYoung Tamlane was son of Earl Murray, and Burd Janet was daughter of\nDunbar, Earl of March. And when they were young they loved one another\nand plighted their troth. But when the time came near for their\nmarrying, Tamlane disappeared, and none knew what had become of him.\n\nMany, many days after he had disappeared, Burd Janet was wandering in\nCarterhaugh Wood, though she had been warned not to go there. And as she\nwandered she plucked the flowers from the bushes. She came at last to a\nbush of broom and began plucking it. She had not taken more than three\nflowerets when by her side up started young Tamlane.\n\n\"Where come ye from, Tamlane, Tamlane?\" Burd Janet said; \"and why have\nyou been away so long?\"\n\n\"From Elfland I come,\" said young Tamlane. \"The Queen of Elfland has\nmade me her knight.\"\n\n\"But how did you get there, Tamlane?\" said Burd Janet.\n\n\"I was hunting one day, and as I rode widershins round yon hill, a deep\ndrowsiness fell upon me, and when I awoke, behold! I was in Elfland.\nFair is that land and gay, and fain would I stop but for thee and one\nother thing. Every seven years the Elves pay their tithe to the Nether\nworld, and for all the Queen makes much of me, I fear it is myself that\nwill be the tithe.\"\n\n\"Oh can you not be saved? Tell me if aught I can do will save you,\nTamlane?\"\n\n\"One only thing is there for my safety. To-morrow night is Hallowe'en,\nand the fairy court will then ride through England and Scotland, and if\nyou would borrow me from Elfland you must take your stand by Miles Cross\nbetween twelve and one o' the night, and with holy water in your hand\nyou must cast a compass all around you.\"\n\n\"But how shall I know you, Tamlane?\" quoth Burd Janet, \"amid so many\nknights I've ne'er seen before?\"\n\n\"The first court of Elves that come by let pass. The next court you\nshall pay reverence to, but do naught nor say aught. But the third court\nthat comes by is the chief court of them, and at the head rides the\nQueen of all Elfland. And I shall ride by her side upon a milk-white\nsteed with a star in my crown; they give me this honour as being a\nchristened knight. Watch my hands, Janet, the right one will be gloved\nbut the left one will be bare, and by that token you will know me.\"\n\n\"But how to save you, Tamlane?\" quoth Burd Janet.\n\n\"You must spring upon me suddenly, and I will fall to the ground. Then\nseize me quick, and whatever change befall me, for they will exercise\nall their magic on me, cling hold to me till they turn me into red-hot\niron. Then cast me into this pool and I will be turned back into a\nmother-naked man. Cast then your green mantle over me, and I shall be\nyours, and be of the world again.\"\n\nSo Burd Janet promised to do all for Tamlane, and next night at midnight\nshe took her stand by Miles Cross and cast a compass round her with holy\nwater.\n\nSoon there came riding by the Elfin court, first over the mound went a\ntroop on black steeds, and then another troop on brown. But in the third\ncourt, all on milk-white steeds, she saw the Queen of Elfland, and by\nher side a knight with a star in his crown, with right hand gloved and\nthe left bare. Then she knew this was her own Tamlane, and springing\nforward she seized the bridle of the milk-white steed and pulled its\nrider down. And as soon as he had touched the ground she let go the\nbridle and seized him in her arms.\n\n\"He's won, he's won amongst us all,\" shrieked out the eldritch crew, and\nall came around her and tried their spells on young Tamlane.\n\nFirst they turned him in Janet's arms like frozen ice, then into a huge\nflame of roaring fire. Then, again, the fire vanished and an adder was\nskipping through her arms, but still she held on; and then they turned\nhim into a snake that reared up as if to bite her, and yet she held on.\nThen suddenly a dove was struggling in her arms, and almost flew away.\nThen they turned him into a swan, but all was in vain, till at last he\nwas turned into a red-hot glaive, and this she cast into a well of water\nand then he turned back into a mother-naked man. She quickly cast her\ngreen mantle over him, and young Tamlane was Burd Janet's for ever.\n\nThen sang the Queen of Elfland as the court turned away and began to\nresume its march:\n\n     \"She that has borrowed young Tamlane\n       Has gotten a stately groom,\n     She's taken away my bonniest knight,\n       Left nothing in his room.\n\n     \"But had I known, Tamlane, Tamlane,\n       A lady would borrow thee,\n     I'd hae ta'en out thy two grey eyne,\n       Put in two eyne of tree.\n\n     \"Had I but known, Tamlane, Tamlane,\n       Before we came from home,\n     I'd hae ta'en out thy heart o' flesh,\n       Put in a heart of stone.\n\n     \"Had I but had the wit yestreen\n       That I have got to-day,\n     I'd paid the Fiend seven times his teind\n       Ere you'd been won away.\"\n\nAnd then the Elfin court rode away, and Burd Janet and young Tamlane\nwent their way homewards and were soon after married after young Tamlane\nhad again been sained by the holy water and made Christian once more.\n\n\n\n\nThe Stars in the Sky\n\n\nOnce on a time and twice on a time, and all times together as ever I\nheard tell of, there was a tiny lassie who would weep all day to have\nthe stars in the sky to play with; she wouldn't have this, and she\nwouldn't have that, but it was always the stars she would have. So one\nfine day off she went to find them. And she walked and she walked and\nshe walked, till by-and-by she came to a mill-dam.\n\n\"Goode'en to ye,\" says she, \"I'm seeking the stars in the sky to play\nwith. Have you seen any?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, my bonnie lassie,\" said the mill-dam. \"They shine in my own\nface o' nights till I can't sleep for them. Jump in and perhaps you'll\nfind one.\"\n\nSo she jumped in, and swam about and swam about and swam about, but\nne'er a one could she see. So she went on till she came to a brooklet.\n\n\"Goode'en to ye, Brooklet, Brooklet,\" says she; \"I'm seeking the stars\nin the sky to play with. Have you seen any?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, my bonny lassie,\" said the Brooklet. \"They glint on my\nbanks at night. Paddle about, and maybe you'll find one.\"\n\nSo she paddled and she paddled and she paddled, but ne'er a one did she\nfind. So on she went till she came to the Good Folk.\n\n\"Goode'en to ye, Good Folk,\" says she; \"I'm looking for the stars in the\nsky to play with. Have ye seen e'er a one?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, my bonny lassie,\" said the Good Folk. \"They shine on the\ngrass here o' night. Dance with us, and maybe you'll find one.\"\n\nAnd she danced and she danced and she danced, but ne'er a one did she\nsee. So down she sate; I suppose she wept.\n\n\"Oh dearie me, oh dearie me,\" says she, \"I've swam and I've paddled and\nI've danced, and if ye'll not help me I shall never find the stars in\nthe sky to play with.\"\n\nBut the Good Folk whispered together, and one of them came up to her and\ntook her by the hand and said, \"If you won't go home to your mother, go\nforward, go forward; mind you take the right road. Ask Four Feet to\ncarry you to No Feet at all, and tell No Feet at all to carry you to the\nstairs without steps, and if you can climb that--\"\n\n\"Oh, shall I be among the stars in the sky then?\" cried the lassie.\n\n\"If you'll not be, then you'll be elsewhere,\" said the Good Folk, and\nset to dancing again.\n\nSo on she went again with a light heart, and by-and-by she came to a\nsaddled horse, tied to a tree.\n\n\"Goode'en to ye, Beast,\" said she; \"I'm seeking the stars in the sky to\nplay with. Will you give me a lift, for all my bones are an-aching.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the horse, \"I know nought of the stars in the sky, and I'm\nhere to do the bidding of the Good Folk, and not my own will.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said she, \"it's from the Good Folk I come, and they bade me tell\nFour Feet to carry me to No Feet at all.\"\n\n\"That's another story,\" said he; \"jump up and ride with me.\"\n\nSo they rode and they rode and they rode, till they got out of the\nforest and found themselves at the edge of the sea. And on the water in\nfront of them was a wide glistening path running straight out towards a\nbeautiful thing that rose out of the water and went up into the sky, and\nwas all the colours in the world, blue and red and green, and wonderful\nto look at.\n\n\"Now get you down,\" said the horse; \"I've brought ye to the end of the\nland, and that's as much as Four Feet can do. I must away home to my own\nfolk.\"\n\n\"But,\" said the lassie, \"where's No Feet at all, and where's the stair\nwithout steps?\"\n\n\"I know not,\" said the horse, \"it's none of my business neither. So\ngoode'en to ye, my bonny lassie;\" and off he went.\n\nSo the lassie stood still and looked at the water, till a strange kind\nof fish came swimming up to her feet.\n\n\"Goode'en to ye, big Fish,\" says she, \"I'm looking for the stars in the\nsky, and for the stairs that climb up to them. Will ye show me the way?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the Fish, \"I can't unless you bring me word from the Good\nFolk.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" said she. \"They said Four Feet would bring me to No Feet\nat all, and No Feet at all would carry me to the stairs without steps.\"\n\n\"Ah, well,\" said the Fish; \"that's all right then. Get on my back and\nhold fast.\"\n\nAnd off he went--Kerplash!--into the water, along the silver path,\ntowards the bright arch. And the nearer they came the brighter the sheen\nof it, till she had to shade her eyes from the light of it.\n\nAnd as they came to the foot of it, she saw it was a broad bright road,\nsloping up and away into the sky, and at the far, far end of it she\ncould see wee shining things dancing about.\n\n\"Now,\" said the Fish, \"here you are, and yon's the stair; climb up, if\nyou can, but hold on fast. I'll warrant you find the stair easier at\nhome than by such a way; 't was ne'er meant for lassies' feet to\ntravel;\" and off he splashed through the water.\n\nSo she clomb and she clomb and she clomb, but ne'er a step higher did\nshe get: the light was before her and around her, and the water behind\nher, and the more she struggled the more she was forced down into the\ndark and the cold, and the more she clomb the deeper she fell.\n\nBut she clomb and she clomb, till she got dizzy in the light and\nshivered with the cold, and dazed with the fear; but still she clomb,\ntill at last, quite dazed and silly-like, she let clean go, and sank\ndown--down--down.\n\nAnd bang she came on to the hard boards, and found herself sitting,\nweeping and wailing, by the bedside at home all alone.\n\n\n\n\nNews!\n\n\nMR. G. Ha! Steward, how are you, my old boy? How do things go on at\nhome?\n\nSTEWARD. Bad enough, your honour; the magpie's dead!\n\nMR. G. Poor mag! so he's gone. How came he to die?\n\nSTEWARD. Over-ate himself, Sir.\n\nMR. G. Did he indeed? a greedy dog. Why, what did he get that he liked\nso well?\n\nSTEWARD. Horseflesh; he died of eating horseflesh.\n\nMR. G. How came he to get so much horseflesh?\n\nSTEWARD. All your father's horses, Sir.\n\nMR. G. What! are they dead too?\n\nSTEWARD. Ay, Sir; they died of over-work.\n\nMR. G. And why were they over-worked?\n\nSTEWARD. To carry water, Sir.\n\nMR. G. To carry water, and what were they carrying water for?\n\nSTEWARD. Sure, Sir, to put out the fire.\n\nMR. G. Fire! what fire?\n\nSTEWARD. Your father's house is burned down to the ground.\n\nMR. G. My father's house burnt down! and how came it to be on fire?\n\nSTEWARD. I think, Sir, it must have been the torches.\n\nMR G. Torches! what torches?\n\nSTEWARD. At your mother's funeral.\n\nMR. G. My mother dead?\n\nSTEWARD. Ay, poor lady, she never looked up after it.\n\nMR. G. After what?\n\nSTEWARD. The loss of your father.\n\nMR. G. My father gone too?\n\nSTEWARD. Yes, poor gentleman, he took to his bed as soon as he heard of\nit.\n\nMR. G. Heard of what?\n\nSTEWARD. The bad news, an' it please your honour.\n\nMR. G. What? more miseries, more bad news!\n\nSTEWARD. Yes, Sir, your bank has failed, your credit is lost and you're\nnot worth a shilling in the world. I make bold, Sir, to come and wait on\nyou about it; for I thought you would like to hear the news.\n\n\n\n\nPuddock, Mousie, and Ratton\n\n\n     There lived a Puddock in a well,\n     And a merry Mousie in a mill.\n\n     Puddock he would a-wooing rid\n     Sword and pistol by his side.\n\n     Puddock came to the Mousie's inn,\n     \"Mistress Mousie, are you within?\"\n\n       MOUSIE.\n\n     \"Yes, kind Sir, I am within,\n     Softly do I sit and spin.\"\n\n       PUDDOCK.\n\n     \"Madam, I am come to woo,\n     Marriage I must have of you.\"\n\n       MOUSIE.\n\n     \"Marriage I will grant you none\n     Till Uncle Ratton he comes home.\"\n\n       PUDDOCK.\n\n     \"See, Uncle Ratton's now come in\n     Then go and bask the bride within.\"\n\n     Who is it that sits next the wall\n     But Lady Mousie both slim and small?\n\n     Who is it that sits next the bride\n     But Lord Puddock with yellow side?\n\n     But soon came Duckie and with her Sir Drake;\n     Duckie takes Puddock and makes him squeak.\n\n     Then came in the old carl cat\n     With a fiddle on his back:\n     \"Do ye any music lack?\"\n\n     Puddock he swam down the brook,\n     Sir Drake he catched him in his fluke.\n\n     The cat he pulled Lord Ratton down,\n     The kittens they did claw his crown.\n\n     But Lady Mousie, so slim and small,\n     Crept into a hole beneath the wall;\n     \"Squeak,\" quoth she, \"I'm out of it all.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Little Bull-Calf\n\n\nCenturies of years ago, when almost all this part of the country was\nwilderness, there was a little boy, who lived in a poor bit of property\nand his father gave him a little bull-calf, and with it he gave him\neverything he wanted for it.\n\nBut soon after his father died, and his mother got married again to a\nman that turned out to be a very vicious step-father, who couldn't abide\nthe little boy. So at last the step-father said: \"If you bring that\nbull-calf into this house, I'll kill it.\" What a villain he was, wasn't\nhe?\n\nNow this little boy used to go out and feed his bull-calf every day with\nbarley bread, and when he did so this time, an old man came up to\nhim--we can guess who that was, eh?--and said to him: \"You and your\nbull-calf had better go away and seek your fortune.\"\n\nSo he went on and he went on and he went on, as far as I could tell you\ntill to-morrow night, and he went up to a farmhouse and begged a crust\nof bread, and when he got back he broke it in two and gave half of it to\nthe bull-calf. And he went to another house and begged a bit of cheese\ncrud, and when he went back he wanted to give half of it to the\nbull-calf. \"No,\" says the bull-calf, \"I'm going across the field, into\nthe wild-wood wilderness country, where there'll be tigers, leopards,\nwolves, monkeys, and a fiery dragon, and I'll kill them all except the\nfiery dragon, and he'll kill me.\"\n\nThe little boy did cry, and said: \"Oh, no, my little bull-calf; I hope\nhe won't kill you.\"\n\n\"Yes, he will,\" said the little bull-calf, \"so you climb up that tree,\nso that no one can come nigh you but the monkeys, and if they come the\ncheese crud will save you. And when I'm killed, the dragon will go away\nfor a bit, then you must come down the tree and skin me, and take out my\nbladder and blow it out, and it will kill everything you hit with it. So\nwhen the fiery dragon comes back, you hit it with my bladder and cut its\ntongue out.\"\n\n(We know there were fiery dragons in those days, like George and his\ndragon in the legend; but, there! it's not the same world nowadays. The\nworld is turned topsy-turvy since then, like as if you'd turn it over\nwith a spade!)\n\nOf course, he did all the little bull-calf told him. He climbed up the\ntree, and the monkeys climbed up the tree after him. But he held the\ncheese crud in his hand, and said: \"I'll squeeze your heart like the\nflint-stone.\" So the monkey cocked his eye as much as to say: \"If you\ncan squeeze a flint-stone to make the juice come out of it, you can\nsqueeze me.\" But he didn't say anything, for a monkey's cunning, but\ndown he went. And all the while the little bull-calf was fighting all\nthe wild beasts on the ground, and the little lad was clapping his hands\nup the tree, and calling out: \"Go in, my little bull-calf! Well fought,\nlittle bull-calf!\" And he mastered everything except the fiery dragon,\nbut the fiery dragon killed the little bull-calf.\n\nBut the lad waited and waited till he saw the dragon go away, then he\ncame down and skinned the little bull-calf, and took out its bladder and\nwent after the dragon. And as he went on, what should he see but a\nking's daughter, staked down by the hair of her head, for she had been\nput there for the dragon to destroy her.\n\nSo he went up and untied her hair, but she said: \"My time has come for\nthe dragon to destroy me; go away, you can do no good.\" But he said:\n\"No! I can master it, and I won't go\"; and for all her begging and\npraying he would stop.\n\nAnd soon he heard it coming, roaring and raging from afar off, and at\nlast it came near, spitting fire, and with a tongue like a great spear,\nand you could hear it roaring for miles, and it was making for the place\nwhere the king's daughter was staked down. But when it came up to them,\nthe lad just hit it on the head with the bladder and the dragon fell\ndown dead, but before it died, it bit off the little boy's forefinger.\n\n[Illustration: THE LITTLE BULL-CALF]\n\nThen the lad cut out the dragon's tongue and said to the king's\ndaughter: \"I've done all I can, I must leave you.\" And sorry she was he\nhad to go, and before he went she tied a diamond ring in his hair, and\nsaid good-bye to him.\n\nBy-and-by, who should come along but the old king, lamenting and\nweeping, expecting to see nothing of his daughter but the prints of the\nplace where she had been. But he was surprised to find her there alive\nand safe, and he said: \"How came you to be saved?\" So she told him how\nshe had been saved, and he took her home to his castle again.\n\nWell, he put it into all the papers to find out who saved his daughter,\nand who had the dragon's tongue and the princess's diamond ring, and was\nwithout his forefinger. Whoever could show these signs should marry his\ndaughter and have his kingdom after his death. Well, any number of\ngentlemen came from all parts of England, with forefingers cut off, and\nwith diamond rings and all kinds of tongues, wild beasts' tongues and\nforeign tongues. But they couldn't show any dragons' tongues, so they\nwere turned away.\n\nAt last the little boy turned up, looking very ragged and desolated\nlike, and the king's daughter cast her eye on him, till her father grew\nvery angry and ordered them to turn the little beggar boy away.\n\"Father,\" says she; \"I know something of that boy.\"\n\nWell, still the fine gentlemen came, bringing up their dragons' tongues\nthat weren't dragons' tongues, and at last the little boy came up,\ndressed a little better. So the old king says: \"I see you've got an eye\non that boy. If it has to be him it must be him.\" But all the others\nwere fit to kill him, and cried out: \"Pooh, pooh, turn that boy out, it\ncan't be him.\" But the king said: \"Now, my boy, let's see what you have\nto show.\" Well, he showed the diamond ring with her name on it, and the\nfiery dragon's tongue. How the others were thunderstruck when he showed\nhis proofs! But the king told him: \"You shall have my daughter and my\nestate.\"\n\nSo he married the princess, and afterwards got the king's estate. Then\nhis step-father came and wanted to own him, but the young king didn't\nknow such a man.\n\n\n\n\nThe Wee, Wee Mannie\n\n\nOnce upon a time, when all big folks were wee ones and all lies were\ntrue, there was a wee, wee Mannie that had a big, big Coo. And out he\nwent to milk her of a morning, and said--\n\n     \"Hold still, my Coo, my hinny,\n        Hold still, my hinny, my Coo,\n      And ye shall have for your dinner\n        What but a milk white doo.\"\n\nBut the big, big Coo wouldn't hold still. \"Hout!\" said the wee, wee\nMannie--\n\n     \"Hold still, my Coo, my dearie,\n        And fill my bucket wi' milk,\n      And if ye 'll be no contrairy\n        I'll gi'e ye a gown o' silk.\"\n\nBut the big, big Coo wouldn't hold still. \"Look at that, now!\" said the\nwee, wee Mannie--\n\n     \"What's a wee, wee mannie to do,\n      Wi' such a big contrairy Coo?\"\n\nSo off he went to his mother at the house. \"Mother,\" said he, \"Coo\nwon't stand still, and wee, wee Mannie can't milk big, big Coo.\"\n\n\"Hout!\" says his mother, \"take stick and beat Coo.\"\n\nSo off he went to get a stick from the tree, and said--\n\n     \"Break, stick, break,\n      And I'll gi'e ye a cake.\"\n\nBut the stick wouldn't break, so back he went to the house. \"Mother,\"\nsays he, \"Coo won't hold still, stick won't break, wee, wee Mannie can't\nbeat big, big Coo.\"\n\n\"Hout!\" says his mother, \"go to the Butcher and bid him kill Coo.\"\n\nSo off he went to the Butcher, and said--\n\n     \"Butcher, kill the big, big Coo,\n      She'll gi'e us no more milk noo.\"\n\nBut the Butcher wouldn't kill the Coo without a silver penny, so back\nthe Mannie went to the house. \"Mother,\" says he, \"Coo won't hold still,\nstick won't break, Butcher won't kill without a silver penny, and wee,\nwee Mannie can't milk big, big Coo.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said his mother, \"go to the Coo and tell her there's a weary,\nweary lady with long yellow hair weeping for a cup o' milk.\"\n\nSo off he went and told the Coo, but she wouldn't hold still, so back he\nwent and told his mother.\n\n\"Well,\" said she, \"tell the Coo there's a fine, fine laddie from the\nwars sitting by the weary, weary lady with golden hair, and she weeping\nfor a sup o' milk.\"\n\nSo off he went and told the Coo, but she wouldn't hold still, so back he\nwent and told his mother.\n\n\"Well,\" said his mother, \"tell the big, big Coo there's a sharp, sharp\nsword at the belt of the fine, fine laddie from the wars who sits beside\nthe weary, weary lady with the golden hair, and she weeping for a sup o'\nmilk.\"\n\nAnd he told the big, big Coo, but she wouldn't hold still.\n\nThen said his mother, \"Run quick and tell her that her head's going to\nbe cut off by the sharp, sharp sword in the hands of the fine, fine\nladdie, if she doesn't give the sup o' milk the weary, weary lady weeps\nfor.\"\n\nAnd wee, wee Mannie went off and told the big, big Coo.\n\nAnd when Coo saw the glint of the sharp, sharp sword in the hand of the\nfine, fine laddie come from the wars, and the weary, weary lady weeping\nfor a sup o' milk, she reckoned she'd better hold still; so wee, wee\nMannie milked big, big Coo, and the weary, weary lady with the golden\nhair hushed her weeping and got her sup o' milk, and the fine, fine\nladdie new come from the wars put by his sharp, sharp sword, and all\nwent well that didn't go ill.\n\n\n\n\nHabetrot and Scantlie Mab\n\n\nA woman had one fair daughter, who loved play better than work,\nwandering in the meadows and lanes better than the spinning-wheel and\ndistaff. The mother was heartily vexed at this, for in those days no\nlassie had any chance of a good husband unless she was an industrious\nspinster. So she coaxed, threatened, even beat her daughter, but all to\nno purpose; the girl remained what her mother called her, \"an idle\ncuttie.\"\n\nAt last, one spring morning, the gudewife gave her seven heads of lint,\nsaying she would take no excuse; they must be returned in three days\nspun into yarn. The girl saw her mother was in earnest, so she plied her\ndistaff as well as she could; but her hands were all untaught, and by\nthe evening of the second day only a very small part of her task was\ndone. She cried herself to sleep that night, and in the morning,\nthrowing aside her work in despair, she strolled out into the fields,\nall sparkling with dew. At last she reached a knoll, at whose feet ran a\nlittle burn, shaded with woodbine and wild roses; and there she sat\ndown, burying her face in her hands. When she looked up, she was\nsurprised to see by the margin of the stream an old woman, quite\nunknown to her, drawing out the thread as she basked in the sun. There\nwas nothing very remarkable in her appearance, except the length and\nthickness of her lips, only she was seated on a self-bored stone. The\ngirl rose, went to the good dame, and gave her a friendly greeting, but\ncould not help inquiring \"What makes you so long lipped?\"\n\n\"Spinning thread, my hinnie,\" said the old woman, pleased with her. \"I\nwet my fingers with my lips, as I draw the thread from the distaff.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the girl, \"I should be spinning too, but it's all to no\npurpose. I shall ne'er do my task:\" on which the old woman proposed to\ndo it for her. Overjoyed, the maiden ran to fetch her lint, and placed\nit in her new friend's hand, asking where she should call for the yarn\nin the evening; but she received no reply; the old woman passed away\nfrom her among the trees and bushes. The girl, much bewildered, wandered\nabout a little, sat down to rest, and finally fell asleep by the little\nknoll.\n\nWhen she awoke she was surprised to find that it was evening. Causleen,\nthe evening star, was beaming with silvery light, soon to be lost in the\nmoon's splendour. While watching these changes, the maiden was startled\nby the sound of an uncouth voice, which seemed to issue from below the\nself-bored stone, close beside her. She laid her ear to the stone and\nheard the words: \"Hurry up, Scantlie Mab, for I've promised the yarn and\nHabetrot always keeps her promise.\" Then looking down the hole saw her\nfriend, the old dame, walking backwards and forwards in a deep cavern\namong a group of spinsters all seated on colludie stones, and busy with\ndistaff and spindle. An ugly company they were, with lips more or less\ndisfigured, like old Habetrot's. Another of the sisterhood, who sat in a\ndistant corner reeling the yarn, was marked, in addition, by grey eyes,\nwhich seemed starting from her head, and a long hooked nose.\n\nWhile the girl was still watching, she heard Habetrot address this dame\nby the name of Scantlie Mab, and say, \"Bundle up the yarn, it is time\nthe young lassie should give it to her mother.\" Delighted to hear this,\nthe girl got up and returned homewards. Habetrot soon overtook her, and\nplaced the yarn in her hands. \"Oh, what can I do for ye in return?\"\nexclaimed she, in delight. \"Nothing--nothing,\" replied the dame; \"but\ndinna tell your mother who spun the yarn.\"\n\nScarcely believing her eyes, the girl went home, where she found her\nmother had been busy making sausters, and hanging them up in the chimney\nto dry, and then, tired out, had retired to rest. Finding herself very\nhungry after her long day on the knoll, the girl took down pudding after\npudding, fried and ate them, and at last went to bed too. The mother was\nup first the next morning, and when she came into the kitchen and found\nher sausters all gone, and the seven hanks of yarn lying beautifully\nsmooth and bright upon the table, she ran out of the house wildly,\ncrying out--\n\n     \"My daughter's spun seven, seven, seven,\n      My daughter's eaten seven, seven, seven,\n        And all before daylight.\"\n\nA laird who chanced to be riding by, heard the exclamation, but could\nnot understand it; so he rode up and asked the gudewife what was the\nmatter, on which she broke out again--\n\n     \"My daughter's spun seven, seven, seven,\n      My daughter's eaten seven, seven, seven\n\nbefore daylight; and if ye dinna believe me, why come in and see it.\"\nThe laird, he alighted and went into the cottage, where he saw the yarn,\nand admired it so much he begged to see the spinner.\n\nThe mother dragged in her girl. He vowed he was lonely without a wife,\nand had long been in search of one who was a good spinner. So their\ntroth was plighted, and the wedding took place soon afterwards, though\nthe bride was in great fear that she should not prove so clever at her\nspinning-wheel as he expected. But old Dame Habetrot came to her aid.\n\"Bring your bonny bridegroom to my cell,\" said she to the young bride\nsoon after her marriage; \"he shall see what comes o' spinning, and never\nwill he tie you to the spinning-wheel.\"\n\nAccordingly the bride led her husband the next day to the flowery knoll,\nand bade him look through the self-bored stone. Great was his surprise\nto behold Habetrot dancing and jumping over her rock, singing all the\ntime this ditty to her sisterhood, while they kept time with their\nspindles:--\n\n     \"We who live in dreary den,\n        Are both rank and foul to see?\n      Hidden from the glorious sun,\n        That teems the fair earth's canopie:\n      Ever must our evenings lone\n      Be spent on the colludie stone.\n\n     \"Cheerless is the evening grey\n        When Causleen hath died away,\n      But ever bright and ever fair\n        Are they who breathe this evening air,\n      And lean upon the self-bored stone\n      Unseen by all but me alone.\"\n\nThe song ended, Scantlie Mab asked Habetrot what she meant by the last\nline, \"Unseen by all but we alone.\"\n\n\"There is one,\" replied Habetrot, \"whom I bid to come here at this\nhour, and he has heard my song through the self-bored stone.\" So saying\nshe rose, opened another door, which was concealed by the roots of an\nold tree, and invited the pair to come in and see her family.\n\nThe laird was astonished at the weird-looking company, as he well might\nbe, and inquired of one after another the cause of their strange lips.\nIn a different tone of voice, and with a different twist of the mouth,\neach answered that it was occasioned by spinning. At least they tried to\nsay so, but one grunted out \"Nakasind,\" and another \"Owkasa\u00e4nd,\" while a\nthird murmured \"O-a-a-send.\" All, however, made the bridegroom\nunderstand what was the cause of their ugliness; while Habetrot slily\nhinted that if his wife were allowed to spin, her pretty lips would grow\nout of shape too, and her pretty face get an ugsome look. So before he\nleft the cave he vowed that his little wife should never touch a\nspinning-wheel, and he kept his word. She used to wander in the meadows\nby his side, or ride behind him over the hills, but all the flax grown\non his land was sent to old Habetrot to be converted into yarn.\n\n\n\n\nOld Mother Wiggle-Waggle\n\n\n     The fox and his wife they had a great strife,\n     They never ate mustard in all their whole life;\n     They ate their meat without fork or knife\n       And loved to be picking a bone, e-ho!\n\n     The fox went out, one still, clear night,\n     And he prayed the moon to give him light,\n     For he'd a long way to travel that night,\n       Before he got back to his den-o!\n\n     The fox when he came to yonder stile,\n     He lifted his lugs and he listened a while!\n     \"Oh, ho!\" said the fox, \"it's but a short mile\n       From this unto yonder wee town, e-ho!\"\n\n     And first he arrived at a farmer's yard,\n     Where the ducks and the geese declared it was hard,\n     That their nerves should be shaken and their rest should be marred\n       By the visits of Mister Fox-o!\n\n     The fox when he came to the farmer's gate,\n     Who should he see but the farmer's drake;\n     \"I love you well for your master's sake,\n       And long to be picking your bones, e-ho!\"\n\n     The grey goose she ran round the hay-stack,\n     \"Oh, ho!\" said the fox, \"you are very fat;\n     You'll grease my beard and ride on my back\n       From this into yonder wee town, e-ho!\"\n\n     Then he took the grey goose by her sleeve,\n     And said: \"Madam Grey Goose, by your leave\n     I'll take you away without reprieve,\n       And carry you back to my den-o!\"\n\n     And he seized the black duck by the neck,\n     And slung him all across his back,\n     The black duck cried out \"quack, quack, quack,\"\n       With his legs all dangling down-o!\n\n     Old Mother Wiggle-Waggle hopped out of bed,\n     Out of the window she popped her old head;\n     \"Oh! husband, oh! husband, the grey goose is gone,\n       And the fox is off to his den, oh!\"\n\n     Then the old man got up in his red cap,\n     And swore he would catch the fox in a trap;\n     But the fox was too cunning, and gave him the slip,\n       And ran through the town, the town, oh!\n\n     When he got to the top of the hill,\n     He blew his trumpet both loud and shrill,\n     For joy that he was safe and sound\n       Through the town, oh!\n\n     But at last he arrived at his home again,\n     To his dear little foxes, eight, nine, ten,\n     Says he \"You're in luck, here's a fine fat duck\n       With his legs all dangling down-o!\"\n\n     So he sat down together with his hungry wife,\n     And they did very well without fork or knife,\n     They never ate a better duck in all their life,\n       And the little ones picked the bones-o!\n\n\n\n\nCatskin\n\n\nWell, there was once a gentleman who had fine lands and houses, and he\nvery much wanted to have a son to be heir to them. So when his wife\nbrought him a daughter, bonny as bonny could be, he cared nought for\nher, and said, \"Let me never see her face.\"\n\nSo she grew up a bonny girl, though her father never set eyes on her\ntill she was fifteen years old and was ready to be married. But her\nfather said, \"Let her marry the first that comes for her.\" And when this\nwas known, who should be first but a nasty rough old man. So she didn't\nknow what to do, and went to the henwife and asked her advice. The\nhenwife said, \"Say you will not take him unless they give you a coat of\nsilver cloth.\" Well, they gave her a coat of silver cloth, but she\nwouldn't take him for all that, but went again to the henwife, who said,\n\"Say you will not take him unless they give you a coat of beaten gold.\"\nWell, they gave her a coat of beaten gold, but still she would not take\nhim, but went to the henwife, who said, \"Say you will not take him\nunless they give you a coat made of the feathers of all the birds of\nthe air.\" So they sent a man with a great heap of pease; and the man\ncried to all the birds of the air, \"Each bird take a pea, and put down\na feather.\" So each bird took a pea and put down one of its feathers:\nand they took all the feathers and made a coat of them and gave it to\nher; but still she would not, but asked the henwife once again, who\nsaid, \"Say they must first make you a coat of catskin.\" So they made her\na coat of catskin; and she put it on, and tied up her other coats, and\nran away into the woods.\n\nSo she went along and went along and went along, till she came to the\nend of the wood, and saw a fine castle. So there she hid her fine\ndresses, and went up to the castle gates, and asked for work. The lady\nof the castle saw her, and told her, \"I'm sorry I have no better place,\nbut if you like you may be our scullion.\" So down she went into the\nkitchen, and they called her Catskin, because of her dress. But the cook\nwas very cruel to her and led her a sad life.\n\nWell, it happened soon after that the young lord of the castle was\ncoming home, and there was to be a grand ball in honour of the occasion.\nAnd when they were speaking about it among the servants, \"Dear me, Mrs.\nCook,\" said Catskin, \"how much I should like to go.\"\n\n\"What! you dirty impudent slut,\" said the cook, \"you go among all the\nfine lords and ladies with your filthy catskin? a fine figure you'd\ncut!\" and with that she took a basin of water and dashed it into\nCatskin's face. But she only briskly shook her ears, and said nothing.\n\nWhen the day of the ball arrived, Catskin slipped out of the house and\nwent to the edge of the forest where she had hidden her dresses. So she\nbathed herself in a crystal waterfall, and then put on her coat of\nsilver cloth, and hastened away to the ball. As soon as she entered all\nwere overcome by her beauty and grace, while the young lord at once lost\nhis heart to her. He asked her to be his partner for the first dance,\nand he would dance with none other the live-long night.\n\nWhen it came to parting time, the young lord said, \"Pray tell me, fair\nmaid, where you live.\" But Catskin curtsied and said:\n\n     \"Kind sir, if the truth I must tell,\n      At the sign of the 'Basin of Water' I dwell.\"\n\nThen she flew from the castle and donned her catskin robe again, and\nslipped into the scullery again, unbeknown to the cook.\n\nThe young lord went the very next day to his mother, the lady of the\ncastle, and declared he would wed none other but the lady of the silver\ndress, and would never rest till he had found her. So another ball was\nsoon arranged for in hope that the beautiful maid would appear again. So\nCatskin said to the cook, \"Oh, how I should like to go!\" Whereupon the\ncook screamed out in a rage, \"What, you, you dirty impudent slut! you\nwould cut a fine figure among all the fine lords and ladies.\" And with\nthat she up with a ladle and broke it across Catskin's back. But she\nonly shook her ears, and ran off to the forest, where she first of all\nbathed, and then put on her coat of beaten gold, and off she went to the\nball-room.\n\nAs soon as she entered all eyes were upon her; and the young lord soon\nrecognised her as the lady of the \"Basin of Water,\" and claimed her hand\nfor the first dance, and did not leave her till the last. When that\ncame, he again asked her where she lived. But all that she would say\nwas:\n\n     \"Kind sir, if the truth I must tell,\n      At the sign of the 'Broken Ladle' I dwell.\"\n\nand with that she curtsied, and flew from the ball, off with her golden\nrobe, on with her catskin, and into the scullery without the cook's\nknowing.\n\nNext day when the young lord could not find where was the sign of the\n\"Basin of Water,\" or of the \"Broken Ladle,\" he begged his mother to have\nanother grand ball, so that he might meet the beautiful maid once more.\n\nAll happened as before. Catskin told the cook how much she would like to\ngo to the ball, the cook called her \"a dirty slut,\" and broke the\nskimmer across her head. But she only shook her ears, and went off to\nthe forest, where she first bathed in the crystal spring, and then\ndonned her coat of feathers, and so off to the ball-room.\n\nWhen she entered every one was surprised at so beautiful a face and form\ndressed in so rich and rare a dress; but the young lord soon recognised\nhis beautiful sweetheart, and would dance with none but her the whole\nevening. When the ball came to an end, he pressed her to tell him where\nshe lived, but all she would answer was:\n\n     \"Kind sir, if the truth I must tell,\n      At the sign of the 'Broken Skimmer' I dwell;\"\n\nand with that she curtsied, and was off to the forest. But this time the\nyoung lord followed her, and watched her change her fine dress of\nfeathers for her catskin dress, and then he knew her for his own\nscullery-maid.\n\nNext day he went to his mother, the lady of the castle, and told her\nthat he wished to marry the scullery-maid, Catskin. \"Never,\" said the\nlady, and rushed from the room. Well, the young lord was so grieved at\nthat, that he took to his bed and was very ill. The doctor tried to cure\nhim, but he would not take any medicine unless from the hands of\nCatskin. So the doctor went to the lady of the castle, and told her her\nson would die if she did not consent to his marriage with Catskin. So\nshe had to give way, and summoned Catskin to her. But she put on her\ncoat of beaten gold, and went to the lady, who soon was glad to wed her\nson to so beautiful a maid.\n\nWell, so they were married, and after a time a dear little son came to\nthem, and grew up a bonny lad; and one day, when he was four years old,\na beggar woman came to the door, so Lady Catskin gave some money to the\nlittle lord and told him to go and give it to the beggar woman. So he\nwent and gave it, but put it into the hand of the woman's child, who\nleant forward and kissed the little lord. Now the wicked old cook--why\nhadn't she been sent away?--was looking on, so she said, \"Only see how\nbeggars' brats take to one another.\" This insult went to Catskin's\nheart, so she went to her husband, the young lord, and told him all\nabout her father, and begged he would go and find out what had become of\nher parents. So they set out in the lord's grand coach, and travelled\nthrough the forest till they came to Catskin's father's house, and put\nup at an inn near, where Catskin stopped, while her husband went to see\nif her father would own her.\n\nNow her father had never had any other child, and his wife had died; so\nhe was all alone in the world and sate moping and miserable. When the\nyoung lord came in he hardly looked up, till he saw a chair close up to\nhim, and asked him: \"Pray, sir, had you not once a young daughter whom\nyou would never see or own?\"\n\nThe old gentleman said: \"It is true; I am a hardened sinner. But I\nwould give all my worldly goods if I could but see her once before I\ndie.\" Then the young lord told him what had happened to Catskin, and\ntook him to the inn, and brought his father-in-law to his own castle,\nwhere they lived happy ever afterwards.\n\n\n\n\nStupid's Cries\n\n\nThere was once a little boy, and his mother sent him to buy a sheep's\nhead and pluck; afraid he should forget it, the lad kept saying all the\nway along:\n\n     \"Sheep's head and pluck!\n      Sheep's head and pluck!\"\n\nTrudging along, he came to a stile; but in getting over he fell and hurt\nhimself, and beginning to blubber, forgot what he was sent for. So he\nstood a little while to consider: at last he thought he recollected it,\nand began to repeat:\n\n     \"Liver and lights and gall and all!\n      Liver and lights and gall and all!\"\n\nAway he went again, and came to where a man had a pain in his liver,\nbawling out:\n\n     \"Liver and lights and gall and all!\n      Liver and lights and gall and all!\"\n\nWhereon the man laid hold of him and beat him, bidding him say:\n\n     \"Pray God send no more!\n      Pray God send no more!\"\n\nThe youngster strode along, uttering these words, till he reached a\nfield where a hind was sowing wheat:\n\n     \"Pray God send no more!\n      Pray God send no more!\"\n\nThis was all his cry. So the sower began to thrash him, and charged him\nto repeat:\n\n     \"Pray God send plenty more!\n      Pray God send plenty more!\"\n\nOff the child scampered with these words in his mouth till he reached a\nchurchyard and met a funeral, but he went on with his:\n\n     \"Pray God send plenty more!\n      Pray God send plenty more!\"\n\nThe chief mourner seized and punished him, and bade him repeat:\n\n     \"Pray God send the soul to heaven!\n      Pray God send the soul to heaven!\"\n\nAway went the boy, and met a dog and a cat going to be hung, but his cry\nrang out:\n\n     \"Pray God send the soul to heaven!\n      Pray God send the soul to heaven!\"\n\nThe good folk nearly were furious, seized and struck him, charging him\nto say:\n\n     \"A dog and a cat agoing to be hung!\n      A dog and a cat agoing to be hung!\"\n\nThis the poor fellow did, till he overtook a man and a woman going to be\nmarried. \"Oh! oh!\" he shouted:\n\n     \"A dog and a cat agoing to be hung!\n      A dog and a cat agoing to be hung!\"\n\nThe man was enraged, as we may well think, gave him many a thump, and\nordered him to repeat:\n\n     \"I wish you much joy!\n      I wish you much joy!\"\n\nThis he did, jogging along, till he came to two labourers who had fallen\ninto a ditch. The lad kept bawling out:\n\n     \"I wish you much joy!\n      I wish you much joy!\"\n\nThis vexed one of the folk so sorely that he used all his strength,\nscrambled out, beat the crier, and told him to say.\n\n     \"The one is out, I wish the other was!\n      The one is out, I wish the other was!\"\n\nOn went young 'un till he found a fellow with only one eye; but he kept\nup his song:\n\n     \"The one is out, I wish the other was!\n      The one is out, I wish the other was!\"\n\nThis was too much for Master One-eye, who grabbed him and chastised him,\nbidding him call:\n\n     \"The one side gives good light, I wish the other did!\n      The one side gives good light, I wish the other did!\"\n\nSo he did, to be sure, till he came to a house, one side of which was on\nfire. The people here thought it was he who had set the place a-blazing,\nand straightway put him in prison. The end was, the judge put on his\nblack cap, and condemned him to die.\n\n\n\n\nThe Lambton Worm\n\n\nA wild young fellow was the heir of Lambton, the fine estate and hall by\nthe side of the swift-flowing Wear. Not a Mass would he hear in\nBrugeford Chapel of a Sunday, but a-fishing he would go. And if he did\nnot haul in anything, his curses could be heard by the folk as they went\nby to Brugeford.\n\nWell, one Sunday morning he was fishing as usual, and not a salmon had\nrisen to him, his basket was bare of roach or dace. And the worse his\nluck, the worse grew his language, till the passers-by were horrified at\nhis words as they went to listen to the Mass-priest.\n\nAt last young Lambton felt a mighty tug at his line. \"At last,\" quoth\nhe, \"a bite worth having!\" and he pulled and he pulled, till what should\nappear above the water but a head like an elf's, with nine holes on each\nside of its mouth. But still he pulled till he had got the thing to\nland, when it turned out to be a Worm of hideous shape. If he had cursed\nbefore, his curses were enough to raise the hair on your head.\n\n\"What ails thee, my son?\" said a voice by his side, \"and what hast thou\ncaught, that thou shouldst stain the Lord's Day with such foul\nlanguage?\"\n\nLooking round, young Lambton saw a strange old man standing by him.\n\n\"Why, truly,\" he said, \"I think I have caught the devil himself. Look\nyou and see if you know him.\"\n\nBut the stranger shook his head, and said, \"It bodes no good to thee or\nthine to bring such a monster to shore. Yet cast him not back into the\nWear; thou has caught him, and thou must keep him,\" and with that away\nhe turned, and was seen no more.\n\nThe young heir of Lambton took up the gruesome thing, and, taking it off\nhis hook, cast it into a well close by, and ever since that day that\nwell has gone by the name of the Worm Well.\n\nFor some time nothing more was seen or heard of the Worm, till one day\nit had outgrown the size of the well, and came forth full-grown. So it\ncame forth from the well and betook itself to the Wear. And all day long\nit would lie coiled round a rock in the middle of the stream, while at\nnight it came forth from the river and harried the country side. It\nsucked the cows' milk, devoured the lambs, worried the cattle, and\nfrightened all the women and girls of the district, and then it would\nretire for the rest of the night to the hill, still called the Worm\nHill, on the north side of the Wear, about a mile and a half from\nLambton Hall.\n\nThis terrible visitation brought young Lambton, of Lambton Hall, to his\nsenses. He took upon himself the vows of the Cross, and departed for the\nHoly Land, in the hope that the scourge he had brought upon his district\nwould disappear. But the grisly Worm took no heed, except that it\ncrossed the river and came right up to Lambton Hall itself where the old\nlord lived on all alone, his only son having gone to the Holy Land. What\nto do? The Worm was coming closer and closer to the Hall; women were\nshrieking, men were gathering weapons, dogs were barking and horses\nneighing with terror. At last the steward called out to the dairy maids,\n\"Bring all your milk hither,\" and when they did so, and had brought all\nthe milk that the nine kye of the byre had yielded, he poured it all\ninto the long stone trough in front of the Hall.\n\nThe Worm drew nearer and nearer, till at last it came up to the trough.\nBut when it sniffed the milk, it turned aside to the trough and\nswallowed all the milk up, and then slowly turned round and crossed the\nriver Wear, and coiled its bulk three times round the Worm Hill for the\nnight.\n\nHenceforth the Worm would cross the river every day, and woe betide the\nHall if the trough contained the milk of less than nine kye. The Worm\nwould hiss, and would rave, and lash its tail round the trees of the\npark, and in its fury it would uproot the stoutest oaks and the loftiest\nfirs. So it went on for seven years. Many tried to destroy the Worm, but\nall had failed, and many a knight had lost his life in fighting with\nthe monster, which slowly crushed the life out of all that came near it.\n\nAt last the Childe of Lambton came home to his father's Hall, after\nseven long years spent in meditation and repentance on holy soil. Sad\nand desolate he found his folk: the lands untilled, the farms deserted,\nhalf the trees of the park uprooted, for none would stay to tend the\nnine kye that the monster needed for his food each day.\n\nThe Childe sought his father, and begged his forgiveness for the curse\nhe had brought on the Hall.\n\n\"Thy sin is pardoned,\" said his father; \"but go thou to the Wise Woman\nof Brugeford, and find if aught can free us from this monster.\"\n\nTo the Wise Woman went the Childe, and asked her advice.\n\n\"'T is thy fault, O Childe, for which we suffer,\" she said; \"be it thine\nto release us.\"\n\n\"I would give my life,\" said the Childe.\n\n\"Mayhap thou wilt do so,\" said she. \"But hear me, and mark me well.\nThou, and thou alone, canst kill the Worm. But, to this end, go thou to\nthe smithy and have thy armour studded with spear-heads. Then go to the\nWorm's Rock in the Wear, and station thyself there. Then, when the Worm\ncomes to the Rock at dawn of day, try thy prowess on him, and God gi'e\nthee a good deliverance.\"\n\n\"This I will do,\" said Childe Lambton.\n\n\"But one thing more,\" said the Wise Woman, going back to her cell. \"If\nthou slay the Worm, swear that thou wilt put to death the first thing\nthat meets thee as thou crossest again the threshold of Lambton Hall.\nDo this, and all will be well with thee and thine. Fulfil not thou vow,\nand none of the Lambtons, for generations three times three, shall die\nin his bed. Swear, and fail not.\"\n\nThe Childe swore as the Wise Woman bid, and went his way to the smithy.\nThere he had his armour studded with spear-heads all over. Then he\npassed his vigils in Brugeford Chapel, and at dawn of day took his post\non the Worm's Rock in the River Wear.\n\nAs dawn broke, the Worm uncoiled its snaky twine from around the hill,\nand came to its rock in the river. When it perceived the Childe waiting\nfor it, it lashed the waters in its fury and wound its coils round the\nChilde, and then attempted to crush him to death. But the more it\npressed, the deeper dug the spear-heads into its sides. Still it pressed\nand pressed, till all the water around was crimsoned with its blood.\nThen the Worm unwound itself, and left the Childe free to use his sword.\nHe raised it, brought it down, and cut the Worm in two. One half fell\ninto the river, and was carried swiftly away. Once more the head and the\nremainder of the body encircled the Childe, but with less force, and the\nspear-heads did their work. At last the Worm uncoiled itself, snorted\nits last foam of blood and fire, and rolled dying into the river, and\nwas never seen more.\n\n[Illustration: The Lambton Worm]\n\nThe Childe of Lambton swam ashore, and raising his bugle to his lips,\nsounded its note thrice. This was the signal to the Hall, where the\nservants and the old lord had shut themselves in to pray for the\nChilde's success. When the third sound of the bugle was heard, they\nwere to release Boris, the Childe's favourite hound. But such was their\njoy at learning of the Childe's safety and the Worm's defeat, that they\nforgot orders, and when the Childe reached the threshold of the Hall his\nold father rushed out to meet him, and would have clasped him to his\nbreast.\n\n\"The vow! the vow!\" cried out the Childe of Lambton, and blew still\nanother blast upon his horn. This time the servants remembered, and\nreleased Boris, who came bounding to his young master. The Childe raised\nhis shining sword, and severed the head of his faithful hound.\n\nBut the vow was broken, and for nine generations of men none of the\nLambtons died in his bed. The last of the Lambtons died in his carriage\nas he was crossing Brugeford Bridge, one hundred and thirty years ago.\n\n\n\n\nThe Wise Men of Gotham\n\n\n_Of Buying of Sheep_\n\nThere were two men of Gotham, and one of them was going to market to\nNottingham to buy sheep, and the other came from the market, and they\nboth met together upon Nottingham bridge.\n\n\"Where are you going?\" said the one who came from Nottingham.\n\n\"Marry,\" said he that was going to Nottingham, \"I am going to buy\nsheep.\"\n\n\"Buy sheep?\" said the other, \"and which way will you bring them home?\"\n\n\"Marry,\" said the other, \"I will bring them over this bridge.\"\n\n\"By Robin Hood,\" said he that came from Nottingham, \"but thou shalt\nnot.\"\n\n\"By Maid Marion,\" said he that was going thither, \"but I will.\"\n\n\"You will not,\" said the one.\n\n\"I will.\"\n\nThen they beat their staves against the ground one against the other, as\nif there had been a hundred sheep between them.\n\n\"Hold in,\" said one; \"beware lest my sheep leap over the bridge.\"\n\n\"I care not,\" said the other; \"they shall not come this way.\"\n\n\"But they shall,\" said the other.\n\nThen the other said: \"If that thou make much to do, I will put my\nfingers in thy mouth.\"\n\n\"Will you?\" said the other.\n\nNow, as they were at their contention, another man of Gotham came from\nthe market with a sack of meal upon a horse, and seeing and hearing his\nneighbours at strife about sheep, though there were none between them,\nsaid:\n\n\"Ah, fools! will you ever learn wisdom? Help me, and lay my sack upon my\nshoulders.\"\n\nThey did so, and he went to the side of the bridge, unloosened the mouth\nof the sack, and shook all his meal out into the river.\n\n\"Now, neighbours,\" he said, \"how much meal is there in my sack?\"\n\n\"Marry,\" said they, \"there is none at all.\"\n\n\"Now, by my faith,\" said he, \"even as much wit as is in your two heads\nto stir up strife about a thing you have not.\"\n\nWhich was the wisest of these three persons, judge yourself.\n\n\n_Of Hedging a Cuckoo_\n\nOnce upon a time the men of Gotham would have kept the Cuckoo so that\nshe might sing all the year, and in the midst of their town they made a\nhedge round in compass and they got a Cuckoo, and put her into it, and\nsaid, \"Sing there all through the year, or thou shalt have neither meat\nnor water.\" The Cuckoo, as soon as she perceived herself within the\nhedge, flew away. \"A vengeance on her!\" said they. \"We did not make our\nhedge high enough.\"\n\n\n_Of Sending Cheeses_\n\nThere was a man of Gotham who went to the market at Nottingham to sell\ncheese, and as he was going down the hill to Nottingham bridge, one of\nhis cheeses fell out of his wallet and rolled down the hill. \"Ah,\ngaffer,\" said the fellow, \"can you run to market alone? I will send one\nafter another after you.\"\n\nThen he laid down his wallet and took out the cheeses, and rolled them\ndown the hill. Some went into one bush; and some went into another.\n\n\"I charge you all to meet me near the market-place;\" and when the fellow\ncame to the market to meet his cheeses, he stayed there till the market\nwas nearly done. Then he went about to inquire of his friends and\nneighbours, and other men, if they did see his cheeses come to the\nmarket.\n\n\"Who should bring them?\" said one of the market men.\n\n\"Marry, themselves,\" said the fellow; \"they know the way well enough.\"\n\nHe said, \"A vengeance on them all. I did fear, to see them run so fast,\nthat they would run beyond the market. I am now fully persuaded that\nthey must be now almost at York.\" Whereupon he forthwith hired a horse\nto ride to York, to seek his cheeses where they were not, but to this\nday no man can tell him of his cheeses.\n\n\n_Of Drowning Eels_\n\nWhen Good Friday came, the men of Gotham cast their heads together what\nto do with their white herrings, their red herrings, their sprats, and\nother salt fish. One consulted with the other, and agreed that such fish\nshould be cast into their pond (which was in the middle of the town),\nthat they might breed against the next year, and every man that had salt\nfish left cast them into the pool.\n\n\"I have many white herrings,\" said one.\n\n\"I have many sprats,\" said another.\n\n\"I have many red herrings,\" said the other.\n\n\"I have much salt fish. Let all go into the pond or pool, and we shall\nfare like lords next year.\"\n\nAt the beginning of next year following the men drew near the pond to\nhave their fish, and there was nothing but a great eel. \"Ah,\" said they\nall, \"a mischief on this eel, for he has eaten up all our fish.\"\n\n\"What shall we do to him?\" said one to the others.\n\n\"Kill him,\" said one.\n\n\"Chop him into pieces,\" said another. \"Not so,\" said another; \"let us\ndrown him.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" said all. And they went to another pond, and cast the eel\ninto the pond. \"Lie there and shift for yourself, for no help thou shalt\nhave from us;\" and they left the eel to drown.\n\n\n_Of Sending Rent_\n\nOnce on a time the men of Gotham had forgotten to pay their landlord.\nOne said to the other, \"To-morrow is our pay-day, and what shall we find\nto send our money to our landlord?\"\n\nThe one said, \"This day I have caught a hare, and he shall carry it, for\nhe is light of foot.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" said all; \"he shall have a letter and a purse to put our\nmoney in, and we shall direct him the right way.\" So when the letters\nwere written and the money put in a purse, they tied it round the\nhare's neck, saying, \"First you go to Lancaster, then thou must go to\nLoughborough, and Newarke is our landlord, and commend us to him and\nthere is his dues.\"\n\nThe hare, as soon as he was out of their hands, ran on along the country\nway. Some cried, \"Thou must go to Lancaster first.\"\n\n\"Let the hare alone,\" said another; \"he can tell a nearer way than the\nbest of us all. Let him go.\"\n\nAnother said, \"It is a subtle hare, let her alone; she will not keep the\nhighway for fear of dogs.\"\n\n\n_Of Counting_\n\nOn a certain time there were twelve men of Gotham who went fishing, and\nsome went into the water and some on dry ground; and, as they were\ncoming back, one of them said, \"We have ventured much this day wading; I\npray God that none of us that did come from home be drowned.\"\n\n\"Marry,\" said one, \"let us see about that. Twelve of us came out,\" and\nevery man did count eleven, and the twelfth man did never count himself.\n\n\"Alas!\" said one to another, \"one of us is drowned.\" They went back to\nthe brook where they had been fishing, and looked up and down for him\nthat was drowned, and made great lamentation. A courtier came riding\nby, and he did ask what they were seeking, and why they were so\nsorrowful. \"Oh,\" said they, \"this day we came to fish in this brook, and\nthere were twelve of us, and one is drowned.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said the courtier, \"count me how many of you there be,\" and one\ncounted eleven and did not count himself. \"Well,\" said the courtier,\n\"what will you give me if I find the twelfth man?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said they, \"all the money we have.\"\n\n\"Give me the money,\" said the courtier; and he began with the first, and\ngave him a whack over the shoulders that he groaned, and said, \"There is\none,\" and he served all of them that they groaned; but when he came to\nthe last he gave him a good blow, saying, \"Here is the twelfth man.\"\n\n\"God bless you on your heart,\" said all the company; \"you have found our\nneighbour.\"\n\n\n\n\nPrincess of Canterbury\n\n\nThere lived formerly in the County of Cumberland a nobleman who had\nthree sons, two of whom were comely and clever youths, but the other a\nnatural fool, named Jack, who was generally engaged with the sheep: he\nwas dressed in a parti-coloured coat, and a steeple-crowned hat with a\ntassel, as became his condition. Now the King of Canterbury had a\nbeautiful daughter, who was distinguished by her great ingenuity and\nwit, and he issued a decree that whoever should answer three questions\nput to him by the princess should have her in marriage, and be heir to\nthe crown at his decease. Shortly after this decree was published, news\nof it reached the ears of the nobleman's sons, and the two clever ones\ndetermined to have a trial, but they were sadly at a loss to prevent\ntheir idiot brother from going with them. They could not, by any means,\nget rid of him, and were compelled at length to let Jack accompany them.\nThey had not gone far, before Jack shrieked with laughter, saying, \"I've\nfound an egg.\" \"Put it in your pocket,\" said the brothers. A little\nwhile afterwards, he burst out into another fit of laughter on finding a\ncrooked hazel stick, which he also put in his pocket; and a third time\nhe again laughed extravagantly because he found a nut. That also was put\nwith his other treasures.\n\nWhen they arrived at the palace, they were immediately admitted on\nmentioning the nature of their business, and were ushered into a room\nwhere the princess and her suite were sitting. Jack, who never stood on\nceremony, bawled out, \"What a troop of fair ladies we've got here!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the princess, \"we are fair ladies, for we carry fire in our\nbosoms.\"\n\n\"Do you?\" said Jack, \"then roast me an egg,\" pulling out the egg from\nhis pocket.\n\n\"How will you get it out again?\" said the princess.\n\n\"With a crooked stick,\" replied Jack, producing the hazel.\n\n\"Where did that come from?\" said the princess.\n\n\"From a nut,\" answered Jack, pulling out the nut from his pocket. \"I've\nanswered the three questions, and now I'll have the lady.\" \"No, no,\"\nsaid the king, \"not so fast. You have still an ordeal to go through. You\nmust come here in a week's time and watch for one whole night with the\nprincess, my daughter. If you can manage to keep awake the whole night\nlong you shall marry her next day.\"\n\n\"But if I can't?\" said Jack.\n\n\"Then off goes your head,\" said the king. \"But you need not try unless\nyou like.\"\n\nWell, Jack went back home for a week, and thought over whether he should\ntry and win the princess. At last he made up his mind. \"Well,\" said\nJack, \"I'll try my vorton; zo now vor the king's daughter, or a\nheadless shepherd!\"\n\nAnd taking his bottle and bag, he trudged to the court. In his way\nthither, he was obliged to cross a river, and pulling off his shoes and\nstockings, while he was passing over he observed several pretty fish\nbobbing against his feet; so he caught some and put them into his\npocket. When he reached the palace he knocked at the gate loudly with\nhis crook, and having mentioned the object of his visit, he was\nimmediately conducted to the hall where the king's daughter sat ready\nprepared to see her lovers. He was placed in a luxurious chair, and rich\nwines and spices were set before him, and all sorts of delicate meats.\nJack, unused to such fare, ate and drank plentifully, so that he was\nnearly dozing before midnight.\n\n\"Oh, shepherd,\" said the lady, \"I have caught you napping!\"\n\n\"Noa, sweet ally, I was busy a-feeshing.\"\n\n\"A fishing,\" said the princess in the utmost astonishment: \"Nay,\nshepherd, there is no fish-pond in the hall.\"\n\n\"No matter vor that, I have been fishing in my pocket, and have just\ncaught one.\"\n\n\"Oh me!\" said she, \"let me see it.\"\n\nThe shepherd slyly drew the fish out of his pocket and pretending to\nhave caught it, showed it her, and she declared it was the finest she\never saw.\n\nAbout half an hour afterwards, she said, \"Shepherd, do you think you\ncould get me one more?\"\n\nHe replied, \"Mayhap I may, when I have baited my hook;\" and after a\nlittle while he brought out another, which was finer than the first, and\nthe princess was so delighted that she gave him leave to go to sleep,\nand promised to excuse him to her father.\n\nIn the morning the princess told the king, to his great astonishment,\nthat Jack must not be beheaded, for he had been fishing in the hall all\nnight; but when he heard how Jack had caught such beautiful fish out of\nhis pocket, he asked him to catch one in his own.\n\nJack readily undertook the task, and bidding the king lie down, he\npretended to fish in his pocket, having another fish concealed ready in\nhis hand, and giving him a sly prick with a needle, he held up the fish,\nand showed it to the king.\n\nHis majesty did not much relish the operation, but he assented to the\nmarvel of it, and the princess and Jack were united the same day, and\nlived for many years in happiness and prosperity.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\nOYEZ OYEZ OYEZ\nTHE ENGLISH FAIRY TALES\nARE NOW CLOSED\nLITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS\nMUST NOT READ ANY FURTHER]\n\n\n\n\n\nNotes and References\n\n\nFor some general remarks on the English Folk-Tale and previous\ncollectors, I must refer to the introductory observations added to the\nNotes and References of _English Fairy Tales_, in the third edition.\nWith the present instalment the tale of English Fairy Stories that are\nlikely to obtain currency among the young folk is complete. I do not\nknow of more than half-a-dozen \"outsiders\" that deserve to rank with\nthose included in my two volumes which, for the present, at any rate,\nmust serve as the best substitute that can be offered for an English\nGrimm. I do not despair of the future. After what Miss Fison (who, as I\nhave recently learned, was the collector of _Tom Tit Tot_ and _Cap o'\nRushes_), Mrs. Balfour, and Mrs. Gomme have done in the way of\ncollecting among the folk, we may still hope for substantial additions\nto our stock to be garnered by ladies from the less frequented portions\nof English soil. And from the United States we have every reason to\nexpect a rich harvest to be gathered by Mr. W.W. Newell, who is\ncollecting the English folk-tales that still remain current in New\nEngland. If his forthcoming book equals in charm, scholarship, and\nthoroughness his delightful _Games and Songs of American Children_, the\nAnglo-American folk-tale will be enriched indeed. A further examination\nof English nursery rhymes may result in some additions to our stock. I\nreserve these for separate treatment in which I am especially\ninterested, owing to the relations which I surmise between the folk-tale\nand the _cante-fable_.\n\nMeanwhile the eighty-seven tales (representing some hundred and twenty\nvariants) in my two volumes must represent the English folk-tale as far\nas my diligence has been able to preserve it at this end of the\nnineteenth century. There is every indication that they form but a\nscanty survival of the whole _corpus_ of such tales which must have\nexisted in this country. Of the seventy European story-radicles which I\nhave enumerated in the Folk-Lore Society's _Handbook_, pp. 117-35, only\nforty are represented in our collection: I have little doubt that the\nmajority of the remaining thirty or so also existed in these isles, and\nespecially in England. If I had reckoned in the tales current in the\nEnglish pale of Ireland, as well as those in Lowland Scots, there would\nhave been even less missing. The result of my investigations confirms me\nin my impression that the scope of the English folk-tale should include\nall those current among the folk in English, no matter where spoken, in\nIreland, the Lowlands, New England, or Australia. Wherever there is\ncommunity of language, tales can spread, and it is more likely that\ntales should be preserved in those parts where English is spoken with\nmost of dialect. Just as the Anglo-Irish Pale preserves more of the\npronunciation of Shakespeare's time, so it is probable that Anglo-Irish\nstories preserve best those current in Shakespeare's time in English. On\nthe other hand, it is possible that some, nay many, of the Anglo-Irish\nstories have been imported from the Celtic districts, and are positively\nfolk-translations from the Gaelic. Further research is required to\ndetermine which is English and which Celtic among Anglo-Irish\nfolk-tales. Meanwhile my collection must stand for the nucleus of the\nEnglish folk-tale, and we can at any rate judge of its general spirit\nand tendencies from the eighty-seven tales now before the reader.\n\nOf these, thirty-eight are _m\u00e4rchen_ proper, _i.e._, tales with definite\nplot and evolution; ten are sagas or legends locating romantic stories\nin definite localities; no less than nineteen are drolls or comic\nanecdotes; four are cumulative stories: six beast tales; while ten are\nmerely ingenious nonsense tales put together in such a form as to amuse\nchildren. The preponderance of the comic element is marked, and it is\nclear that humour is a characteristic of the English _folk_. The legends\nare not of a very romantic kind, and the _m\u00e4rchen_ are often humorous in\ncharacter. So that a certain air of unromance is given by such a\ncollection as that we are here considering. The English folk-muse wears\nhomespun and plods afoot, albeit with a cheerful smile and a steady\ngaze.\n\nSome of this effect is produced by the manner in which the tales are\ntold. The colloquial manner rarely rises to the dignified, and the\nessence of the folk-tale manner in English is colloquial. The opening\nformul\u00e6 are varied enough, but none of them has much play of fancy.\n\"Once upon a time and a very good time it was, though it wasn't in my\ntime nor in your time nor in any one else's time,\" is effective enough\nfor a fairy epoch, and is common, according to Mayhew (_London Labour_.\niii.), among tramps. We have the rhyming formula:\n\n     Once upon a time when pigs spoke rhyme,\n     And monkeys chewed tobacco,\n     And hens took snuff to make them tough,\n     And ducks went quack, quack, quack Oh!\n\non which I have variants not so refined. Some stories start off without\nany preliminary formula, or with a simple \"Well, there was once a ----\".\nA Scotch formula reported by Mrs. Balfour runs, \"Once on a time when a'\nmuckle folk were wee and a' lees were true,\" while Mr. Lang gives us\n\"There was a king and a queen as mony ane's been, few have we seen and\nas few may we see.\" Endings of stories are even less varied. \"So they\nmarried and lived happy ever afterwards,\" comes from folk-tales, not\nfrom novels. \"All went well that didn't go ill,\" is a somewhat cynical\nformula given by Mrs. Balfour, while the Scotch have \"they lived happy\nand died happy, and never drank out of a dry cappie.\"\n\nIn the course of the tale the chief thing to be noticed is the\noccurrence of rhymes in the prose narrative, tending to give the\nappearance of a _cante-fable_. I have enumerated those occurring in\n_English Fairy Tales_ in the notes to _Childe Rowland_ (No. xxi.). In\nthe present volume, rhyme occurs in Nos. xlvi., xlviii., xlix., lviii.,\nlx., lxiii. (see Note), lxiv., lxxiv., lxxxi., lxxxv., while lv., lxix.,\nlxxiii., lxxvi., lxxxiii., lxxxiv., are either in verse themselves or\nderived from verse versions. Altogether one third of our collection\ngives evidence in favour of the _cante-fable_ theory which I adduced in\nmy notes to _Childe Rowland_. Another point of interest in English\nfolk-narrative is the repetition of verbs of motion, \"So he went along\nand went along and went along.\" Still more curious is a frequent change\nof tense from the English present to the past. \"So he gets up and went\nalong.\" All this helps to give the colloquial and familiar air to the\nEnglish fairy-tale not to mention the dialectal and archaic words and\nphrases which occur in them.\n\nBut their very familiarity and colloquialism make them remarkably\neffective with English-speaking little ones. The rhythmical phrases\nstick in their memories; they can remember the exact phraseology of the\nEnglish tales much better, I find, than that of the Grimms' tales, or\neven of the Celtic stories. They certainly have the quality of coming\nhome to English children. Perhaps this may be partly due to the fact\nthat a larger proportion of the tales are of native manufacture. If the\nresearches contained in my Notes are to be trusted only i.-ix., xi.,\nxvii., xxii., xxv., xxvi., xxvii., xliv., l., liv., lv., lviii., lxi.,\nlxii., lxv., lxvii., lxxviii., lxxxiv., lxxxvii. were imported; nearly\nall the remaining sixty are home produce, and have their roots in the\nhearts of the English people which naturally respond to them.\n\nIn the following Notes, I have continued my practice of giving (1)\n_Source_ where I obtained the various tales. (2) _Parallels_, so far as\npossible, in full for the British Isles, with bibliographical references\nwhen they can be found; for occurrences abroad I generally refer to the\nlist of incidents contained in my paper read before the International\nFolk-Lore Congress of 1891 and republished in the _Transactions_, 1892,\npp. 87-98. (3) _Remarks_ where the tale seems to need them. I have\nmainly been on the search for signs of diffusion rather than of\n\"survivals\" of antiquarian interest, though I trust it will be found I\nhave not neglected these.\n\n\nXLIV. THE PIED PIPER\n\n_Source._--Abraham Elder, _Tales and Legends of the Isle of Wight_\n(London, 1839), pp. 157-164. Mr. Nutt, who has abridged and partly\nrewritten the story from a copy of Elder's book in his possession, has\nintroduced a couple of touches from Browning.\n\n_Parallels._--The well-known story of the Pied Piper of Hameln\n(Hamelin), immortalised by Browning, will at once recur to every\nreader's mind. Before Browning, it had been told in English in books as\nwell known as Verstegan's _Restitution of Decayed Intelligence_, 1605;\nHowell's _Familiar Letters_ (see my edition, p. 357, _n._); and Wanley's\n_Wonders of the Little World_. Browning is said to have taken it from\nthe last source (Furnivall, _Browning Bibliography_, 158), though there\nare touches which seem to me to come from Howell (see my note _ad\nloc._), while it is not impossible he may have come across Elder's book,\nwhich was illustrated by Cruikshank. The Grimms give the legend in their\n_Deutsche Sagen_ (ed. 1816, 330-33), and in its native land it has given\nrise to an elaborate poem _\u00e0 la_ Scheffel by Julius Wolff, which has in\nits turn been the occasion of an opera by Victor Nessler. Mrs. Gutch, in\nan interesting study of the myth in _Folk-Lore_ iii., pp. 227-52, quotes\na poem, _The Sea Piece_, published by Dr. Kirkpatrick in 1750, as\nshowing that a similar legend was told of the Cave Hill, Belfast.\n\n     Here, as Tradition's hoary legend tells,\n     A blinking Piper once with magic Spells\n     And strains beyond a vulgar Bagpipe's sounds\n     Gathered the dancing Country wide around.\n     When hither as he drew the tripping Rear\n     (Dreadful to think and difficult to swear!)\n     The gaping Mountain yawned from side to side,\n     A hideous Cavern, darksome, deep, and wide;\n     In skipt th' exulting Demon, piping loud,\n     With passive joy succeeded by the Crowd.\n\n            *       *       *       *       *\n\n     There firm and instant closed the greedy Womb,\n     Where wide-born Thousands met a common Tomb.\n\n_Remarks._--Mr. Baring-Gould, in his _Curious Myths of the Middle Ages_,\nhas explained the Pied Piper as a wind myth. Mrs. Gutch is inclined to\nthink there may be a substratum of fact at the root of the legend,\nbasing her conclusions on a pamphlet of Dr. Meinardus, _Der historische\nKern_, which I have not seen. She does not, however, give any\nwell-authenticated historical event at Hameln in the thirteenth century\nwhich could have plausibly given rise to the legend, nor can I find any\nin the _Urkundenbuch_ of Hameln (Luneberg, 1883). The chief question of\ninterest attaching to the English form of the legend as given in 1839 by\nElder, is whether it is independent of the German myth. It does not\noccur in any of the local histories of the Isle of Wight which I have\nbeen able to consult of a date previous to Elder's book--_e.g._, J.\nHassel, _Tour of the Isle of Wight_, 1790. Mr. Shore, in his _History of\nHampshire_, 1891, p. 185, refers to the legend, but evidently bases his\nreference on Elder, and so with all the modern references I have seen.\nNow Elder himself quotes Verstegan in his comments on the legend, pp.\n168-9 and note, and it is impossible to avoid conjecturing that he\nadapted Verstegan to the locality. Newtown, when Hassel visited it in\n1790, had only six or seven houses (_l.c._, i., 137-8), though it had\nthe privilege of returning two members to Parliament; it had been a\npopulous town by the name of Franchville before the French invasion of\nthe island of _temp._ Ric. II. It is just possible that there may have\nbeen a local legend to account for the depopulation by an exodus of the\nchildren. But the expression \"pied piper\" which Elder used clearly came\nfrom Verstegan, and until evidence is shown to the contrary the whole\nof the legend was adapted from him. It is not without significance that\nElder was writing in the days of the _Ingoldsby Legends_, and had\npossibly no more foundation for the localisation of his stories than\nBarham.\n\nThere still remains the curious parallel from Belfast to which Mrs.\nGutch has drawn attention. Magic pipers are not unknown to English\nfolk-lore, as in the Percy ballad of _The Frere and the Boy_, or in the\nnursery rhyme of Tom the Piper's son in its more extended form. But\nbeguiling into a mountain is not known elsewhere except at Hameln, which\nwas made widely known in England by Verstegan's and Howell's accounts,\nso that the Belfast variant is also probably to be traced to the\n_Rattenf\u00e4nger_. Here again, as in the case of Beddgellert (_Celtic Fairy\nTales_, No. xxi.), the Blinded Giant and the Pedlar of Swaffham\n(_infra_, Nos. lxi., lxiii.), we have an imported legend adapted to\nlocal conditions.\n\n\nXLV. HEREAFTERTHIS\n\n_Source._--Sent me anonymously soon after the appearance of _English\nFairy Tales_. From a gloss in the MS. \"vitty\" = Devonian for \"decent,\" I\nconclude the tale is current in Devon. I should be obliged if the sender\nwould communicate with me.\n\n_Parallels._--The latter part has a certain similarity with \"Jack\nHannaford\" (No. viii.). Halliwell's story of the miser who kept his\nmoney \"for luck\" (p. 153) is of the same type. Halliwell remarks that\nthe tale throws light on a passage in Ben Jonson:\n\n     Say we are robbed,\n     If any come to borrow a spoon or so\n     I will not have Good Fortune or God's Blessing\n     Let in, while I am busy.\n\nThe earlier part of the tale has resemblance with \"Lazy Jack\" (No.\nxxvii), the European variants of which are given by M. Cosquin, _Contes\nde Lorraine_, i., 241. Jan's satisfaction with his wife's blunders is\nalso European (Cosquin, _l.c._, i., 157). On minding the door and\ndispersing robbers by its aid see \"Mr. Vinegar\" (No. vi.).\n\n_Remarks._--\"Hereafterthis\" is thus a _m\u00e9lange_ of droll incidents, yet\nhas characteristic folkish touches (\"can you milk-y, bake-y,\" \"when I\nlived home\") which give it much vivacity.\n\n\nXLVI. THE GOLDEN BALL\n\n_Source._--Contributed to the first edition of Henderson's _Folk-Lore of\nthe Northern Counties_, pp. 333-5, by Rev. S. Baring-Gould.\n\n_Parallels._--Mr. Nutt gave a version in _Folk-Lore Journal_, vi., 144.\nThe man in instalments occurs in \"The Strange Visitor\" (No. xxxii.). The\nlatter part of the tale has been turned into a game for English\nchildren, \"Mary Brown,\" given in Miss Plunket's _Merry Games_, but not\nincluded in Newell, _Games and Songs of American Children_.\n\n_Remarks._--This story is especially interesting as having given rise to\na game. Capture and imprisonment are frequently the gruesome _motif_ of\nchildren's games, as in \"Prisoner's base.\" Here it has been used with\nromantic effect.\n\n\nXLVII. MY OWN SELF\n\n_Source._--Told to Mrs. Balfour by Mrs. W., a native of North\nSunderland, who had seen the cottage and heard the tale from persons who\nhad known the widow and her boy, and had got the story direct from them.\nThe title was \"Me A'an Sel',\" which I have altered to \"My Own Self.\"\n\n_Parallels._--Notwithstanding Mrs. Balfour's informant, the same tale is\nwidely spread in the North Country. Hugh Miller relates it, in his\n_Scenes from my Childhood_, as \"Ainsel\"; it is given in Mr. Hartland's\n_English Folk and Fairy Tales_; Mr. F.B. Jevons has heard it in the\nneighbourhood of Durham; while a further version appeared in _Monthly\nChronicle of North Country Folk-Lore_. Further parallels abroad are\nenumerated by Mr. Clouston in his _Book of Noodles_, pp. 184-5, and by\nthe late Prof. K\u00f6hler in _Orient und Occident_, ii., 331. The expedient\nby which Ulysses outwits Polyphemus in the Odyssey by calling himself\n[Greek: outis] is clearly of the same order.\n\n_Remarks._--The parallel with the Odyssey suggests the possibility that\nthis is the ultimate source of the legend, as other parts of the epic\nhave been adapted to local requirements in Great Britain, as in the\n\"Blinded Giant\" (No. lxi.), or \"Conall Yellowclaw\" (_Celtic Fairy\nTales_, No. v.). The fact of Continental parallels disposes of the\npossibility of its being a merely local legend. The fairies might appear\nto be in a somewhat novel guise here as something to be afraid of. But\nthis is the usual attitude of the folk towards the \"Good People,\" as\nindeed their euphemistic name really implies.\n\n\nXLVIII. THE BLACK BULL OF NORROWAY\n\n_Source._--Chambers's _Popular Rhymes of Scotland_, much Anglicised in\nlanguage, but otherwise unaltered.\n\n_Parallels._--Chambers, _l.c._, gave a variant with the title \"The Red\nBull o' Norroway.\" Kennedy, _Legendary Fictions_, p. 87, gives a variant\nwith the title \"The Brown Bear of Norway.\" Mr. Stewart gave a Leitrim\nversion, in which \"Norroway\" becomes \"Orange,\" in _Folk-Lore_ for June,\n1893, which Miss Peacock follows up with a Lincolnshire parallel\n(showing the same corruption of name) in the September number. A\nreference to the \"Black Bull o' Norroway\" occurs in Sidney's _Arcadia_,\nas also in the _Complaynt of Scotland_, 1548. The \"sale of bed\" incident\nat the end has been bibliographised by Miss Cox in her volume of\nvariants of _Cinderella_, p. 481. It probably existed in one of the\nversions of _Nix Nought Nothing_ (No. vii.).\n\n_Remarks._--The Black Bull is clearly a Beast who ultimately wins a\nBeauty. But the tale as is told is clearly not sufficiently motivated.\nMiss Peacock's version renders it likely that a fuller account may yet\nbe recovered in England.\n\n\nXLIX. YALLERY BROWN\n\n_Source._--Mrs. Balfour's \"Legends of the Lincolnshire Fens,\" in\n_Folk-Lore_, ii. It was told to Mrs. Balfour by a labourer, who\nprofessed to be the hero of the story, and related it in the first\nperson. I have given him a name, and changed the narration into the\noblique narration, and toned down the dialect.\n\n_Parallels._--\"Tiddy Mun,\" the hero of another of Mrs. Balfour's legends\n(_l.c._, p. 151) was \"none bigger 'n a three years old bairn,\" and had\nno proper name.\n\n_Remarks._--One might almost suspect Mrs. Balfour of being the victim of\na piece of invention on the part of her autobiographical informant. But\nthe scrap of verse, especially in its original dialect, has such a\nfolkish ring that it is probable he was only adapting a local legend to\nhis own circumstances.\n\n\nL. THE THREE FEATHERS\n\n_Source._--Collected by Mrs. Gomme from some hop-pickers near Deptford.\n\n_Parallels._--The beginning is _\u00e0 la_ Cupid and Psyche, on which Mr.\nLang's monograph in the Carabas series is the classic authority. The\nremainder is an Eastern tale, the peregrinations of which have been\nstudied by Mr. Clouston in his _Pop. Tales and Fictions_, ii., 289,\n_seq._ _The Wright's Chaste Wife_ is the English _fabliau_ on the\nsubject. M. B\u00e9dier, in his recent work on _Les Fabliaux_, pp. 411-13,\ndenies the Eastern origin of the _fabliau_, but in his Indiaphobia M.\nB\u00e9dier is _capable de tout_. In the Indian version the various\nmessengers are sent by the king to test the chastity of a peerless wife\nof whom he has heard. The incident occurs in some versions of the\n\"Battle of the Birds\" story (_Celtic Fairy Tales_, No. xxiv.), and\nconsidering the wide spread of this in the British Isles, it was\npossibly from this source that it came to Deptford.\n\n\nLI. SIR GAMMER VANS\n\n_Source._--Halliwell's _Nursery Rhymes and Tales._\n\n_Parallels._--There is a Yorkshire Lying Tale in Henderson's\n_Folk-Lore_, first edition, p. 337, a Suffolk one, \"Happy Borz'l,\" in\n_Suffolk Notes and Queries_, while a similar jingle of inconsequent\nabsurdities, commencing \"So he died, and she unluckily married the\nbarber, and a great bear coming up the street popped his head into the\nwindow, saying, 'Do you sell any soap'?\" is said to have been invented\nby Charles James Fox to test Sheridan's memory, who repeated it after\none hearing. (Others attribute it to Foote.) Similar _Lugenm\u00e4rchen_ are\ngiven by the Grimms, and discussed by them in their Notes, Mrs. Hunt's\ntranslation, ii., pp. 424, 435, 442, 450, 452, _cf._ Crane, _Ital. Pop.\nTales_, p. 263.\n\n_Remarks._--The reference to venison warrants, and bows and arrows seems\nto argue considerable antiquity for this piece of nonsense. The\nhonorific prefix \"Sir\" may in that case refer to clerkly qualities\nrather than to knighthood.\n\n\nLII. TOM HICKATHRIFT\n\n_Source._--From the Chap-book, _c._ 1660, in the Pepysian Library,\nedited for the Villon Society by Mr. G.L. Gomme. Mr. Nutt, who kindly\nabridged it for me, writes, \"Nothing in the shape of incident has been\nomitted, and there has been no rewriting beyond a phrase here and there\nrendered necessary by the process of abridgment. But I have in one case\naltered the sequence of events putting the fight with the giant last.\"\n\n_Parallels._--There are similar adventures of giants in Hunt's Cornish\n_Drolls_. Sir Francis Palgrave (_Quart. Rev._, vol. xxi.), and after\nhim, Mr. Gomme, have drawn attention to certain similarities with the\nGrettir Saga, but they do not extend beyond general resemblances of\ngreat strength. Mr. Gomme, however, adds that the cartwheel \"plays a not\nunimportant part in English folk-lore as a representative of old runic\nfaith\" (Villon Soc. edition, p. xv.).\n\n_Remarks._--Mr. Gomme, in his interesting Introduction, points out\nseveral indications of considerable antiquity for the legend, various\nexpressions in the Pepysian Chap-book (\"in the marsh of the Isle of\nEly,\" \"good ground\"), indicating that it could trace back to the\nsixteenth century. On the other hand, there is evidence of local\ntradition persisting from that time onward till the present day (Weaver,\n_Funerall Monuments_, 1631, pp. 866-7; Spelman, _Icenia_, 1640, p. 138;\nDugdale, _Imbanking_, 1662 (ed. 1772, p. 244); Blomefield, _Norfolk_,\n1808, ix., pp. 79, 80). These refer to a sepulchral monument in Tylney\nchurchyard which had figured on a stone coffin an axle-tree and\ncart-wheel. The name in these versions of the legend is given as\nHickifric, and he is there represented as a village Hampden who\nwithstood the tyranny of the local lord of the manor. Mr. Gomme is\ninclined to believe, I understand him, that there is a certain amount of\nevidence for Tom Hickathrift being a historic personality round whom\nsome of the Scandinavian mythical exploits have gathered. I must refer\nto his admirable Introduction for the ingenious line of reasoning on\nwhich he bases these conclusions. Under any circumstances no English\nchild's library of folk-tales can be considered complete that does not\npresent a version of Mr. Hickathrift's exploits.\n\n\n\nLIII. THE HEDLEY KOW\n\n_Source._--Told to Mrs. Balfour by Mrs. M. of S. Northumberland. Mrs.\nM.'s mother told the tale as having happened to a person she had known\nwhen young: she had herself seen the Hedley Kow twice, once as a donkey\nand once as a wisp of straw. \"Kow\" must not be confounded with the more\nprosaic animal with a \"C.\"\n\n_Parallels._--There is a short reference to the Hedley Kow in Henderson,\n_l.c._, first edition, pp. 234-5. Our story is shortly referred to thus:\n\"He would present himself to some old dame gathering sticks, in the\nform of a truss of straw, which she would be sure to take up and carry\naway. Then it would become so heavy that she would have to lay her\nburden down, on which the straw would become 'quick,' rise upright and\nshuffle away before her, till at last it vanished from her sight with a\nlaugh and shout.\" Some of Robin Goodfellow's pranks are similar to those\nof the Hedley Kow. The old woman's content with the changes is similar\nto that of \"Mr. Vinegar.\" An ascending scale of changes has been studied\nby Prof. Crane, _Italian Popular Tales_, p. 373.\n\n\nLIV. GOBBORN SEER\n\n_Source._--Collected by Mrs. Gomme from an old woman at Deptford. It is\nto be remarked that \"Gobborn Seer\" is Irish (Goban Saor = free\ncarpenter), and is the Irish equivalent of Wayland Smith, and occurs in\nseveral place names in Ireland.\n\n_Parallels._--The essence of the tale occurs in Kennedy, _l.c._, p. 67,\n_seq._ Gobborn Seer's daughter was clearly the clever lass who is found\nin all parts of the Indo-European world. An instance in my _Indian Fairy\nTales_, \"Why the Fish Laughed\" (No. xxiv.). She has been made a special\nstudy by Prof. Child, _English and Scotch Ballads_, i., 485, while an\nelaborate monograph by Prof. Benfey under the title \"Die Kluge Dirne\"\n(reprinted in his _Kleine Schriften_, ii., 156, _seq._), formed the\noccasion for his first presentation of his now well-known hypothesis of\nthe derivation of all folk-tales from India.\n\n_Remarks._--But for the accident of the title being preserved there\nwould have been nothing to show that this tale had been imported into\nEngland from Ireland, whither it had probably been carried all the way\nfrom India.\n\n\nLV. LAWKAMERCYME\n\n_Source._--Halliwell, _Nursery Rhymes_.\n\n_Parallels._--It is possible that this is an Eastern \"sell\": it occurs\nat any rate as the first episode in Fitzgerald's translation of Jami's\n_Sal\u00e1m\u00e1n and Abs\u00e1l_. Jami, _ob._ 1492, introduces the story to\nillustrate the perplexities of the problem of individuality in a\npantheistic system.\n\n     Lest, like the simple Arab in the tale,\n     I grow perplext, O God! 'twixt ME and THEE,\n     If I--this Spirit that inspires me whence?\n     If THOU--then what this sensual impotence?\n\nIn other words, M. Bourget's _Cruelle Enigme_. The Arab yokel coming to\nBagdad is fearful of losing his identity, and ties a pumpkin to his leg\nbefore going to sleep. His companion transfers it to his own leg. The\nyokel awaking is perplexed like the pantheist.\n\n     If I--the pumpkin why on YOU?\n     If YOU--then where am I, and WHO?\n\n\nLVI. TATTERCOATS\n\n_Source._--Told to Mrs. Balfour by a little girl named Sally Brown, when\nshe lived in the Cars in Lincolnshire. Sally had got it from her mother,\nwho worked for Mrs. Balfour. It was originally told in dialect, which\nMrs. Balfour has omitted.\n\n_Parallels._--Miss Cox has included \"Tattercoats\" in her exhaustive\ncollection of parallels of _Cinderella_ (Folk-Lore Society Publications,\n1892), No. 274 from the MS. which I had lent her. Miss Cox rightly\nclasses it as \"Indeterminate,\" and it has only the _Menial Heroine_ and\n_Happy Marriage_ episodes in common with stories of the Cinderella type.\n\n_Remarks._--_Tattercoats_ is of interest chiefly as being without any\n\"fairy\" or supernatural elements, unless the magic pipe can be so\nconsidered; it certainly gives the tale a fairy-like element. It is\npractically a prose variant of _King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid_, and\nis thus an instance of the folk-novel pure and simple, without any\nadmixture of those unnatural incidents which transform the folk-novel\ninto the serious folk-tale as we are accustomed to have it. Which is the\nprior, folk-novel or tale, it would be hard to say.\n\n\nLVII. THE WEE BANNOCK\n\n_Source._--Chambers's _Popular Rhymes of Scotland_. I have attempted an\nimpossibility, I fear, in trying to anglicise, but the fun of the\noriginal tempted me. There still remain several technical trade terms\nrequiring elucidation. I owe the following to the kindness of the Rev.\nMr. Todd Martin, of Belfast. _Lawtrod_ = lap board on which the tailor\nirons; _tow cards_, the comb with which tow is carded; the _clove_, a\nheavy wooden knife for breaking up the flax. _Heckling_ is combing it\nwith a _heckle_ or wooden comb; _binnings_ are halters for cattle made\nof _sprit_ or rushes. _Spurtle_ = spoon; _whins_ = gorse.\n\n_Parallels._--This is clearly a variant of _Johnny-cake_ = journey-cake,\nNo. xxviii., where see Notes.\n\n_Remarks._--But here the interest is with the pursuers rather than with\nthe pursued. The subtle characterisation of the various occupations\nreaches a high level of artistic merit. Mr. Barrie himself could\nscarcely have succeeded better in a very difficult task.\n\n\nLVIII. JOHNNY GLOKE\n\n_Source._--Contributed by Mr. W. Gregor to _Folk-Lore Journal_, vii. I\nhave rechristened \"Johnny Glaik\" for the sake of the rhyme, and\nanglicised the few Scotticisms.\n\n_Parallels._--This is clearly _The Valiant Tailor_ of the Grimms: \"_x_\nat a blow\" has been bibliographised. (See my List of Incidents in Trans.\nFolk-Lore Congress, 1892, _sub voce._)\n\n_Remarks._--How _The Valiant Tailor_ got to Aberdeen one cannot tell,\nthough the resemblance is close enough to suggest a direct \"lifting\"\nfrom some English version of Grimm's _Goblins_. At the same time it must\nbe remembered that _Jack the Giant Killer_ (see Notes on No. xix.)\ncontains some of the incidents of _The Valiant Tailor_.\n\n\nLIX. COAT O CLAY\n\n_Source._--Contributed by Mrs. Balfour originally to _Longman's\nMagazine_, and thence to _Folk-Lore_, Sept., 1890.\n\n_Remarks._--A rustic apologue, which is scarcely more than a prolonged\npun on \"Coat o' Clay.\" Mrs. Balfour's telling redeems it from the usual\ndulness of folk-tales with a moral or a double meaning.\n\n\nLX. THE THREE COWS\n\n_Source._--Contributed to Henderson, _l.c._, pp. 321-2, by the Rev. S.\nBaring-Gould.\n\n_Parallels._--The incident \"Bones together\" occurs in _Rushen Coatie_\n(_infra_, No. lxx.), and has been discussed by the Grimms, i., 399, and\nby Prof. K\u00f6hler, _Or. und Occ._, ii., 680.\n\n\nLXI. THE BLINDED GIANT\n\n_Source._--Henderson's _Folk-Lore of Northern Counties_. See also\n_Folk-Lore_.\n\n_Parallels._--Polyphemus in the Odyssey and the Celtic parallels in\n_Celtic Fairy Tales_, No. v., \"Conall Yellowclaw.\" The same incident\noccurs in one of Sindbad's voyages.\n\n_Remarks._--Here we have another instance of the localisation of a\nwell-known myth. There can be little doubt that the version is\nultimately to be traced back to the Odyssey. The one-eyed giant, the\nbarred door, the escape through the blinded giant's legs in the skin of\na slaughtered animal, are a series of incidents that could not have\narisen independently and casually. Yet till lately the mill stood to\nprove if the narrator lied, and every circumstance of local\nparticularity seemed to vouch for the autochthonous character of the\nmyth. The incident is an instructive one, and I have therefore included\nit in this volume, though it is little more than an anecdote in its\npresent shape.\n\n\nLXII. SCRAPEFOOT\n\n_Source._--Collected by Mr. Batten from Mrs. H., who heard it from her\nmother over forty years ago.\n\n_Parallels._--It is clearly a variant of Southey's _Three Bears_ (No.\nxviii.).\n\n_Remarks._--This remarkable variant raises the question whether Southey\ndid anything more than transform Scrapefoot into his naughty old woman,\nwho in her turn has been transformed by popular tradition into the\nnaughty girl Silver-hair. Mr. Nutt ingeniously suggests that Southey\nheard the story told of an old vixen, and mistook the rustic name of a\nfemale fox for the metaphorical application to women of fox-like temper.\nMrs. H.'s version to my mind has all the marks of priority. It is\nthroughout an animal tale, the touch at the end of the shaking the paws\nand the name Scrapefoot are too _volkst\u00fcmlich_ to have been conscious\nvariations on Southey's tale. In introducing the story in his _Doctor_,\nthe poet laureate did not claim to do more than repeat a popular tale. I\nthink that there can be little doubt that in Mrs. H.'s version we have\nnow recovered this in its original form. If this is so, we may here have\none more incident of the great Northern beast epic of bear and fox, on\nwhich Prof. Krohn has written an instructive monograph, _B\u00e4r (Wolf.) und\nFuchs_ (Helsingfors, 1889).\n\n\nLXIII. THE PEDLAR OF SWAFFHAM\n\n_Source._--_Diary of Abraham de la Pryme_ (Surtees Soc.) under date 10th\nNovember, 1699, but rewritten by Mr. Nutt, who has retained the few\ncharacteristic seventeenth century touches of Pryme's dull and\ncolourless narration. There is a somewhat fuller account in Blomefield's\n_History of Norfolk_, vi., 211-13, from Twysden's _Reminiscences_, ed.\nHearne, p. 299, in this there is a double treasure; the first in an iron\npot with a Latin inscription, which the pedlar, whose name is John\nChapman, does not understand. Inquiring its meaning from a learned\nfriend, he is told--\n\n     Under me doth lie\n     Another much richer than I.\n\nHe accordingly digs deeper and finds another pot of gold.\n\n_Parallels._--Blomefield refers to Fungerus, _Etymologicum\nLatino-Gr\u00e6cum_, pp. 1110-11, where the same story is told of a peasant\nof Dort, in Holland, who was similarly directed to go to Kempen Bridge.\nProf. E.B. Cowell, who gives the passage from Fungerus in a special\npaper on the subject in the _Journal of Philology_, vi., 189-95, points\nout that the same story occurs in the _Masn\u00e1vi_ of the Persian port\nJalaluddin, whose _floruit_ is 1260 A.D. Here a young spendthrift of\nBagdad is warned in a dream to repair to Cairo, with the usual result of\nbeing referred back.\n\n_Remarks._--The artificial character of the incident is sufficient to\nprevent its having occurred in reality or to more than one inventive\nimagination. It must therefore have been brought to Europe from the East\nand adapted to local conditions at Dort and Swaffham. Prof. Cowell\nsuggests that it was possibly adapted at the latter place to account for\nthe effigy of the pedlar and his dog.\n\n\nLXIV. THE OLD WITCH\n\n_Source._--Collected by Mrs. Gomme at Deptford.\n\n_Parallels._--I have a dim memory of hearing a similar tale in Australia\nin 1860. It is clearly parallel with the Grimms' _Frau Holle_, where the\ngood girl is rewarded and the bad punished in a similar way. Perrault's\n_Toads and Diamonds_ is of the same _genus_.\n\n\nLXV. THE THREE WISHES\n\n_Source._--Steinberg's _Folk-Lore of Northamptonshire_, 1851, but\nentirely rewritten by Mr. Nutt, who has introduced from other variants\none touch at the close--viz., the readiness of the wife to allow her\nhusband to remain disfigured.\n\n_Parallels._--Perrault's _Trois Souhaits_ is the same tale, and Mr. Lang\nhas shown in his edition of Perrault (pp. xlii.-li.) how widely spread\nis the theme throughout the climes and the ages. I do not, however,\nunderstand him to grant that they are all derived from one source--that\nrepresented in the Indian _Pantschatantra_. In my _\u00c6sop_, i., 140-1, I\nhave pointed out an earlier version in Ph\u00e6drus where it occurs (as in\nthe prose versions) as the fable of _Mercury and the two Women_, one of\nwhom wishes to see her babe when it has a beard; the other, that\neverything she touches which she would find useful in her profession,\nmay follow her. The babe becomes bearded, and the other woman raising\nher hand to wipe her eyes finds her nose following her\nhand--_d\u00e9nouement_ on which the scene closes. M. B\u00e9dier, as usual,\ndenies the Indian origin, _Les Fabliaux_, pp. 177, _seq._\n\n_Remarks._--I have endeavoured to show, _l.c._, that the Ph\u00e6drine form\nis ultimately to be derived from India, and there can be little doubt\nthat all the other variants, which are only variations on one idea, and\nthat an absurdly incongruous one, were derived from India in the last\nresort. The case is strongest for drolls of this kind.\n\n\nLXVI. THE BURIED MOON\n\n_Source._--Mrs. Balfour's \"Legends of the Lincolnshire Cars\" in\n_Folk-Lore_, ii., somewhat abridged and the dialect removed. The story\nwas derived from a little girl named Bratton, who declared she had heard\nit from her \"grannie.\" Mrs. Balfour thinks the girl's own weird\nimagination had much to do with framing the details.\n\n_Remarks._--The tale is noteworthy as being distinctly mythical in\ncharacter, and yet collected within the last ten years from one of the\nEnglish peasantry. The conception of the moon as a beneficent being, the\nnatural enemy of the bogles and other dwellers of the dark, is natural\nenough, but scarcely occurs, so far as I recollect, in other\nmythological systems. There is, at any rate, nothing analogous in the\nGrimms' treatment of the moon in their _Teutonic Mythology_, tr.\nStallybrass, pp. 701-21.\n\n\nLXVII. A SON OF ADAM\n\n_Source._--From memory, by Mr. E. Sidney Hartland, as heard by him from\nhis nurse in childhood.\n\n_Parallels._--Jacques de Vitry _Exempla_, ed. Prof. Crane, No. xiii.,\nand references given in notes, p. 139. It occurs in Swift and in modern\nItalian folk-lore.\n\n_Remarks._--The _Exempla_ were anecdotes, witty and otherwise, used by\nthe monks in their sermons to season their discourse. Often they must\nhave been derived from the folk of the period, and at first sight it\nmight seem that we had found still extant among the folk the story that\nhad been the original of Jacques de Vitry's _Exemplum_. But the\ntheological basis of the story shows clearly that it was originally a\nmonkish invention and came thence among the folk.\n\n\nLXVIII. THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD\n\n_Source._--Percy, _Reliques_. The ballad form of the story has become\nsuch a nursery classic that I had not the heart to \"prose\" it. As Mr.\nAllingham remarks, it is the best of the ballads of the pedestrian\norder.\n\n_Parallels._--The second of R. Yarrington's _Two Lamentable Tragedies_,\n1601, has the same plot as the ballad. Several chap-books have been made\nout of it, some of them enumerated by Halliwell's _Popular Histories_\n(Percy Soc.) No. 18. From one of these I am in the fortunate position of\ngiving the names of the _dramatis person\u00e6_ of this domestic tragedy.\nAndrogus was the wicked uncle, Pisaurus his brother who married Eugenia,\nand their children in the wood were Cassander and little Kate. The\nruffians were appropriately named Rawbones and Woudkill. According to a\nwriter in _3 Notes and Queries_, ix., 144, the traditional burial-place\nof the children is pointed out in Norfolk. The ballad was known before\nPercy, as it is mentioned in the _Spectator_, Nos. 80 and 179.\n\n_Remarks_.--The only \"fairy\" touch--but what a touch!--the pall of\nleaves collected by the robins.\n\n\nLXIX. THE HOBYAHS\n\n_Source._--_American Folk-Lore Journal_, iii., 173, contributed by Mr.\nS.V. Proudfit as current in a family deriving from Perth.\n\n_Remarks._--But for the assurance of the tale itself that Hobyahs are no\nmore, Mr. Batten's portraits of them would have convinced me that they\nwere the bogles or spirits of the comma bacillus. Mr. Proudfit remarks\nthat the cry \"Look me\" was very impressive.\n\n\nLXX. A POTTLE O' BRAINS\n\n_Source._--Contributed by Mrs. Balfour to _Folk-Lore_, II.\n\n_Parallels._--The fool's wife is clearly related to the Clever Lass of\n\"Gobborn Seer,\" where see Notes.\n\n_Remarks._--The fool is obviously of the same family as he of the \"Coat\no' Clay\" (No. lix.) if he is not actually identical with him. His\nadventures might be regarded as a sequel to the former ones. The Noodle\nfamily is strongly represented in English folk-tales, which would seem\nto confirm Carlyle's celebrated statistical remark.\n\n\nLXXI. THE KING OF ENGLAND\n\n_Source._--Mr. F. Hindes Groome, _In Gypsy Tents_, told him by John\nRoberts, a Welsh gypsy, with a few slight changes and omission of\npassages insisting upon the gypsy origin of the three helpful brothers.\n\n_Parallels._--The king and his three sons are familiar figures in\nEuropean _m\u00e4rchen_. Slavonic parallels are enumerated by Leskien Brugman\nin their _Lithauische M\u00e4rchen_, notes on No. 11, p. 542. The Sleeping\nBeauty is of course found in Perrault.\n\n_Remarks._--The tale is scarcely a good example for Mr. Hindes Groome's\ncontention (in _Transactions Folk-Lore Congress_) for the diffusion of\nall folk-tales by means of gypsies as _colporteurs_. This is merely a\nmatter of evidence, and of evidence there is singularly little, though\nit is indeed curious that one of Campbell's best equipped informants\nshould turn out to be a gypsy. Even this fact, however, is not too well\nsubstantiated.\n\n\nLXXII. KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT\n\n_Source._--\"Prosed\" from the well-known ballad in Percy. I have changed\nthe first query: What am I worth? Answer: Twenty-nine pence--one less, I\nween, than the Lord. This would have sounded somewhat bold in prose.\n\n_Parallels._--Vincent of Beauvais has the story, but the English version\ncomes from the German Joe Miller, Pauli's _Schimpf und Ernst_, No. lv.,\np. 46, ed. Oesterley, where see his notes. The question I have omitted\nexists there, and cannot have \"independently arisen.\" Pauli was a\nfifteenth century worthy or unworthy.\n\n_Remarks._--Riddles were once on a time serious things to meddle with,\nas witness Samson and the Sphynx, and other instances duly noted with\nhis customary erudition by Prof. Child in his comments on the ballad,\n_English and Scotch Ballads_, i, 403-14.\n\n\nLXXIII. RUSHEN COATIE\n\n_Source._--I have concocted this English, or rather Scotch, Cinderella\nfrom the various versions given in Miss Cox's remarkable collection of\n345 variants of _Cinderella_ (Folk-Lore Society, 1892); see _Parallels_\nfor an enumeration of those occurring in the British Isles. I have used\nNos. 1-3, 8-10. I give my composite the title \"Rushen Coatie,\" to\ndifferentiate it from any of the Scotch variants, and for the purposes\nof a folk-lore experiment. If this book becomes generally used among\nEnglish-speaking peoples, it may possibly re-introduce this and other\ntales among the folk. We should be able to trace this re-introduction\nby the variation in titles. I have done the same with \"Nix Nought\nNothing,\" \"Molly Whuppie,\" and \"Johnny Gloke.\"\n\n_Parallels._--Miss Cox's volume gives no less than 113 variants of the\npure type of Cinderella--her type A. \"Cinderella, or the Fortunate\nMarriage of a Despised Scullery-maid by Aid of an _Animal_ God-mother\nthrough the Test of a Slipper\"--such might be the explanatory title of a\nchap-book dealing with the pure type of Cinderella. This is represented\nin Miss Cox's book, so far as the British Isles are concerned, by no\nless than seven variants, as follows: (1) Dr. Blind, in _Arch\u00e6ological\nReview_, iii., 24-7, \"Ashpitell\" (from neighbourhood of Glasgow). (2) A.\nLang, in _Revue Celtique_, t. iii., reprinted in _Folk-Lore_, September,\n1890, \"Rashin Coatie\" (from Morayshire). (3) Mr. Gregor, in _Folk-Lore\nJournal_, ii., 72-4 (from Aberdeenshire), \"The Red Calf\"--all these in\nLowland Scots. (4) Campbell, _Popular Tales_, No. xliii., ii., 286\n_seq._, \"The Sharp Grey Sheep.\" (5) Mr. Sinclair, in _Celtic Mag._,\nxiii., 454-65, \"Snow-white Maiden.\" (6) Mr. Macleod's variant\ncommunicated through Mr. Nutt to Miss Cox's volume, p. 533; and (7)\nCurtin, _Myths of Ireland_, pp. 78-92. \"Fair, Brown, and\nTrembling\"--these four in Gaelic, the last in Erse. To these I would add\n(8, 9) Chambers's two versions in _Pop. Rhymes of Scotland_, pp. 66-8,\n\"Rashie Coat,\" though Miss Cox assimilates them to Type B. Catskin; and\n(10) a variant of Dr. Blind's version, unknown to Miss Cox, but given in\n7 _Notes and Queries_, x., 463 (Dumbartonshire). Mr. Clouston has\nremarks on the raven as omen-bird in his notes to Mrs. Saxby's _Birds of\nOmen in Shetland_ (privately printed, 1893).\n\nENGLISH VARIANTS OF CINDERELLA\n\nGREGOR.         LANG.            CHAMBERS, I. and II.   BLIND.\n\nIll-treated     Calf given by     _Heroine dislikes_    Ill-treated\n  heroine         dying mother.     _husband._            heroine\n  (by parents).                                           (by step-mother).\n\nHelpful         Ill-treated       _Henwife aid._        Menial heroine.\n  animal          heroine (by\n  (red calf).     stepmother\n                  and sisters).\n\nSpy on          Heroine disguise   _Countertasks._      Helpful animal\n  heroine.        (rashin                                 (black sheep).\n                  coatie).\n\nSlaying of      Hearth abode.      _Heroine             Ear cornucopia.\n  helpful                            disguise._\n  animal\n  threatened.\n\nHeroine         Helpful animal.    _Heroine             Spy on heroine.\n  flight.                            flight._\n\nHeroine         Slaying of         Menial heroine.      Slaying of\n  disguise        helpful animal.                         helpful animal.\n  (rashin\n  coatie).\n\nMenial          Revivified bones.  (Fairy) aid.         Old woman advice.\n  heroine.\n\n                Help at grave.                          Revivified bones.\n\n                Dinner cooked                           Task performing\n                 (by helpful                              animal.\n                 animal).\n\nMagic dresses   Magic dresses.     Magic dresses.       Meeting-place\n  (given by                                               (church).\n  calf).\n\nMeeting-place   Meeting-place      Meeting-place        Dresses (not\n  (church).       (church).          (church).            magic).\n\nFlight.         Flight             Flight               Flight twofold.\n                  threefold.         threefold.\n\nLost shoe.      Lost shoe.         Lost shoe.           Lost shoe.\n\nShoe marriage   Shoe marriage      Shoe marriage        Shoe marriage\n  test.           test.              test.                test.\n\nMutilated foot  Mutilated foot.    Mutilated foot.      Mutilated foot\n  (housewife's\n  daughter).\n\nBird witness.   False bride.       False bride.         False bride.\n\nHappy           Bird witness.      Bird witness.        Bird witness\n  marriage.                                               (raven).\n\nHouse for       Happy marriage.    Happy marriage.      Happy marriage.\n  red calf.\n\n_Remarks._--In going over these various versions, the first and perhaps\nmost striking thing that comes out is the substantial agreement of the\nvariants in each _language_. The English--_i.e._, Scotch, variants go\ntogether; the Gaelic ones agree to differ from the English. I can best\ndisplay this important agreement and difference by the accompanying two\ntables, which give, in parallel columns, Miss Cox's abstracts of her\ntabulations, in which each incident is shortly given in technical\nphraseology. It is practically impossible to use the long tabulations\nfor comparative purposes without some such shorthand.\n\nCELTIC VARIANTS OF CINDERELLA\n\nMACLEOD.           CAMPBELL.          SINCLAIR.          CURTIN.\n\nHeroine,           Ill-treated        Ill-treated        Ill-treated\n  daughter           heroine            heroine            heroine\n  of sheep,          (by stepmother).   (by stepmother     (by elder\n  king's wife.                          and sisters).      sisters).\n\n                   Menial heroine.    Menial heroine.    Menial heroine.\n\n                   Helpful animal.    Helpful cantrips.  Henwife aid.\n\nSpy on heroine.    Spy on heroine.    Magic dresses      Magic dresses\n                                        (+ starlings on     (honey-bird\n                                        shoulders).         finger and\n                                                            stud).\n\nEye sleep          Eye sleep.         Meeting-place      Meeting place\n  threefold.                            (church).          (church).\n\nSlaying of         Slaying of         Flight twofold.     Flight threefold.\n  helpful            helpful\n  animal             animal.\n  mother.\n\nRevivified         Revivified         Lost shoe.          Lost shoe.\n  bones.             bones.\n\nMagic dresses.     Step-sister        Shoe marriage       Shoe marriage\n                     substitute.        test.               test.\n\n                   Golden shoe gift   Heroine under       Mutilated foot.\n                      (from hero).      washtub.\n\nMeeting-place      Meeting-place      Happy marriage.     Happy marriage.\n  (feast).            (sermon).\n\nFlight threefold.  Flight             Substituted         Substituted bride\n                     threefold.          bride.            (eldest sister).\n\nLost shoe          Lost shoe.         Jonah heroine.      Jonah heroine.\n (golden).\n\nShoe marriage      Shoe marriage      Three               Three\n  test.              test.              reappearances.      reappearances.\n\nMutilated foot.    Mutilated foot.    Reunion.            Reunion.\n\n                   False bride.                           Villain Nemesis.\n\nBird witness.      Bird witness.\n\nHappy marriage.    Happy marriage.\n\nNow, in the \"English\" versions there is practical unanimity in the\nconcluding portions of the tale. _Magic dresses--Meeting-place\n(Church)--Flight--Lost Shoe--Shoe Marriage-test--Mutilated foot--False\nBride--_Bird witness--Happy Marriage_, follow one another with exemplary\nregularity in all four (six) versions.[2] The introductory incidents\nvary somewhat. Chambers has evidently a maimed version of the\nintroduction of Catskin (see No. lxxxiii.). The remaining three enable\nus, however, to restore with some confidence the _Ur-_Cinderella in\nEnglish somewhat as follows: _Helpful animal given by dying\nmother--Ill-treated heroine--Menial heroine--cornucopia--Spy on\nheroine--Slaying by helpful animal--Tasks--Revivified bones_. I have\nattempted in my version to reconstruct the \"English\" Cinderella\naccording to these formul\u00e6. It will be observed that the helpful animal\nis helpful in two ways (a) in helping the heroine to perform tasks; (b)\nin providing her with magic dresses. It is the same with the Grimms'\n_Aschenputtel_ and other Continental variants.\n\nTurning to the Celtic variants, these divide into two sets. Campbell's\nand Macleod's versions are practically at one with the English formula,\nthe latter with an important variation which will concern us later. But\nthe other two, Curtin's and Sinclair's, one collected in Ireland and the\nother in Scotland, both continue the formula with the conclusion of the\nSea Maiden tale (on which see the Notes of my _Celtic Fairy Tales_, No.\nxvii.). This is a specifically Celtic formula, and would seem therefore\nto claim Cinderella for the Celts. But the welding of the Sea Maiden\nending on to the Cinderella formula is clearly a later and inartistic\njunction, and implies rather imperfect assimilation of the Cinderella\nformula. To determine the question of origin we must turn to the purer\ntype given by the other two Celtic versions.\n\nCampbell's tale can clearly lay no claim to represent the original type\nof Cinderella. The golden shoes are a gift of the hero to the heroine\nwhich destroys the whole point of the _Shoe marriage test_, and cannot\nhave been in the original, wherever it originated. Mr. Macleod's\nversion, however, contains an incident which seems to bring us nearer to\nthe original form than any version contained in Miss Cox's book.\nThroughout the variants it will be observed what an important function\nis played by the helpful animal. This in some of the versions is left as\na legacy by the heroine's dying mother. But in Mr. Macleod's version the\nhelpful animal, a sheep, is the heroine's mother herself! This is indeed\nan archaic touch, which seems to hark back to primitive times and\ntotemistic beliefs. And more important still, it is a touch which\nvitalises the other variants in which the helpful animal is rather\ndragged in by the horns. Mr. Nutt's lucky find at the last moment seems\nto throw more light on the origin of the tale than almost the whole of\nthe remaining collection.\n\nBut does this find necessarily prove an original Celtic origin for\nCinderella? Scarcely. It remains to be proved that this introductory\npart of the story with helpful animal was necessarily part of the\noriginal. Having regard to the feudal character underlying the whole\nconception, it remains possible that the earlier part was ingeniously\ndovetailed on to the latter from some pre-existing and more archaic\ntale, perhaps that represented by the Grimms' _One Eyed, Two Eyes, and\nThree Eyes_. The possibility of the introduction of an archaic formula\nwhich had become a convention of folk-telling cannot be left out of\naccount.\n\nThe \"Youngest-best\" formula which occurs in Cinderella, and on which Mr.\nLang laid much stress in his treatment of the subject in his \"Perrault\"\nas a survival of the old tenure of \"junior right,\" does not throw much\nlight on the subject. Mr. Ralston, in the _Nineteenth Century_, 1879,\nwas equally unenlightening with his sun-myths.\n\n[Footnote 2: Chamber's II. consists entirely and solely of these\nincidents.]\n\n\n\nLXXIV. KING O' CATS\n\n_Source._--I have taken a point here and a point there from the various\nEnglish versions mentioned in the next section.\n\nI have expanded the names, so as to make a jingle from the Dildrum and\nDoldrum of Hartland.\n\n_Parallels._--Five variants of this quaint legend have been collected in\nEngland: (1) Halliwell, _Pop. Rhymes_, 167, \"Molly Dixon\"; (2) _Choice\nNotes--Folk-Lore_, p. 73, \"Colman Grey\"; (3) _Folk-Lore Journal_, ii.,\n22, \"King o' the Cats\"; (4) _Folk-Lore--England_ (Gibbings), \"Johnny\nReed's Cat\"; (5) Hartland and Wilkinson, _Lancashire Legends_, p. 13,\n\"Dildrum Doldrum.\" Sir F. Palgrave gives a Danish parallel; _cf._\nHalliwell, _l.c._\n\n_Remarks._--An interesting example of the spread and development of a\nsimple anecdote throughout England. Here again we can scarcely imagine\nmore than a single origin for the tale which is, in its way, as weird\nand fantastic as E.A. Poe.\n\n\nLXXV. TAMLANE\n\n_Source._--From Scott's _Minstrelsy_, with touches from the other\nvariants given by Prof. Child in his _Eng. and Scotch Ballads_, i.,\n335-58.\n\n_Parallels._--Prof. Child gives no less than nine versions in his\nmasterly edition, _l.c._, besides another fragment \"Burd Ellen and Young\nTamlane,\" i., 258. He parallels the marriage of Peleus and Thetis in\nApollodorus III., xiii., 5, 6, which still persists in modern Greece as\na Cretan ballad.\n\n_Remarks._--Prof. Child remarks that dipping into water or milk is\nnecessary before transformation can take place, and gives examples,\n_l.c._, 338, to which may be added that of Catskin (see Notes _infra_).\nHe gives as the reason why the Elf-queen would have \"ta'en out Tamlane's\ntwo grey eyne,\" so that henceforth he should not be able to see the\nfairies. Was it not rather that he should not henceforth see Burd\nJanet?--a subtle touch of jealousy. On dwelling in fairyland Mr.\nHartland has a monograph in his _Science of Fairy Tales_, pp. 161-254.\n\n\nLXXVI. THE STARS IN THE SKY\n\n_Source._--Mrs. Balfour's old nurse, now in New Zealand. The original is\nin broad Scots, which I have anglicised.\n\n_Parallels._--The tradition is widespread that at the foot of the\nrainbow treasure is to be found; _cf._ Mr. John Payne's \"Sir Edward's\nQuesting\" in his _Songs of Life and Death_.\n\n_Remarks._--The \"sell\" at the end is scarcely after the manner of the\nfolk, and various touches throughout indicate a transmission through\nminds tainted with culture and introspection.\n\n\nLXXVII. NEWS!\n\n_Source._--Bell's _Speaker_.\n\n_Parallels._--Jacques de Vitry, _Exempla_, ed. Crane, No. ccv., a\nservant being asked the news by his master returned from a pilgrimage to\nCompostella, says the dog is lame, and goes on to explain: \"While the\ndog was running near the mule, the mule kicked him and broke his own\nhalter and ran through the house, scattering the fire with his hoofs,\nand burning down your house with your wife.\" It occurs even earlier in\nAlfonsi's _Disciplina Clericalis_, No. xxx., at beginning of the twelfth\ncentury, among the _Fabliaux_, and in Bebel, _Werke_, iii., 71, whence\nprobably it was reintroduced into England. See Prof. Crane's note _ad\nloc._\n\n_Remarks._--Almost all Alfonsi's _exempla_ are from the East. It is\ncharacteristic that the German version finishes up with a loss of\nhonour, the English climax being loss of fortune.\n\n\nLXXVIII. PUDDOCK, MOUSIE, AND RATTON\n\n_Source._--Kirkpatrick Sharpe's _Ballad Book_, 1824, slightly\nanglicised.\n\n_Parallels._--Mr. Bullen, in his _Lyrics from Elizabethan Song Books_,\np. 202, gives a version, \"The Marriage of the Frog and the Mouse,\" from\nT. Ravenscroft's _Melismata_, 1611. The nursery rhyme of the frog who\nwould a-wooing go is clearly a variant of this, and has thus a sure\npedigree of three hundred years; _cf._ \"Frog husband\" in my List of\nIncidents, or notes to \"The Well of the World's End\" (No. xli.).\n\n\nLXXIX. LITTLE BULL-CALF\n\n_Source._--_Gypsy Lore Journal_, iii., one of a number of tales told \"In\na Tent\" to Mr. John Sampson. I have respelt and euphemised the bladder.\n\n_Parallels._--The Perseus and Andromeda incident is frequent in\nfolk-tales; see my List of Incidents _sub voce_ \"Fight with Dragon.\"\n\"Cheese squeezing,\" as a test of prowess, is also common, as in \"Jack\nthe Giant Killer\" and elsewhere (K\u00f6hler, _Jahrbuch_, vii., 252).\n\n\nLXXX. THE WEE WEE MANNIE\n\n_Source._--From Mrs. Balfour's old nurse. I have again anglicised.\n\n_Parallels._--This is one of the class of accumulative stories like _The\nOld Woman and her Pig_ (No. iv.). The class is well represented in these\nisles.\n\n\nLXXXI. HABETROT AND SCANTLIE MAB\n\n_Source._--Henderson's _Folk-Lore of Northern Counties_, pp. 258-62 of\nFolk-Lore Society's edition. I have abridged and to some extent\nrewritten.\n\n_Parallels._--This in its early part is a parallel to the _Tom Tit Tot_,\nwhich see. The latter part is more novel, and is best compared with the\nGrimms' _Spinners_.\n\n_Remark._--Henderson makes out of Habetrot a goddess of the\nspinning-wheel, but with very little authority as it seems to me.\n\n\nLXXXII. OLD MOTHER WIGGLE WAGGLE\n\n_Source._--I have inserted into Halliwell's version one current in Mr.\nBatten's family, except that I have substituted \"Wiggle-Waggle\" for\n\"Slipper-Slopper.\" The two versions supplement one another.\n\n_Remarks._--This is a pure bit of animal satire, which might have come\nfrom a rural Jefferies with somewhat more of wit than the native writer.\n\n\nLXXXIII. CATSKIN\n\n_Source._--From the chap-book reprinted in Halliwell I have introduced\nthe demand for magic dresses from Chambers's _Rashie Coat_, into which\nit had clearly been interpolated from some version of Catskin.\n\n_Parallels._--Miss Cox's admirable volume of variants of _Cinderella_\nalso contains seventy-three variants of _Catskin_, besides thirteen\n\"indeterminate\" ones which approximate to that type. Of these\neighty-six, five exist in the British Isles, two chap-books given in\nHalliwell and in Dixon's _Songs of English Peasantry_, two by Campbell,\nNos. xiv. and xiv_a_, \"The King who Wished to Marry his Daughter,\" and\none by Kennedy's _Fireside Stories_, \"The Princess in the Catskins.\"\nGoldsmith knew the story by the name of \"Catskin,\" as he refers to it in\nthe _Vicar_. There is a fragment from Cornwall in _Folk-Lore_, i., App.\np. 149.\n\n_Remarks._--_Catskin, or the Wandering Gentlewomen_, now exists in\nEnglish only in two chap-book ballads. But Chambers's first variant of\n_Rashie Coat_ begins with the Catskin formula in a euphemised form. The\nfull formula may be said to run in abbreviated form--_Death-bed\npromise--Deceased wife's resemblance marriage test--Unnatural father_\n(desiring to marry his own daughter)--_Helpful animal--Counter\ntasks--Magic dresses--Heroine flight--Heroine disguise--Menial\nheroine--Meeting-place--Token objects named--Threefold flight--Lovesick\nprince--Recognition ring--Happy marriage_. Of these the chap-book\nversions contain scarcely anything of the opening _motifs_. Yet they\nexisted in England, for Miss Isabella Barclay, in a variant which Miss\nCox has overlooked (_Folk-Lore_, i., _l.c._), remembers having heard the\nUnnatural Father incident from a Cornish servant-girl. Campbell's two\nversions also contain the incident, from which one of them receives its\nname. One wonders in what form Mr. Burchell knew Catskin, for \"he gave\nthe [Primrose] children the Buck of Beverland,[3] with the history of\nPatient Grissel, the adventures of Catskin and the Fair Rosamond's\nBower\" (_Vicar of Wakefield_, 1766, c. vi.). Pity that \"Goldy\" did not\ntell the story himself, as he had probably heard it in Ireland, where\nKennedy gives a poor version in his _Fireside Stories_.\n\nYet, imperfect as the chap-book versions are, they yet retain not a few\narchaic touches. It is clear from them, at any rate, that the Heroine\nwas at one time transformed into a Cat. For when the basin of water is\nthrown in her face she \"shakes her ears\" just as a cat would. Again,\nbefore putting on her magic dresses she bathes in a pellucid pool. Now,\nProfessor Child has pointed out in his notes on Tamlane and elsewhere\n(_English and Scotch Ballads_, i., 338; ii., 505; iii., 505) that\ndipping into water or milk is necessary before transformation can take\nplace. It is clear, therefore, that Catskin was originally transformed\ninto an animal by the spirit of her mother, also transformed into an\nanimal.\n\nIf I understand Mr. Nutt rightly (_Folk-Lore_, iv, 135, _seq._), he is\ninclined to think, from the evidence of the hero-tales which have the\nunsavoury _motif_ of the Unnatural Father, that the original home of the\nstory was England, where most of the hero-tales locate the incident. I\nwould merely remark on this that there are only very slight traces of\nthe story in these islands nowadays, while it abounds in Italy, which\npossesses one almost perfect version of the formula (Miss Cox, No. 142,\nfrom Sardinia).\n\nMr. Newell, on the other hand (_American Folk-Lore Journal_, ii., 160),\nconsiders Catskin the earliest of the three types contained in Miss\nCox's book, and considers that Cinderella was derived from this as a\nsoftening of the original. His chief reason appears to be the earlier\nappearance of Catskin in Straparola,[4] 1550, a hundred years earlier\nthan Cinderella in Basile, 1636. This appears to be a somewhat\ninsufficient basis for such a conclusion. Nor is there, after all, so\nclose a relation between the two types in their full development as to\nnecessitate the derivation of one from the other.\n\n[Footnote 3: Who knows the Buck of Beverland nowadays?]\n\n[Footnote 4: It is practically in Des Perier's _R\u00e9cr\u00e9ations_, 1544.]\n\n\n\nLXXXIV. STUPID'S CRIES\n\n_Source._--_Folk-Lore Record_, iii., 152-5, by the veteran Prof.\nStephens. I have changed \"dog and bitch\" of original to \"dog and cat,\"\nand euphemised the liver and lights.\n\n_Parallels._--Prof. Stephens gives parallels from Denmark. Germany (the\nGrimms' _Up Riesensohn_) and Ireland (Kennedy, _Fireside Stories_, p.\n30).\n\n\nLXXXV. THE LAMBTON WORM\n\n_Source._--Henderson's _Folk-Lore of Northern Counties_, pp. 287-9, I\nhave rewritten, as the original was rather high falutin'.\n\n_Parallels._--Worms or dragons form the subject of the whole of the\neighth chapter of Henderson. \"The Laidly Worm of Spindleston Heugh\" (No.\nxxxiii.) also requires the milk of nine kye for its daily rations, and\ncow's milk is the ordinary provender of such kittle cattle (Grimms'\n_Teut. Myth._ 687), the mythological explanation being that cows = the\nclouds and the dragon = the storm. Jephtha vows are also frequent in\nfolk-tales: Miss Cox gives many examples in her _Cinderella_, p. 511.\n\n_Remarks._--Nine generations back from the last of the Lambtons, Henry\nLambton, M.P., ob. 1761, reaches Sir John Lambton, Knight of Rhodes, and\nseveral instances of violent death occur in the interim. Dragons are\npossibly survivals into historic times of antedeluvian monsters, or\nreminiscences of classical legend (Perseus, etc.). Who shall say which\nis which, as Mr. Lang would observe.\n\n\nLXXXVI. WISE MEN OF GOTHAM\n\n_Source._--The chap-book contained in Mr. Hazlitt's _Shaksperian Jest\nBook_, vol. iii. I have selected the incidents and modernised the\nspelling; otherwise the droll remains as it was told in Elizabethan\ntimes.\n\n_Parallels._--Mr. Clouston's _Book of Noodles_ is little else than a\nseries of parallels to our droll. See my List of Incidents under the\ntitles, \"One cheese after another,\" \"Hare postman,\" \"Not counting self,\"\n\"Drowning eels.\" In most cases Mr. Clouston quotes Eastern analogies.\n\n_Remarks._--All countries have their special crop of fools, Boeotians\namong the Greeks, the people of Hums among the Persians (how\nappropriate!), the Schildburgers in Germany, and so on. Gotham is the\nEnglish representative, and as witticisms call to mind well-known wits,\nso Gotham has had heaped on its head all the stupidities of the\nIndo-European world. For there can be little doubt that these drolls\nhave spread from East to West. This \"Not counting self\" is in the\n_Gooroo Paramastan_, the cheeses \"one after another\" in M. Rivi\u00e8re's\ncollection of Kabyle tales, and so on. It is indeed curious how little\noriginality there is among mankind in the matter of stupidity. Even such\nan inventive genius as the late Mr. Sothern had considerable difficulty\nin inventing a new \"sell.\"\n\n\nLXXXVII. PRINCESS OF CANTERBURY\n\n_Source._--I have inserted into the old chap-book version of the _Four\nKings of Colchester, Canterbury_, &c., an incident entitled by Halliwell\n\"The Three Questions.\"\n\n_Parallels._--The \"riddle bride wager\" is a frequent incident of\nfolk-tales (see my List of Incidents); the sleeping tabu of the latter\npart is not so common, though it occurs, _e.g._, in the Grimms' _Twelve\nPrincesses_, who wear out their shoes with dancing.","title":"More English Fairy Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":60449}