{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_28096/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_28096","id":"gutenberg_28096","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28096","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Fairy tales","Folklore"],"text":"Produced by David Edwards, David T. Jones and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Canada Team at\nhttp://www.pgdpcanada.net This file was produced from\nimages generously made available by The Internet\nArchive/American Libraries.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LILAC FAIRY BOOK\n\n\n\n\n  THE FAIRY BOOK SERIES\n\n  EDITED BY ANDREW LANG\n\n  _Crown 8vo. gilt edges_\n\n\n  THE BLUE FAIRY BOOK. With 138 Illustrations. $2.00.\n  THE RED FAIRY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations. $2.00.\n  THE GREEN FAIRY BOOK. With 101 Illustrations. $2.00.\n  THE GREY FAIRY BOOK. With 65 Illustrations. $2.00.\n  THE YELLOW FAIRY BOOK. With 104 Illustrations. $2.00.\n  THE PINK FAIRY BOOK. With 67 Illustrations. $2.00.\n  THE BLUE POETRY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations. $2.00.\n  THE TRUE STORY BOOK. With 66 Illustrations. $2.00.\n  THE RED TRUE STORY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations. $2.00.\n  THE ANIMAL STORY BOOK. With 67 Illustrations. $2.00.\n  THE RED BOOK OF ANIMAL STORIES. With 65 Illustrations. $2.00.\n  THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS. With 66 Illustrations. $2.00.\n  THE VIOLET FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and\n      54 other Illustrations. Net $1.60. By mail $1.75.\n  THE CRIMSON FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and\n      43 other Illustrations. Net $1.60. By mail $1.75.\n  THE BROWN FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and\n      42 other Illustrations. Net $1.60. By mail $1.75.\n  THE OLIVE FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and\n      43 other Illustrations. Net $1.60. By mail $1.75.\n  THE ORANGE FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and\n      50 other Illustrations. Net $1.60. By mail $1.75.\n  THE BOOK OF ROMANCE. With 8 Coloured Plates and\n      44 other Illustrations. Net $1.60. By mail $1.75.\n  THE RED ROMANCE BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and\n      44 other Illustrations. Net $1.60. By mail $1.75.\n  THE BOOK OF PRINCES AND PRINCESSES. By Mrs. Lang.\n      With 8 Coloured Plates and 43 other Illustrations.\n      Net $1.60. By mail $1.75.\n  THE RED BOOK OF HEROES. By Mrs. Lang. With 8\n      Coloured Plates and 40 other Illustrations.\n      Net $1.60. By mail $1.75.\n  THE LILAC FAIRY BOOK. With 6 Coloured Plates and\n      46 other Illustrations. Net $1.60. By mail $1.75.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  TALES OF TROY AND GREECE. By Andrew Lang.\n      With 17 Illustrations by H. J. Ford, and a Map. Crown\n      8vo. Net $1.50. By mail $1.62.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO., NEW YORK\n\n\n[Illustration: \"How the King found the girl playing at ball in the\norchard.\"]\n\n\n\n\n  THE\n\n  LILAC FAIRY BOOK\n\n  EDITED BY\n\n  ANDREW LANG\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n  _WITH 6 COLOURED PLATES AND\n  NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. J. FORD_\n\n  LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.\n  FOURTH AVENUE & 30TH STREET, NEW YORK\n  LONDON, BOMBAY AND CALCUTTA\n  1910\n\n\n\n\n  _Copyright, 1910_\n\n  BY\n\n  LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.\n\n  _All rights reserved_\n\n\n  THE - PLIMPTON - PRESS\n  [W - D - O]\n  NORWOOD - MASS - U - S - A\n\n\n\n\n_PREFACE_\n\n\n'WHAT cases are you engaged in at present?' 'Are you stopping many teeth\njust now?' 'What people have you converted lately?' Do ladies put these\nquestions to the men--lawyers, dentists, clergymen, and so forth--who\nhappen to sit next them at dinner parties?\n\nI do not know whether ladies thus indicate their interest in the\noccupations of their casual neighbours at the hospitable board. But if\nthey do not know me, or do not know me well, they generally ask 'Are you\nwriting anything now?' (as if they should ask a painter 'Are you\npainting anything now?' or a lawyer 'Have you any cases at present?').\nSometimes they are more definite and inquire 'What are you writing now?'\nas if I must be writing something--which, indeed, is the case, though I\ndislike being reminded of it. It is an awkward question, because the\nfair being does not care a bawbee what I am writing; nor would she be\nmuch enlightened if I replied 'Madam, I am engaged on a treatise\nintended to prove that Normal is prior to Conceptional Totemism'--though\nthat answer would be as true in fact as obscure in significance. The\nbest plan seems to be to answer that I have entirely abandoned mere\nliterature, and am contemplating a book on 'The Causes of Early Blight\nin the Potato,' a melancholy circumstance which threatens to deprive us\nof our chief esculent root. The inquirer would never be undeceived. One\nnymph who, like the rest, could not keep off the horrid topic of my\noccupation, said 'You never write anything but fairy books, do you?' A\nFrench gentleman, too, an educationist and expert in portraits of Queen\nMary, once sent me a newspaper article in which he had written that I\nwas exclusively devoted to the composition of fairy books, and nothing\nelse. He then came to England, visited me, and found that I knew rather\nmore about portraits of Queen Mary than he did.\n\nIn truth I never did write any fairy books in my life, except 'Prince\nPrigio,' 'Prince Ricardo,' and 'Tales from a Fairy Court'--that of the\naforesaid Prigio. I take this opportunity of recommending these fairy\nbooks--poor things, but my own--to parents and guardians who may never\nhave heard of them. They are rich in romantic adventure, and the Princes\nalways marry the right Princesses and live happy ever afterwards; while\nthe wicked witches, stepmothers, tutors and governesses are _never_\ncruelly punished, but retire to the country on ample pensions. I hate\ncruelty: I never put a wicked stepmother in a barrel and send her\ntobogganing down a hill. It is true that Prince Ricardo _did_ kill the\nYellow Dwarf; but that was in fair fight, sword in hand, and the dwarf,\npeace to his ashes! _died in harness._\n\nThe object of these confessions is not only that of advertising my own\nfairy books (which are not 'out of print'; if your bookseller says so,\nthe truth is not in him), but of giving credit where credit is due. The\nfairy books have been almost wholly the work of Mrs. Lang, who has\ntranslated and adapted them from the French, German, Portuguese,\nItalian, Spanish, Catalan, and other languages.\n\nMy part has been that of Adam, according to Mark Twain, in the Garden of\nEden. Eve worked, Adam superintended. I also superintend. I find out\nwhere the stories are, and advise, and, in short, superintend. _I do not\nwrite the stories out of my own head._ The reputation of having written\nall the fairy books (an European reputation in nurseries and the United\nStates of America) is 'the burden of an honour unto which I was not\nborn.' It weighs upon and is killing me, as the general fash of being\nthe wife of the Lord of Burleigh, Burleigh House by Stamford Town, was\ntoo much for the village maiden espoused by that peer.\n\nNobody really _wrote_ most of the stories. People told them in all parts\nof the world long before Egyptian hieroglyphics or Cretan signs or\nCyprian syllabaries, or alphabets were invented. They are older than\nreading and writing, and arose like wild flowers before men had any\neducation to quarrel over. The grannies told them to the grandchildren,\nand when the grandchildren became grannies they repeated the same old\ntales to the new generation. Homer knew the stories and made up the\n'Odyssey' out of half a dozen of them. All the history of Greece till\nabout 800 B.C. is a string of the fairy tales, all about Theseus and\nHeracles and Oedipus and Minos and Perseus is a _Cabinet des Fees_, a\ncollection of fairy tales. Shakespeare took them and put bits of them\ninto 'King Lear' and other plays; he could not have made them up\nhimself, great as he was. Let ladies and gentlemen think of this when\nthey sit down to write fairy tales, and have them nicely typed, and send\nthem to Messrs. Longman & Co. to be published. They think that to write\na new fairy tale is easy work. They are mistaken: the thing is\nimpossible. Nobody can write a _new_ fairy tale; you can only mix up and\ndress up the old, old stories, and put the characters into new dresses,\nas Miss Thackeray did so well in 'Five Old Friends.' If any big girl of\nfourteen reads this preface, let her insist on being presented with\n'Five Old Friends.'\n\nBut the three hundred and sixty-five authors who try to write new fairy\ntales are very tiresome. They always begin with a little boy or girl who\ngoes out and meets the fairies of polyanthuses and gardenias and apple\nblossoms: 'Flowers and fruits, and other winged things.' These fairies\ntry to be funny, and fail; or they try to preach, and succeed. Real\nfairies never preach or talk slang. At the end, the little boy or girl\nwakes up and finds that he has been dreaming.\n\nSuch are the new fairy stories. May we be preserved from all the sort of\nthem!\n\nOur stories are almost all old, some from Ireland, before that island\nwas as celebrated for her wrongs as for her verdure; some from Asia,\nmade, I dare say, before the Aryan invasion; some from Moydart,\nKnoydart, Morar and Ardnamurchan, where the sea streams run like great\nclear rivers and the saw-edged hills are blue, and men remember Prince\nCharlie. Some are from Portugal, where the golden fruits grow in the\nGarden of the Hesperides; and some are from wild Wales, and were told at\nArthur's Court; and others come from the firesides of the kinsmen of the\nWelsh, the Bretons. There are also modern tales by a learned\nScandinavian named Topelius.\n\nAll the stories were translated or adapted by Mrs. Lang, except 'The\nJogi's Punishment' and 'Moti,' done by Major Campbell out of the Pushtoo\nlanguage; 'How Brave Walter hunted Wolves,' which, with 'Little Lasse'\nand 'The Raspberry Worm,' was done from Topelius by Miss Harding; and\n'The Sea King's Gift,' by Miss Christie, from the same author.\n\nIt has been suggested to the Editor that children and parents and\nguardians would like 'The Grey True Ghost-Story Book.' He _knows_ that\nthe children would like it well, and he would gladly give it to them;\nbut about the taste of fond anxious mothers and kind aunts he is not\nquite so certain. Before he was twelve the Editor knew true ghost\nstories enough to fill a volume. They were a pure joy till bedtime, but\nthen, and later, were not wholly a source of unmixed pleasure. At that\ntime the Editor was not afraid of the dark, for he thought, 'If a ghost\nis here, we can't see him.' But when older and better informed persons\nsaid that ghosts brought their own light with them (which is too true),\nthen one's emotions were such as parents do not desire the young to\nendure. For this reason 'The Grey True Ghost-Story Book' is never likely\nto be illustrated by Mr. Ford.\n\n\n\n\n_CONTENTS_\n\n                                             PAGE\n\n_The Shifty Lad_                                1\n\n_The False Prince and the True_                22\n\n_The Jogi's Punishment_                        31\n\n_The Heart of a Monkey_                        42\n\n_The Fairy Nurse_                              54\n\n_A Lost Paradise_                              62\n\n_How Brave Walter Hunted Wolves_               67\n\n_The King of the Waterfalls_                   75\n\n_A French Puck_                                91\n\n_The Three Crowns_                             95\n\n_The Story of a Very Bad Boy_                 110\n\n_The Brown Bear of Norway_                    118\n\n_Little Lasse_                                132\n\n_'Moti'_                                      141\n\n_The Enchanted Deer_                          151\n\n_A Fish Story_                                162\n\n_The Wonderful Tune_                          165\n\n_The Rich Brother and the Poor Brother_       173\n\n_The One-Handed Girl_                         185\n\n_The Bones of Djulung_                        209\n\n_The Sea King's Gift_                         216\n\n_The Raspberry Worm_                          229\n\n_The Stones of Plouhinec_                     237\n\n_The Castle of Kerglas_                       245\n\n_The Battle of the Birds_                     262\n\n_The Lady of the Fountain_                    279\n\n_The Four Gifts_                              299\n\n_The Groac'h of the Isle of Lok_              310\n\n_The Escape of the Mouse_                     322\n\n_The Believing Husbands_                      332\n\n_The Hoodie-Crow_                             336\n\n_The Brownie of the Lake_                     341\n\n_The Winning of Olwen_                        349\n\n\n\n\n_LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS_\n\n\n_COLOURED PLATES_\n\n_How the King found the girl playing at\n  ball in the orchard_                             _Frontispiece_\n\n_When she stood upright her ugliness had\n  all gone_                                       _To face p._ 76\n\n_The Sea-lady allures Maurice the Piper into\n  the sea_                                             \"      170\n\n_Peronnik in the Vale of Pleasure_                     \"      256\n\n_How Owen was found by the lake_                       \"      292\n\n_Indeed I will wed thee; a pretty creature is\n  the Hoodie_                                          \"      336\n\n\n_FULL-PAGE PLATES_\n\n_The shoe in the road_                            _To face p._  6\n\n_How the black rogue was tricked_                      \"       10\n\n_The child finds out the truth_                        \"       14\n\n_How the shifty lad was hung on Dublin\n  Bridge_                                              \"       18\n\n_Unhappily the hermit was not really as holy\n  as he seemed_                                        \"       32\n\n_The Princess released from the box_                   \"       36\n\n_How John got his wife back from the\n  fairies_                                             \"       58\n\n_The giant's shadow_                                   \"       86\n\n_Seven Inches carries away the princesses_             \"       96\n\n_Down went the two bridegrooms_                        \"      104\n\n_The Princess loses her first baby_                    \"      120\n\n'_Four long years I was married to thee;_'             \"      128\n\n_How the girl lost her hand_                           \"      188\n\n_The King's son finds the girl in the tree_            \"      192\n\n'_My baby, my baby!_'                                  \"      198\n\n_The lady in black slays Rogear the magician_          \"      256\n\n_How the king's son fetched the magpie's eggs_         \"      268\n\n_How Owen first saw the Countess of the\n  Fountain_                                            \"      286\n\n_Kilwch arrives at the gate of Arthur's\n  palace_                                              \"      350\n\n_Fair Olwen arrives_                                   \"      356\n\n\n_ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT_                                      PAGE\n\n_The quarrel in the Tennis Court_                              23\n\n_The terrible end of the Jogi_                                 40\n\n_The monkey feeds the shark_                                   43\n\n_The monkey has a ride_                                        46\n\n_The donkey expected the lion would speak of their\n  marriage_                                                    49\n\n_The fairies go off with the farmer's wife_                    55\n\n_How the Queen brings the shaggy brown horse to the\n  King_                                                        79\n\n_In came Seven Inches hand in hand with the youngest\n  sister_                                                      99\n\n_He will make a splendid ram_                                 112\n\n_Some one at last awaked Moti_                                146\n\n_Instead of a deer a woman with long black hair was\n  standing there_                                             152\n\n_She combed his hair with a golden comb, but his eyes\n  opened not_                                                 155\n\n_How the fish got into the water_                             163\n\n_The one-handed girl befriends a snake_                       197\n\n_The girl asks the snakes for the ring and casket_            204\n\n_The little girl and Djulung-djulung_                         210\n\n_How the iron tree bowed down and the girl gave of its\n  leaves and flowers to the king_                             214\n\n_How the sea-fairies brought a cow for Maie_                  223\n\n_How Lisa and Aina met the Raspberry King_                    233\n\n_How Peronnik tricked the Viper-maned Lion_                   254\n\n_How the king's son saved the raven from the snake_           263\n\n_So the giant was drowned in the middle of the lake_          275\n\n_Kynon meets with the black master of the beasts_             281\n\n'_Come lawyer, come tailor, come miller, come singer_'        314\n\n_How Bellah found Korandon_                                   318\n\n_The Stag of Redynvre brings the Seven Companions to\n  the Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd_                                     366\n\n\n\n\n_THE SHIFTY LAD_\n\n\nIN the land of Erin there dwelt long ago a widow who had an only son. He\nwas a clever boy, so she saved up enough money to send him to school,\nand, as soon as he was old enough, to apprentice him to any trade that\nhe would choose. But when the time came, he said he would not be bound\nto any trade, and that he meant to be a thief.\n\nNow his mother was very sorrowful when she heard of this, but she knew\nquite well that if she tried to stop his having his own way he would\nonly grow more determined to get it. So all the answer she made was that\nthe end of thieves was hanging at the bridge of Dublin, and then she\nleft him alone, hoping that when he was older he might become more\nsensible.\n\nOne day she was going to church to hear a sermon from a great preacher,\nand she begged the Shifty Lad, as the neighbours called him from the\ntricks he played, to come with her. But he only laughed and declared\nthat he did not like sermons, adding:\n\n'However, I will promise you this, that the first trade you hear named\nafter you come out from church shall be my trade for the rest of my\nlife.'\n\nThese words gave a little comfort to the poor woman, and her heart was\nlighter than before as she bade him farewell.\n\nWhen the Shifty Lad thought that the hour had nearly come for the sermon\nto be over, he hid himself in some bushes in a little path that led\nstraight to his mother's house, and as she passed along, thinking of\nall the good things she had heard, a voice shouted close to her ear\n'Robbery! Robbery! Robbery!' The suddenness of it made her jump. The\nnaughty boy had managed to change his voice, so that she did not know it\nfor his, and he had concealed himself so well that, though she peered\nabout all round her, she could see no one. As soon as she had turned the\ncorner the Shifty Lad came out, and by running very fast through the\nwood he contrived to reach home before his mother, who found him\nstretched out comfortably before the fire.\n\n'Well, have you got any news to tell me?' asked he.\n\n'No, nothing; for I left the church at once, and did not stop to speak\nto anyone.'\n\n'Oh, then no one has mentioned a trade to you?' he said in tones of\ndisappointment.\n\n'Ye--es,' she replied slowly. 'At least, as I walked down the path a\nvoice cried out \"Robbery! Robbery! Robbery!\" but that was all.'\n\n'And quite enough too,' answered the boy. 'What did I tell you? That is\ngoing to be my trade.'\n\n'Then your end will be hanging at the bridge of Dublin,' said she. But\nthere was no sleep for her that night, for she lay in the dark thinking\nabout her son.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'If he is to be a thief at all, he had better be a good one. And who is\nthere that can teach him?' the mother asked herself. But an idea came to\nher, and she arose early, before the sun was up, and set off for the\nhome of the Black Rogue, or Gallows Bird, who was such a wonderful thief\nthat, though all had been robbed by him, no one could catch him.\n\n'Good-morning to you,' said the woman as she reached the place where the\nBlack Gallows Bird lived when he was not away on his business. 'My son\nhas a fancy to learn your trade. Will you be kind enough to teach him?'\n\n'If he is clever, I don't mind trying,' answered the Black Gallows Bird;\n'and, of course, if _any_ one can turn him into a first-rate thief, it\nis I. But if he is stupid, it is no use at all; I can't bear stupid\npeople.'\n\n'No, he isn't stupid,' said the woman with a sigh. 'So to-night, after\ndark, I will send him to you.'\n\nThe Shifty Lad jumped for joy when his mother told him where she had\nbeen.\n\n'I will become the best thief in all Erin!' he cried, and paid no heed\nwhen his mother shook her head and murmured something about 'the bridge\nof Dublin.'\n\nEvery evening after dark the Shifty Lad went to the home of the Black\nGallows Bird, and many were the new tricks he learned. By and bye he was\nallowed to go out with the Bird and watch him at work, and at last there\ncame a day when his master thought that he had grown clever enough to\nhelp in a big robbery.\n\n'There is a rich farmer up there on the hill, who has just sold all his\nfat cattle for much money and has bought some lean ones which will cost\nhim little. Now it happens that, while he has received the money for the\nfat cattle, he has not yet paid the price of the thin ones, which he has\nin the cowhouse. To-morrow he will go to the market with the money in\nhis hand, so to-night we must get at the chest. When all is quiet we\nwill hide in the loft.'\n\nThere was no moon, and it was the night of Hallowe'en, and everyone was\nburning nuts and catching apples in a tub of water with their hands\ntied, and playing all sorts of other games, till the Shifty Lad grew\nquite tired of waiting for them to get to bed. The Black Gallows Bird,\nwho was more accustomed to the business, tucked himself up on the hay\nand went to sleep, telling the boy to wake him when the merry-makers had\ndeparted. But the Shifty Lad, who could keep still no longer, crept down\nto the cowshed and loosened the heads of the cattle which were tied, and\nthey began to kick each other and bellow, and made such a noise that\nthe company in the farmhouse ran out to tie them up again. Then the\nShifty Lad entered the room and picked up a big handful of nuts, and\nreturned to the loft, where the Black Rogue was still sleeping. At first\nthe Shifty Lad shut his eyes too, but very soon he sat up, and, taking a\nbig needle and thread from his pocket, he sewed the hem of the Black\nGallows Bird's coat to a heavy piece of bullock's hide that was hanging\nat his back.\n\nBy this time the cattle were all tied up again, but as the people could\nnot find their nuts they sat round the fire and began to tell stories.\n\n'I will crack a nut,' said the Shifty Lad.\n\n'You shall not,' cried the Black Gallows Bird; 'they will hear you.'\n\n'I don't care,' answered the Shifty Lad. 'I never spent Hallowe'en yet\nwithout cracking a nut'; and he cracked one.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'Some one is cracking nuts up there,' said one of the merry-makers in\nthe farmhouse. 'Come quickly, and we will see who it is.'\n\nHe spoke loudly, and the Black Gallows Bird heard, and ran out of the\nloft, dragging the big leather hide after him which the Shifty Lad had\nsewed to his coat.\n\n'He is stealing my hide!' shouted the farmer, and they all darted after\nhim; but he was too swift for them, and at last he managed to tear the\nhide from his coat, and then he flew like a hare till he reached his old\nhiding-place. But all this took a long time, and meanwhile the Shifty\nLad got down from the loft, and searched the house till he found the\nchest with the gold and silver in it, concealed behind a load of straw\nand covered with loaves of bread and a great cheese. The Shifty Lad\nslung the money bags round his shoulders and took the bread and the\ncheese under his arm, then set out quietly for the Black Rogue's house.\n\n'Here you are at last, you villain!' cried his master in great wrath.\n'But I will be revenged on you.'\n\n'It is all right,' replied the Shifty Lad calmly. 'I have brought what\nyou wanted'; and he laid the things he was carrying down on the ground.\n\n'Ah! you are the better thief,' said the Black Rogue's wife; and the\nBlack Rogue added:\n\n'Yes, it is you who are the clever boy'; and they divided the spoil, and\nthe Black Gallows Bird had one half and the Shifty Lad the other half.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA few weeks after that the Black Gallows Bird had news of a wedding that\nwas to be held near the town; and the bridegroom had many friends and\neverybody sent him a present. Now a rich farmer who lived up near the\nmoor thought that nothing was so useful to a young couple when they\nfirst began to keep house as a fine fat sheep, so he bade his shepherd\ngo off to the mountain where the flock were feeding, and bring him back\nthe best he could find. And the shepherd chose out the largest and\nfattest of the sheep and the one with the whitest fleece; then he tied\nits feet together and put it across his shoulder, for he had a long way\nto go.\n\nThat day the Shifty Lad happened to be wandering over the moor, when he\nsaw the man with the sheep on his shoulder walking along the road which\nled past the Black Rogue's house. The sheep was heavy and the man was in\nno hurry, so he came slowly and the boy knew that he himself could\neasily get back to his master before the shepherd was even in sight.\n\n'I will wager,' he cried, as he pushed quickly through the bushes which\nhid the cabin--'I will wager that I will steal the sheep from the man\nthat is coming before he passes here.'\n\n'Will you indeed?' said the Gallows Bird. 'I will wager you a hundred\nsilver pieces that you can do nothing of the sort.'\n\n'Well, I will try it, anyway,' replied the boy, and disappeared in the\nbushes. He ran fast till he entered a wood through which the shepherd\nmust go, and then he stopped, and taking off one of his shoes smeared it\nwith mud and set it in the path. When this was done he slipped behind a\nrock and waited.\n\nVery soon the man came up, and, seeing the shoe lying there, he stopped\nand looked at it.\n\n'It is a good shoe,' he said to himself, 'but very dirty. Still, if I\nhad the fellow, I would be at the trouble of cleaning it'; so he threw\nthe shoe down again and went on.\n\nThe Shifty Lad smiled as he heard him, and, picking up the shoe, he\ncrept round by a short way and laid the other shoe on the path. A few\nminutes after the shepherd arrived, and beheld the second shoe lying on\nthe path.\n\n'Why, that is the fellow of the dirty shoe!' he exclaimed when he saw\nit. 'I will go back and pick up the other one, and then I shall have a\npair of good shoes,' and he put the sheep on the grass and returned to\nfetch the shoe. Then the Shifty Lad put on his shoes, and, picking up\nthe sheep, carried it home. And the Black Rogue paid him the hundred\nmarks of his wager.\n\nWhen the shepherd reached the farmhouse that night he told his tale to\nhis master, who scolded him for being stupid and careless, and bade him\ngo the next day to the mountain and fetch him a kid, and he would send\n_that_ as a wedding gift. But the Shifty Lad was on the lookout, and hid\nhimself in the wood, and the moment the man drew near with the kid on\nhis shoulders began to bleat like a sheep, and no one, not even the\nsheep's own mother, could have told the difference.\n\n[Illustration: THE SHOE IN THE ROAD]\n\n'Why, it must have got its feet loose, and have strayed after all,'\nthought the man; and he put the kid on the grass and hurried off in the\ndirection of the bleating. Then the boy ran back and picked up the\nkid, and took it to the Black Gallows Bird.\n\nThe shepherd could hardly believe his eyes when he returned from seeking\nthe sheep and found that the kid had vanished. He was afraid to go home\nand tell the same tale that he had told yesterday; so he searched the\nwood through and through till night was nearly come. Then he felt that\nthere was no help for it, and he must go home and confess to his master.\n\nOf course, the farmer was very angry at this second misfortune; but this\ntime he told him to drive one of the big bulls from the mountain, and\nwarned him that if he lost _that_ he would lose his place also. Again\nthe Shifty Lad, who was on the watch, perceived him pass by, and when he\nsaw the man returning with the great bull he cried to the Black Rogue:\n\n'Be quick and come into the wood, and we will try and get the bull\nalso.'\n\n'But how can we do that?' asked the Black Rogue.\n\n'Oh, quite easily! You hide yourself out there and baa like a sheep, and\nI will go in the other direction and bleat like a kid. It will be all\nright, I assure you.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe shepherd was walking slowly, driving the bull before him, when he\nsuddenly heard a loud baa amongst the bushes far away on one side of the\npath, and a feeble bleat answering it from the other side.\n\n'Why, it must be the sheep and the kid that I lost,' said he. 'Yes,\nsurely it must'; and tying the bull hastily to a tree, he went off after\nthe sheep and the kid, and searched the wood till he was tired. Of\ncourse by the time he came back the two thieves had driven the bull home\nand killed him for meat, so the man was obliged to go to his master and\nconfess that he had been tricked again.\n\nAfter this the Black Rogue and the Shifty Lad grew bolder and bolder,\nand stole great quantities of cattle and sold them and grew quite rich.\nOne day they were returning from the market with a large sum of money in\ntheir pockets when they passed a gallows erected on the top of a hill.\n\n'Let us stop and look at that gallows,' exclaimed the Shifty Lad. 'I\nhave never seen one so close before. Yet some say that it is the end of\nall thieves.'\n\nThere was no one in sight, and they carefully examined every part of it.\n\n'I wonder how it feels to be hung,' said the Shifty Lad. 'I should like\nto know, in case they ever catch me. I'll try first, and then you can do\nso.'\n\nAs he spoke he fastened the loose cord about his neck, and when it was\nquite secure he told the Black Rogue to take the other end of the rope\nand draw him up from the ground.\n\n'When I am tired of it I will shake my legs, and then you must let me\ndown,' said he.\n\nThe Black Rogue drew up the rope, but in half a minute the Shifty Lad's\nlegs began to shake, and he quickly let it down again.\n\n'You can't imagine what a funny feeling hanging gives you,' murmured the\nShifty Lad, who looked rather purple in the face and spoke in an odd\nvoice. 'I don't think you have ever tried it, or you wouldn't have let\nme go up first. Why, it is the pleasantest thing, I have ever done. I\nwas shaking my legs from sheer delight, and if you had been there you\nwould have shaken your legs too.'\n\n'Well, let me try, if it is so nice,' answered the Black Rogue. 'But be\nsure you tie the knot securely, for I don't want to fall down and break\nmy neck.'\n\n'Oh, I will see to that!' replied the Shifty Lad. 'When you are tired,\njust whistle, and I'll let you down.'\n\n[Illustration: HOW THE BLACK ROGUE WAS TRICKED]\n\nSo the Black Rogue was drawn up, and as soon as he was as high as the\nrope would allow him to go the Shifty Lad called to him:\n\n'Don't forget to whistle when you want to come down; but if you are\nenjoying yourself as I did, shake your legs.'\n\nAnd in a moment the Black Rogue's legs began to shake and to kick, and\nthe Shifty Lad stood below, watching him and laughing heartily.\n\n'Oh, how funny you are! If you could only see yourself! Oh, you _are_\nfunny! But when you have had enough, whistle and you shall be let down';\nand he rocked again with laughter.\n\nBut no whistle came, and soon the legs ceased to shake and to kick, for\nthe Black Gallows Bird was dead, as the Shifty Lad intended he should\nbe.\n\nThen he went home to the Black Rogue's wife, and told her that her\nhusband was dead, and that he was ready to marry her if she liked. But\nthe woman had been fond of the Black Rogue, thief though he was, and she\nshrank from the Shifty Lad in horror, and set the people after him, and\nhe had to fly to another part of the country where none knew of his\ndoings.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPerhaps if the Shifty Lad's mother knew anything of all this, she may\nhave thought that by this time her son might be tired of stealing, and\nready to try some honest trade. But in reality he loved the tricks and\ndanger, and life would have seemed very dull without them. So he went on\njust as before, and made friends whom he taught to be as wicked as\nhimself, till they took to robbing the king's storehouses, and by the\nadvice of the Wise Man the king sent out soldiers to catch the band of\nthieves.\n\nFor a long while they tried in vain to lay hands on them. The Shifty Lad\nwas too clever for them all, and if they laid traps he laid better ones.\nAt last one night he stole upon some soldiers while they were asleep in\na barn and killed them, and persuaded the villagers that if _they_ did\nnot kill the other soldiers before morning they would certainly be\nkilled themselves. Thus it happened that when the sun rose not a single\nsoldier was alive in the village.\n\nOf course this news soon reached the king's ears, and he was very angry,\nand summoned the Wise Man to take counsel with him. And this was the\ncounsel of the Wise Man--that he should invite all the people in the\ncountryside to a ball, and among them the bold and impudent thief would\nbe sure to come, and would be sure to ask the king's daughter to dance\nwith him.\n\n'Your counsel is good,' said the king, who made his feast and prepared\nfor his ball; and all the people of the countryside were present, and\nthe Shifty Lad came with them.\n\nWhen everyone had eaten and drunk as much as they wanted they went into\nthe ballroom. There was a great throng, and while they were pressing\nthrough the doorway the Wise Man, who had a bottle of black ointment\nhidden in his robes, placed a tiny dot on the cheek of the Shifty Lad\nnear his ear. The Shifty Lad felt nothing, but as he approached the\nking's daughter to ask her to be his partner he caught sight of the\nblack dot in a silver mirror. Instantly he guessed who had put it there\nand why, but he said nothing, and danced so beautifully that the\nprincess was quite delighted with him. At the end of the dance he bowed\nlow to his partner and left her, to mingle with the crowd that was\nfilling the doorway. As he passed the Wise Man he contrived not only to\nsteal the bottle, but to place two black dots on his face, and one on\nthe faces of twenty other men. Then he slipped the bottle back in the\nWise Man's robe.\n\n[Illustration: THE CHILD FINDS OUT THE TRUTH]\n\nBy and bye he went up to the king's daughter again, and begged for the\nhonour of another dance. She consented, and while he was stooping to tie\nthe ribbons on his shoe she took out from her pocket another bottle,\nwhich the Wizard had given her, and put a black dot on his cheek. But\nshe was not as skilful as the Wise Man, and the Shifty Lad felt the\ntouch of her fingers; so as soon as the dance was over he contrived to\nplace a second black dot on the faces of the twenty men and two more on\nthe Wizard, after which he slipped the bottle into her pocket.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt length the ball came to an end, and then the king ordered all the\ndoors to be shut, and search made for a man with two black dots on his\ncheek. The chamberlain went among the guests, and soon found such a man,\nbut just as he was going to arrest him and bring him before the king his\neye fell on another with the same mark, and another, and another, till\nhe had counted twenty--besides the Wise Man--on whose face were found\nspots.\n\nNot knowing what to do, the chamberlain hurried back with his tale to\nthe king, who immediately sent for the Wise Man, and then for his\ndaughter.\n\n'The thief must have stolen your bottle,' said the king to the Wizard.\n\n'No, my lord, it is here,' answered the Wise Man, holding it out.\n\n'Then he must have got yours,' he cried, turning to his daughter.\n\n'Indeed, father, it is safe in my pocket,' replied she, taking it out as\nshe spoke; and they all three looked at each other and remained silent.\n\n'Well,' said the king at last, 'the man who has done this is cleverer\nthan most men, and if he will make himself known to me he shall marry\nthe princess and govern half my kingdom while I am alive, and the whole\nof it when I am dead. Go and announce this in the ballroom,' he added to\nan attendant, 'and bring the fellow hither.'\n\nSo the attendant went into the ballroom and did as the king had bidden\nhim, when, to his surprise, not one man, but twenty, stepped forward,\nall with black dots on their faces.\n\n'I am the person you want,' they all exclaimed at once, and the\nattendant, as much bewildered as the chamberlain had been, desired them\nto follow him into the king's presence.\n\nBut the question was too difficult for the king to decide, so he called\ntogether his council. For hours they talked, but to no purpose, and in\nthe end they hit upon a plan which they might just as well have thought\nof at the beginning.\n\nAnd this was the plan. A child was to be brought to the palace, and next\nthe king's daughter would give her an apple. Then the child was to take\nthe apple and be led into a room where the twenty men with the black\ndots were sitting in a ring. And to whomsoever the child gave the apple,\nthat man should marry the king's daughter.\n\n'Of course,' said the king, 'it may not be the right man, after all, but\nthen again it _may_ be. Anyhow, it is the best we can do.'\n\nThe princess herself led the child into the room where the twenty men\nwere now seated. She stood in the centre of the ring for a moment,\nlooking at one man after another, and then held out the apple to the\nShifty Lad, who was twisting a shaving of wood round his finger, and had\nthe mouthpiece of a bagpipe hanging from his neck.\n\n'You ought not to have anything which the others have not got,' said the\nchamberlain, who had accompanied the princess; and he bade the child\nstand outside for a minute, while he took away the shaving and the\nmouthpiece, and made the Shifty Lad change his place. Then he called the\nchild in, but the little girl knew him again, and went straight up to\nhim with the apple.\n\n[Illustration: HOW THE SHIFTY LAD WAS HUNG ON DUBLIN BRIDGE]\n\n'This is the man whom the child has twice chosen,' said the chamberlain,\nsigning to the Shifty Lad to kneel before the king. 'It was all quite\nfair; we tried it twice over.' In this way the Shifty Lad won the king's\ndaughter, and they were married the next day.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA few days later the bride and bridegroom were taking a walk together,\nand the path led down to the river, and over the river was a bridge.\n\n'And what bridge may this be?' asked the Shifty Lad; and the princess\ntold him that this was the bridge of Dublin.\n\n'Is it indeed?' cried he. 'Well, now, many is the time that my mother\nhas said, when I played her a trick that my end would be that I should\nhang on the bridge of Dublin.'\n\n'Oh, if you want to fulfil her prophecies,' laughed the princess, 'you\nhave only to let me tie my handkerchief round your ankle, and I will\nhold you as you hang over the wall of the bridge.'\n\n'That would be fine fun,' said he; 'but you are not strong enough to\nhold me up.'\n\n'Oh yes, I am,' said the princess; 'just try.' So at last he let her\nbind the handkerchief round his ankle and hang him over the wall, and\nthey both laughed and jested at the strength of the princess.\n\n'Now pull me up again,' called he; but as he spoke a great cry arose\nthat the palace was burning. The princess turned round with a start, and\nlet go her handkerchief, and the Shifty Lad fell, and struck his head on\na stone, and died in an instant.\n\nSo his mother's prophecy had come true, after all.\n\n\n    West Highland Tales.\n\n\n\n\n_THE FALSE PRINCE AND THE TRUE_\n\n\nTHE king had just awakened from his midday sleep, for it was summer, and\neveryone rose early and rested from twelve to three, as they do in hot\ncountries. He had dressed himself in cool white clothes, and was passing\nthrough the hall on his way to the council chamber, when a number of\nyoung nobles suddenly appeared before him, and one amongst them stepped\nforward and spoke.\n\n'Sire, this morning we were all playing tennis in the court, the prince\nand this gentleman with the rest, when there broke out some dispute\nabout the game. The prince lost his temper, and said many insulting\nthings to the other, who was playing against him, till at length the\ngentleman whom you see there struck him violently in the face, so that\nthe blood ran from his mouth and nose. We were all so horrified at the\nsight, that we should most likely have killed the man then and there,\nfor daring to lay hands on the prince, had not his grandfather the duke\nstepped between and commanded us to lay the affair before you.'\n\nThe king had listened attentively to the story, and when it was ended he\nsaid:\n\n'I suppose the prince had no arms with him, or else he would have used\nthem?'\n\n'Yes, sire, he had arms; he always carries a dagger in his belt. But\nwhen he saw the blood pouring from his face, he went to a corner of the\ncourt and began to cry, which was the strangest thing of all.'\n\nOn hearing this the king walked to the window and stood for a few\nminutes with his back to the room, where the company of young men\nremained silent. Then he came back, his face white and stern.\n\n[Illustration: The Quarrel in the Tennis Court]\n\n'I tell you,' he said, 'and it is the solemn truth, that I would rather\nyou had told me that the prince was dead, though he is my only son, than\nknow that he would suffer such an injury without attempting to avenge\nit. As for the gentleman who struck him, he will be brought before my\njudges, and will plead his own cause, but I hardly think he can escape\ndeath, after having assaulted the heir to the crown.'\n\nThe young man raised his head as if to reply, but the king would not\nlisten, and commanded his guards to put him under arrest, adding,\nhowever, that if the prisoner wished to visit any part of the city, he\nwas at liberty to do so properly guarded, and in fifteen days he would\nbe brought to trial before the highest judges in the land.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe young man left the king's presence, surrounded by soldiers, and\naccompanied by many of his friends, for he was a great favourite. By\ntheir advice he spent the fourteen days that remained to him going about\nto seek counsel from wise men of all sorts, as to how he might escape\ndeath, but no one could help him, for none could find any excuse for the\nblow he had given to the prince.\n\nThe fourteenth night had come, and in despair the prisoner went out to\ntake his last walk through the city. He wandered on hardly knowing where\nhe went, and his face was so white and desperate that none of his\ncompanions dared speak to him. The sad little procession had passed some\nhours in this manner, when, near the gate of a monastery, an old woman\nappeared round a corner, and suddenly stood before the young man. She\nwas bent almost double, and was so wizened and wrinkled that she looked\nat least ninety; only her eyes were bright and quick as those of a girl.\n\n'Sir,' she said, 'I know all that has happened to you, and how you are\nseeking if in any wise you can save your life. But there is none that\ncan answer that question save only I myself, if you will promise to do\nall I ask.'\n\nAt her words the prisoner felt as if a load had all at once been rolled\noff him.\n\n'Oh, save me, and I will do anything!' he cried. 'It is so hard to leave\nthe world and go out into the darkness.'\n\n'You will not need to do that,' answered the old woman, 'you have only\ngot to marry me, and you will soon be free.'\n\n'Marry you?' exclaimed he, 'but--but--I am not yet twenty, and you--why,\nyou must be a hundred at least! Oh, no, it is quite impossible.'\n\nHe spoke without thinking, but the flash of anger which darted from her\neyes made him feel uncomfortable. However, all she said was:\n\n'As you like; since you reject me, let the crows have you,' and hurried\naway down the street.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLeft to himself, the full horror of his coming death rushed upon the\nyoung man, and he understood that he had thrown away his sole chance of\nlife. Well, if he must, he must, he said to himself, and began to run as\nfast as he could after the old crone, who by this time could scarcely be\nseen, even in the moonlight. Who would have believed a woman past ninety\ncould walk with such speed? It seemed more like flying! But at length,\nbreathless and exhausted, he reached her side, and gasped out:\n\n'Madam, pardon me for my hasty words just now; I was wrong, and will\nthankfully accept the offer you made me.'\n\n'Ah, I thought you would come to your senses,' answered she, in rather\nan odd voice. 'We have no time to lose--follow me at once,' and they\nwent on silently and swiftly till they stopped at the door of a small\nhouse in which the priest lived. Before him the old woman bade the\nprisoner swear that she should be his wife, and this he did in the\npresence of witnesses. Then, begging the priest and the guards to leave\nthem alone for a little, she told the young man what he was to do, when\nthe next morning he was brought before the king and the judges.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe hall was full to overflowing when the prisoner entered it, and all\nmarvelled at the brightness of his face. The king inquired if he had any\nexcuse to plead for the high treason he had committed by striking the\nheir to the throne, and, if so, to be quick in setting it forth. With a\nlow bow the youth made answer in a clear voice:\n\n'O my lord and gracious king, and you, nobles and wise men of the land,\nI leave my cause without fear in your hands, knowing that you will\nlisten and judge rightly, and that you will suffer me to speak to the\nend, before you give judgment.\n\n'For four years, you, O king, had been married to the queen and yet had\nno children, which grieved you greatly. The queen saw this, and likewise\nthat your love was going from her, and thought night and day of some\nplan that might put an end to this evil. At length, when you were away\nfighting in distant countries, she decided what she would do, and\nadopted in secret the baby of a poor quarryman, sending a messenger to\ntell you that you had a son. No one suspected the truth except a priest\nto whom the queen confessed the truth, and in a few weeks she fell ill\nand died, leaving the baby to be brought up as became a prince. And now,\nif your highness will permit me, I will speak of myself.'\n\n'What you have already told me,' answered the king, 'is so strange that\nI cannot imagine what more there is to tell, but go on with your story.'\n\n'One day, shortly after the death of the queen,' continued the young\nman, 'your highness was hunting, and outstripped all your attendants\nwhile chasing the deer. You were in a part of the country which you did\nnot know, so seeing an orchard all pink and white with apple-blossoms,\nand a girl tossing a ball in one corner, you went up to her to ask your\nway. But when she turned to answer you, you were so struck with her\nbeauty that all else fled from your mind. Again and again you rode back\nto see her, and at length persuaded her to marry you. She only thought\nyou a poor knight, and agreed that, as you wished it, the marriage\nshould be kept secret.\n\n'After the ceremony you gave her three rings and a charm with a cross on\nit, and then put her in a cottage in the forest, thinking to hide the\nmatter securely.\n\n'For some months you visited the cottage every week; but a rebellion\nbroke out in a distant part of the kingdom, and called for your\npresence. When next you rode up to the cottage, it was empty, and none\ncould inform you whither your bride had gone. That, sire, I can now tell\nyou,' and the young man paused and looked at the king, who coloured\ndeeply. 'She went back to her father the old duke, once your\nchamberlain, and the cross on her breast revealed at once who you were.\nFierce was his anger when he heard his daughter's tale, and he vowed\nthat he would hide her safely from you, till the day came when you would\nclaim her publicly as your queen.\n\n'By and bye I was born, and was brought up by my grandfather in one of\nhis great houses. Here are the rings you gave to my mother, and here is\nthe cross, and these will prove if I am your son or not.'\n\nAs he spoke the young man laid the jewels at the feet of the king, and\nthe nobles and the judges pressed round to examine them. The king alone\ndid not move from his seat, for he had forgotten the hall of justice and\nall about him, and saw only the apple-orchard as it was twenty years\nago, and the beautiful girl playing at ball. A sudden silence round him\nmade him look up, and he found the eyes of the assembly fixed on him.\n\n'It is true; it is he who is my son, and not the other,' he said with\nan effort, 'and let every man present swear to acknowledge him as king,\nafter my death.'\n\nTherefore one by one they all knelt before him and took the oath, and a\nmessage was sent to the false prince, forbidding him ever again to\nappear at court, though a handsome pension was granted him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt last the ceremony was over, and the king, signing to his newly found\nson to follow him, rose and went into another room.\n\n'Tell me how you knew all that,' he said, throwing himself into a carved\nchair filled with crimson cushions, and the prince told of his meeting\nwith the old woman who had brought him the jewels from his mother, and\nhow he had sworn before a priest to marry her, though he did not want to\ndo it, on account of the difference in their ages, and besides, he would\nrather receive a bride chosen by the king himself. But the king frowned,\nand answered sharply:\n\n'You swore to marry her if she saved your life, and, come what may, you\nmust fulfil your promise.' Then, striking a silver shield that hung\nclose by, he said to the equerry who appeared immediately:\n\n'Go and seek the priest who lives near the door of the prison, and ask\nhim where you can find the old woman who visited him last night; and\nwhen you have found her, bring her to the palace.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt took some time to discover the whereabouts of the old woman, but at\nlength it was accomplished, and when she arrived at the palace with the\nequerry, she was received with royal honours, as became the bride of the\nprince. The guards looked at each other with astonished eyes, as the\nwizened creature, bowed with age, passed between their lines; but they\nwere more amazed still at the lightness of her step as she skipped up\nthe steps to the great door before which the king was standing, with\nthe prince at his side. If they both felt a shock at the appearance of\nthe aged lady they did not show it, and the king, with a grave bow, took\nher hand, and led her to the chapel, where a bishop was waiting to\nperform the marriage ceremony.\n\nFor the next few weeks little was seen of the prince, who spent all his\ndays in hunting, and trying to forget the old wife at home. As for the\nprincess, no one troubled himself about her, and she passed the days\nalone in her apartments, for she had absolutely declined the services of\nthe ladies-in-waiting whom the king had appointed for her.\n\nOne night the prince returned after a longer chase than usual, and he\nwas so tired that he went up straight to bed. Suddenly he was awakened\nby a strange noise in the room, and suspecting that a robber might have\nstolen in, he jumped out of bed, and seized his sword, which lay ready\nto his hand. Then he perceived that the noise proceeded from the next\nroom, which belonged to the princess, and was lighted by a burning\ntorch. Creeping softly to the door, he peeped through it, and beheld her\nlying quietly, with a crown of gold and pearls upon her head, her\nwrinkles all gone, and her face, which was whiter than the snow, as\nfresh as that of a girl of fourteen. Could that really be his wife--that\nbeautiful, beautiful creature?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe prince was still gazing in surprise when the lady opened her eyes\nand smiled at him.\n\n'Yes, I really _am_ your wife,' she said, as if she had guessed his\nthoughts, 'and the enchantment is ended. Now I must tell you who I am,\nand what befell to cause me to take the shape of an old woman.\n\n'The king of Granada is my father, and I was born in the palace which\noverlooks the plain of the Vega. I was only a few months old when a\nwicked fairy, who had a spite against my parents, cast a spell over me,\nbending my back and wrinkling my skin till I looked as if I was a\nhundred years old, and making me such an object of disgust to everyone,\nthat at length the king ordered my nurse to take me away from the\npalace. She was the only person who cared about me, and we lived\ntogether in this city on a small pension allowed me by the king.\n\n'When I was about three an old man arrived at our house, and begged my\nnurse to let him come in and rest, as he could walk no longer. She saw\nthat he was very ill, so put him to bed and took such care of him that\nby and bye he was as strong as ever. In gratitude for her goodness to\nhim, he told her that he was a wizard and could give her anything she\nchose to ask for, except life or death, so she answered that what she\nlonged for most in the world was that my wrinkled skin should disappear,\nand that I should regain the beauty with which I was born. To this he\nreplied that as my misfortune resulted from a spell, this was rather\ndifficult, but he would do his best, and at any rate he could promise\nthat before my fifteenth birthday I should be freed from the enchantment\nif I could get a man who would swear to marry me as I was.\n\n'As you may suppose, this was not easy, as my ugliness was such that no\none would look at me a second time. My nurse and I were almost in\ndespair, as my fifteenth birthday was drawing near, and I had never so\nmuch as spoken to a man. At last we received a visit from the wizard,\nwho told us what had happened at court, and your story, bidding me to\nput myself in your way when you had lost all hope, and offer to save you\nif you would consent to marry me.\n\n'That is my history, and now you must beg the king to send messengers at\nonce to Granada, to inform my father of our marriage, and I _think_,'\nshe added with a smile, 'that he will not refuse us his blessing.'\n\n\n    Adapted from the Portuguese.\n\n\n\n\n_THE JOGI'S PUNISHMENT_\n\n\nONCE upon a time there came to the ancient city of Rahmatabad a jogi[1]\nof holy appearance, who took up his abode under a tree outside the city,\nwhere he would sit for days at a time fasting from food and drink,\nmotionless except for the fingers that turned restlessly his string of\nbeads. The fame of such holiness as this soon spread, and daily the\ncitizens would flock to see him, eager to get his blessing, to watch his\ndevotions, or to hear his teaching, if he were in the mood to speak.\nVery soon the rajah himself heard of the jogi, and began regularly to\nvisit him to seek his counsel and to ask his prayers that a son might be\nvouchsafed to him. Days passed by, and at last the rajah became so\npossessed with the thought of the holy man that he determined if\npossible to get him all to himself. So he built in the neighbourhood a\nlittle shrine, with a room or two added to it, and a small courtyard\nclosely walled up; and, when all was ready, besought the jogi to occupy\nit, and to receive no other visitors except himself and his queen and\nsuch pupils as the jogi might choose, who would hand down his teaching.\nTo this the jogi consented; and thus he lived for some time upon the\nking's bounty, whilst the fame of his godliness grew day by day.\n\n    [Footnote 1: A Hindu holy man.]\n\nNow, although the rajah of Rahmatabad had no son, he possessed a\ndaughter, who as she grew up became the most beautiful creature that eye\never rested upon. Her father had long before betrothed her to the son of\nthe neighbouring rajah of Dilaram, but as yet she had not been married\nto him, and lived the quiet life proper to a maiden of her beauty and\nposition. The princess had of course heard of the holy man and of his\nmiracles and his fastings, and she was filled with curiosity to see and\nto speak to him; but this was difficult, since she was not allowed to go\nout except into the palace grounds, and then was always closely guarded.\nHowever, at length she found an opportunity, and made her way one\nevening alone to the hermit's shrine.\n\nUnhappily, the hermit was not really as holy as he seemed; for no sooner\ndid he see the princess than he fell in love with her wonderful beauty,\nand began to plot in his heart how he could win her for his wife. But\nthe maiden was not only beautiful, she was also shrewd; and as soon as\nshe read in the glance of the jogi the love that filled his soul, she\nsprang to her feet, and, gathering her veil about her, ran from the\nplace as fast as she could. The jogi tried to follow, but he was no\nmatch for her; so, beside himself with rage at finding that he could not\novertake her, he flung at her a lance, which wounded her in the leg. The\nbrave princess stooped for a second to pluck the lance out of the wound,\nand then ran on until she found herself safe at home again. There she\nbathed and bound up the wound secretly, and told no one how naughty she\nhad been, for she knew that her father would punish her severely.\n\nNext day, when the king went to visit the jogi, the holy man would\nneither speak to nor look at him.\n\n'What is the matter?' asked the king. 'Won't you speak to me to-day?'\n\n'I have nothing to say that you would care to hear,' answered the jogi.\n\n'Why?' said the king. 'Surely you know that I value all that you say,\nwhatever it may be.'\n\n[Illustration: UNHAPPILY the Hermit was not really as HOLY as he\nseemed]\n\nBut still the jogi sat with his face turned away, and the more the\nking pressed him the more silent and mysterious he became. At last,\nafter much persuasion, he said:\n\n'Let me tell you, then, that there is in this city a creature which, if\nyou do not put an end to it, will kill every single person in the\nplace.'\n\nThe king, who was easily frightened, grew pale.\n\n'What,' he gasped--'what is this dreadful thing? How am I to know it and\nto catch it? Only counsel me and help me, and I will do all that you\nadvise.'\n\n'Ah!' replied the jogi, 'it is indeed dreadful. It is in the shape of a\nbeautiful girl, but it is really an evil spirit. Last evening it came to\nvisit me, and when I looked upon it its beauty faded into hideousness,\nits teeth became horrible fangs, its eyes glared like coals of fire,\ngreat claws sprang from its slender fingers, and were I not what I am it\nmight have consumed me.'\n\nThe king could hardly speak from alarm, but at last he said:\n\n'How am I to distinguish this awful thing when I see it?'\n\n'Search,' said the jogi, 'for a lovely girl with a lance wound in her\nleg, and when she is found secure her safely and come and tell me, and I\nwill advise you what to do next.'\n\nAway hurried the king, and soon set all his soldiers scouring the\ncountry for a girl with a lance wound in her leg. For two days the\nsearch went on, and then it was somehow discovered that the only person\nwith a lance wound in the leg was the princess herself. The king,\ngreatly agitated, went off to tell the jogi, and to assure him that\nthere must be some mistake. But of course the jogi was prepared for\nthis, and had his answer ready.\n\n'She is not really your daughter, who was stolen away at her birth, but\nan evil spirit that has taken her form,' said he solemnly. 'You can do\nwhat you like, but if you don't take my advice she will kill you all.'\nAnd so solemn he appeared, and so unshaken in his confidence, that the\nking's wisdom was blinded, and he declared that he would do whatever the\njogi advised, and believe whatever he said. So the jogi directed him to\nsend him secretly two carpenters; and when they arrived he set them to\nmake a great chest, so cunningly jointed and put together that neither\nair nor water could penetrate it. There and then the chest was made,\nand, when it was ready, the jogi bade the king to bring the princess by\nnight; and they two thrust the poor little maiden into the chest and\nfastened it down with long nails, and between them carried it to the\nriver and pushed it out into the stream.\n\nAs soon as the jogi got back from this deed he called two of his pupils,\nand pretended that it had been revealed to him that there should be\nfound floating on the river a chest with something of great price within\nit; and he bade them go and watch for it at such a place far down the\nstream, and when the chest came slowly along, bobbing and turning in the\ntide, they were to seize it and secretly and swiftly bring it to him,\nfor he was now determined to put the princess to death himself. The\npupils set off at once, wondering at the strangeness of their errand,\nand still more at the holiness of the jogi to whom such secrets were\nrevealed.\n\n[Illustration: The Princess released from the box]\n\nIt happened that, as the next morning was dawning, the gallant young\nprince of Dilaram was hunting by the banks of the river, with a great\nfollowing of wazirs, attendants, and huntsmen, and as he rode he saw\nfloating on the river a large chest, which came slowly along, bobbing\nand turning in the tide. Raising himself in his saddle, he gave an\norder, and half a dozen men plunged into the water and drew the chest\nout on to the river bank, where every one crowded around to see what it\ncould contain. The prince was certainly not the least curious among\nthem; but he was a cautious young man, and, as he prepared to open\nthe chest himself, he bade all but a few stand back, and these few to\ndraw their swords, so as to be prepared in case the chest should hold\nsome evil beast, or djinn, or giant. When all were ready and expectant,\nthe prince with his dagger forced open the lid and flung it back, and\nthere lay, living and breathing, the most lovely maiden he had ever seen\nin his life.\n\nAlthough she was half stifled from her confinement in the chest, the\nprincess speedily revived, and, when she was able to sit up, the prince\nbegan to question her as to who she was and how she came to be shut up\nin the chest and set afloat upon the water; and she, blushing and\ntrembling to find herself in the presence of so many strangers, told him\nthat she was the princess of Rahmatabad, and that she had been put into\nthe chest by her own father. When he on his part told her that he was\nthe prince of Dilaram, the astonishment of the young people was\nunbounded to find that they, who had been betrothed without ever having\nseen one another, should have actually met for the first time under such\nstrange circumstances. In fact, the prince was so moved by her beauty\nand modest ways that he called up his wazirs and demanded to be married\nat once to this lovely lady who had so completely won his heart. And\nmarried they were then and there upon the river bank, and went home to\nthe prince's palace, where, when the story was told, they were welcomed\nby the old rajah, the prince's father, and the remainder of the day was\ngiven over to feasting and rejoicing. But when the banquet was over, the\nbride told her husband that now, on the threshold of their married life,\nshe had more to relate of her adventures than he had given her the\nopportunity to tell as yet; and then, without hiding anything, she\ninformed him of all that happened to her from the time she had stolen\nout to visit the wicked jogi.\n\nIn the morning the prince called his chief wazir and ordered him to shut\nup in the chest in which the princess had been found a great monkey that\nlived chained up in the palace, and to take the chest back to the river\nand set it afloat once more and watch what became of it. So the monkey\nwas caught and put into the chest, and some of the prince's servants\ntook it down to the river and pushed it off into the water. Then they\nfollowed secretly a long way off to see what became of it.\n\n[Illustration: The Terrible End of the Jogi]\n\nMeanwhile the jogi's two pupils watched and watched for the chest until\nthey were nearly tired of watching, and were beginning to wonder\nwhether the jogi was right after all, when on the second day they spied\nthe great chest coming floating on the river, slowly bobbing and turning\non the tide; and instantly a great joy and exultation seized them, for\nthey thought that here indeed was further proof of the wonderful wisdom\nof their master. With some difficulty they secured the chest, and\ncarried it back as swiftly and secretly as possible to the jogi's house.\nAs soon as they brought in the chest, the jogi, who had been getting\nvery cross and impatient, told them to put it down, and to go outside\nwhilst he opened the magic chest.\n\n'And even if you hear cries and sounds, however alarming, you must on no\naccount enter,' said the jogi, walking over to a closet where lay the\nsilken cord that was to strangle the princess.\n\nAnd the two pupils did as they were told, and went outside and shut\nclose all the doors. Presently they heard a great outcry within, and the\njogi's voice crying aloud for help; but they dared not enter, for had\nthey not been told that whatever the noise, they must not come in? So\nthey sat outside, waiting and wondering; and at last all grew still and\nquiet, and remained so for such a long time that they determined to\nenter and see if all was well. No sooner had they opened the door\nleading into the courtyard than they were nearly upset by a huge monkey\nthat came leaping straight to the doorway and escaped past them into the\nopen fields. Then they stepped into the room, and there they saw the\njogi's body lying torn to pieces on the threshold of his dwelling!\n\nVery soon the story spread, as stories will, and reached the ears of the\nprincess and her husband, and when she knew that her enemy was dead she\nmade her peace with her father.\n\n\n    From Major Campbell, Feroshepore.\n\n\n\n\n_THE HEART OF A MONKEY_\n\n\nA LONG time ago a little town made up of a collection of low huts stood\nin a tiny green valley at the foot of a cliff. Of course the people had\ntaken great care to build their houses out of reach of the highest tide\nwhich might be driven on shore by a west wind, but on the very edge of\nthe town there had sprung up a tree so large that half its boughs hung\nover the huts and the other half over the deep sea right under the\ncliff, where sharks loved to come and splash in the clear water. The\nbranches of the tree itself were laden with fruit, and every day at\nsunrise a big grey monkey might have been seen sitting in the topmost\nbranches having his breakfast, and chattering to himself with delight.\n\nAfter he had eaten all the fruit on the town side of the tree the monkey\nswung himself along the branches to the part which hung over the water.\nWhile he was looking out for a nice shady place where he might perch\ncomfortably he noticed a shark watching him from below with greedy eyes.\n\n'Can I do anything for you, my friend?' asked the monkey politely.\n\n'Oh! if you only _would_ throw me down some of those delicious things, I\nshould be so grateful,' answered the shark. 'After you have lived on\nfish for fifty years you begin to feel you would like a change. And I am\nso very, very tired of the taste of salt.'\n\n'Well, I don't like salt myself,' said the monkey; 'so if you will open\nyour mouth I will throw this beautiful juicy kuyu into it,' and, as he\nspoke, he pulled one off the branch just over his head. But it was not\nso easy to hit the shark's mouth as he supposed, even when the creature\nhad turned on his back, and the first kuyu only struck one of his teeth\nand rolled into the water. However, the second time the monkey had\nbetter luck, and the fruit fell right in.\n\n[Illustration: The Monkey feeds the Shark]\n\n'Ah, how good!' cried the shark. 'Send me another, please,' and the\nmonkey grew tired of picking the kuyu long before the shark was tired of\neating them.\n\n'It is getting late, and I must be going home to my children,' he said\nat length, 'but if you are here at the same time to-morrow I will give\nyou another treat.'\n\n'Thank you, thank you,' said the shark, showing all his great ugly teeth\nas he grinned with delight; 'you can't guess how happy you have made\nme,' and he swam away into the shadow, hoping to sleep away the time\ntill the monkey came again.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFor weeks the monkey and the shark breakfasted together, and it was a\nwonder that the tree had any fruit left for them. They became fast\nfriends, and told each other about their homes and their children, and\nhow to teach them all they ought to know. By and bye the monkey became\nrather discontented with his green house in a grove of palms beyond the\ntown, and longed to see the strange things under the sea which he had\nheard of from the shark. The shark perceived this very clearly, and\ndescribed greater marvels, and the monkey as he listened grew more and\nmore gloomy.\n\nMatters were in this state when one day the shark said: 'I really hardly\nknow how to thank you for all your kindness to me during these weeks.\nHere I have nothing of my own to offer you, but if you would only\nconsent to come home with me, how gladly would I give you anything that\nmight happen to take your fancy.'\n\n'I should like nothing better,' cried the monkey, his teeth chattering,\nas they always did when he was pleased. 'But how could I get there? Not\nby water. Ugh! It makes me ill to think of it!'\n\n'Oh! don't let that trouble you,' replied the shark, 'you have only to\nsit on my back and I will undertake that not a drop of water shall touch\nyou.'\n\nSo it was arranged, and directly after breakfast next morning the shark\nswam close up under the tree and the monkey dropped neatly on his back,\nwithout even a splash. After a few minutes--for at first he felt a\nlittle frightened at his strange position--the monkey began to enjoy\nhimself vastly, and asked the shark a thousand questions about the fish\nand the sea-weeds and the oddly-shaped things that floated past them,\nand as the shark always gave him some sort of answer, the monkey never\nguessed that many of the objects they saw were as new to his guide as to\nhimself.\n\nThe sun had risen and set six times when the shark suddenly said, 'My\nfriend, we have now performed half our journey, and it is time that I\nshould tell you something.'\n\n'What is it?' asked the monkey. 'Nothing unpleasant, I hope, for you\nsound rather grave?'\n\n'Oh, no! Nothing at all. It is only that shortly before we left I heard\nthat the sultan of my country is very ill, and that the only thing to\ncure him is a monkey's heart.'\n\n'Poor man, I am very sorry for him,' replied the monkey; 'but you were\nunwise not to tell me till we had started.'\n\n'What do you mean?' asked the shark; but the monkey, who now understood\nthe whole plot, did not answer at once, for he was considering what he\nshould say.\n\n'Why are you so silent?' inquired the shark again.\n\n'I was thinking what a pity it was you did not tell me while I was still\non land, and then I would have brought my heart with me.'\n\n'Your heart! Why, isn't your heart here?' said the shark, with a puzzled\nexpression.\n\n'Oh, no! Of course not. Is it possible you don't know that when we leave\nhome we always hang up our hearts on trees, to prevent their being\ntroublesome? However, perhaps you won't believe that, and will just\nthink I have invented it because I am afraid, so let us go on to your\ncountry as fast as we can, and when we arrive you can look for my heart,\nand if you find it you can kill me.'\n\nThe monkey spoke in such a calm, indifferent way that the shark was\nquite deceived, and began to wish he had not been in such a hurry.\n\n[Illustration: The Monkey has a ride]\n\n'But there is no use going on if your heart is not with you,' he said at\nlast. 'We had better turn back to the town, and then you can fetch it.'\n\nOf course, this was just what the monkey wanted, but he was careful not\nto seem too pleased.\n\n'Well, I don't know,' he remarked carelessly, 'it is such a long way;\nbut you may be right.'\n\n'I am sure I am,' answered the shark, 'and I will swim as quickly as I\ncan,' and so he did, and in three days they caught sight of the kuyu\ntree hanging over the water.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWith a sigh of relief the monkey caught hold of the nearest branch and\nswung himself up.\n\n'Wait for me here,' he called out to the shark. 'I am so hungry I must\nhave a little breakfast, and then I will go and look for my heart,' and\nhe went further and further into the branches so that the shark could\nnot see him. Then he curled himself up and went to sleep.\n\n'Are you there?' cried the shark, who was soon tired of swimming about\nunder the cliff, and was in haste to be gone.\n\nThe monkey awoke with a start, but did not answer.\n\n'Are you _there_?' called the shark again, louder than before, and in a\nvery cross voice.\n\n'Oh, yes. I am here,' replied the monkey; 'but I wish you had not\nwakened me up. I was having such a nice nap.'\n\n'Have you got it?' asked the shark. 'It is time we were going.'\n\n'Going _where_?' inquired the monkey.\n\n'Why, to my country, of course, with your heart. You _can't_ have\nforgotten!'\n\n'My dear friend,' answered the monkey, with a chuckle, 'I think you must\nbe going a little mad. Do you take me for a washerman's donkey?'\n\n'Don't talk nonsense,' exclaimed the shark, who did not like being\nlaughed at. 'What do you mean about a washerman's donkey? And I wish you\nwould be quick, or we may be too late to save the sultan.'\n\n'Did you _really_ never hear of the washerman's donkey?' asked the\nmonkey, who was enjoying himself immensely. 'Why, he is the beast who\nhas no heart. And as I am not feeling very well, and am afraid to start\nwhile the sun is so high lest I should get a sunstroke, if you like, I\nwill come a little nearer and tell you his story.'\n\n'Very well,' said the shark sulkily, 'if you won't come, I suppose I may\nas well listen to that as do nothing.'\n\nSo the monkey began.\n\n'A washerman once lived in the great forest on the other side of the\ntown, and he had a donkey to keep him company and to carry him wherever\nhe wanted to go. For a time they got on very well, but by and bye the\ndonkey grew lazy and ungrateful for her master's kindness, and ran away\nseveral miles into the heart of the forest, where she did nothing but\neat and eat and eat, till she grew so fat she could hardly move.\n\n'One day as she was tasting quite a new kind of grass and wondering if\nit was as good as what she had had for dinner the day before, a hare\nhappened to pass by.\n\n'\"Well, that _is_ a fat creature,\" thought she, and turned out of her\npath to tell the news to a lion who was a friend of hers. Now the lion\nhad been very ill, and was not strong enough to go hunting for himself,\nand when the hare came and told him that a very fat donkey was to be\nfound only a few hundred yards off, tears of disappointment and weakness\nfilled his eyes.\n\n'\"What is the good of telling me that?\" he asked, in a weepy voice; \"you\nknow I cannot even walk as far as that palm.\"\n\n'\"Never mind,\" answered the hare briskly. \"If you can't go to your\ndinner your dinner shall come to you,\" and nodding a farewell to the\nlion she went back to the donkey.\n\n'\"Good morning,\" said she, bowing politely to the donkey, who lifted her\nhead in surprise. \"Excuse my interrupting you, but I have come on very\nimportant business.\"\n\n'\"Indeed,\" answered the donkey, \"it is most kind of you to take the\ntrouble. May I inquire what the business is?\"\n\n'\"Certainly,\" replied the hare. \"It is my friend the lion who has heard\nso much of your charms and good qualities that he has sent me to beg\nthat you will give him your paw in marriage. He regrets deeply that he\nis unable to make the request in person, but he has been ill and is too\nweak to move.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Donkey expected the Lion would speak of their\nMarriage]\n\n'\"Poor fellow! How sad!\" said the donkey. \"But you must tell him that I\nfeel honoured by his proposal, and will gladly consent to be Queen of\nthe Beasts.\"\n\n'\"Will you not come and tell him so yourself?\" asked the hare.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'Side by side they went down the road which led to the lion's house. It\ntook a long while, for the donkey was so fat with eating she could only\nwalk very slowly, and the hare, who could have run the distance in about\nfive minutes, was obliged to creep along till she almost dropped with\nfatigue at not being able to go at her own pace. When at last they\narrived the lion was sitting up at the entrance, looking very pale and\nthin. The donkey suddenly grew shy and hung her head, but the lion put\non his best manners and invited both his visitors to come in and make\nthemselves comfortable.\n\n'Very soon the hare got up and said, \"Well, as I have another engagement\nI will leave you to make acquaintance with your future husband,\" and\nwinking at the lion she bounded away.\n\n'The donkey expected that as soon as they were left alone the lion would\nbegin to speak of their marriage, and where they should live, but as he\nsaid nothing she looked up. To her surprise and terror she saw him\ncrouching in the corner, his eyes glaring with a red light, and with a\nloud roar he sprang towards her. But in that moment the donkey had had\ntime to prepare herself, and jumping on one side dealt the lion such a\nhard kick that he shrieked with the pain. Again and again he struck at\nher with his claws, but the donkey could bite too, as well as the lion,\nwho was very weak after his illness, and at last a well-planted kick\nknocked him right over, and he rolled on the floor, groaning with pain.\nThe donkey did not wait for him to get up, but ran away as fast as she\ncould and was lost in the forest.\n\n'Now the hare, who knew quite well what would happen, had not gone to do\nher business, but hid herself in some bushes behind the cave, where she\ncould hear quite clearly the sounds of the battle. When all was quiet\nagain she crept gently out, and stole round the corner.\n\n'\"Well, lion, have you killed her?\" asked she, running swiftly up the\npath.\n\n'\"Killed her, indeed!\" answered the lion sulkily, \"it is she who has\nnearly killed me. I never knew a donkey could kick like that, though I\ntook care she should carry away the marks of my claws.\"\n\n'\"Dear me! Fancy such a great fat creature being able to fight,\" cried\nthe hare. \"But don't vex yourself. Just lie still, and your wounds will\nsoon heal,\" and she bade her friend good bye, and returned to her\nfamily.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'Two or three weeks passed, and only bare places on the donkey's back\nshowed where the lion's claws had been, while, on his side, the lion had\nrecovered from his illness and was now as strong as ever. He was\nbeginning to think that it was almost time for him to begin hunting\nagain, when one morning a rustle was heard in the creepers outside, and\nthe hare's head peeped through.\n\n'\"Ah! there is no need to ask how you are,\" she said. \"Still you mustn't\novertire yourself, you know. Shall _I_ go and bring you your dinner?\"\n\n'\"If you will bring me that donkey I will tear it in two,\" cried the\nlion savagely, and the hare laughed and nodded and went on her errand.\n\n'This time the donkey was much further than before, and it took longer\nto find her. At last the hare caught sight of four hoofs in the air, and\nran towards them. The donkey was lying on a soft cool bed of moss near a\nstream, rolling herself backwards and forwards from pleasure.\n\n'\"Good morning,\" said the hare politely, and the donkey got slowly on to\nher legs, and looked to see who her visitor could be.\n\n'\"Oh, it is _you_, is it?\" she exclaimed. \"Come in and have a chat. What\nnews have you got?\"\n\n'\"I mustn't stay,\" answered the hare; \"but I promised the lion to beg\nyou to pay him a visit, as he is not well enough to call on you.\"\n\n'\"Well, I don't know,\" replied the donkey gloomily, \"the last time we\nwent he scratched me very badly, and really I was quite afraid.\"\n\n'\"He was only trying to kiss you,\" said the hare, \"and you bit him, and\nof course that made him cross.\"\n\n'\"If I were sure of _that_,\" hesitated the donkey.\n\n'\"Oh, you may be quite sure,\" laughed the hare. \"I have a large\nacquaintance among lions. But let us be quick,\" and rather unwillingly\nthe donkey set out.\n\n'The lion saw them coming and hid himself behind a large tree. As the\ndonkey went past, followed by the hare, he sprang out, and with one blow\nof his paw stretched the poor foolish creature dead before him.\n\n'\"Take this meat and skin it and roast it,\" he said to the hare; \"but my\nappetite is not so good as it was, and the only part I want for myself\nis the heart. The rest you can either eat for yourself or give away to\nyour friends.\"\n\n'\"Thank you,\" replied the hare, balancing the donkey on her back as well\nas she was able, and though the legs trailed along the ground she\nmanaged to drag it to an open space some distance off, where she made a\nfire and roasted it. As soon as it was cooked the hare took out the\nheart and had just finished eating it when the lion, who was tired of\nwaiting, came up.\n\n'\"I am hungry,\" said he. \"Bring me the creature's heart; it is just what\nI want for supper.\"\n\n'\"But there is no heart,\" answered the hare, looking up at the lion with\na puzzled face.\n\n'\"What nonsense!\" said the lion. \"As if every beast had not got a heart.\nWhat do you mean?\"\n\n'\"This is a washerman's donkey,\" replied the hare gravely.\n\n'\"Well, and suppose it is?\"\n\n'\"Oh, fie!\" exclaimed the hare. \"You a lion and a grown-up person, and\nask questions like that. If the donkey had had a heart would she be here\nnow? The first time she came she knew you were trying to kill her, and\nran away. Yet she came back a second time. Well, if she had had a heart\nwould she have come back a second time? Now _would_ she?\"\n\n'And the lion answered slowly, \"No, she would not.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'So you think I am a washerman's donkey?' said the monkey to the shark,\nwhen the story was ended. 'You are wrong; I am not. And as the sun is\ngetting low in the sky, it is time for you to begin your homeward\njourney. You will have a nice cool voyage, and I hope you will find the\nsultan better. Farewell!' And the monkey disappeared among the green\nbranches, and was gone.\n\n\n    From 'Swahili Tales,' by Edward Steere, LL.D.\n\n\n\n\n_THE FAIRY NURSE_\n\n\nTHERE was once a little farmer and his wife living near Coolgarrow. They\nhad three children, and my story happened while the youngest was a baby.\nThe wife was a good wife enough, but her mind was all on her family and\nher farm, and she hardly ever went to her knees without falling asleep,\nand she thought the time spent in the chapel was twice as long as it\nneed be. So, friends, she let her man and her two children go before her\none day to Mass, while she called to consult a fairy man about a\ndisorder one of her cows had. She was late at the chapel, and was sorry\nall the day after, for her husband was in grief about it, and she was\nvery fond of him.\n\nLate that night he was wakened up by the cries of his children calling\nout, 'Mother! mother!' When he sat up and rubbed his eyes, there was no\nwife by his side, and when he asked the little ones what was become of\ntheir mother, they said they saw the room full of nice little men and\nwomen, dressed in white and red and green, and their mother in the\nmiddle of them, going out by the door as if she was walking in her\nsleep. Out he ran, and searched everywhere round the house, but neither\ntale nor tidings did he get of her for many a day.\n\nWell, the poor man was miserable enough, for he was as fond of his woman\nas she was of him. It used to bring the salt tears down his cheeks to\nsee his poor children neglected and dirty, as they often were, and\nthey'd be bad enough only for a kind neighbour that used to look in\nwhenever she could spare time. The infant was away with a nurse.\n\n[Illustration: The Fairies go off with the Farmer's Wife]\n\nAbout six weeks after--just as he was going out to his work one\nmorning--a neighbour, that used to mind women when they were ill, came\nup to him, and kept step by step with him to the field, and this is what\nshe told him.\n\n'Just as I was falling asleep last night, I heard a horse's tramp on the\ngrass and a knock at the door, and there, when I came out, was a\nfine-looking dark man, mounted on a black horse, and he told me to get\nready in all haste, for a lady was in great want of me. As soon as I put\non my cloak and things, he took me by the hand, and I was sitting behind\nhim before I felt myself stirring. \"Where are we going, sir?\" says I.\n\"You'll soon know,\" says he; and he drew his fingers across my eyes, and\nnot a ray could I see. I kept a tight grip of him, and I little knew\nwhether he was going backwards or forwards, or how long we were about\nit, till my hand was taken again, and I felt the ground under me. The\nfingers went the other way across my eyes, and there we were before a\ncastle door, and in we went through a big hall and great rooms all\npainted in fine green colours, with red and gold bands and ornaments,\nand the finest carpets and chairs and tables and window curtains, and\ngrand ladies and gentlemen walking about. At last we came to a bedroom,\nwith a beautiful lady in bed, with a fine bouncing boy beside her. The\nlady clapped her hands, and in came the Dark Man and kissed her and the\nbaby, and praised me, and gave me a bottle of green ointment to rub the\nchild all over.\n\n'Well, the child I rubbed, sure enough; but my right eye began to smart,\nand I put up my finger and gave it a rub, and then stared, for never in\nall my life was I so frightened. The beautiful room was a big, rough\ncave, with water oozing over the edges of the stones and through the\nclay; and the lady, and the lord, and the child weazened, poverty-bitten\ncreatures--nothing but skin and bone--and the rich dresses were old\nrags. I didn't let on that I found any difference, and after a bit says\nthe Dark Man, \"Go before me, to the hall door, and I will be with you in\na few moments, and see you safe home.\" Well, just as I turned into the\noutside cave, who should I see watching near the door but poor Molly.\nShe looked round all terrified, and says she to me in a whisper, \"I'm\nbrought here to nurse the child of the king and queen of the fairies;\nbut there is one chance of saving me. All the court will pass the cross\nnear Templeshambo next Friday night, on a visit to the fairies of Old\nRoss. If John can catch me by the hand or cloak when I ride by, and has\ncourage not to let go his grip, I'll be safe. Here's the king. Don't\nopen your mouth to answer. I saw what happened with the ointment.\"\n\n'The Dark Man didn't once cast his eye towards Molly, and he seemed to\nhave no suspicion of me. When we came out I looked about me, and where\ndo you think we were but in the dyke of the Rath of Cromogue. I was on\nthe horse again, which was nothing but a big rag-weed, and I was in\ndread every minute I'd fall off; but nothing happened till I found\nmyself in my own cabin. The king slipped five guineas into my hand as\nsoon as I was on the ground, and thanked me, and bade me good-night. I\nhope I'll never see his face again. I got into bed, and couldn't sleep\nfor a long time; and when I examined my five guineas this morning, that\nI left in the table drawer the last thing, I found five withered leaves\nof oak--bad luck to the giver!'\n\nWell, you may all think the fright, and the joy, and the grief the poor\nman was in when the woman finished her story. They talked and they\ntalked, but we needn't mind what they said till Friday night came, when\nboth were standing where the mountain road crosses the one going to\nRoss.\n\nThere they stood, looking towards the bridge of Thuar, in the dead of\nthe night, with a little moonlight shining from over Kilachdiarmid. At\nlast she gave a start, and 'By this and by that,' says she, 'here they\ncome, bridles jingling and feathers tossing!' He looked, but could see\nnothing; and she stood trembling and her eyes wide open, looking down\nthe way to the ford of Ballinacoola. 'I see your wife,' says she,\n'riding on the outside just so as to rub against us. We'll walk on\nquietly, as if we suspected nothing, and when we are passing I'll give\nyou a shove. If you don't do _your_ duty then, woe be with you!'\n\nWell, they walked on easy, and the poor hearts beating in both their\nbreasts; and though he could see nothing, he heard a faint jingle and\ntrampling and rustling, and at last he got the push that she promised.\nHe spread out his arms, and there was his wife's waist within them, and\nhe could see her plain; but such a hullabulloo rose as if there was an\nearthquake, and he found himself surrounded by horrible-looking things,\nroaring at him and striving to pull his wife away. But he made the sign\nof the cross and bid them begone in God's name, and held his wife as if\nit was iron his arms were made of. Bedad, in one moment everything was\nas silent as the grave, and the poor woman lying in a faint in the arms\nof her husband and her good neighbour. Well, all in good time she was\nminding her family and her business again; and I'll go bail, after the\nfright she got, she spent more time on her knees, and avoided fairy men\nall the days of the week, and particularly on Sunday.\n\n[Illustration: HOW JOHN GOT HIS WIFE BACK FROM THE FAIRIES]\n\nIt is hard to have anything to do with the good people without getting a\nmark from them. My brave nurse didn't escape no more than another. She\nwas one Thursday at the market of Enniscorthy, when what did she see\nwalking among the tubs of butter but the Dark Man, very hungry-looking,\nand taking a scoop out of one tub and out of another. 'Oh, sir,' says\nshe, very foolish, 'I hope your lady is well, and the baby.' 'Pretty\nwell, thank you,' says he, rather frightened like. 'How do I look in\nthis new suit?' says he, getting to one side of her. 'I can't see you\nplain at all, sir,' says she. 'Well, now?' says he, getting round her\nback to the other side. 'Musha, indeed, sir, your coat looks no better\nthan a withered dock-leaf.' 'Maybe, then,' says he, 'it will be\ndifferent now,' and he struck the eye next him with a switch.\n\nFriends, she never saw a glimmer after with that one till the day of her\ndeath.\n\n    'Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts,' by Patrick Kennedy.\n\n\n\n\n_A LOST PARADISE_\n\n\nIN the middle of a great forest there lived a long time ago a\ncharcoal-burner and his wife. They were both young and handsome and\nstrong, and when they got married, they thought work would never fail\nthem. But bad times came, and they grew poorer and poorer, and the\nnights in which they went hungry to bed became more and more frequent.\n\nNow one evening the king of that country was hunting near the\ncharcoal-burner's hut. As he passed the door, he heard a sound of\nsobbing, and being a good-natured man he stopped to listen, thinking\nthat perhaps he might be able to give some help.\n\n'Were there ever two people so unhappy!' said a woman's voice. 'Here we\nare, ready to work like slaves the whole day long, and no work can we\nget. And it is all because of the curiosity of old mother Eve! If she\nhad only been like _me_, who never want to know anything, we should all\nhave been as happy as kings to-day, with plenty to eat, and warm\nclothes to wear. Why----' but at this point a loud knock interrupted\nher lamentations.\n\n'Who is there?' asked she.\n\n'I!' replied somebody.\n\n'And who is \"I\"?'\n\n'The king. Let me in.'\n\nFull of surprise the woman jumped up and pulled the bar away from the\ndoor. As the king entered, he noticed that there was no furniture in the\nroom at all, not even a chair, so he pretended to be in too great a\nhurry to see anything around him, and only said, 'You must not let me\ndisturb you, I have no time to stay, but you seemed to be in trouble.\nTell me; are you very unhappy?'\n\n'Oh, my lord, we can find no work and have eaten nothing for two days!'\nanswered she. 'Nothing remains for us but to die of hunger.'\n\n'No, no, you shan't do that,' cried the king, 'or if you do, it will be\nyour own fault. You shall come with me into my palace, and you will feel\nas if you were in Paradise, I promise you. In return, I only ask one\nthing of you, that you shall obey my orders exactly.'\n\nThe charcoal-burner and his wife both stared at him for a moment, as if\nthey could hardly believe their ears; and, indeed, it was not to be\nwondered at! Then they found their tongues, and exclaimed together:\n\n'Oh, yes, yes, my lord! we will do everything you tell us. How could we\nbe so ungrateful as to disobey you, when you are so kind?'\n\nThe king smiled, and his eyes twinkled.\n\n'Well, let us start at once,' said he. 'Lock your door, and put the key\nin your pocket.'\n\nThe woman looked as if she thought this was needless, seeing it was\nquite, quite certain they would never come back. But she dared not say\nso, and did as the king told her.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAfter walking through the forest for a couple of miles, they all three\nreached the palace, and by the king's orders servants led the\ncharcoal-burner and his wife into rooms filled with beautiful things\nsuch as they had never even dreamed of. First they bathed in green\nmarble baths where the water looked like the sea, and then they put on\nsilken clothes that felt soft and pleasant. When they were ready, one of\nthe king's special servants entered, and took them into a small hall,\nwhere dinner was laid, and this pleased them better than anything else.\n\nThey were just about to sit down to the table when the king walked in.\n\n'I hope you have been attended to properly,' said he, 'and that you will\nenjoy your dinner. My steward will take care you have all you want, and\nI wish you to do exactly as you please. Oh, by the bye, there is one\nthing! You notice that soup-tureen in the middle of the table? Well, be\ncareful on no account to lift the lid. If once you take off the cover,\nthere is an end of your good fortune.' Then bowing to his guests, he\nleft the room.\n\n'Did you hear what he said?' inquired the charcoal-burner in an\nawe-stricken voice. 'We are to have what we want, and do what we please.\nOnly we must not touch the soup-tureen.'\n\n'No, of course we won't,' answered the wife. 'Why should we wish to? But\nall the same it is rather odd, and one can't help wondering what is\ninside.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFor many days life went on like a beautiful dream to the charcoal-burner\nand his wife. Their beds were so comfortable, they could hardly make up\ntheir minds to get up, their clothes were so lovely they could scarcely\nbring themselves to take them off; their dinners were so good that they\nfound it very difficult to leave off eating. Then outside the palace\nwere gardens filled with rare flowers and fruits and singing birds, or\nif they desired to go further, a golden coach, painted with wreaths of\nforget-me-nots and lined with blue satin, awaited their orders.\nSometimes it happened that the king came to see them, and he smiled as\nhe glanced at the man, who was getting rosier and plumper each day. But\nwhen his eyes rested on the woman, they took on a look which seemed to\nsay 'I knew it,' though this neither the charcoal-burner nor his wife\never noticed.\n\n'Why are you so silent?' asked the man one morning when dinner had\npassed before his wife had uttered one word. 'A little while ago you\nused to be chattering all the day long, and now I have almost forgotten\nthe sound of your voice.'\n\n'Oh, nothing; I did not feel inclined to talk, that was all!' She\nstopped, and added carelessly after a pause, 'Don't you ever wonder what\nis in that soup-tureen?'\n\n'No, never,' replied the man. 'It is no affair of ours,' and the\nconversation dropped once more, but as time went on, the woman spoke\nless and less, and seemed so wretched that her husband grew quite\nfrightened about her. As to her food, she refused one thing after\nanother.\n\n'My dear wife,' said the man at last, 'you really _must_ eat something.\nWhat in the world is the matter with you? If you go on like this you\nwill die.'\n\n'I would rather die than not know what is in that tureen,' she burst\nforth so violently that the husband was quite startled.\n\n'Is _that_ it?' cried he; 'are you making yourself miserable because of\n_that_? Why, you know we should be turned out of the palace, and sent\naway to starve.'\n\n'Oh no, we shouldn't. The king is too good-natured. Of course he didn't\nmean a little thing like this! Besides, there is no need to lift the lid\noff altogether. Just raise one corner so that I may peep. We are quite\nalone: nobody will ever know.'\n\nThe man hesitated: it _did_ seem a 'little thing,' and if it was to make\nhis wife contented and happy it was well worth the risk. So he took hold\nof the handle of the cover and raised it very slowly and carefully,\nwhile the woman stooped down to peep. Suddenly she started back with a\nscream, for a small mouse had sprung from the inside of the tureen, and\nhad nearly hit her in the eye. Round and round the room it ran, round\nand round they both ran after it, knocking down chairs and vases in\ntheir efforts to catch the mouse and put it back in the tureen. In the\nmiddle of all the noise the door opened, and the mouse ran out between\nthe feet of the king. In one instant both the man and his wife were\nhiding under the table, and to all appearance the room was empty.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'You may as well come out,' said the king, 'and hear what I have to\nsay.'\n\n'I know what it is,' answered the charcoal-burner, hanging his head.\n'The mouse has escaped.'\n\n'A guard of soldiers will take you back to your hut,' said the king.\n'Your wife has the key.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'Weren't they _silly_?' cried the grandchildren of the charcoal-burners\nwhen they heard the story. 'How we wish that _we_ had had the chance!\n_We_ should never have wanted to know what was in the soup-tureen!'\n\n\n    From 'Litterature Orale de l'Auvergne,' par P. Sebillot.\n\n\n\n\n_HOW BRAVE WALTER HUNTED WOLVES_\n\n\nA LITTLE back from the high road there stands a house which is called\n'Hemgard.' Perhaps you remember the two beautiful mountain ash trees by\nthe reddish-brown palings, and the high gate, and the garden with the\nbeautiful barberry bushes which are always the first to become green in\nspring, and which in summer are weighed down with their beautiful\nberries.\n\nBehind the garden there is a hedge with tall aspens which rustle in the\nmorning wind, behind the hedge is a road, behind the road is a wood, and\nbehind the wood the wide world.\n\nBut on the other side of the garden there is a lake, and beyond the lake\nis a village, and all around stretch meadows and fields, now yellow, now\ngreen.\n\nIn the pretty house, which has white window-frames, a neat porch and\nclean steps, which are always strewn with finely-cut juniper leaves,\nWalter's parents live. His brother Frederick, his sister Lotta, old\nLena, Jonas, Caro and Bravo, Putte and Murre, and Kuckeliku.\n\nCaro lives in the dog house, Bravo in the stable, Putte with the\nstableman, Murre a little here and a little there, and Kuckeliku lives\nin the hen house, that is his kingdom.\n\nWalter is six years old, and he must soon begin to go to school. He\ncannot read yet, but he can do many other things. He can turn\ncartwheels, stand on his head, ride see-saw, throw snowballs, play ball,\ncrow like a cock, eat bread and butter and drink sour milk, tear his\ntrousers, wear holes in his elbows, break the crockery in pieces, throw\nballs through the windowpanes, draw old men on important papers, walk\nover the flower-beds, eat himself sick with gooseberries, and be well\nafter a whipping. For the rest he has a good heart but a bad memory, and\nforgets his father's and his mother's admonitions, and so often gets\ninto trouble and meets with adventures, as you shall hear, but first of\nall I must tell you how brave he was and how he hunted wolves.\n\nOnce in the spring, a little before Midsummer, Walter heard that there\nwere a great many wolves in the wood, and that pleased him. He was\nwonderfully brave when he was in the midst of his companions or at home\nwith his brothers and sister, then he used often to say 'One wolf is\nnothing, there ought to be at least _four_.'\n\nWhen he wrestled with Klas Bogenstrom or Frithiof Waderfelt and struck\nthem in the back, he would say: 'That is what I shall do to a wolf!' and\nwhen he shot arrows at Jonas and they rattled against his sheepskin coat\nhe would say 'That is how I should shoot you if you were a wolf!'\n\nIndeed, some thought that the brave boy boasted a little; but one must\nindeed believe him since he said so himself. So Jonas and Lena used to\nsay of him 'Look, there goes Walter, who shoots the wolves.' And other\nboys and girls would say: 'Look, there goes brave Walter who is brave\nenough to fight with four.'\n\nThere was no one so fully convinced of this as Walter himself, and one\nday he prepared himself for a real wolf hunt. He took with him his drum,\nwhich had holes in one end, since the time he had climbed up on it to\nreach a cluster of rowan berries, and his tin sabre, which was a little\nbroken because he had with incredible courage fought his way through a\nwhole unfriendly army of gooseberry bushes.\n\nHe did not forget to arm himself quite to the teeth with his pop-gun,\nhis bow, and his air-pistol. He had a burnt cork in his pocket to\nblacken his moustache, and a red cock's feather to put in his cap to\nmake himself look fierce. He had besides in his trouser pocket a\nclasp-knife with a bone handle, to cut off the ears of the wolves as\nsoon as he had killed them, for he thought it would be cruel to do that\nwhile they were still living.\n\nIt was such a good thing that Jonas was going with corn to the mill, for\nWalter got a seat on the load, while Caro ran barking beside them. As\nsoon as they came to the wood Walter looked cautiously around him to see\nperchance there was a wolf in the bushes, and he did not omit to ask\nJonas if wolves were afraid of a drum. 'Of course they are' (that is\nunderstood) said Jonas. Thereupon Walter began to beat his drum with all\nhis might while they were going through the wood.\n\nWhen they came to the mill Walter immediately asked if there had been\nany wolves in the neighbourhood lately.\n\n'Alas! yes,' said the miller, 'last night the wolves have eaten our\nfattest ram there by the kiln not far from here.'\n\n'Ah!' said Walter, 'do you think that there were many?'\n\n'We don't know,' answered the miller.\n\n'Oh, it is all the same,' said Walter. 'I only asked so that I should\nknow if I should take Jonas with me.\n\n'I could manage very well alone with _three_, but if there were more, I\nmight not have time to kill them all before they ran away.'\n\n'In Walter's place I should go quite alone, it is more manly,' said\nJonas.\n\n'No, it is better for you to come, too,' said Walter. 'Perhaps there are\nmany.'\n\n'No, I have not time,' said Jonas, 'and besides there are sure not to be\nmore than three. Walter can manage them very well alone.'\n\n'Yes,' said Walter, 'certainly I could; but, you see, Jonas, it might\nhappen that one of them might bite me in the back, and I should have\nmore trouble in killing them. If I only knew that there were not more\nthan two I should not mind, for then I should take one in each hand and\ngive them a good shaking, like Susanna once shook me.'\n\n'I certainly think that there will not be more than two,' said Jonas,\n'there are never more than two when they slay children and rams; Walter\ncan very well shake them without me.'\n\n'But, you see Jonas,' said Walter, 'if there are two, it might still\nhappen that one of them escapes and bites me in the leg, for you see I\nam not so strong in the left hand as in the right. You can very well\ncome with me, and take a good stick in case there are really two. Look,\nif there is only one, I shall take him so with both my hands and throw\nhim living on to his back, and he can kick as much as he likes, I shall\nhold him fast.'\n\n'Now, when I really think over the thing,' said Jonas, 'I am almost sure\nthere will not be more than one. What would two do with one ram? There\nwill certainly not be more than one.'\n\n'But you should come with me all the same, Jonas,' said Walter. 'You see\nI can very well manage one, but I am not quite accustomed to wolves yet,\nand he might tear holes in my new trousers.'\n\n'Well, just listen,' said Jonas, 'I am beginning to think that Walter is\nnot so brave as people say. First of all Walter would fight against\nfour, and then against three, then two, and then one, and now Walter\nwants help with one. Such a thing must never be; what would people say?\nPerhaps they would think that Walter is a coward?'\n\n'That's a lie,' said Walter, 'I am not at all frightened, but it is more\namusing when there are two. I only want someone who will see how I\nstrike the wolf and how the dust flies out of his skin.'\n\n'Well, then, Walter can take the miller's little Lisa with him. She can\nsit on a stone and look on,' said Jonas.\n\n'No, she would certainly be frightened,' said Walter, 'and how would it\ndo for a girl to go wolf-hunting? Come with me, Jonas, and you shall\nhave the skin, and I will be content with the ears and the tail.'\n\n'No, thank you,' said Jonas, 'Walter can keep the skin for himself. Now\nI see quite well that he is frightened. Fie, shame on him!'\n\nThis touched Walter's pride very near. 'I shall show that I am not\nfrightened,' he said; and so he took his drum, sabre, cock's feather,\nclasp-knife, pop-gun and air-pistol, and went off quite alone to the\nwood to hunt wolves.\n\nIt was a beautiful evening, and the birds were singing in all the\nbranches. Walter went very slowly and cautiously. At every step he\nlooked all round him to see if perchance there was anything lurking\nbehind the stones. He quite thought something moved away there in the\nditch. Perhaps it was a wolf. It is better for me to beat the drum a\nlittle before I go there, thought Walter.\n\nBr-r-r, so he began to beat his drum. Then something moved again. Caw!\ncaw! a crow flew up from the ditch. Walter immediately regained courage.\n'It was well I took my drum with me,' he thought, and went straight on\nwith courageous steps. Very soon he came quite close to the kiln, where\nthe wolves had killed the ram. But the nearer he came the more dreadful\nhe thought the kiln looked. It was so grey and old. Who knew how many\nwolves there might be hidden there? Perhaps the very ones which killed\nthe ram were still sitting there in a corner. Yes, it was not at all\nsafe here, and there were no other people to be seen in the\nneighbourhood. It would be horrible to be eaten up here in the daylight,\nthought Walter to himself; and the more he thought about it the uglier\nand grayer the old kiln looked, and the more horrible and dreadful it\nseemed to become the food of wolves.\n\n'Shall I go back and say that I struck one wolf and it escaped?' thought\nWalter. 'Fie!' said his conscience, 'Do you not remember that a lie is\none of the worst sins, both in the sight of God and man? If you tell a\nlie to-day and say you struck a wolf, to-morrow surely it will eat you\nup.'\n\n'No, I will go to the kiln,' thought Walter, and so he went. But he did\nnot go quite near. He went only so near that he could see the ram's\nblood which coloured the grass red, and some tufts of wool which the\nwolves had torn from the back of the poor animal.\n\nIt looked so dreadful.\n\n'I wonder what the ram thought when they ate him up,' thought Walter to\nhimself; and just then a cold shiver ran through him from his collar\nright down to his boots.\n\n'It is better for me to beat the drum,' he thought to himself again, and\nso he began to beat it. But it sounded horrid, and an echo came out from\nthe kiln that seemed almost like the howl of a wolf. The drum-sticks\nstiffened in Walter's hands, and he thought now they are coming. . . . !\n\nYes, sure enough, just then a shaggy, reddish-brown wolf's head looked\nout from under the kiln!\n\nWhat did Walter do now? Yes, the brave Walter who alone could manage\nfour, threw his drum far away, took to his heels and ran, and ran as\nfast as he could back to the mill.\n\nBut, alas! the wolf ran after him. Walter looked back; the wolf was\nquicker than he and only a few steps behind him. Then Walter ran faster.\nBut fear got the better of him, he neither heard nor saw anything more.\nHe ran over sticks, stones and ditches; he lost drum-sticks, sabre, bow,\nand air-pistol, and in his terrible hurry he tripped over a tuft of\ngrass. There he lay, and the wolf jumped on to him. . . .\n\nIt was a gruesome tale! Now you may well believe that it was all over\nwith Walter and all his adventures. That would have been a pity. But do\nnot be surprised if it was not quite so bad as that, for the wolf was\nquite a friendly one. He certainly jumped on to Walter, but he only\nshook his coat and rubbed his nose against his face; and Walter\nshrieked. Yes, he shrieked terribly!\n\nHappily Jonas heard his cry of distress, for Walter was quite near the\nmill now, and he ran and helped him up.\n\n'What has happened?' he asked. 'Why did Walter scream so terribly?'\n\n'A wolf! A wolf!' cried Walter, and that was all he could say.\n\n'Where is the wolf?' said Jonas, 'I don't see any wolf.'\n\n'Take care, he is here, he has bitten me to death,' groaned Walter.\n\nThen Jonas began to laugh; yes, he laughed so that he nearly burst his\nskin belt.\n\nWell, well, was that the wolf? Was that the wolf which Walter was to\ntake by the neck and shake and throw down on its back, no matter how\nmuch it struggled? Just look a little closer at him, he is your old\nfriend, your own good old Caro. I quite expect he found a leg of the ram\nin the kiln. When Walter beat his drum, Caro crept out, and when Walter\nran away, Caro ran after him, as he so often does when Walter wants to\nromp and play.\n\n'Down, Caro, you ought to be rather ashamed to have put such a great\nhero to flight!'\n\nWalter got up feeling very foolish.\n\n'Down, Caro!' he said, both relieved and annoyed.\n\n'It was only a dog, then if it had been a wolf I certainly should have\nkilled him. . . .'\n\n'If Walter would listen to my advice, and boast a little less, and do a\nlittle more,' said Jonas, consolingly. 'Walter is not a coward is he?'\n\n'I! You shall see Jonas when we next meet a bear. You see I like so much\nbetter to fight with bears.'\n\n'Indeed!' laughed Jonas. 'Are you at it again?'\n\n'Dear Walter, remember that it is only cowards who boast; a really brave\nman never talks of his bravery.'\n\n\n    From Z. Topelius.\n\n\n\n\n_THE KING OF THE WATERFALLS_\n\n\nWHEN the young king of Easaidh Ruadh came into his kingdom, the first\nthing he thought of was how he could amuse himself best. The sports that\nall his life had pleased him best suddenly seemed to have grown dull,\nand he wanted to do something he had never done before. At last his face\nbrightened.\n\n'I know!' he said, 'I will go and play a game with the Gruagach. Now the\nGruagach was a kind of wicked fairy, with long curly brown hair, and his\nhouse was not very far from the king's house.\n\nBut though the king was young and eager, he was also prudent, and his\nfather had told him on his deathbed to be very careful in his dealings\nwith the 'good people,' as the fairies were called. Therefore before\ngoing to the Gruagach, the king sought out a wise man of the country\nside.\n\n'I am wanting to play a game with the curly-haired Gruagach,' said he.\n\n'Are you, indeed?' replied the wizard. 'If you will take my counsel, you\nwill play with someone else.'\n\n'No; I will play with the Gruagach,' persisted the king.\n\n'Well, if you must, you must, I suppose,' answered the wizard; 'but if\nyou win that game, ask as a prize the ugly crop-headed girl that stands\nbehind the door.'\n\n'I will,' said the king.\n\nSo before the sun rose he got up and went to the house of the Gruagach,\nwho was sitting outside.\n\n'O king, what has brought you here to-day?' asked the Gruagach. 'But\nright welcome you are, and more welcome will you be still if you will\nplay a game with me.'\n\n'That is just what I want,' said the king, and they played; and\nsometimes it seemed as if one would win, and sometimes the other, but in\nthe end it was the king who was the winner.\n\n'And what is the prize that you will choose?' inquired the Gruagach.\n\n'The ugly crop-headed girl that stands behind the door,' replied the\nking.\n\n'Why, there are twenty others in the house, and each fairer than she,'\nexclaimed the Gruagach.\n\n'Fairer they may be, but it is she whom I wish for my wife, and none\nother,' and the Gruagach saw that the king's mind was set upon her, so\nhe entered his house, and bade all the maidens in it come out one by\none, and pass before the king.\n\nOne by one they came; tall and short, dark and fair, plump and thin, and\neach said, 'I am she whom you want. You will be foolish indeed if you do\nnot take me.'\n\nBut he took none of them, neither short nor tall, dark nor fair, plump\nnor thin, till at the last the crop-headed girl came out.\n\n'This is mine,' said the king, though she was so ugly that most men\nwould have turned from her. 'We will be married at once, and I will\ncarry you home.' And married they were, and they set forth across a\nmeadow to the king's house. As they went, the bride stooped and picked a\nsprig of shamrock, which grew amongst the grass, and when she stood\nupright again her ugliness had all gone, and the most beautiful woman\nthat ever was seen stood by the king's side.\n\nThe next day, before the sun rose, the king sprang from his bed, and\ntold his wife he must have another game with the Gruagach.\n\n[Illustration: \"When she stood upright her ugliness had all gone.\"]\n\n'If my father loses that game, and you win it,' said she, 'accept\nnothing for your prize but the shaggy young horse with the stick\nsaddle.'\n\n'I will do that,' answered the king, and he went.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'Does your bride please you?' asked the Gruagach, who was standing at\nhis own door.\n\n'Ah! does she not!' answered the king quickly, 'otherwise I should be\nhard indeed to please. But will you play a game to-day?'\n\n'I will,' replied the Gruagach, and they played, and sometimes it seemed\nas if one would win, and sometimes the other, but in the end the king\nwas the winner.\n\n'What is the prize that you will choose?' asked the Gruagach.\n\n'The shaggy young horse with the stick saddle,' answered the king, but\nhe noticed that the Gruagach held his peace, and his brow was dark as he\nled out the horse from the stable. Rough was its mane and dull was its\nskin, but the king cared nothing for that, and throwing his leg over the\nstick saddle, rode away like the wind.\n\nOn the third morning the king got up as usual before dawn, and as soon\nas he had eaten food he prepared to go out, when his wife stopped him.\n'I would rather,' she said, 'that you did not go to play with the\nGruagach, for though twice _you_ have won yet some day _he_ will win,\nand then he will put trouble upon you.'\n\n'Oh! I _must_ have one more game,' cried the king; 'just this one,' and\nhe went off to the house of the Gruagach.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nJoy filled the heart of the Gruagach when he saw him coming, and without\nwaiting to talk they played their game. Somehow or other, the king's\nstrength and skill had departed from him, and soon the Gruagach was the\nvictor.\n\n'Choose your prize,' said the king, when the game was ended, 'but do not\nbe too hard on me, or ask what I cannot give.'\n\n'The prize I choose,' answered the Gruagach, 'is that the crop-headed\ncreature should take thy head and thy neck, if thou dost not get for me\nthe Sword of Light that hangs in the house of the king of the oak\nwindows.'\n\n'I will get it,' replied the young man bravely, but as soon as he was\nout of sight of the Gruagach, he pretended no more, and his face grew\ndark and his steps lagging.\n\n'You have brought nothing with you to-night,' said the queen, who was\nstanding on the steps awaiting him. She was so beautiful that the king\nwas fain to smile when he looked at her, but then he remembered what had\nhappened, and his heart grew heavy again.\n\n'What is it? What is the matter? Tell me thy sorrow that I may bear it\nwith thee, or, it may be, help thee!' Then the king told her everything\nthat had befallen him, and she stroked his hair the while.\n\n'That is nothing to grieve about,' she said when the tale was finished.\n'You have the best wife in Erin, and the best horse in Erin. Only do as\nI bid you, and all will go well.' And the king suffered himself to be\ncomforted.\n\nHe was still sleeping when the queen rose and dressed herself, to make\neverything ready for her husband's journey, and the first place she went\nto was the stable, where she fed and watered the shaggy brown horse and\nput the saddle on it. Most people thought this saddle was of wood, and\ndid not see the little sparkles of gold and silver that were hidden in\nit. She strapped it lightly on the horse's back, and then led it down\nbefore the house, where the king waited.\n\n'Good luck to you and victories in all your battles,' she said, as she\nkissed him before he mounted. 'I need not be telling you anything. Take\nthe advice of the horse, and see you obey it.'\n\n[Illustration: How The QUEEN brings The Shaggy Brown Horse to the KING]\n\nSo he waved his hand and set out on his journey, and the wind was not\nswifter than the brown horse--no, not even the March wind which raced\nit, and could not catch it. But the horse never stopped nor looked\nbehind, till in the dark of the night he reached the castle of the king\nof the oak windows.\n\n'We are at the end of the journey,' said the horse, 'and you will find\nthe Sword of Light in the king's own chamber. If it comes to you without\nscrape or sound, the token is a good one. At this hour the king is\neating his supper, and the room is empty, so none will see you. The\nsword has a knob at the end, and take heed that when you grasp it, you\ndraw it softly out of its sheath. Now go! I will be under the window!'\n\nStealthily the young man crept along the passage, pausing now and then\nto make sure that no man was following him, and entered the king's\nchamber. A strange white line of light told him where the sword was, and\ncrossing the room on tiptoe, he seized the knob, and drew it slowly out\nof the sheath. The king could hardly breathe with excitement lest it\nshould make some noise and bring all the people in the castle running to\nsee what was the matter. But the sword slid swiftly and silently along\nthe case till only the point was left touching it. Then a low sound was\nheard, as of the edge of a knife touching a silver plate, and the king\nwas so startled that he nearly dropped the knob.\n\n'Quick! quick!' cried the horse, and the king scrambled hastily through\nthe small window, and leapt into the saddle.\n\n'He has heard and he will follow,' said the horse; 'but we have a good\nstart.' And on they sped, on and on, leaving the winds behind them.\n\nAt length the horse slackened its pace. 'Look and see who is behind\nyou,' it said, and the young man looked.\n\n'I see a swarm of brown horses racing madly after us,' he answered.\n\n'We are swifter than those,' said the horse, and flew on again.\n\n'Look again, O king! Is anyone coming now?'\n\n'A swarm of black horses, and one has a white face, and on that horse a\nman is seated. He is the king of the oak windows.'\n\n'That is my brother, and swifter still than I,' said the horse, 'and he\nwill fly past me with a rush. Then you must have your sword ready, and\ntake off the head of the man who sits on him, as he turns and looks at\nyou. And there is no sword in the world that will cut off his head, save\nonly that one.'\n\n'I will do it,' replied the king, and he listened with all his might,\ntill he judged that the white-faced horse was close to him. Then he sat\nup very straight and made ready.\n\nThe next moment there was a rushing noise as of a mighty tempest, and\nthe young man caught a glimpse of a face turned toward him. Almost\nblindly he struck, not knowing whether he had killed or only wounded the\nrider. But the head rolled off, and was caught in the brown horse's\nmouth.\n\n'Jump on my brother, the black horse, and go home as fast as you can,\nand I will follow as quickly as I may,' cried the brown horse; and\nleaping forward the king alighted on the back of the black horse, but so\nnear the tail that he almost fell off again. But he stretched out his\narm and clutched wildly at the mane and pulled himself into the saddle.\n\nBefore the sky was streaked with red he was at home again, and the queen\nwas sitting waiting till he arrived, for sleep was far from her eyes.\nGlad was she to see him enter, but she said little, only took her harp\nand sang softly the songs which he loved, till he went to bed, soothed\nand happy.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was broad day when he woke, and he sprang up saying,\n\n'Now I must go to the Gruagach, to find out if the spells he laid on me\nare loose.'\n\n'Have a care,' answered the queen, 'for it is not with a smile as on the\nother days that he will greet you. Furiously he will meet you, and will\nask you in his wrath if you have got the sword, and you will reply that\nyou have got it. Next he will want to know how you got it, and to this\nyou must say that but for the knob you had not got it at all. Then he\nwill raise his head to look at the knob, and you must stab him in the\nmole which is on the right side of his neck; but take heed, for if you\nmiss the mole with the point of the sword, then my death and your death\nare certain. He is brother to the king of the oak windows, and sure will\nhe be that the king must be dead, or the sword would not be in your\nhands.' After that she kissed him, and bade him good speed.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'Didst thou get the sword?' asked the Gruagach, when they met in the\nusual place.\n\n'I got the sword.'\n\n'And how didst thou get it?'\n\n'If it had not had a knob on the top, then I had not got it,' answered\nthe king.\n\n'Give me the sword to look at,' said the Gruagach, peering forward; but\nlike a flash the king had drawn it from under his nose and pierced the\nmole, so that the Gruagach rolled over on the ground.\n\n'Now I shall be at peace,' thought the king. But he was wrong, for when\nhe reached home he found his servants tied together back to back, with\ncloths bound round their mouths, so that they could not speak. He\nhastened to set them free, and he asked who had treated them in so evil\na manner.\n\n'No sooner had you gone than a great giant came, and dealt with us as\nyou see, and carried off your wife and your two horses,' said the men.\n\n'Then my eyes will not close nor will my head lay itself down till I\nfetch my wife and horses home again,' answered he, and he stooped and\nnoted the tracks of the horses on the grass, and followed after them\ntill he arrived at the wood when the darkness fell.\n\n'I will sleep here,' he said to himself, 'but first I will make a fire.'\nAnd he gathered together some twigs that were lying about, and then took\ntwo dry sticks and rubbed them together till the fire came, and he sat\nby it.\n\nThe twigs crackled and the flame blazed up, and a slim yellow dog pushed\nthrough the bushes and laid his head on the king's knee, and the king\nstroked his head.\n\n'Wuf, wuf,' said the dog. 'Sore was the plight of thy wife and thy\nhorses when the giant drove them last night through the forest.'\n\n'That is why I have come;' answered the king, and suddenly his heart\nseemed to fail him and he felt that he could not go on.'\n\n'I cannot fight that giant,' he cried, looking at the dog with a white\nface. 'I am afraid, let me turn homewards.'\n\n'No, don't do that,' replied the dog. 'Eat and sleep, and I will watch\nover you.' So the king ate and lay down, and slept till the sun waked\nhim.\n\n'It is time for you to start on your way,' said the dog, 'and if danger\npresses, call on me, and I will help you.'\n\n'Farewell, then,' answered the king; 'I will not forget that promise,'\nand on he went, and on, and on, till he reached a tall cliff with many\nsticks lying about.\n\n'It is almost night,' he thought; 'I will make a fire and rest,' and\nthus he did, and when the flames blazed up, the hoary hawk of the grey\nrock flew on to a bough above him.\n\n'Sore was the plight of thy wife and thy horses when they passed here\nwith the giant,' said the hawk.\n\n'Never shall I find them,' answered the king, 'and nothing shall I get\nfor all my trouble.'\n\n'Oh, take heart,' replied the hawk, 'things are never so bad but what\nthey might be worse. Eat and sleep and I will watch thee,' and the king\ndid as he was bidden by the hawk, and by the morning he felt brave\nagain.\n\n'Farewell,' said the bird, 'and if danger presses call to me, and I will\nhelp you.'\n\nOn he walked, and on, and on, till as the dusk was falling he came to a\ngreat river, and on the bank there were sticks lying about.\n\n'I will make myself a fire,' he thought, and thus he did, and by and bye\na smooth brown head peered at him from the water, and a long body\nfollowed it.\n\n'Sore was the plight of thy wife and thy horses when they passed the\nriver last night,' said the otter.\n\n'I have sought them and not found them,' answered the king, 'and nought\nshall I get for my trouble.'\n\n'Be not so downcast,' replied the otter; 'before noon to-morrow thou\nshalt behold thy wife. But eat and sleep and I will watch over thee.' So\nthe king did as the otter bid him, and when the sun rose he woke and saw\nthe otter lying on the bank.\n\n'Farewell,' cried the otter as he jumped into the water, 'and if danger\npresses, call to me and I will help you.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFor many hours the king walked, and at length he reached a high rock,\nwhich was rent in two by a great earthquake. Throwing himself on the\nground he looked over the side, and right at the very bottom he saw his\nwife and his horses. His heart gave a great bound, and all his fears\nleft him, but he was forced to be patient, for the sides of the rock\nwere smooth, and not even a goat could find foothold. So he got up\nagain, and made his way round through the wood, pushing by trees,\nscrambling over rocks, wading through streams, till at last he was on\nflat ground again, close to the mouth of the cavern.\n\nHis wife gave a shriek of joy when he came in, and then burst into\ntears, for she was tired and very frightened. But her husband did not\nunderstand why she wept, and he was tired and bruised from his climb,\nand a little cross too.\n\n'You give me but a sorry welcome,' grumbled he, 'when I have half-killed\nmyself to get to you.'\n\n'Do not heed him,' said the horses to the weeping woman, 'put him in\nfront of us, where he will be safe, and give him food for he is weary.'\nAnd she did as the horses told her, and he ate and rested, till by and\nbye a long shadow fell over them, and their hearts beat with fear, for\nthey knew that the giant was coming.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'I smell a stranger,' cried the giant, as he entered, but it was dark\ninside the chasm, and he did not see the king, who was crouching down\nbetween the feet of the horses.\n\n'A stranger, my lord! no stranger ever comes here, not even the sun!'\nand the king's wife laughed gaily as she went up to the giant and\nstroked the huge hand which hung down by his side.\n\n'Well, I perceive nothing, certainly,' answered he, 'but it is very odd.\nHowever, it is time that the horses were fed'; and he lifted down an\narmful of hay from a shelf of rock and held out a handful to each\nanimal, who moved forward to meet him, leaving the king behind. As soon\nas the giant's hands were near their mouths they each made a snap, and\nbegan to bite them, so that his groans and shrieks might have been heard\na mile off. Then they wheeled round and kicked him till they could kick\nno more. At length the giant crawled away, and lay quivering in a\ncorner, and the queen went up to him.\n\n'Poor thing! poor thing!' she said, 'they seem to have gone mad; it was\nawful to behold.'\n\n'If I had had my soul in my body they would certainly have killed me,'\ngroaned the giant.\n\n'It was lucky indeed,' answered the queen; 'but tell me, where is thy\nsoul, that I may take care of it?'\n\n'Up there, in the Bonnach stone,' answered the giant, pointing to a\nstone which was balanced loosely on an edge of rock. 'But now leave me,\nthat I may sleep, for I have far to go to-morrow.'\n\nSoon snores were heard from the corner where the giant lay, and then the\nqueen lay down too, and the horses, and the king was hidden between\nthem, so that none could see him.\n\nBefore the dawn the giant rose and went out, and immediately the queen\nran up to the Bonnach stone, and tugged and pushed at it till it was\nquite steady on its ledge, and could not fall over. And so it was in the\nevening when the giant came home; and when they saw his shadow, the king\ncrept down in front of the horses.\n\n'Why, what have you done to the Bonnach stone?' asked the giant.\n\n'I feared lest it should fall over, and be broken, with your soul in\nit,' said the queen, 'so I put it further back on the ledge.\n\n'It is not there that my soul is,' answered he, 'it is on the threshold.\nBut it is time the horses were fed'; and he fetched the hay, and gave it\nto them, and they bit and kicked him as before, till he lay half dead on\nthe ground.\n\nNext morning he rose and went out, and the queen ran to the threshold of\nthe cave, and washed the stones, and pulled up some moss and little\nflowers that were hidden in the crannies, and by and bye when dusk had\nfallen the giant came home.\n\n'You have been cleaning the threshold,' said he.\n\n'And was I not right to do it, seeing that your soul is in it?' asked\nthe queen.\n\n[Illustration: THE GIANT'S SHADOW]\n\n'It is not there that my soul is,' answered the giant. 'Under the\nthreshold is a stone, and under the stone is a sheep, and in the sheep's\nbody is a duck, and in the duck is an egg, and in the egg is my soul.\nBut it is late, and I must feed the horses'; and he brought them the\nhay, but they only bit and kicked him as before, and if his soul had\nbeen within him, they would have killed him outright.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was still dark when the giant got up and went his way, and then the\nking and the queen ran forward to take up the threshold, while the\nhorses looked on. But sure enough! just as the giant had said,\nunderneath the threshold was the flagstone, and they pulled and tugged\ntill the stone gave way. Then something jumped out so suddenly, that it\nnearly knocked them down, and as it fled past, they saw it was a sheep.\n\n'If the slim yellow dog of the greenwood were only here, he would soon\nhave that sheep,' cried the king; and as he spoke, the slim yellow dog\nappeared from the forest, with the sheep in his mouth. With a blow from\nthe king, the sheep fell dead, and they opened its body, only to be\nblinded by a rush of wings as the duck flew past.\n\n'If the hoary hawk of the rock were only here he would soon have that\nduck,' cried the king; and as he spoke the hoary hawk was seen hovering\nabove them, with the duck in his mouth. They cut off the duck's head\nwith a swing of the king's sword, and took the egg out of its body, but\nin his triumph the king held it carelessly, and it slipped from his\nhand, and rolled swiftly down the hill right into the river.\n\n'If the brown otter of the stream were only here, he would soon have\nthat egg,' cried the king; and the next minute there was the brown\notter, dripping with water, holding the egg in his mouth. But beside the\nbrown otter, a huge shadow came stealing along--the shadow of the giant.\n\nThe king stood staring at it, as if he were turned into stone, but the\nqueen snatched the egg from the otter and crushed it between her two\nhands. And after that the shadow suddenly shrank and was still, and they\nknew that the giant was dead, because they had found his soul.\n\nNext day they mounted the two horses and rode home again, visiting their\nfriends the brown otter and the hoary hawk and the slim yellow dog by\nthe way.\n\n\n    From 'West Highland Tales.'\n\n\n\n\n_A FRENCH PUCK_\n\n\nAMONG the mountain pastures and valleys that lie in the centre of France\nthere dwelt a mischievous kind of spirit, whose delight it was to play\ntricks on everybody, and particularly on the shepherds and the cowboys.\nThey never knew when they were safe from him, as he could change himself\ninto a man, woman or child, a stick, a goat, a ploughshare. Indeed,\nthere was only one thing whose shape he could not take, and that was a\nneedle. At least, he _could_ transform himself into a needle, but try as\nhe might he never was able to imitate the hole, so every woman would\nhave found him out at once, and this he knew.\n\nNow the hour oftenest chosen by this naughty sprite (whom we will call\nPuck) for performing his pranks was about midnight, just when the\nshepherds and cowherds, tired out with their long day's work, were sound\nasleep. Then he would go into the cowsheds and unfasten the chains that\nfixed each beast in its own stall, and let them fall with a heavy clang\nto the ground. The noise was so loud that it was certain to awaken the\ncowboys, however fatigued they might be, and they dragged themselves\nwearily to the stable to put back the chains. But no sooner had they\nreturned to their beds than the same thing happened again, and so on\ntill the morning. Or perhaps Puck would spend his night in plaiting\ntogether the manes and tails of two of the horses, so that it would take\nthe grooms hours of labour to get them right in the morning, while Puck,\nhidden among the hay in the loft, would peep out to watch them,\nenjoying himself amazingly all the time.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne evening more than eighty years ago a man named William was passing\nalong the bank of a stream when he noticed a sheep who was bleating\nloudly. William thought it must have strayed from the flock, and that he\nhad better take it home with him till he could discover its owner. So he\nwent up to where it was standing, and as it seemed so tired that it\ncould hardly walk, he hoisted it on his shoulders and continued on his\nway. The sheep was pretty heavy, but the good man was merciful and\nstaggered along as best he could under his load.\n\n'It is not much further,' he thought to himself as he reached an avenue\nof walnut trees, when suddenly a voice spoke out from over his head, and\nmade him jump.\n\n'Where are you?' said the voice, and the sheep answered:\n\n'Here on the shoulders of a donkey.'\n\nIn another moment the sheep was standing on the ground and William was\nrunning towards home as fast as his legs would carry him. But as he\nwent, a laugh, which yet was something of a bleat, rang in his ears, and\nthough he tried not to hear, the words reached him, 'Oh, dear! What fun\nI have had, to be sure!'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPuck was careful not always to play his tricks in the same place, but\nvisited one village after another, so that everyone trembled lest he\nshould be the next victim. After a bit he grew tired of cowboys and\nshepherds, and wondered if there was no one else to give him some sport.\nAt length he was told of a young couple who were going to the nearest\ntown to buy all that they needed for setting up house. Quite certain\nthat they would forget something which they could not do without, Puck\nwaited patiently till they were jogging along in their cart on their\nreturn journey, and changed himself into a fly in order to overhear\ntheir conversation.\n\nFor a long time it was very dull--all about their wedding day next\nmonth, and who were to be invited. This led the bride to her wedding\ndress, and she gave a little scream.\n\n'Just think! Oh! how _could_ I be so stupid! I have forgotten to buy the\ndifferent coloured reels of cotton to match my clothes!'\n\n'Dear, dear!' exclaimed the young man. 'That _is_ unlucky; and didn't\nyou tell me that the dressmaker was coming in to-morrow?'\n\n'Yes, I did,' and then suddenly she gave another little scream, which\nhad quite a different sound from the first. 'Look! Look!'\n\nThe bridegroom looked, and on one side of the road he saw a large ball\nof thread of all colours--of all the colours, that is, of the dresses\nthat were tied on to the back of the cart.\n\n'Well, that is a wonderful piece of good fortune,' cried he, as he\nsprang out to get it. 'One would think a fairy had put it there on\npurpose.'\n\n'Perhaps she has,' laughed the girl, and as she spoke she seemed to hear\nan echo of her laughter coming from the horse, but of course that was\nnonsense.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe dressmaker was delighted with the thread that was given her. It\nmatched the stuffs so perfectly, and never tied itself in knots, or\nbroke perpetually, as most thread did. She finished her work much\nquicker than she expected, and the bride said she was to be sure to come\nto the church and see her in her wedding dress.\n\nThere was a great crowd assembled to witness the ceremony, for the young\npeople were immense favourites in the neighbourhood, and their parents\nwere very rich. The doors were open, and the bride could be seen from\nafar, walking under the chestnut avenue.\n\n'What a beautiful girl!' exclaimed the men. 'What a lovely dress!'\nwhispered the women. But just as she entered the church and took the\nhand of the bridegroom, who was waiting for her, a loud noise was heard.\n\n'Crick! crack! Crick! crack!' and the wedding garments fell to the\nground, to the great confusion of the wearer.\n\nNot that the ceremony was put off for a little thing like that. Cloaks\nin profusion were instantly offered to the young bride, but she was so\nupset that she could hardly keep from tears. One of the guests, more\ncurious than the rest, stayed behind to examine the dress, determined,\nif she could, to find out the cause of the disaster.\n\n'The thread _must_ have been rotten,' she said to herself. 'I will see\nif I can break it.' But search as she would she could find none.\n\nThe thread had vanished.\n\n\n    From 'Litterature Orale de l'Auvergne,' par Paul Sebillot.\n\n\n\n\n_THE THREE CROWNS_\n\n\nTHERE was once a king who had three daughters. The two eldest were very\nproud and quarrelsome, but the youngest was as good as they were bad.\nWell, three princes came to court them, and two of them were exactly\nlike the eldest ladies, and one was just as lovable as the youngest. One\nday they were all walking down to a lake that lay at the bottom of the\nlawn when they met a poor beggar. The king wouldn't give him anything,\nand the eldest princesses wouldn't give him anything, nor their\nsweethearts; but the youngest daughter and her true love did give him\nsomething, and kind words along with it, and that was better than all.\n\nWhen they got to the edge of the lake what did they find but the\nbeautifullest boat you ever saw in your life; and says the eldest, 'I'll\ntake a sail in this fine boat'; and says the second eldest, 'I'll take a\nsail in this fine boat'; and says the youngest, 'I won't take a sail in\nthat fine boat, for I am afraid it's an enchanted one.' But the others\npersuaded her to go in, and her father was just going in after her, when\nup sprung on the deck a little man only seven inches high, and ordered\nhim to stand back. Well, all the men put their hands to their swords;\nand if the same swords were only playthings, they weren't able to draw\nthem, for all strength that was left their arms. _Seven Inches_ loosened\nthe silver chain that fastened the boat, and pushed away, and after\ngrinning at the four men, says he to them, 'Bid your daughters and your\nbrides farewell for awhile. You,' says he to the youngest, 'needn't\nfear, you'll recover your princess all in good time, and you and she\nwill be as happy as the day is long. Bad people, if they were rolling\nstark naked in gold, would not be rich. Good-bye.' Away they sailed, and\nthe ladies stretched out their hands, but weren't able to say a word.\n\nWell, they weren't crossing the lake while a cat 'ud be lickin' her ear,\nand the poor men couldn't stir hand or foot to follow them. They saw\n_Seven Inches_ handing the three princesses out of the boat, and letting\nthem down by a basket into a draw-well, but king nor princes ever saw an\nopening before in the same place. When the last lady was out of sight,\nthe men found the strength in their arms and legs again. Round the lake\nthey ran, and never drew rein till they came to the well and windlass;\nand there was the silk rope rolled on the axle, and the nice white\nbasket hanging to it. 'Let me down,' says the youngest prince. 'I'll die\nor recover them again.' 'No,' says the second daughter's sweetheart, 'it\nis my turn first.' And says the other, 'I am the eldest.' So they gave\nway to him, and in he got into the basket, and down they let him. First\nthey lost sight of him, and then, after winding off a hundred perches of\nthe silk rope, it slackened, and they stopped turning. They waited two\nhours, and then they went to dinner, because there was no pull made at\nthe rope.\n\n[Illustration: SEVEN INCHES CARRIES AWAY THE PRINCESSES]\n\n[Illustration: IN CAME SEVEN INCHES HAND IN HAND WITH THE YOUNGEST\nSISTER]\n\nGuards were set till next morning, and then down went the second prince,\nand sure enough, the youngest of all got himself let down on the third\nday. He went down perches and perches, while it was as dark about him as\nif he was in a big pot with a cover on. At last he saw a glimmer far\ndown, and in a short time he felt the ground. Out he came from the big\nlime-kiln, and, lo! and behold you, there was a wood, and green fields,\nand a castle in a lawn, and a bright sky over all. 'It's in Tir-na-n-Oge\nI am,' says he. 'Let's see what sort of people are in the castle.' On\nhe walked, across fields and lawn, and no one was there to keep him out\nor let him into the castle; but the big hall-door was wide open. He went\nfrom one fine room to another that was finer, and at last he reached the\nhandsomest of all, with a table in the middle. And such a dinner as was\nlaid upon it! The prince was hungry enough, but he was too mannerly to\neat without being invited. So he sat by the fire, and he did not wait\nlong till he heard steps, and in came _Seven Inches_ with the youngest\nsister by the hand. Well, prince and princess flew into one another's\narms, and says the little man, says he, 'Why aren't you eating?' 'I\nthink, sir,' says the prince, 'it was only good manners to wait to be\nasked.' 'The other princes didn't think so,' says he. 'Each o' them fell\nto without leave, and only gave me the rough words when I told them they\nwere making more free than welcome. Well, I don't think they feel much\nhunger now. There they are, good _marble_ instead of flesh and blood,'\nsays he, pointing to two statues, one in one corner, and the other in\nthe other corner of the room. The prince was frightened, but he was\nafraid to say anything, and _Seven Inches_ made him sit down to dinner\nbetween himself and his bride; and he'd be as happy as the day is long,\nonly for the sight of the stone men in the corner. Well, that day went\nby, and when the next came, says _Seven Inches_ to him, 'Now, you'll\nhave to set out that way,' pointing to the sun, 'and you'll find the\nsecond princess in a giant's castle this evening, when you'll be tired\nand hungry, and the eldest princess to-morrow evening; and you may as\nwell bring them here with you. You need not ask leave of their masters;\nand perhaps if they ever get home, they'll look on poor people as if\nthey were flesh and blood like themselves.'\n\nAway went the prince, and bedad! it's tired and hungry he was when he\nreached the first castle, at sunset. Oh, wasn't the second princess glad\nto see him! and what a good supper she gave him. But she heard the giant\nat the gate, and she hid the prince in a closet. Well, when he came in,\nhe snuffed, an' he snuffed, and says he, '_By_ the life, I smell fresh\nmeat.' 'Oh,' says the princess, 'it's only the calf I got killed\nto-day.' 'Ay, ay,' says he, 'is supper ready?' 'It is,' says she; and\nbefore he rose from the table he ate three-quarters of a calf, and a\nflask of wine. 'I think,' says he, when all was done, 'I smell fresh\nmeat still.' 'It's sleepy you are,' says she; 'go to bed.' 'When will\nyou marry me?' says the giant. 'You're putting me off too long.' 'St.\nTibb's Eve,' says she. 'I wish I knew how far off that is,' says he; and\nhe fell asleep, with his head in the dish.\n\nNext day, he went out after breakfast, and she sent the prince to the\ncastle where the eldest sister was. The same thing happened there; but\nwhen the giant was snoring, the princess wakened up the prince, and they\nsaddled two steeds in the stables and rode into the field on them. But\nthe horses' heels struck the stones outside the gate, and up got the\ngiant and strode after them. He roared and he shouted, and the more he\nshouted, the faster ran the horses, and just as the day was breaking he\nwas only twenty perches behind. But the prince didn't leave the castle\nof _Seven Inches_ without being provided with something good. He reined\nin his steed, and flung a short, sharp knife over his shoulder, and up\nsprung a thick wood between the giant and themselves. They caught the\nwind that blew before them, and the wind that blew behind them did not\ncatch them. At last they were near the castle where the other sister\nlived; and there she was, waiting for them under a high hedge, and a\nfine steed under her.\n\nBut the giant was now in sight, roaring like a hundred lions, and the\nother giant was out in a moment, and the chase kept on. For every two\nsprings the horses gave, the giants gave three, and at last they were\nonly seventy perches off. Then the prince stopped again, and flung the\nsecond knife behind him. Down went all the flat field, till there was a\nquarry between them a quarter of a mile deep, and the bottom filled with\nblack water; and before the giants could get round it, the prince and\nprincesses were inside the kingdom of the great magician, where the high\nthorny hedge opened of itself to everyone that he chose to let in.\nThere was joy enough between the three sisters, till the two eldest saw\ntheir lovers turned into stone. But while they were shedding tears for\nthem, _Seven Inches_ came in, and touched them with his rod. So they\nwere flesh, and blood, and life once more, and there was great hugging\nand kissing, and all sat down to breakfast, and _Seven Inches_ sat at\nthe head of the table.\n\nWhen breakfast was over, he took them into another room, where there was\nnothing but heaps of gold, and silver, and diamonds, and silks, and\nsatins; and on a table there was lying three sets of crowns: a gold\ncrown was in a silver crown, and that was lying in a copper crown. He\ntook up one set of crowns, and gave it to the eldest princess; and\nanother set, and gave it to the second youngest princess; and another,\nand gave it to the youngest of all; and says he, 'Now you may all go to\nthe bottom of the pit, and you have nothing to do but stir the basket,\nand the people that are watching above will draw you up. But remember,\nladies, you are to keep your crowns safe, and be married in them, all\nthe same day. If you be married separately, or if you be married without\nyour crowns, a curse will follow--mind what I say.'\n\nSo they took leave of him with great respect, and walked arm-in-arm to\nthe bottom of the draw-well. There was a sky and a sun over them, and a\ngreat high wall, covered with ivy, rose before them, and was so high\nthey could not see to the top of it; and there was an arch in this wall,\nand the bottom of the draw-well was inside the arch. The youngest pair\nwent last; and says the princess to the prince, 'I'm sure the two\nprinces don't mean any good to you. Keep these crowns under your cloak,\nand if you are obliged to stay last, don't get into the basket, but put\na big stone, or any heavy thing inside, and see what will happen.'\n\nAs soon as they were inside the dark cave, they put in the eldest\nprincess first, and stirred the basket, and up she went. Then the basket\nwas let down again, and up went the second princess, and then up went\nthe youngest; but first she put her arms round her prince's neck, and\nkissed him, and cried a little. At last it came to the turn of the\nyoungest prince, and instead of going into the basket he put in a big\nstone. He drew on one side and listened, and after the basket was drawn\nup about twenty perches, down came it and the stone like thunder, and\nthe stone was broken into little bits.\n\nWell, the poor prince had nothing for it but to walk back to the castle;\nand through it and round it he walked, and the finest of eating and\ndrinking he got, and a bed of bog-down to sleep on, and long walks he\ntook through gardens and lawns, but not a sight could he get, high or\nlow, of _Seven Inches_. He, before a week, got tired of it, he was so\nlonesome for his true love; and at the end of a month he didn't know\nwhat to do with himself.\n\nOne morning he went into the treasure room, and took notice of a\nbeautiful snuff-box on the table that he didn't remember seeing there\nbefore. He took it in his hands and opened it, and out _Seven Inches_\nwalked on the table. 'I think, prince,' says he, 'you're getting a\nlittle tired of my castle?' 'Ah!' says the other, 'if I had my princess\nhere, and could see you now and then, I'd never know a dismal day.'\n'Well, you're long enough here now, and you're wanted there above. Keep\nyour bride's crowns safe, and whenever you want my help, open this\nsnuff-box. Now take a walk down the garden, and come back when you're\ntired.'\n\nThe prince was going down a gravel walk with a quick-set hedge on each\nside, and his eyes on the ground, and he was thinking of one thing and\nanother. At last he lifted his eyes, and there he was outside of a\nsmith's gate, that he often passed before, about a mile away from the\npalace of his betrothed princess. The clothes he had on him were as\nragged as you please, but he had his crowns safe under his old cloak.\n\nThen the smith came out, and says he, 'It's a shame for a strong, big\nfellow like you to be lazy, and so much work to be done. Are you any\ngood with hammer and tongs? Come in and bear a hand, an I'll give you\ndiet and lodging, and a few pence when you earn them.' 'Never say't\ntwice,' says the prince. 'I want nothing but to be busy.' So he took the\nhammer, and pounded away at the red-hot bar that the smith was turning\non the anvil to make into a set of horse-shoes.\n\nThey hadn't been long at work when a tailor came in, and he sat down and\nbegan to talk. 'You all heard how the two princesses were loth to be\nmarried till the youngest would be ready with her crowns and her\nsweetheart. But after the windlass loosened _accidentally_ when they\nwere pulling up her bridegroom that was to be, there was no more sign of\na well, or a rope, or a windlass, than there is on the palm of your\nhand. So the princes that were courting the eldest ladies wouldn't give\npeace or ease to their lovers nor the king till they got consent to the\nmarriage, and it was to take place this morning. Myself went down out o'\ncuriosity, and to be sure I was delighted with the grand dresses of the\ntwo brides, and the three crowns on their heads--gold, silver, and\ncopper, one inside the other. The youngest was standing by mournful\nenough, and all was ready. The two bridegrooms came in as proud and\ngrand as you please, and up they were walking to the altar rails, when\nthe boards opened two yards wide under their feet and down they went\namong the dead men and the coffins in the vaults. Oh, such shrieks as\nthe ladies gave! and such running and racing and peeping down as there\nwas! but the clerk soon opened the door of the vault, and up came the\ntwo princes, their fine clothes covered an inch thick with cobwebs and\nmould.\n\n[Illustration: DOWN WENT THE TWO BRIDEGROOMS]\n\nSo the king said they should put off the marriage. 'For,' says he, 'I\nsee there is no use in thinking of it till the youngest gets her three\ncrowns, and is married with the others. I'll give my youngest daughter\nfor a wife to whoever brings three crowns to me like the others; and if\nhe doesn't care to be married, some other one will, and I'll make his\nfortune.'\n\n'I wish,' says the smith, 'I could do it; but I was looking at the\ncrowns after the princesses got home, and I don't think there's a black\nor a white smith on the face of the earth that could imitate them.'\n'Faint heart never won fair lady,' says the prince. 'Go to the palace\nand ask for a quarter of a pound of gold, a quarter of a pound of\nsilver, and a quarter of a pound of copper. Get one crown for a pattern,\nand my head for a pledge, I'll give you out the very things that are\nwanted in the morning.' 'Are you in earnest?' says the smith. 'Faith, I\nam so,' says he. 'Go! you can't do worse than lose.'\n\nTo make a long story short, the smith got the quarter of a pound of\ngold, and the quarter of a pound of silver, and the quarter of a pound\nof copper, and gave them and the pattern crown to the prince. He shut\nthe forge door at nightfall, and the neighbours all gathered in the\nyard, and they heard him hammering, hammering, hammering, from that to\nday-break; and every now and then he'd throw out through the window bits\nof gold, silver, and copper; and the idlers scrambled for them, and\ncursed one another, and prayed for the good luck of the workman.\n\nWell, just as the sun was thinking to rise, he opened the door, and\nbrought out the three crowns he got from his true love, and such\nshouting and huzzaing as there was! The smith asked him to go along with\nhim to the palace, but he refused; so off set the smith, and the whole\ntownland with him; and wasn't the king rejoiced when he saw the crowns!\n'Well,' says he to the smith, 'you're a married man. What's to be\ndone?' 'Faith, your majesty, I didn't make them crowns at all. It was a\nbig fellow that took service with me yesterday.' 'Well, daughter, will\nyou marry the fellow that made these crowns?' 'Let me see them first,\nfather,' said she; but when she examined them she knew them right well,\nand guessed it was her true love that sent them. 'I will marry the man\nthat these crowns came from,' says she.\n\n'Well,' says the king to the eldest of the two princes, 'go up to the\nsmith's forge, take my best coaches, and bring home the bridegroom.' He\ndid not like doing this, he was so proud, but he could not refuse. When\nhe came to the forge he saw the prince standing at the door, and\nbeckoned him over to the coach. 'Are you the fellow,' says he, 'that\nmade these crowns?' 'Yes,' says the other. 'Then,' says he, 'maybe you'd\ngive yourself a brushing, and get into that coach; the king wants to see\nyou. I pity the princess.' The young prince got into the carriage, and\nwhile they were on the way he opened the snuff-box, and out walked\n_Seven Inches_, and stood on his thigh. 'Well,' says he, 'what trouble\nis on you now?' 'Master,' says the other, 'please let me go back to my\nforge, and let this carriage be filled with paving stones.' No sooner\nsaid than done. The prince was sitting in his forge, and the horses\nwondered what was after happening to the carriage.\n\nWhen they came into the palace yard, the king himself opened the\ncarriage door, for respect to his new son-in-law. As soon as he turned\nthe handle, a shower of small stones fell on his powdered wig and his\nsilk coat, and down he fell under them. There was great fright and some\nlaughter, and the king, after he wiped the blood from his forehead,\nlooked very cross at the eldest prince. 'My lord,' says he, 'I'm very\nsorry for this _accident_, but I'm not to blame. I saw the young smith\nget into the carriage, and we never stopped a minute since.' 'It's\nuncivil you were to him. Go,' says he to the other prince, 'and bring\nthe young smith here, and be polite.' 'Never fear,' says he.\n\nBut there's some people that couldn't be good-natured if they tried, and\nnot a bit civiller was the new messenger than the old, and when the king\nopened the carriage door a second time, it's a shower of mud that came\ndown on him. 'There's no use,' says he, 'going on this way. The fox\nnever got a better messenger than himself.'\n\nSo he changed his clothes, and washed himself, and out he set to the\nprince's forge and asked him to sit along with himself. The prince\nbegged to be allowed to sit in the other carriage, and when they were\nhalf-way he opened his snuff-box. 'Master,' says he, 'I'd wish to be\ndressed now according to my rank.' 'You shall be that,' says _Seven\nInches_. 'And now I'll bid you farewell. Continue as good and kind as\nyou always were; love your wife; and that's all the advice I'll give\nyou.' So _Seven Inches_ vanished; and when the carriage door was opened\nin the yard, out walks the prince as fine as hands could make him, and\nthe first thing he did was to run over to his bride and embrace her.\n\nEvery one was full of joy but the two other princes. There was not much\ndelay about the marriages, and they were all celebrated on the one day.\nSoon after, the two elder couples went to their own courts, but the\nyoungest pair stayed with the old king, and they were as happy as the\nhappiest married couple you ever heard of in a story.\n\n\n    From 'West Highland Tales.'\n\n\n\n\n_THE STORY OF A VERY BAD BOY_\n\n\nONCE upon a time there lived in a little village in the very middle of\nFrance a widow and her only son, a boy about fifteen, whose name was\nAntoine, though no one ever called him anything but Toueno-Boueno. They\nwere very poor indeed, and their hut shook about their ears on windy\nnights, till they expected the walls to fall in and crush them, but\ninstead of going to work as a boy of his age ought to do, Toueno-Boueno\ndid nothing but lounge along the street, his eyes fixed on the ground,\nseeing nothing that went on round him.\n\n'You are very, very stupid, my dear child,' his mother would sometimes\nsay to him, and then she would add with a laugh, 'Certainly _you_ will\nnever catch a wolf by the tail.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne day the old woman bade Antoine go into the forest and collect enough\ndry leaves to make beds for herself and him. Before he had finished it\nbegan to rain heavily, so he hid himself in the hollow trunk of a tree,\nwhere he was so dry and comfortable that he soon fell fast asleep. By\nand bye he was awakened by a noise which sounded like a dog scratching\nat the door, and he suddenly felt frightened, _why_ he did not know.\nVery cautiously he raised his head, and right above him he saw a big\nhairy animal, coming down tail foremost.\n\n'It is the wolf that they talk so much about,' he said to himself, and\nhe made himself as small as he could and shrunk into a corner.\n\nThe wolf came down the inside of the tree, slowly, slowly; Antoine felt\nturned to stone, so terrified was he, and hardly dared to breathe.\nSuddenly an idea entered his mind, which he thought might save him\nstill. He remembered to have heard from his mother that a wolf could\nneither bend his back nor turn his head, so as to look behind him, and\nquick as lightning he stretched up his hand, and seizing the wolf's\ntail, pulled it towards him.\n\nThen he left the tree and dragged the animal to his mother's house.\n\n'Mother, you have often declared that I was too stupid to catch a wolf\nby the tail. Now see,' he cried triumphantly.\n\n'Well, well, wonders will never cease,' answered the good woman, who\ntook care to keep at a safe distance. 'But as you really _have_ got him,\nlet us see if we can't put him to some use. Fetch the skin of the ram\nwhich died last week out of the chest, and we will sew the wolf up in\nit. He will make a splendid ram, and to-morrow we will drive him to the\nfair and sell him.'\n\nVery likely the wolf, who was cunning and clever, may have understood\nwhat she said, but he thought it best to give no sign, and suffered the\nskin to be sewn upon him.\n\n'I can always get away if I choose,' thought he, 'it is better not to be\nin a hurry'; so he remained quite still while the skin was drawn over\nhis head, which made him very hot and uncomfortable, and resisted the\ntemptation to snap off the fingers or noses that were so close to his\nmouth.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe fair was at its height next day when Toueno-Boueno arrived with his\nwolf in ram's clothing. All the farmers crowded round him, each offering\na higher price than the last. Never had they beheld such a beautiful\nbeast, said they, and at last, after much bargaining, he was handed over\nto three brothers for a good sum of money.\n\n[Illustration: He will make a Splendid Ram]\n\nIt happened that these three brothers owned large flocks of sheep,\nthough none so large and fine as the one they had just bought.\n\n'My flock is the nearest,' observed the eldest brother; 'we will leave\nhim in the fold for the night, and to-morrow we will decide which\npastures will be best for him.' And the wolf grinned as he listened, and\nheld up his head a little higher than before.\n\nEarly next morning the young farmer began to go his rounds, and the\nsheep-fold was the first place he visited. To his horror, the sheep were\nall stretched out dead before him, except one, which the wolf had eaten,\nbones and all. Instantly the truth flashed upon him. It was no ram that\nlay curled up in the corner pretending to be asleep (for in reality he\ncould bend back and turn his head as much as he liked), but a wolf who\nwas watching him out of the corner of his eye, and might spring upon him\nat any moment. So the farmer took no notice, and only thought that here\nwas a fine chance of revenging himself on his next brother for a trick\nwhich he had played, and merely told him that the ram would not eat the\ngrass in that field, and it might be well to drive him to the pasture by\nthe river, where his own flock was feeding. The second brother eagerly\nswallowed the bait, and that evening the wolf was driven down to the\nfield where the young man kept the sheep which had been left him by his\nfather. By the next morning they also were all dead, but the second\nbrother likewise held his peace, and allowed the sheep which belonged to\nthe youngest to share the fate of the other two. Then they met and\nconfessed to each other their disasters, and resolved to take the animal\nas fast as possible back to Toueno-Boueno, who should get a sound\nthrashing.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAntoine was sitting on a plum tree belonging to a neighbour, eating the\nripe fruit, when he saw the three young farmers coming towards him.\nSwinging himself down, he flew home to the hut, crying breathlessly,\n'Mother, mother, the farmers are close by with the wolf. They have found\nout all about it, and will certainly kill me, and perhaps you too. But\nif you do as I tell you, I may be able to save us both. Lie down on the\nfloor, and pretend to be dead, and be sure not to speak, whatever\nhappens.'\n\nThus when the three brothers, each armed with a whip, entered the hut a\nfew seconds later, they found a woman extended on the floor, and Toueno\nkneeling at her side, whistling loudly into her ears.\n\n'What are you doing now, you rascal?' asked the eldest.\n\n'What am I doing? Oh, my poor friends, I am the most miserable creature\nin the world! I have lost the best of mothers, and I don't know what\nwill become of me,' and he hid his face in his hands and sobbed again.\n\n'But what are you whistling like that for?'\n\n'Well, it is the only chance. This whistle has been known to bring the\ndead back to life, and I hoped--' here he buried his face in his hands\nagain, but peeping between his fingers he saw that the brothers had\nopened their six eyes as wide as saucers.\n\n'Look!' he suddenly exclaimed with a cry, 'Look! I am sure I felt her\nbody move! And now her nostrils are twitching. Ah! the whistle has not\nlost its power after all,' and stooping down, Toueno whistled more\nloudly than before, so that the old woman's feet and hands showed signs\nof life, and she soon was able to lift her head.\n\nThe farmers were so astonished at her restoration, that it was some time\nbefore they could speak. At length the eldest turned to the boy and\nsaid:\n\n'Now listen to me. There is no manner of doubt that you are a young\nvillain. You sold us a ram knowing full well that it was a wolf, and we\ncame here to-day to pay you out for it. But if you will give us that\nwhistle, we will pardon what you have done, and will leave you alone.'\n\n'It is my only treasure, and I set great store by it,' answered the\nboy, pretending to hesitate. 'But as you wish for it so much, well, I\nsuppose I can't refuse,' and he held out the whistle, which the eldest\nbrother put in his pocket.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nArmed with the precious whistle, the three brothers returned home full\nof joy, and as they went the youngest said to the others, 'I have such a\ngood idea! Our wives are all lazy and grumbling, and make our lives a\nburden. Let us give them a lesson, and kill them as soon as we get in.\nOf course we can restore them to life at once, but they will have had a\nrare fright.'\n\n'Ah, how clever you are,' answered the other two. 'Nobody else would\nhave thought of that.'\n\nSo gaily the three husbands knocked down their three wives, who fell\ndead to the ground. Then one by one the men tried the whistle, and blew\nso loudly that it seemed as if their lungs would burst, but the women\nlay stark and stiff and never moved an eyelid. The husbands grew pale\nand cold, for they had never dreamed of this, nor meant any harm, and\nafter a while they understood that their efforts were of no use, and\nthat once more the boy had tricked them. With stern faces they rose to\ntheir feet, and taking a large sack they retraced their steps to the\nhut.\n\nThis time there was no escape. Toueno had been asleep, and only opened\nhis eyes as they entered. Without a word on either side they thrust him\ninto the sack, and tying up the mouth, the eldest threw it over his\nshoulders. After that they all set out to the river, where they intended\nto drown the boy.\n\nBut the river was a long way off, and the day was very hot and Antoine\nwas heavy, heavier than a whole sheaf of corn. They carried him in\nturns, but even so they grew very tired and thirsty, and when a little\ntavern came in sight on the roadside, they thankfully flung the sack\ndown on a bench and entered to refresh themselves. They never noticed\nthat a beggar was sitting in the shade of the end of the bench, but\nToueno's sharp ears caught the sound of someone eating, and as soon as\nthe farmers had gone into the inn, he began to groan softly.\n\n'What is the matter?' asked the beggar drawing a little nearer. 'Why\nhave they shut you up, poor boy?'\n\n'Because they wanted to make me a bishop, and I would not consent,'\nanswered Toueno.\n\n'Dear me,' exclaimed the beggar, 'yet it isn't such a bad thing to be a\nbishop.'\n\n'I don't say it is,' replied the young rascal, 'but I should never like\nit. However, if _you_ have any fancy for wearing a mitre, you need only\nuntie the sack, and take my place.'\n\n'I should like nothing better,' said the man, as he stooped to undo the\nbig knot.\n\nSo it was the beggar and not Toueno-Bueno who was flung into the water.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe next morning the three wives were buried, and on returning from the\ncemetery, their husbands met Toueno-Bueno driving a magnificent flock of\nsheep. At the sight of him the three farmers stood still with\nastonishment.\n\n'What! you scoundrel!' they cried at last, 'we drowned you yesterday,\nand to-day we find you again, as well as ever!'\n\n'It does seem odd, doesn't it?' answered he. 'But perhaps you don't know\nthat beneath this world there lies another yet more beautiful and far,\nfar richer. Well, it was there that you sent me when you flung me into\nthe river, and though I felt a little strange at first, yet I soon began\nto look about me, and to see what was happening. There I noticed that\nclose to the place I had fallen, a sheep fair was being held, and a\nbystander told me that every day horses or cattle were sold somewhere\nin the town. If I had only had the luck to be thrown into the river on\nthe side of the horse fair I might have made my fortune! As it was, I\nhad to content myself with buying these sheep, which you can get for\nnothing.'\n\n'And do you know exactly the spot in the river which lies over the horse\nfair?'\n\n'As if I did not know it, when I have seen it with my own eyes.'\n\n'Then if you do not want us to avenge our dead flocks and our murdered\nwives, you will have to throw us into the river just over the place of\nthe horse fair.'\n\n'Very well; only you must get three sacks and come with me to that rock\nwhich juts into the river. I will throw you in from there, and you will\nfall nearly on to the horses' backs.'\n\nSo he threw them in, and as they were never seen again, no one ever knew\ninto which fair they had fallen.\n\n\n    From 'Litterature Orale de l'Auvergne,' par Paul Sebillot.\n\n\n\n\n_THE BROWN BEAR OF NORWAY_\n\n\nTHERE was once a king in Ireland, and he had three daughters, and very\nnice princesses they were. And one day, when they and their father were\nwalking on the lawn, the king began to joke with them, and to ask them\nwhom they would like to be married to. 'I'll have the king of Ulster for\na husband,' says one; 'and I'll have the king of Munster,' says another;\n'and,' says the youngest, 'I'll have no husband but the Brown Bear of\nNorway.' For a nurse of hers used to be telling her of an enchanted\nprince that she called by that name, and she fell in love with him, and\nhis name was the first name on her tongue, for the very night before she\nwas dreaming of him. Well, one laughed, and another laughed, and they\njoked with the princess all the rest of the evening. But that very night\nshe woke up out of her sleep in a great hall that was lighted up with a\nthousand lamps; the richest carpets were on the floor, and the walls\nwere covered with cloth of gold and silver, and the place was full of\ngrand company, and the very beautiful prince she saw in her dreams was\nthere, and it wasn't a moment till he was on one knee before her, and\ntelling her how much he loved her, and asking her wouldn't she be his\nqueen. Well, she hadn't the heart to refuse him, and married they were\nin the same evening.\n\n'Now, my darling,' says he, when they were left by themselves, 'you must\nknow that I am under enchantment. A sorceress, that had a beautiful\ndaughter, wished me for her son-in-law; but the mother got power over\nme, and when I refused to wed her daughter she made me take the form of\na bear by day, and I was to continue so till a lady would marry me of\nher own free will, and endure five years of great trials after.'\n\nWell, when the princess woke in the morning, she missed her husband from\nher side, and spent the day very sadly. But as soon as the lamps were\nlighted in the grand hall, where she was sitting on a sofa covered with\nsilk, the folding doors flew open, and he was sitting by her side the\nnext minute. So they spent another happy evening, but he warned her that\nwhenever she began to tire of him, or ceased to have faith in him, they\nwould be parted for ever, and he'd be obliged to marry the witch's\ndaughter.\n\nShe got used to find him absent by day, and they spent a happy\ntwelvemonth together, and at last a beautiful little boy was born; and\nhappy as she was before, she was twice as happy now, for she had her\nchild to keep her company in the day when she couldn't see her husband.\n\nAt last, one evening, when herself, and himself, and her child were\nsitting with a window open because it was a sultry night, in flew an\neagle, took the infant's sash in his beak, and flew up in the air with\nhim. She screamed, and was going to throw herself out through the window\nafter him, but the prince caught her, and looked at her very seriously.\nShe bethought of what he said soon after their marriage, and she stopped\nthe cries and complaints that were on her tongue. She spent her days\nvery lonely for another twelvemonth, when a beautiful little girl was\nsent to her. Then she thought to herself she'd have a sharp eye about\nher this time; so she never would allow a window to be more than a few\ninches open.\n\nBut all her care was in vain. Another evening, when they were all so\nhappy, and the prince dandling the baby, a beautiful greyhound stood\nbefore them, took the child out of the father's hand, and was out of the\ndoor before you could wink. This time she shouted and ran out of the\nroom, but there were some of the servants in the next room, and all\ndeclared that neither child nor dog passed out. She felt, somehow, as if\nit was her husband's fault, but still she kept command over herself, and\ndidn't once reproach him.\n\nWhen the third child was born she would hardly allow a window or a door\nto be left open for a moment; but she wasn't the nearer to keep the\nchild to herself. They were sitting one evening by the fire, when a lady\nappeared standing by them. The princess opened her eyes in a great\nfright and stared at her, and while she was doing so, the lady wrapped a\nshawl round the baby that was sitting in its father's lap, and either\nsank through the ground with it or went up through the wide chimney.\nThis time the mother kept her bed for a month.\n\n'My dear,' said she to her husband, when she was beginning to recover,\n'I think I'd feel better if I was to see my father and mother and\nsisters once more. If you give me leave to go home for a few days, I'd\nbe glad.' 'Very well,' said he, 'I will do that, and whenever you feel\ninclined to return, only mention your wish when you lie down at night.'\nThe next morning when she awoke she found herself in her own old chamber\nin her father's palace. She rang the bell, and in a short time she had\nher mother and father and married sisters about her, and they laughed\ntill they cried for joy at finding her safe back again.\n\n[Illustration: The Princess loses her first Baby]\n\nIn time she told them all that happened to her, and they didn't know\nwhat to advise her to do. She was as fond of her husband as ever, and\nsaid she was sure that he couldn't help letting the children go; but\nstill she was afraid beyond the world to have another child torn from\nher. Well, the mother and sisters consulted a wise woman that used to\nbring eggs to the castle, for they had great faith in her wisdom. She\nsaid the only plan was to secure the bear's skin that the prince was\nobliged to put on every morning, and get it burned, and then he couldn't\nhelp being a man night and day, and the enchantment would be at an end.\n\nSo they all persuaded her to do that, and she promised she would; and\nafter eight days she felt so great a longing to see her husband again\nthat she made the wish the same night, and when she woke three hours\nafter, she was in her husband's palace, and he himself was watching over\nher. There was great joy on both sides, and they were happy for many\ndays.\n\nNow she began to think how she never minded her husband leaving her in\nthe morning, and how she never found him neglecting to give her a sweet\ndrink out of a gold cup just as she was going to bed.\n\nOne night she contrived not to drink any of it, though she pretended to\ndo so; and she was wakeful enough in the morning, and saw her husband\npassing out through a panel in the wainscot, though she kept her eyelids\nnearly closed. The next night she got a few drops of the sleepy posset\nthat she saved the evening before put into her husband's night drink,\nand that made him sleep sound enough. She got up after midnight, passed\nthrough the panel, and found a beautiful brown bear's hide hanging in\nthe corner. Then she stole back, and went down to the parlour fire, and\nput the hide into the middle of it till it was all fine ashes. She then\nlay down by her husband, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and fell asleep.\n\nIf she was to live a hundred years she'd never forget how she wakened\nnext morning, and found her husband looking down on her with misery and\nanger in his face. 'Unhappy woman,' said he, 'you have separated us for\never! Why hadn't you patience for five years? I am now obliged, whether\nI like or no, to go a three days' journey to the witch's castle, and\nmarry her daughter. The skin that was my guard you have burned it, and\nthe egg-wife that gave you the counsel was the witch herself. I won't\nreproach you: your punishment will be severe enough without it. Farewell\nfor ever!'\n\nHe kissed her for the last time, and was off the next minute, walking as\nfast as he could. She shouted after him, and then seeing there was no\nuse, she dressed herself and pursued him. He never stopped, nor stayed,\nnor looked back, and still she kept him in sight; and when he was on the\nhill she was in the hollow, and when he was in the hollow she was on the\nhill. Her life was almost leaving her, when, just as the sun was\nsetting, he turned up a lane, and went into a little house. She crawled\nup after him, and when she got inside there was a beautiful little boy\non his knees, and he kissing and hugging him. 'Here, my poor darling,'\nsays he, 'is your eldest child, and there,' says he, pointing to a woman\nthat was looking on with a smile on her face, 'is the eagle that carried\nhim away.' She forgot all her sorrows in a moment, hugging her child,\nand laughing and crying over him. The woman washed their feet, and\nrubbed them with an ointment that took all the soreness out of their\nbones, and made them as fresh as a daisy. Next morning, just before\nsunrise, he was up, and prepared to be off. 'Here,' said he to her, 'is\na thing which may be of use to you. It's a scissors, and whatever stuff\nyou cut with it will be turned into silk. The moment the sun rises, I'll\nlose all memory of yourself and the children, but I'll get it at sunset\nagain. Farewell!' But he wasn't far gone till she was in sight of him\nagain, leaving her boy behind. It was the same to-day as yesterday:\ntheir shadows went before them in the morning and followed them in the\nevening. He never stopped, and she never stopped, and as the sun was\nsetting he turned up another lane, and there they found their little\ndaughter. It was all joy and comfort again till morning, and then the\nthird day's journey commenced.\n\nBut before he started he gave her a comb, and told her that whenever she\nused it, pearls and diamonds would fall from her hair. Still he had his\nmemory from sunset to sunrise; but from sunrise to sunset he travelled\non under the charm, and never threw his eye behind. This night they came\nto where the youngest baby was, and the next morning, just before\nsunrise, the prince spoke to her for the last time. 'Here, my poor\nwife,' said he, 'is a little hand-reel, with gold thread that has no\nend, and the half of our marriage ring. If you ever get to my house, and\nput your half-ring to mine, I shall recollect you. There is a wood\nyonder, and the moment I enter it I will forget everything that ever\nhappened between us, just as if I was born yesterday. Farewell, dear\nwife and child, for ever!' Just then the sun rose, and away he walked\ntowards the wood. She saw it open before him, and close after him, and\nwhen she came up, she could no more get in than she could break through\na stone wall. She wrung her hands and shed tears, but then she\nrecollected herself, and cried out, 'Wood, I charge you by my three\nmagic gifts, the scissors, the comb, and the reel--to let me through';\nand it opened, and she went along a walk till she came in sight of a\npalace, and a lawn, and a woodman's cottage on the edge of the wood\nwhere it came nearest the palace.\n\nShe went into this lodge, and asked the woodman and his wife to take her\ninto their service. They were not willing at first; but she told them\nshe would ask no wages, and would give them diamonds, and pearls, and\nsilk stuffs, and gold thread whenever they wished for them, and then\nthey agreed to let her stay.\n\nIt wasn't long till she heard how a young prince, that was just arrived,\nwas living in the palace of the young mistress. He seldom stirred\nabroad, and every one that saw him remarked how silent and sorrowful he\nwent about, like a person that was searching for some lost thing.\n\nThe servants and conceited folk at the big house began to take notice of\nthe beautiful young woman at the lodge, and to annoy her with their\nimpudence. The head footman was the most troublesome, and at last she\ninvited him to _come and take tea_ with her. Oh, how rejoiced he was,\nand how he bragged of it in the servants' hall! Well, the evening came,\nand the footman walked into the lodge, and was shown to her\nsitting-room; for the lodge-keeper and his wife stood in great awe of\nher, and gave her two nice rooms for herself. Well, he sat down as stiff\nas a ramrod, and was talking in a grand style about the great doings at\nthe castle, while she was getting the tea and toast ready. 'Oh,' says\nshe to him, 'would you put your hand out at the window and cut me off a\nsprig or two of honeysuckle? He got up in great glee, and put out his\nhand and head; and said she, 'By the virtue of my magic gifts, let a\npair of horns spring out of your head, and sing to the lodge.' Just as\nshe wished, so it was. They sprung from the front of each ear, and met\nat the back. Oh, the poor wretch! And how he bawled and roared! and the\nservants that he used to be boasting to were soon flocking from the\ncastle, and grinning and huzzaing, and beating tunes on tongs and\nshovels and pans; and he cursing and swearing, and the eyes ready to\nstart out of his head, and he so black in the face, and kicking out his\nlegs behind like mad.\n\nAt last she pitied him, and removed the charm, and the horns dropped\ndown on the ground, and he would have killed her on the spot, only he\nwas as weak as water, and his fellow-servants came in and carried him\nup to the big house.\n\nWell, some way or other the story came to the ears of the prince, and he\nstrolled down that way. She had only the dress of a countrywoman on her\nas she sat sewing at the window, but that did not hide her beauty, and\nhe was greatly puzzled after he had a good look, just as a body is\npuzzled to know whether something happened to him when he was young or\nif he only dreamed it. Well, the witch's daughter heard about it too,\nand she came to see the strange girl; and what did she find her doing\nbut cutting out the pattern of a gown from brown paper; and as she cut\naway, the paper became the richest silk she ever saw. The witch's\ndaughter looked on with greedy eyes, and, says she, 'What would you be\nsatisfied to take for that scissors?' 'I'll take nothing,' says she,\n'but leave to spend one night outside the prince's chamber.' Well, the\nproud lady fired up, and was going to say something dreadful; but the\nscissors kept on cutting, and the silk growing richer and richer every\ninch. So she promised what the girl had asked her.\n\nWhen the night came on she was let into the palace and lay down till the\nprince was in such a dead sleep that all she did couldn't awake him. She\nsung this verse to him, sighing and sobbing, and kept singing it the\nnight long, and it was all in vain:\n\n    Four long years I was married to thee;\n    Three sweet babes I bore to thee;\n    Brown Bear of Norway, won't you turn to me?\n\nAt the first dawn the proud lady was in the chamber, and led her away,\nand the footman of the horns put out his tongue at her as she was\nquitting the palace.\n\nSo there was no luck so far; but the next day the prince passed by again\nand looked at her, and saluted her kindly, as a prince might a farmer's\ndaughter, and passed on; and soon the witch's daughter passed by, and\nfound her combing her hair, and pearls and diamonds dropping from it.\n\nWell, another bargain was made, and the princess spent another night of\nsorrow, and she left the castle at daybreak, and the footman was at his\npost and enjoyed his revenge.\n\nThe third day the prince went by, and stopped to talk with the strange\nwoman. He asked her could he do anything to serve her, and she said he\nmight. She asked him did he ever wake at night. He said that he often\ndid, but that during the last two nights he was listening to a sweet\nsong in his dreams, and could not wake, and that the voice was one that\nhe must have known and loved in some other world long ago. Says she,\n'Did you drink any sleepy posset either of these evenings before you\nwent to bed?' 'I did,' said he. 'The two evenings my wife gave me\nsomething to drink, but I don't know whether it was a sleepy posset or\nnot.' 'Well, prince,' said she, 'as you say you would wish to oblige me,\nyou can do it by not tasting any drink to-night.' 'I will not,' says he,\nand then he went on his walk.\n\nWell, the great lady came soon after the prince, and found the stranger\nusing her hand-reel and winding thread of gold off it, and the third\nbargain was made.\n\nThat evening the prince was lying on his bed at twilight, and his mind\nmuch disturbed; and the door opened, and in his princess walked, and\ndown she sat by his bedside and sung:\n\n    Four long years I was married to thee;\n    Three sweet babes I bore to thee;\n    Brown Bear of Norway, won't you turn to me?\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  Four long years I was married to thee\n  Three sweet babes I bore to thee\n  Brown Bear of Norway--won't you turn to me?]\n\n'Brown Bear of Norway!' said he. 'I don't understand you.' 'Don't you\nremember, prince, that I was your wedded wife for four years?' 'I do\nnot,' said he, 'but I'm sure I wish it was so.' 'Don't you remember\nour three babes, that are still alive?' 'Show me them. My mind is all a\nheap of confusion.' 'Look for the half of our marriage ring, that hangs\nat your neck, and fit it to this.' He did so, and the same moment the\ncharm was broken. His full memory came back on him, and he flung his\narms round his wife's neck, and both burst into tears.\n\nWell, there was a great cry outside, and the castle walls were heard\nsplitting and cracking. Everyone in the castle was alarmed, and made\ntheir way out. The prince and princess went with the rest, and by the\ntime all were safe on the lawn, down came the building, and made the\nground tremble for miles round. No one ever saw the witch and her\ndaughter afterwards. It was not long till the prince and princess had\ntheir children with them, and then they set out for their own palace.\nThe kings of Ireland, and of Munster, and Ulster, and their wives, soon\ncame to visit them, and may everyone that deserves it be as happy as the\nBrown Bear of Norway and his family.\n\n\n    From 'West Highland Tales.'\n\n\n\n\n_LITTLE LASSE_\n\n\nTHERE was once a little boy whose name was Lars, and because he was so\nlittle he was called Little Lasse; he was a brave little man, for he\nsailed round the world in a pea-shell boat.\n\nIt was summer time, when the pea shells grew long and green in the\ngarden. Little Lasse crept into the pea bed where the pea stalks rose\nhigh above his cap, and he picked seventeen large shells, the longest\nand straightest he could find.\n\nLittle Lasse thought, perhaps, that no one saw him; but that was\nfoolish, for God sees everywhere.\n\nThen the gardener came with his gun over his shoulder, and he heard\nsomething rustling in the pea bed.\n\n'I think that must be a sparrow,' he said. 'Ras! Ras!' But no sparrows\nflew out, for Little Lasse had no wings, only two small legs. 'Wait! I\nwill load my gun and shoot the sparrows,' said the gardener.\n\nThen Little Lasse was frightened, and crept out on to the path.\n\n'Forgive me, dear gardener!' he said. 'I wanted to get some fine boats.'\n\n'Well, I will this time,' said the gardener. 'But another time Little\nLasse must ask leave to go and look for boats in the pea bed.'\n\n'I will,' answered Lasse; and he went off to the shore. Then he opened\nthe shells with a pin, split them carefully in two, and broke small\nlittle bits of sticks for the rowers' seats. Then he took the peas\nwhich were in the shells and put them in the boats for cargo. Some of\nthe shells got broken, some remained whole, and when all were ready\nLasse had twelve boats. But they should not be boats, they should be\nlarge warships. He had three liners, three frigates, three brigs and\nthree schooners. The largest liner was called _Hercules_, and the\nsmallest schooner _The Flea_. Little Lasse put all the twelve into the\nwater, and they floated as splendidly and as proudly as any great ship\nover the waves of the ocean.\n\nAnd now the ships must sail round the world. The great island over there\nwas Asia; that large stone Africa; the little island America; the small\nstones were Polynesia; and the shore from which the ships sailed out was\nEurope. The whole fleet set off and sailed far away to other parts of\nthe world. The ships of the line steered a straight course to Asia, the\nfrigates sailed to Africa, the brigs to America, and the schooners to\nPolynesia. But Little Lasse remained in Europe, and threw small stones\nout into the great sea.\n\nNow, there was on the shore of Europe a real boat, father's own, a\nbeautiful white-painted boat, and Little Lasse got into it. Father and\nmother had forbidden this, but Little Lasse forgot. He thought he should\nvery much like to travel to some other part of the world.\n\n'I shall row out a little way--only a very little way,' he thought. The\npea-shell boats had travelled so far that they only looked like little\nspecks on the ocean. 'I shall seize _Hercules_ on the coast of Asia,'\nsaid Lasse, 'and then row home again to Europe.'\n\nHe shook the rope that held the boat, and, strange to say, the rope\nbecame loose. Ditsch, ratsch, a man is a man, and so Little Lasse manned\nthe boat.\n\nNow he would row--and he could row, for he had rowed so often on the\nsteps at home, when the steps pretended to be a boat and father's big\nstick an oar. But when Little Lasse wanted to row there were no oars to\nbe found in the boat. The oars were locked up in the boat-house, and\nLittle Lasse had not noticed that the boat was empty. It is not so easy\nas one thinks to row to Asia without oars.\n\nWhat could Little Lasse do now? The boat was already some distance out\non the sea, and the wind, which blew from land, was driving it still\nfurther out. Lasse was frightened and began to cry. But there was no one\non the shore to hear him. Only a big crow perched alone in the birch\ntree; and the gardener's black cat sat under the birch tree, waiting to\ncatch the crow. Neither of them troubled themselves in the least about\nLittle Lasse, who was drifting out to sea.\n\nAh! how sorry Little Lasse was now that he had been disobedient and got\ninto the boat, when father and mother had so often forbidden him to do\nso! Now it was too late, he could not get back to land. Perhaps he would\nbe lost out on the great sea. What should he do?\n\nWhen he had shouted until he was tired and no one heard him, he put his\ntwo little hands together and said, 'Good God, do not be angry with\nLittle Lasse.' And then he went to sleep. For although it was daylight,\nold Nukku Matti was sitting on the shores of the 'Land of Nod,' and was\nfishing for little children with his long fishing rod. He heard the low\nwords which Little Lasse said to God, and he immediately drew the boat\nto himself and laid Little Lasse to sleep on a bed of rose leaves.\n\nThen Nukku Matti said to one of the Dreams, 'Play with Little Lasse, so\nthat he does not feel lonesome.'\n\nIt was a little dream-boy, so little, so little, that he was less than\nLasse himself; he had blue eyes and fair hair, a red cap with a silver\nband, and white coat with pearls on the collar. He came to Little Lasse\nand said, 'Would you like to sail round the world?'\n\n'Yes,' said Lasse in his sleep, 'I should like to.'\n\n'Come, then,' said the dream-boy, 'and let us sail in your pea-shell\nboats. You shall sail in _Hercules_ and I shall sail in _The Flea_.'\n\nSo they sailed away from the 'Land of Nod,' and in a little while\n_Hercules_ and _The Flea_ were on the shores of Asia away at the other\nend of the world, where the Ice Sea flows through Behring Straits into\nthe Pacific Ocean. A long way off in the winter mist they could see the\nexplorer Nordenskioeld with his ship _Vega_ trying to find an opening\nbetween the ice. It was so cold, so cold; the great icebergs glittered\nstrangely, and the huge whales now lived under the ice, for they could\nnot make a hole through with their awkward heads. All around on the\ndreary shore there was snow and snow as far as the eye could see; little\ngrey men in shaggy skins moved about, and drove in small sledges through\nthe snow drifts, but the sledges were drawn by dogs.\n\n'Shall we land here?' asked the dream-boy.\n\n'No,' said Little Lasse. 'I am so afraid that the whales would swallow\nus up, and the big dogs bite us. Let us sail instead to another part of\nthe world.'\n\n'Very well,' said the dream-boy with the red cap and the silver band;\n'it is not far to America'--and at the same moment they were there.\n\nThe sun was shining and it was very warm. Tall palm trees grew in long\nrows on the shore and bore coconuts in their top branches. Men red as\ncopper galloped over the immense green prairies and threw their arrows\nat the buffaloes, who turned against them with their sharp horns. An\nenormous cobra which had crept up the stem of a tall palm tree threw\nitself on to a little llama that was grazing at the foot. Knaps! it was\nall over with the little llama.\n\n'Shall we land here?' asked the dream-boy.\n\n'No,' said Little Lasse. 'I am so afraid that the buffaloes will butt\nus, and the great serpent eat us up. Let us travel to another part of\nthe world.'\n\n'Very well,' said the dream-boy with the white coat, 'it is only a\nlittle way to Polynesia'--and then they were there.\n\nIt was very warm there, as warm as in a hot bath in Finland. Costly\nspices grew on the shores: the pepper plant, the cinnamon tree, ginger,\nsaffron; the coffee plant and the tea plant. Brown people with long ears\nand thick lips, and hideously painted faces, hunted a yellow-spotted\ntiger among the high bamboos on the shore, and the tiger turned on them\nand stuck its claws into one of the brown men. Then all the others took\nto flight.\n\n'Shall we land here?' asked the dream-boy.\n\n'No,' said Little Lasse. 'Don't you see the tiger away there by the\npepper plant? Let us travel to another part of the world.'\n\n'We can do so,' said the dream-boy with the blue eyes. 'We are not far\nfrom Africa'--and as he said that they were there.\n\nThey anchored at the mouth of a great river where the shores were as\ngreen as the greenest velvet. A little distance from the river an\nimmense desert stretched away. The air was yellow; the sun shone so hot,\nso hot as if it would burn the earth to ashes, and the people were as\nblack as the blackest jet. They rode across the desert on tall camels;\nthe lions roared with thirst, and the great crocodiles with their grey\nlizard heads and sharp white teeth gaped up out of the river.\n\n'Shall we land here?' asked the dream-boy.\n\n'No,' said Little Lasse. 'The sun would burn us, and the lions and the\ncrocodiles would eat us up. Let us travel to another part of the\nworld.'\n\n'We can travel back to Europe,' said the dream-boy with the fair hair.\nAnd with that they were there.\n\nThey came to a shore where it was all so cool and familiar and friendly.\nThere stood the tall birch tree with its drooping leaves; at the top sat\nthe old crow, and at its foot crept the gardener's black cat. Not far\naway was a house which Little Lasse had seen before; near the house\nthere was a garden, and in the garden a pea bed with long pea shells. An\nold gardener with a green coat walked about and wondered if the\ncucumbers were ripe. Fylax was barking on the steps, and when he saw\nLittle Lasse he wagged his tail. Old Stina was milking the cows in the\nfarmyard, and there was a very familiar lady in a check woollen shawl on\nher way to the bleaching green to see if the clothes were bleached.\nThere was, too, a well-known gentleman in a yellow summer coat, with a\nlong pipe in his mouth; he was going to see if the reapers had cut the\nrye. A boy and a girl were running on the shore and calling out, 'Little\nLasse! Come home for bread-and-butter!'\n\n'Shall we land here?' asked the dream-boy, and he blinked his blue eyes\nroguishly.\n\n'Come with me, and I shall ask mother to give you some bread-and-butter\nand a glass of milk,' said Little Lasse.\n\n'Wait a little,' said the dream-boy. And now Little Lasse saw that the\nkitchen door was open, and from within there was heard a low, pleasant\nfrizzling, like that which is heard when one whisks yellow batter with a\nwooden ladle into a hot frying-pan.\n\n'Perhaps we should sail back to Polynesia now?' said the dream-boy.\n\n'No; they are frying pancakes in Europe just now,' said Little Lasse;\nand he wanted to jump ashore, but he could not. The dream-boy had tied\nhim with a chain of flowers, so that he could not move. And now all the\nlittle dreams came about him, thousands and thousands of little\nchildren, and they made a ring around him and sang a little song:\n\n    The world is very, very wide,\n        Little Lasse, Lasse,\n    And though you've sailed beyond the tide,\n    You can never tell how wide\n    It is on the other side,\n        Lasse, Little Lasse.\n    You have found it cold and hot,\n        Little Lasse, Lasse;\n    But in no land is God not,\n        Lasse, Little Lasse.\n    Many men live there as here,\n    But they all to God are dear,\n        Little Lasse, Lasse.\n    When His angel is your guide,\n        Little Lasse, Lasse,\n    Then no harm can e'er betide,\n    Even on the other side\n        Where the wild beasts wander.\n    But tell us now,\n        Whene'er you roam,\n        Do you not find the best is home\n    Of all the lands you've looked upon,\n        Lasse, Little Lasse?\n\nWhen the dreams had sung their song they skipped away, and Nukku Matti\ncarried Lasse back to the boat. He lay there for a long time quite\nstill, and he still heard the frying-pan frizzling at home on the fire,\nthe frizzling was very plain, Little Lasse heard it quite near him; and\nso he woke up and rubbed his eyes.\n\nThere he lay in the boat, where he had fallen asleep. The wind had\nturned, and the boat had drifted out with one wind and drifted in with\nanother while Little Lasse slept, and what Lasse thought was frizzling\nin a frying-pan was the low murmur of the waves as they washed against\nthe stones on the shore. But he was not altogether wrong, for the clear\nblue sea is like a great pan in which God's sun all day makes cakes for\ngood children.\n\nLittle Lasse rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked around him.\nEverything was the same as before; the crow in the birch tree, the cat\non the grass, and the pea-shell fleet on the shore. Some of the ships\nhad foundered, and some had drifted back to land. _Hercules_ had come\nback with its cargo from Asia, _The Flea_ had arrived from Polynesia,\nand the other parts of the world were just where they were before.\n\nLittle Lasse did not know what to think. He had so often been in that\ngrotto in the 'Land of Nod' and did not know what tricks dreams can\nplay. But Little Lasse did not trouble his head with such things; he\ngathered together his boats and walked up the shore back to the house.\n\nHis brother and sister ran to meet him, and called out from the\ndistance, 'Where have you been so long, Lasse? Come home and get some\nbread-and-butter.' The kitchen door stood open, and inside was heard a\nstrange frizzling.\n\nThe gardener was near the gate, watering the dill and parsley, the\ncarrots and parsnips.\n\n'Well,' he said, 'where has Little Lasse been so long?'\n\nLittle Lasse straightened himself up stiff, and answered: 'I have sailed\nround the world in a pea-shell boat.'\n\n'Oh!' said the gardener.\n\n_He_ had forgotten Dreamland. But you have not forgotten it; you know\nthat it exists. You know the beautiful grotto and the bright silver\nwalls whose lustre never fades, the sparkling diamonds which never grow\ndim, the music which never ceases its low, soft murmur through the sweet\nevening twilight. The airy fairy fancies of happy Dreamland never grow\nold; they, like the glorious stars above us, are always young. Perhaps\nyou have caught a glimpse of their ethereal wings as they flew around\nyour pillow. Perhaps you have met the same dream-boy with the blue eyes\nand the fair hair, the one who wore the red cap with the silver band and\nthe white coat with pearls on the collar. Perhaps he has taken you to\nsee all the countries of the world and the peoples, the cold waste lands\nand the burning deserts, the many coloured men and the wild creatures in\nthe sea and in the woods, so that you may learn many things, but come\ngladly home again. Yes, who knows? Perhaps you also have sailed round\nthe wide world once in a pea-shell boat.\n\n\n    From Z. Topelius.\n\n\n\n\n'_MOTI_'\n\n\nONCE upon a time there was a youth called Moti, who was very big and\nstrong, but the clumsiest creature you can imagine. So clumsy was he\nthat he was always putting his great feet into the bowls of sweet milk\nor curds which his mother set out on the floor to cool, always smashing,\nupsetting, breaking, until at last his father said to him:\n\n'Here, Moti, are fifty silver pieces which are the savings of years;\ntake them and go and make your living or your fortune if you can.'\n\nThen Moti started off one early spring morning with his thick staff over\nhis shoulder singing gaily to himself as he walked along.\n\nIn one way and another he got along very well until a hot evening when\nhe came to a certain city where he entered the travellers' 'serai' or\ninn to pass the night. Now a serai, you must know, is generally just a\nlarge square enclosed by a high wall with an open colonnade along the\ninside all round to accommodate both men and beasts, and with perhaps a\nfew rooms in towers at the corners for those who are too rich or too\nproud to care about sleeping by their own camels and horses. Moti, of\ncourse, was a country lad and had lived with cattle all his life, and he\nwasn't rich and he wasn't proud, so he just borrowed a bed from the\ninnkeeper, set it down beside an old buffalo who reminded him of home,\nand in five minutes was fast asleep.\n\nIn the middle of the night he woke, feeling that he had been disturbed,\nand putting his hand under his pillow found to his horror that his bag\nof money had been stolen. He jumped up quietly and began to prowl around\nto see whether anyone seemed to be awake, but, though he managed to\narouse a few men and beasts by falling over them, he walked in the\nshadow of the archways round the whole serai without coming across a\nlikely thief. He was just about to give it up when he overhead two men\nwhispering, and one laughed softly, and, peering behind a pillar, he saw\ntwo Afghan horse-dealers counting out his bag of money! Then Moti went\nback to bed!\n\nIn the morning Moti followed the two Afghans outside the city to the\nhorsemarket in which their horses were offered for sale. Choosing the\nbest-looking horse amongst them he went up to it and said:\n\n'Is this horse for sale? may I try it?' and, the merchants assenting, he\nscrambled up on its back, dug in his heels, and off they flew. Now Moti\nhad never been on a horse in his life, and had so much ado to hold on\nwith both hands as well as with both legs that the animal went just\nwhere it liked, and very soon broke into a break-neck gallop and made\nstraight back to the serai where it had spent the last few nights.\n\n'This will do very well,' thought Moti as they whirled in at the\nentrance. As soon as the horse had arrived at its stable it stopped of\nits own accord and Moti immediately rolled off; but he jumped up at\nonce, tied the beast up, and called for some breakfast. Presently the\nAfghans appeared, out of breath and furious, and claimed the horse.\n\n'What do you mean?' cried Moti, with his mouth full of rice, 'it's my\nhorse; I paid you fifty pieces of silver for it--quite a bargain, I'm\nsure!'\n\n'Nonsense! it is _our_ horse,' answered one of the Afghans, beginning to\nuntie the bridle.\n\n'Leave off,' shouted Moti, seizing his staff; 'if you don't let my\nhorse alone I'll crack your skulls! you thieves! _I_ know you! Last\nnight you took _my_ money, so to-day I took your horse; that's fair\nenough!'\n\nNow the Afghans began to look a little uncomfortable, but Moti seemed so\ndetermined to keep the horse that they resolved to appeal to the law, so\nthey went off, and laid a complaint before the king that Moti had stolen\none of their horses and would not give it up nor pay for it.\n\nPresently a soldier came to summon Moti to the king; and, when he\narrived and made his obeisance, the king began to question him as to why\nhe had galloped off with the horse in this fashion. But Moti declared\nthat he had got the animal in exchange for fifty pieces of silver,\nwhilst the horse merchants vowed that the money they had on them was\nwhat they had received for the sale of other horses; and in one way and\nanother the dispute got so confusing that the king (who really thought\nthat Moti had stolen the horse) said at last, 'Well, I tell you what I\nwill do. I will lock something into this box before me, and if he\nguesses what it is, the horse is his, and if he doesn't, then it is\nyours.'\n\nTo this Moti agreed, and the king arose and went out alone by a little\ndoor at the back of the Court, and presently came back clasping\nsomething closely wrapped up in a cloth under his robe, slipped it into\nthe little box, locked the box, and set it up where all might see.\n\n'Now,' said the king to Moti, 'guess!'\n\nIt happened that when the king had opened the door behind him, Moti\nnoticed that there was a garden outside: without waiting for the king's\nreturn he began to think what could be got out of the garden small\nenough to be shut in the box. 'Is it likely to be a fruit or a flower?\nNo, not a flower this time, for he clasped it too tight. Then it must be\na fruit or a stone. Yet not a stone, because he wouldn't wrap a dirty\nstone in his nice clean cloth. Then it is a fruit! And a fruit without\nmuch scent, or else he would be afraid that I might smell it. Now what\nfruit without much scent is in season just now? When I know that I shall\nhave guessed the riddle!'\n\nAs has been said before, Moti was a country lad, and was accustomed to\nwork in his father's garden. He knew all the common fruits, so he\nthought he ought to be able to guess right, but so as not to let it seem\ntoo easy, he gazed up at the ceiling with a puzzled expression, and\nlooked down at the floor with an air of wisdom and his fingers pressed\nagainst his forehead, and then he said, slowly, with his eyes on the\nking,--\n\n'It is freshly plucked! it is round and it is red! it is a pomegranate!'\n\nNow the king knew nothing about fruits except that they were good to\neat; and, as for seasons, he asked for whatever fruit he wanted whenever\nhe wanted it, and saw that he got it; so to him Moti's guess was like a\nmiracle, and clear proof not only of his wisdom but of his innocence,\nfor it _was_ a pomegranate that he had put into the box. Of course when\nthe king marvelled and praised Moti's wisdom, everybody else did so too;\nand, whilst the Afghans went off crestfallen, Moti took the horse and\nentered the king's service.\n\nVery soon after this, Moti, who continued to live in the serai, came\nback one wet and stormy evening to find that his precious horse had\nstrayed. Nothing remained of him but a broken halter cord, and no one\nknew what had become of him. After inquiring of everyone who was likely\nto know, Moti seized the cord and his big staff and sallied out to look\nfor him. Away and away he tramped out of the city and into the\nneighbouring forest, tracking hoof-marks in the mud. Presently it grew\nlate, but still Moti wandered on until suddenly in the gathering\ndarkness he came right upon a tiger who was contentedly eating his\nhorse.\n\n'You thief!' shrieked Moti, and ran up, and, just as the tiger, in\nastonishment, dropped a bone--whack! came Moti's staff on his head with\nsuch good will that the beast was half stunned and could hardly breathe\nor see. Then Moti continued to shower upon him blows and abuse until the\npoor tiger could hardly stand, whereupon his tormentor tied the end of\nthe broken halter round his neck and dragged him back to the serai.\n\n'If you had my horse,' he said, 'I will at least have you, that's fair\nenough!' And he tied him up securely by the head and heels, much as he\nused to tie the horse; then, the night being far gone, he flung himself\nbeside him and slept soundly.\n\nYou cannot imagine anything like the fright of the people in the serai,\nwhen they woke up and found a tiger--very battered but still a\ntiger--securely tethered amongst themselves and their beasts! Men\ngathered in groups talking and exclaiming, and finding fault with the\ninnkeeper for allowing such a dangerous beast into the serai, and all\nthe while the innkeeper was just as troubled as the rest, and none dared\ngo near the place where the tiger stood blinking miserably on everyone,\nand where Moti lay stretched out snoring like thunder.\n\nAt last news reached the king that Moti had exchanged his horse for a\nlive tiger; and the monarch himself came down, half disbelieving the\ntale, to see if it were really true. Someone at last awaked Moti with\nthe news that his royal master was come; and he arose yawning, and was\nsoon delightedly explaining and showing off his new possession. The\nking, however, did not share his pleasure at all, but called up a\nsoldier to shoot the tiger, much to the relief of all the inmates of the\nserai except Moti. If the king, however, was before convinced that Moti\nwas one of the wisest of men, he was now still more convinced that he\nwas the bravest, and he increased his pay a hundredfold, so that our\nhero thought that he was the luckiest of men.\n\n[Illustration: SOME-ONE AT LAST AWAKED MOTI]\n\nA week or two after this incident the king sent for Moti, who on arrival\nfound his master in despair. A neighbouring monarch, he explained, who\nhad many more soldiers than he, had declared war against him, and he was\nat his wits' end, for he had neither money to buy him off nor soldiers\nenough to fight him--what was he to do?\n\n'If that is all, don't you trouble,' said Moti. 'Turn out your men, and\nI'll go with them, and we'll soon bring this robber to reason.'\n\nThe king began to revive at these hopeful words, and took Moti off to\nhis stable where he bade him choose for himself any horse he liked.\nThere were plenty of fine horses in the stalls, but to the king's\nastonishment Moti chose a poor little rat of a pony that was used to\ncarry grass and water for the rest of the stable.\n\n'But why do you choose that beast?' said the king.\n\n'Well, you see, your majesty,' replied Moti, 'there are so many chances\nthat I may fall off, and if I choose one of your fine big horses I shall\nhave so far to fall that I shall probably break my leg or my arm, if not\nmy neck, but if I fall off this little beast I can't hurt myself much.'\n\nA very comical sight was Moti when he rode out to the war. The only\nweapon he carried was his staff, and to help him to keep his balance on\nhorseback he had tied to each of his ankles a big stone that nearly\ntouched the ground as he sat astride the little pony. The rest of the\nking's cavalry were not very numerous, but they pranced along in armour\non fine horses. Behind them came a great rabble of men on foot armed\nwith all sorts of weapons, and last of all was the king with his\nattendants, very nervous and ill at ease. So the army started.\n\nThey had not very far to go, but Moti's little pony, weighted with a\nheavy man and two big rocks, soon began to lag behind the cavalry, and\nwould have lagged behind the infantry too, only they were not very\nanxious to be too early in the fight, and hung back so as to give Moti\nplenty of time. The young man jogged along more and more slowly for some\ntime, until at last, getting impatient at the slowness of the pony, he\ngave him such a tremendous thwack with his staff that the pony\ncompletely lost his temper and bolted. First one stone became untied and\nrolled away in a cloud of dust to one side of the road, whilst Moti\nnearly rolled off too, but clasped his steed valiantly by its ragged\nmane, and, dropping his staff, held on for dear life. Then fortunately\nthe other rock broke away from his other leg and rolled thunderously\ndown a neighbouring ravine. Meanwhile the advanced cavalry had barely\ntime to draw to one side when Moti came dashing by, yelling bloodthirsty\nthreats to his pony:\n\n'You wait till I get hold of you! I'll skin you alive! I'll wring your\nneck! I'll break every bone in your body!' The cavalry thought that this\ndreadful language was meant for the enemy, and were filled with\nadmiration of his courage. Many of their horses too were quite upset by\nthis whirlwind that galloped howling through their midst, and in a few\nminutes, after a little plunging and rearing and kicking, the whole\ntroop were following on Moti's heels.\n\nFar in advance, Moti continued his wild career. Presently in his course\nhe came to a great field of castor-oil plants, ten or twelve feet high,\nbig and bushy, but quite green and soft. Hoping to escape from the back\nof his fiery steed Moti grasped one in passing, but its roots gave way,\nand he dashed on, with the whole plant looking like a young tree\nflourishing in his grip.\n\nThe enemy were in battle array, advancing over the plain, their king\nwith them confident and cheerful, when suddenly from the front came a\ndesperate rider at a furious gallop.\n\n'Sire!' he cried, 'save yourself! the enemy are coming!'\n\n'What _do_ you mean?' said the king.\n\n'Oh, sire!' panted the messenger, 'fly at once, there is no time to\nlose. Foremost of the enemy rides a mad giant at a furious gallop. He\nflourishes a tree for a club and is wild with anger, for as he goes he\ncries, \"You wait till I get hold of you! I'll skin you alive! I'll wring\nyour neck! I'll break every bone in your body!\" Others ride behind, and\nyou will do well to retire before this whirlwind of destruction comes\nupon you.'\n\nJust then out of a cloud of dust in the distance the king saw Moti\napproaching at a hard gallop, looking indeed like a giant compared with\nthe little beast he rode, whirling his castor-oil plant, which in the\ndistance might have been an oak tree, and the sound of his revilings and\nshoutings came down upon the breeze! Behind him the dust cloud moved to\nthe sound of the thunder of hoofs, whilst here and there flashed the\nglitter of steel. The sight and the sound struck terror into the king,\nand, turning his horse, he fled at top speed, thinking that a regiment\nof yelling giants was upon him; and all his force followed him as fast\nas they might go. One fat officer alone could not keep up on foot with\nthat mad rush, and as Moti came galloping up he flung himself on the\nground in abject fear. This was too much for Moti's excited pony, who\nshied so suddenly that Moti went flying over his head like a sky rocket,\nand alighted right on the top of his fat foe.\n\nQuickly regaining his feet Moti began to swing his plant round his head\nand to shout:\n\n'Where are your men? Bring them up and I'll kill them. My regiments!\nCome on, the whole lot of you! Where's your king? Bring him to me. Here\nare all my fine fellows coming up and we'll each pull up a tree by the\nroots and lay you all flat and your houses and towns and everything\nelse! Come on!'\n\nBut the poor fat officer could do nothing but squat on his knees with\nhis hands together, gasping. At last, when he got his breath, Moti sent\nhim off to bring his king, and to tell him that if he was reasonable his\nlife should be spared. Off the poor man went, and by the time the troops\nof Moti's side had come up and arranged themselves to look as\nformidable as possible, he returned with his king. The latter was very\nhumble and apologetic, and promised never to make war any more, to pay a\nlarge sum of money, and altogether do whatever his conqueror wished.\n\nSo the armies on both sides went rejoicing home, and this was really the\nmaking of the fortune of clumsy Moti, who lived long and contrived\nalways to be looked up to as a fountain of wisdom, valour, and\ndiscretion by all except his relations, who could never understand what\nhe had done to be considered so much wiser than anyone else.\n\n\n    A Pushto Story.\n\n\n\n\n_THE ENCHANTED DEER_\n\n\nA YOUNG man was out walking one day in Erin, leading a stout cart-horse\nby the bridle. He was thinking of his mother and how poor they were\nsince his father, who was a fisherman, had been drowned at sea, and\nwondering what he should do to earn a living for both of them. Suddenly\na hand was laid on his shoulder, and a voice said to him:\n\n'Will you sell me your horse, son of the fisherman?' and looking up he\nbeheld a man standing in the road with a gun in his hand, a falcon on\nhis shoulder, and a dog by his side.\n\n'What will you give me for my horse?' asked the youth. 'Will you give me\nyour gun, and your dog, and your falcon?'\n\n'I will give them,' answered the man, and he took the horse, and the\nyouth took the gun and the dog and the falcon, and went home with them.\nBut when his mother heard what he had done she was very angry, and beat\nhim with a stick which she had in her hand.\n\n'That will teach you to sell my property,' said she, when her arm was\nquite tired, but Ian her son answered her nothing, and went off to his\nbed, for he was very sore.\n\nThat night he rose softly, and left the house carrying the gun with him.\n'I will not stay here to be beaten,' thought he, and he walked and he\nwalked and he walked, till it was day again, and he was hungry and\nlooked about him to see if he could get anything to eat. Not very far\noff was a farm-house, so he went there, and knocked at the door, and\nthe farmer and his wife begged him to come in, and share their\nbreakfast.\n\n[Illustration: INSTEAD OF A DEER A WOMAN WITH LONG BLACK HAIR WAS\nSTANDING THERE]\n\n'Ah, you have a gun,' said the farmer as the young man placed it in a\ncorner. 'That is well, for a deer comes every evening to eat my corn,\nand I cannot catch it. It is fortune that has sent you to me.'\n\n'I will gladly remain and shoot the deer for you,' replied the youth,\nand that night he hid himself and watched till the deer came to the\ncornfield; then he lifted his gun to his shoulder and was just going to\npull the trigger, when, behold! instead of a deer, a woman with long\nblack hair was standing there. At this sight his gun almost dropped from\nhis hand in surprise, but as he looked, there was the deer eating the\ncorn again. And thrice this happened, till the deer ran away over the\nmoor, and the young man after her.\n\nOn they went, on and on and on, till they reached a cottage which was\nthatched with heather. With a bound the deer sprang on the roof, and lay\ndown where none could see her, but as she did so she called out, 'Go in,\nfisher's son, and eat and drink while you may.' So he entered and found\nfood and wine on the table, but no man, for the house belonged to some\nrobbers, who were still away at their wicked business.\n\nAfter Ian, the fisher's son, had eaten all he wanted, he hid himself\nbehind a great cask, and very soon he heard a noise, as of men coming\nthrough the heather, and the small twigs snapping under their feet. From\nhis dark corner he could see into the room, and he counted four and\ntwenty of them, all big, cross-looking men.\n\n'Someone has been eating our dinner,' cried they, 'and there was hardly\nenough for ourselves.'\n\n'It is the man who is lying under the cask,' answered the leader. 'Go\nand kill him, and then come and eat your food and sleep, for we must be\noff betimes in the morning.'\n\nSo four of them killed the fisher's son and left him, and then went to\nbed.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBy sunrise they were all out of the house, for they had far to go. And\nwhen they had disappeared the deer came off the roof, to where the dead\nman lay, and she shook her head over him, and wax fell from her ear,\nand he jumped up as well as ever.\n\n'Trust me and eat as you did before, and no harm shall happen to you,'\nsaid she. So Ian ate and drank, and fell sound asleep under the cask. In\nthe evening the robbers arrived very tired, and crosser than they had\nbeen yesterday, for their luck had turned and they had brought back\nscarcely anything.\n\n'Someone has eaten our dinner again,' cried they.\n\n'It is the man under the barrel,' answered the captain. 'Let four of you\ngo and kill him, but first slay the other four who pretended to kill him\nlast night and didn't, because he is still alive.'\n\nThen Ian was killed a second time, and after the rest of the robbers had\neaten, they lay down and slept till morning.\n\nNo sooner were their faces touched with the sun's rays than they were up\nand off. Then the deer entered and dropped the healing wax on the dead\nman, and he was as well as ever. By this time he did not mind what\nbefell him, so sure was he that the deer would take care of him, and in\nthe evening that which had happened before happened again--the four\nrobbers were put to death and the fisher's son also, but because there\nwas no food left for them to eat, they were nearly mad with rage, and\nbegan to quarrel. From quarrelling they went on to fighting, and fought\nso hard that by and bye they were all stretched dead on the floor.\n\nThen the deer entered, and the fisher's son was restored to life, and\nbidding him follow her, she ran on to a little white cottage where dwelt\nan old woman and her son, who was thin and dark.\n\n'Here I must leave you,' said the deer, 'but to-morrow meet me at midday\nin the church that is yonder.' And jumping across the stream, she\nvanished into a wood.\n\n[Illustration: She combed his hair with a golden comb but his eyes\nopened not]\n\nNext day he set out for the church, but the old woman of the cottage had\ngone before him, and had stuck an enchanted stick called 'the spike of\nhurt' in a crack of the door, so that he would brush against it as he\nstepped across the threshold. Suddenly he felt so sleepy that he could\nnot stand up, and throwing himself on the ground he sank into a deep\nslumber, not knowing that the dark lad was watching him. Nothing could\nwaken him, not even the sound of sweetest music, nor the touch of a lady\nwho bent over him. A sad look came on her face, as she saw it was no\nuse, and at last she gave it up, and lifting his arm, wrote her name\nacross his side--'the daughter of the king of the town under the waves.'\n\n'I will come to-morrow,' she whispered, though he could not hear her,\nand she went sorrowfully away.\n\nThen he awoke, and the dark lad told him what had befallen him, and he\nwas very grieved. But the dark lad did not tell him of the name that was\nwritten underneath his arm.\n\nOn the following morning the fisher's son again went to the church,\ndetermined that he would not go to sleep, whatever happened. But in his\nhurry to enter he touched with his hand the spike of hurt, and sank down\nwhere he stood, wrapped in slumber. A second time the air was filled\nwith music, and the lady came in, stepping softly, but though she laid\nhis head on her knee, and combed his hair with a golden comb, his eyes\nopened not. Then she burst into tears, and placing a beautifully wrought\nbox in his pocket she went her way.\n\nThe next day the same thing befell the fisher's son, and this time the\nlady wept more bitterly than before, for she said it was the last\nchance, and she would never be allowed to come any more, for home she\nmust go.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs soon as the lady had departed the fisher's son awoke, and the dark\nlad told him of her visit, and how he would never see her as long as he\nlived. At this the fisher's son felt the cold creeping up to his heart,\nyet he knew the fault had not been his that sleep had overtaken him.\n\n'I will search the whole world through till I find her,' cried he, and\nthe dark lad laughed as he heard him. But the fisher's son took no heed,\nand off he went, following the sun day after day, till his shoes were in\nholes and his feet were sore from the journey. Nought did he see but the\nbirds that made their nests in the trees, not so much as a goat or a\nrabbit. On and on and on he went, till suddenly he came upon a little\nhouse, with a woman standing outside it.\n\n'All hail, fisher's son!' said she. 'I know what you are seeking; enter\nin and rest and eat, and to-morrow I will give you what help I can, and\nsend you on your way.'\n\nGladly did Ian the fisher's son accept her offer, and all that day he\nrested, and the woman gave him ointment to put on his feet, which healed\nhis sores. At daybreak he got up, ready to be gone, and the woman bade\nhim farewell, saying:\n\n'I have a sister who dwells on the road which you must travel. It is a\nlong road, and it would take you a year and a day to reach it, but put\non these old brown shoes with holes all over them, and you will be there\nbefore you know it. Then shake them off, and turn their toes to the\nknown, and their heels to the unknown, and they will come home of\nthemselves.'\n\nThe fisher's son did as the woman told him, and everything happened just\nas she had said. But at parting the second sister said to him, as she\ngave him another pair of shoes:\n\n'Go to my third sister, for she has a son who is keeper of the birds of\nthe air, and sends them to sleep when night comes. He is very wise, and\nperhaps he can help you.'\n\nThen the young man thanked her, and went to the third sister.\n\nThe third sister was very kind, but had no counsel to give him, so he\nate and drank and waited till her son came home, after he had sent all\nthe birds to sleep. He thought a long while after his mother had told\nhim the young man's story, and at last he said that he was hungry, and\nthe cow must be killed, as he wanted some supper. So the cow was killed\nand the meat cooked, and a bag made of its red skin.\n\n'Now get into the bag,' bade the son, and the young man got in and took\nhis gun with him, but the dog and the falcon he left outside. The keeper\nof the birds drew the string at the top of the bag, and left it to\nfinish his supper, when in flew an eagle through the open door, and\npicked the bag up in her claws and carried it through the air to an\nisland. There was nothing to eat on the island, and the fisher's son\nthought he would die for lack of food, when he remembered the box that\nthe lady had put in his pocket. He opened the lid, and three tiny little\nbirds flew out, and flapping their wings they asked,\n\n'Good master, is there anything we can do for thee?'\n\n'Bear me to the kingdom of the king under the waves,' he answered, and\none little bird flew on to his head, and the others perched on each of\nhis shoulders, and he shut his eyes, and in a moment there he was in the\ncountry under the sea. Then the birds flew away, and the young man\nlooked about him, his heart beating fast at the thought that here dwelt\nthe lady whom he had sought all the world over.\n\nHe walked on through the streets, and presently he reached the house of\na weaver who was standing at his door, resting from his work.\n\n'You are a stranger here, that is plain,' said the weaver, 'but come in,\nand I will give you food and drink.' And the young man was glad, for he\nknew not where to go, and they sat and talked till it grew late.\n\n'Stay with me, I pray, for I love company and am lonely,' observed the\nweaver at last, and he pointed to a bed in a corner, where the fisher's\nson threw himself, and slept till dawn.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'There is to be a horse-race in the town to-day,' remarked the weaver,\n'and the winner is to have the king's daughter to wife.' The young man\ntrembled with excitement at the news, and his voice shook as he\nanswered:\n\n'That will be a prize indeed, I should like to see the race.'\n\n'Oh, that is quite easy--anyone can go,' replied the weaver. 'I would\ntake you myself, but I have promised to weave this cloth for the king.'\n\n'That is a pity,' returned the young man politely, but in his heart he\nrejoiced, for he wished to be alone.\n\nLeaving the house, he entered a grove of trees which stood behind, and\ntook the box from his pocket. He raised the lid, and out flew the three\nlittle birds.\n\n'Good master, what shall we do for thee?' asked they, and he answered,\n'Bring me the finest horse that ever was seen, and the grandest dress,\nand glass shoes.'\n\n'They are here, master,' said the birds, and so they were, and never had\nthe young man seen anything so splendid.\n\nMounting the horse he rode into the ground where the horses were\nassembling for the great race, and took his place among them. Many good\nbeasts were there which had won many races, but the horse of the\nfisher's son left them all behind, and he was first at the winning post.\nThe king's daughter waited for him in vain to claim his prize, for he\nwent back to the wood, and got off his horse, and put on his old\nclothes, and bade the box place some gold in his pockets. After that he\nwent back to the weaver's house, and told him that the gold had been\ngiven him by the man who had won the race, and that the weaver might\nhave it for his kindness to him.\n\nNow as nobody had appeared to demand the hand of the princess, the king\nordered another race to be run, and the fisher's son rode into the\nfield, still more splendidly dressed than he was before, and easily\ndistanced everybody else. But again he left the prize unclaimed, and so\nit happened on the third day, when it seemed as if all the people in the\nkingdom were gathered to see the race, for they were filled with\ncuriosity to know who the winner could be.\n\n'If he will not come of his own free will, he must be brought,' said the\nking, and messengers who had seen the face of the victor were sent to\nseek him in every street of the town. This took many days, and when at\nlast they found the young man in the weaver's cottage, he was so dirty\nand ugly and had such a strange appearance, that they declared he could\nnot be the winner they had been searching for, but a wicked robber who\nhad murdered ever so many people, but had always managed to escape.\n\n'Yes, it must be the robber,' said the king, when the fisher's son was\nled into his presence; 'build a gallows at once and hang him in the\nsight of all my subjects, that they may behold him suffer the punishment\nof his crimes.'\n\nSo the gallows was built upon a high platform, and the fisher's son\nmounted the steps up to it, and turned at the top to make the speech\nthat was expected from every doomed man, innocent or guilty. As he spoke\nhe happened to raise his arm, and the king's daughter, who was there at\nher father's side, saw the name which she had written under it. With a\nshriek she sprang from her seat, and the eyes of the spectators were\nturned towards her.\n\n'Stop! stop!' she cried, hardly knowing what she said. 'If that man is\nhanged there is not a soul in the kingdom but shall die also.' And\nrunning up to where the fisher's son was standing, she took him by the\nhand, saying,\n\n'Father, this is no robber or murderer, but the victor in the three\nraces, and he loosed the spells that were laid upon me.'\n\nThen, without waiting for a reply, she conducted him into the palace,\nand he bathed in a marble bath, and all the dirt that the fairies had\nput upon him disappeared like magic, and when he had dressed himself in\nthe fine garments the princess had sent to him, he looked a match for\nany king's daughter in Erin. He went down into the great hall where she\nwas awaiting him, and they had much to tell each other but little time\nto tell it in, for the king, her father, and the princes who were\nvisiting him, and all the people of the kingdom were still in their\nplaces expecting her return.\n\n'How did you find me out?' she whispered as they went down the passage.\n\n'The birds in the box told me,' answered he, but he could say no more,\nas they stepped out into the open space that was crowded with people.\nThere the princess stopped.\n\n'O kings!' she said, turning towards them, 'if one of you were killed\nto-day, the rest would fly; but this man put his trust in me, and had\nhis head cut off three times. Because he has done this, I will marry him\nrather than one of you, who have come hither to wed me, for many kings\nhere sought to free me from the spells, but none could do it save Ian\nthe fisher's son.'\n\n\n    From 'Popular Tales of the West Highlands.'\n\n\n\n\n_A FISH STORY_\n\n\nPERHAPS you think that fishes were always fishes, and never lived\nanywhere except in the water, but if you went to Australia and talked to\nthe black people in the sandy desert in the centre of the country you\nwould learn something quite different. They would tell you that long,\nlong ago you would have met fishes on the land, wandering from place to\nplace, and hunting all sorts of animals, and if you consider how fishes\nare made, you will understand how difficult this must have been and how\nclever they were to do it. Indeed, so clever were they that they might\nhave been hunting still if a terrible thing had not happened.\n\nOne day the whole fish tribe came back very tired from a hunting\nexpedition, and looked about for a nice cool spot in which to pitch\ntheir camp. It was very hot, and they thought that they could not find a\nmore comfortable place than under the branches of a large tree which\ngrew by the bank of a river. So they made their fire to cook some food,\nright on the edge of a steep bank, which had a deep pool of water lying\nbeneath it at the bottom. While the food was cooking they all stretched\nthemselves lazily out under the tree, and were just dropping off to\nsleep when a big black cloud which they had never noticed spread over\nthe sun, and heavy drops of rain began to fall, so that the fire was\nalmost put out, and that, you know, is a very serious thing in savage\ncountries where they have no matches, for it is very hard to light it\nagain. To make matters worse, an icy wind began to blow, and the poor\nfishes were chilled right through their bodies.\n\n'This will never do,' said Thuggai, the oldest of all the fish tribe.\n'We shall die of cold unless we can light the fire again,' and he bade\nhis sons rub two sticks together in the hope of kindling a flame, but\nthough they rubbed till they were tired, not a spark could they produce.\n\n'Let _me_ try,' cried Biernuga, the bony fish, but he had no better\nluck, and no more had Kumbal, the bream, nor any of the rest.\n\n[Illustration: How The Fish got into the Water]\n\n'It is no use,' exclaimed Thuggai, at last. 'The wood is too wet. We\nmust just sit and wait till the sun comes out again and dries it.' Then\na very little fish indeed, not more than four inches long and the\nyoungest of the tribe, bowed himself before Thuggai, saying, 'Ask my\nfather, Guddhu the cod, to light the fire. He is skilled in magic more\nthan most fishes.' So Thuggai asked him, and Guddhu stripped some pieces\nof bark off a tree, and placed them on top of the smouldering ashes.\nThen he knelt by the side of the fire and blew at it for a long while,\ntill slowly the feeble red glow became a little stronger and the edges\nof the bark showed signs of curling up. When the rest of the tribe saw\nthis they pressed close, keeping their backs towards the piercing wind,\nbut Guddhu told them they must go to the other side, as he wanted the\nwind to fan his fire. By and bye the spark grew into a flame, and a\nmerry crackling was heard.\n\n'More wood,' cried Guddhu, and they all ran and gathered wood and heaped\nit on the flames, which leaped and roared and sputtered.\n\n'We shall soon be warm now,' said the people one to another. 'Truly\nGuddhu is great'; and they crowded round again, closer and closer.\nSuddenly, with a shriek, a blast of wind swept down from the hills and\nblew the fire out towards them. They sprang back hurriedly, quite\nforgetting where they stood, and all fell down the bank, each tumbling\nover the other, till they rolled into the pool that lay below. Oh, how\ncold it was in that dark water on which the sun never shone! Then in an\ninstant they felt warm again, for the fire, driven by the strong wind,\nhad followed them right down to the bottom of the pool, where it burned\nas brightly as ever. And the fishes gathered round it as they had done\non the top of the cliff, and found the flames as hot as before, and that\nfire never went out, like those upon land, but kept burning for ever. So\nnow you know why, if you dive deep down below the cold surface of the\nwater on a frosty day, you will find it comfortable and pleasant\nunderneath, and be quite sorry that you cannot stay there.\n\n\n    Australian 'Folk' Tale.\n\n\n\n\n_THE WONDERFUL TUNE_\n\n\nMAURICE CONNOR was the king, and that's no small word, of all the pipers\nin Munster. He could play jig and reel without end, and Ollistrum's\nMarch, and the Eagle's Whistle, and the Hen's Concert, and odd tunes of\nevery sort and kind. But he knew one far more surprising than the rest,\nwhich had in it the power to set everything dead or alive dancing.\n\nIn what way he learned it is beyond my knowledge, for he was mighty\ncautious about telling how he came by so wonderful a tune. At the very\nfirst note of that tune the shoes began shaking upon the feet of all who\nheard it--old or young, it mattered not--just as if the shoes had the\nague; then the feet began going, going, going from under them, and at\nlast up and away with them, dancing like mad, whisking here, there, and\neverywhere, like a straw in a storm--there was no halting while the\nmusic lasted.\n\nNot a fair, nor a wedding, nor a feast in the seven parishes round, was\ncounted worth the speaking of without 'blind Maurice and his pipes.' His\nmother, poor woman, used to lead him about from one place to another\njust like a dog.\n\nDown through Iveragh, Maurice Connor and his mother were taking their\nrounds. Beyond all other places Iveragh is the place for stormy coasts\nand steep mountains, as proper a spot it is as any in Ireland to get\nyourself drowned, or your neck broken on the land, should you prefer\nthat. But, notwithstanding, in Ballinskellig Bay there is a neat bit of\nground, well fitted for diversion, and down from it, towards the water,\nis a clean smooth piece of strand, the dead image of a calm summer's sea\non a moonlight night, with just the curl of the small waves upon it.\n\nHere it was that Maurice's music had brought from all parts a great\ngathering of the young men and the young women; for 'twas not every day\nthe strand of Trafraska was stirred up by the voice of a bagpipe. The\ndance began; and as pretty a dance it was as ever was danced. 'Brave\nmusic,' said everybody, 'and well done,' when Maurice stopped.\n\n'More power to your elbow, Maurice, and a fair wind in the bellows,'\ncried Paddy Dorman, a humpbacked dancing master, who was there to keep\norder. ''Tis a pity,' said he, 'if we'd let the piper run dry after such\nmusic; 'twould be a disgrace to Iveragh, that didn't come on it since\nthe week of the three Sundays.' So, as well became him, for he was\nalways a decent man, says he, 'Did you drink, piper?'\n\n'I will, sir,' said Maurice, answering the question on the safe side,\nfor you never yet knew piper or schoolmaster who refused his drink.\n\n'What will you drink, Maurice?' says Paddy.\n\n'I'm no ways particular,' says Maurice; 'I drink anything barring _raw_\nwater; but if it's all the same to you, Mister Dorman, may-be you\nwouldn't lend me the loan of a glass of whisky.'\n\n'I've no glass, Maurice,' said Paddy; 'I've only the bottle.'\n\n'Let that be no hindrance,' answered Maurice; 'my mouth just holds a\nglass to the drop; often I've tried it sure.'\n\nSo Paddy Dorman trusted him with the bottle--more fool was he; and, to\nhis cost, he found that though Maurice's mouth might not hold more than\nthe glass at one time, yet, owing to the hole in his throat, it took\nmany a filling.\n\n'That was no bad whisky neither,' says Maurice, handing back the empty\nbottle.\n\n'By the holy frost, then!' says Paddy, ''tis but _cold_ comfort there's\nin that bottle now; and 'tis your word we must take for the strength of\nthe whisky, for you've left us no sample to judge by'; and to be sure\nMaurice had not.\n\nNow I need not tell any gentleman or lady that if he or she was to drink\nan honest bottle of whisky at one pull, it is not at all the same thing\nas drinking a bottle of water; and in the whole course of my life I\nnever knew more than five men who could do so without being the worse.\nOf these Maurice Connor was not one, though he had a stiff head enough\nof his own. Don't think I blame him for it; but true is the word that\nsays, 'When liquor's in sense is out'; and puff, at a breath, out he\nblasted his wonderful tune.\n\n'Twas really then beyond all belief or telling the dancing. Maurice\nhimself could not keep quiet; staggering now on one leg, now on the\nother, and rolling about like a ship in a cross sea, trying to humour\nthe tune. There was his mother, too, moving her old bones as light as\nthe youngest girl of them all; but her dancing, no, nor the dancing of\nall the rest, is not worthy the speaking about to the work that was\ngoing on down upon the strand. Every inch of it covered with all manner\nof fish jumping and plunging about to the music, and every moment more\nand more would tumble in out of the water, charmed by the wonderful\ntune. Crabs of monstrous size spun round and round on one claw with the\nnimbleness of a dancing master, and twirled and tossed their other claws\nabout like limbs that did not belong to them. It was a sight surprising\nto behold. But perhaps you may have heard of Father Florence Conry, as\npleasant a man as one would wish to drink with of a hot summer's day;\nand he had rhymed out all about the dancing fishes so neatly that it\nwould be a thousand pities not to give you his verses; so here they are\nin English:\n\n    The big seals in motion,\n    Like waves of the ocean,\n      Or gouty feet prancing,\n    Came heading the gay fish,\n    Crabs, lobsters, and cray-fish,\n      Determined on dancing.\n\n    The sweet sounds they followed,\n    The gasping cod swallow'd--\n      'Twas wonderful, really;\n    And turbot and flounder,\n    'Mid fish that were rounder,\n      Just caper'd as gaily.\n\n    John-dories came tripping;\n    Dull hake, by their skipping,\n      To frisk it seem'd given;\n    Bright mackrel went springing,\n    Like small rainbows winging\n      Their flight up to heaven.\n\n    The whiting and haddock\n    Left salt water paddock\n      This dance to be put in;\n    Where skate with flat faces\n    Edged out some old plaices;\n      But soles kept their footing.\n\n    Sprats and herrings in powers\n    Of silvery showers\n      All number out-numbered;\n    And great ling so lengthy\n    Was there in such plenty\n      The shore was encumber'd.\n\n    The scollop and oyster\n    Their two shells did roister,\n      Like castanets flitting;\n    While limpets moved clearly,\n    And rocks very nearly\n      With laughter were splitting.\n\nNever was such a hullabullo in this world, before or since; 'twas as if\nheaven and earth were coming together; and all out of Maurice Connor's\nwonderful tune!\n\nIn the height of all these doings, what should there be dancing among\nthe outlandish set of fishes but a beautiful young woman--as beautiful\nas the dawn of day! She had a cocked hat upon her head; from under it\nher long green hair--just the colour of the sea--fell down behind,\nwithout hindrance to her dancing. Her teeth were like rows of pearls;\nher lips for all the world looked like red coral; and she had a shining\ngown pale green as the hollow of the wave, with little rows of purple\nand red seaweeds settled out upon it; for you never yet saw a lady,\nunder the water or over the water, who had not a good notion of dressing\nherself out.\n\nUp she danced as last to Maurice, who was flinging his feet from under\nhim as fast as hops--for nothing in this world could keep still while\nthat tune of his was going on--and says she to him, chanting it out with\na voice as sweet as honey:\n\n    I'm a lady of honour\n      Who live in the sea;\n    Come down, Maurice Connor,\n      And be married to me.\n    Silver plates and gold dishes\n      You shall have, and shall be\n    The king of the fishes,\n      When you're married to me.\n\nDrink was strong in Maurice's head, and out he chanted in return for her\ngreat civility. It is not every lady, may-be, that would be after making\nsuch an offer to a blind piper; therefore 'twas only right in him to\ngive her as good as she gave herself, so says Maurice:\n\n    I'm obliged to you, madam:\n      Off a gold dish or plate,\n    If a king, and I had 'em,\n      I could dine in great state.\n\n    With your own father's daughter\n      I'd be sure to agree,\n    But to drink the salt water\n      Wouldn't do so with me!\n\nThe lady looked at him quite amazed, and swinging her head from side to\nside like a great scholar, 'Well,' says she, 'Maurice, if you're not a\npoet, where is poetry to be found?'\n\nIn this way they kept on at it, framing high compliments; one answering\nthe other, and their feet going with the music as fast as their tongues.\nAll the fish kept dancing, too; Maurice heard the clatter and was afraid\nto stop playing lest it might be displeasing to the fish, and not\nknowing what so many of them may take it into their heads to do to him\nif they got vexed.\n\nWell, the lady with the green hair kept on coaxing Maurice with soft\nspeeches, till at last she over-persuaded him to promise to marry her,\nand be king over the fishes, great and small. Maurice was well fitted to\nbe their king, if they wanted one that could make them dance; and he\nsurely would drink, barring the salt water, with any fish of them all.\n\n[Illustration: The Sea-lady allures Maurice into the Sea.]\n\nWhen Maurice's mother saw him with that unnatural thing in the form of a\ngreen-haired lady as his guide, and he and she dancing down together so\nlovingly to the water's edge, through the thick of the fishes, she\ncalled out after him to stop and come back. 'Oh, then,' says she, 'as if\nI was not widow enough before, there he is going away from me to be\nmarried to that scaly woman. And who knows but 'tis grandmother I may be\nto a hake or a cod--Lord help and pity me, but 'tis a mighty unnatural\nthing! And may-be 'tis boiling and eating my own grandchild I'll be,\nwith a bit of salt butter, and I not knowing it! Oh, Maurice, Maurice,\nif there's any love or nature left in you, come back to your own _ould_\nmother, who reared you like a decent Christian!' Then the poor woman\nbegan to cry and sob so finely that it would do anyone good to hear\nher.\n\nMaurice was not long getting to the rim of the water. There he kept\nplaying and dancing on as if nothing was the matter, and a great\nthundering wave coming in towards him ready to swallow him up alive; but\nas he could not see it, he did not fear it. His mother it was who saw it\nplainly through the big tears that were rolling down her cheeks; and\nthough she saw it, and her heart was aching as much as ever mother's\nheart ached for a son, she kept dancing, dancing all the time for the\nbare life of her. Certain it was she could not help it, for Maurice\nnever stopped playing that wonderful tune of his.\n\nHe only turned his ear to the sound of his mother's voice, fearing it\nmight put him out in his steps, and all the answer he made back was,\n'Whisht with you, mother--sure I'm going to be king over the fishes down\nin the sea, and for a token of luck, and a sign that I'm alive and well,\nI'll send you in, every twelvemonth on this day, a piece of burned wood\nto Trafraska.' Maurice had not the power to say a word more, for the\nstrange lady with the green hair, seeing the wave just upon them,\ncovered him up with herself in a thing like a cloak with a big hood to\nit, and the wave curling over twice as high as their heads, burst upon\nthe strand, with a rush and a roar that might be heard as far as Cape\nClear.\n\nThat day twelvemonth the piece of burned wood came ashore in Trafraska.\nIt was a queer thing for Maurice to think of sending all the way from\nthe bottom of the sea. A gown or a pair of shoes would have been\nsomething like a present for his poor mother; but he had said it, and he\nkept his word. The bit of burned wood regularly came ashore on the\nappointed day for as good, ay, and better than a hundred years. The day\nis now forgotten, and may-be that is the reason why people say how\nMaurice Connor has stopped sending the luck-token to his mother. Poor\nwoman, she did not live to get as much as one of them; for what through\nthe loss of Maurice, and the fear of eating her own grandchildren, she\ndied in three weeks after the dance. Some say it was the fatigue that\nkilled her, but whichever it was, Mrs. Connor was decently buried with\nher own people.\n\nSeafaring people have often heard, off the coast of Kerry, on a still\nnight, the sound of music coming up from the water; and some, who have\nhad good ears could plainly distinguish Maurice Connor's voice singing\nthese words to his pipes--\n\n    Beautiful shore, with thy spreading strand,\n    Thy crystal water, and diamond sand;\n    Never would I have parted from thee,\n    But for the sake of my fair ladie.\n\n\n    From 'Fairy Tales and Traditions of the South of Ireland.'\n\n\n\n\n_THE RICH BROTHER AND THE POOR BROTHER_\n\n\nTHERE was once a rich old man who had two sons, and as his wife was\ndead, the elder lived with him, and helped him to look after his\nproperty. For a long time all went well; the young man got up very early\nin the morning, and worked hard all day, and at the end of every week\nhis father counted up the money they had made, and rubbed his hands with\ndelight, as he saw how big the pile of gold in the strong iron chest was\nbecoming. 'It will soon be full now, and I shall have to buy a larger\none,' he said to himself, and so busy was he with the thought of his\nmoney, that he did not notice how bright his son's face had grown, nor\nhow he sometimes started when he was spoken to, as if his mind was far\naway.\n\nOne day, however, the old man went to the city on business, which he had\nnot done for three years at least. It was market day, and he met with\nmany people he knew, and it was getting quite late when he turned into\nthe inn yard, and bade an ostler saddle his horse, and bring it round\ndirectly. While he was waiting in the hall, the landlady came up for a\ngossip, and after a few remarks about the weather and the vineyards she\nasked him how he liked his new daughter-in-law, and whether he had been\nsurprised at the marriage.\n\nThe old man stared as he listened to her. 'Daughter-in-law? Marriage?'\nsaid he. 'I don't know what you are talking about! I've got no\ndaughter-in-law, and nobody has been married lately, that ever I heard\nof.'\n\nNow this was exactly what the landlady, who was very curious, wanted to\nfind out; but she put on a look of great alarm, and exclaimed:\n\n'Oh, dear! I hope I have not made mischief. I had no idea--or, of\ncourse, I would not have spoken--but'----and here she stopped and\nfumbled with her apron, as if she was greatly embarrassed.\n\n'As you have said so much you will have to say a little more,' retorted\nthe old man, a suspicion of what she meant darting across him; and the\nwoman, nothing loth, answered as before.\n\n'Ah, it was not all for buying or selling that your handsome son has\nbeen coming to town every week these many months past. And not by the\nshortest way, either! No, it was over the river he rode, and across the\nhill and past the cottage of Miguel the vine-keeper, whose daughter,\nthey say, is the prettiest girl in the whole country side, though she is\ntoo white for _my_ taste,' and then the landlady paused again, and\nglanced up at the farmer, to see how he was taking it. She did not learn\nmuch. He was looking straight before him, his teeth set. But as she\nceased to talk, he said quietly, 'Go on.'\n\n'There is not much more to tell,' replied the landlady, for she suddenly\nremembered that she must prepare supper for the hungry men who always\nstopped at the inn on market days, before starting for home, 'but one\nfine morning they both went to the little church on top of the hill, and\nwere married. My cousin is servant to the priest, and she found out\nabout it and told me. But good-day to you, sir; here is your horse, and\nI must hurry off to the kitchen.'\n\nIt was lucky that the horse was sure-footed and knew the road, for his\nbridle hung loose on his neck, and his master took no heed of the way he\nwas going. When the farm-house was reached, the man led the animal to\nhis stable, and then went to look for his son.\n\n'I know everything--you have deceived me. Get out of my sight at once--I\nhave done with you,' he stammered, choking with passion as he came up to\nthe young man, who was cutting a stick in front of the door, whistling\ngaily the while.\n\n'But, father----'\n\n'You are no son of mine; I have only one now. Begone, or it will be the\nworse for you,' and as he spoke he lifted up his whip.\n\nThe young man shrank back. He feared lest his father should fall down in\na fit, his face was so red and his eyes seemed bursting from his head.\nBut it was no use staying: perhaps next morning the old man might listen\nto reason, though in his heart the son felt that he would never take\nback his words. So he turned slowly away, and walked heavily along a\npath which ended in a cave on the side of the hill, and there he sat\nthrough the night, thinking of what had happened.\n\nYes, he had been wrong, there was no doubt of that, and he did not\nquite know how it had come about. He had _meant_ to have told his father\nall about it, and he was sure, _quite_ sure, that if once the old man\nhad seen his wife, he would have forgiven her poverty on account of her\ngreat beauty and goodness. But he had put it off from day to day, hoping\nalways for a better opportunity, and now this was the end!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf the son had no sleep that night, no more had the father, and as soon\nas the sun rose, he sent a messenger into the great city with orders to\nbring back the younger brother. When he arrived the farmer did not waste\nwords, but informed him that he was now his only heir, and would inherit\nall his lands and money, and that he was to come and live at home, and\nto help manage the property.\n\nThough very pleased at the thought of becoming such a rich man--for the\nbrothers had never cared much for each other--the younger would rather\nhave stayed where he was, for he soon got tired of the country, and\nlonged for a town life. However, this he kept to himself, and made the\nbest of things, working hard like his brother before him.\n\nIn this way the years went on, but the crops were not so good as they\nhad been, and the old man gave orders that some fine houses he was\nbuilding in the city should be left unfinished, for it would take all\nhis savings to complete them. As to the elder son, he would never even\nhear his name mentioned, and died at last without ever seeing his face,\nleaving to the younger as he had promised, all his lands, as well as his\nmoney.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMeanwhile, the son whom he had disinherited had grown poorer and poorer.\nHe and his wife were always looking out for something to do, and never\nspent a penny that they could help, but luck was against them, and at\nthe time of his father's death they had hardly bread to eat or clothes\nto cover them. If there had been only himself, he would have managed to\nget on somehow, but he could not bear to watch his children becoming\nweaker day by day, and swallowing his pride, at length he crossed the\nmountains to his old home where his brother was living.\n\nIt was the first time for long that the two men had come face to face,\nand they looked at each other in silence. Then tears rose in the eyes of\nthe elder, but winking them hastily away, he said:\n\n'Brother, it is not needful that I should tell you how poor I am; you\ncan see that for yourself. I have not come to beg for money, but only to\nask if you will give me those unfinished houses of yours in the city,\nand I will make them water-tight, so that my wife and children can live\nin them, and that will save our rent. For as they are, they profit you\nnothing.'\n\nAnd the younger brother listened and pitied him, and gave him the houses\nthat he asked for, and the elder went away happy.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFor some years things went on as they were, and then the rich brother\nbegan to feel lonely, and thought to himself that he was getting older,\nand it was time for him to be married. The wife he chose was very\nwealthy, but she was also very greedy, and however much she had, she\nalways wanted more. She was, besides, one of those unfortunate people\nwho invariably fancy that the possessions of other people must be better\nthan their own. Many a time her poor husband regretted the day that he\nhad first seen her, and often her meanness and shabby ways put him to\nshame. But he had not the courage to rule her, and she only got worse\nand worse.\n\nAfter she had been married a few months the bride wanted to go into the\ncity and buy herself some new dresses. She had never been there before,\nand when she had finished her shopping, she thought she would pay a\nvisit to her unknown sister-in-law, and rest for a bit. The house she\nwas seeking was in a broad street, and _ought_ to have been very\nmagnificent, but the carved stone portico enclosed a mean little door of\nrough wood, while a row of beautiful pillars led to nothing. The\ndwellings on each side were in the same unfinished condition, and water\ntrickled down the walls. Most people would have considered it a wretched\nplace, and turned their backs on it as soon as they could, but this lady\nsaw that by spending some money the houses could be made as splendid as\nthey were originally intended to be, and she instantly resolved to get\nthem for herself.\n\nFull of this idea she walked up the marble staircase, and entered the\nlittle room where her sister-in-law sat making clothes for her\nchildren. The bride seemed full of interest in the houses, and asked a\ngreat many questions about them, so that her new relations liked her\nmuch better than they expected, and hoped they might be good friends.\nHowever, as soon as she reached home, she went straight to her husband,\nand told him that he must get back those houses from his brother, as\nthey would exactly suit her, and she could easily make them into a\npalace as fine as the king's. But her husband only told her that she\nmight buy houses in some other part of the town, for she could not have\nthose, as he had long since made a gift of them to his brother, who had\nlived there for many years past.\n\nAt this answer the wife grew very angry. She began to cry, and made such\na noise that all the neighbours heard her and put their heads out of the\nwindows, to see what was the matter. 'It was absurd,' she sobbed out,\n'quite unjust. Indeed, if you came to think of it, the gift was worth\nnothing, as when her husband made it he was a bachelor, and since then\nhe had been married, and she had never given her consent to any such\nthing.' And so she lamented all day and all night, till the poor man was\nnearly worried to death; and at last he did what she wished, and\nsummoned his brother in a court of law to give up the houses which, he\nsaid, had only been lent to him. But when the evidence on both sides had\nbeen heard, the judge decided in favour of the poor man, which made the\nrich lady more furious than ever, and she determined not to rest until\nshe had gained the day. If one judge would not give her the houses\nanother should, and so time after time the case was tried over again,\ntill at last it came before the highest judge of all, in the city of\nEvora. Her husband was heartily tired and ashamed of the whole affair,\nbut his weakness in not putting a stop to it in the beginning had got\nhim into this difficulty, and now he was forced to go on.\n\nOn the same day the two brothers set out on their journey to the city,\nthe rich one on horseback, with plenty of food in his knapsack, the poor\none on foot with nothing but a piece of bread and four onions to eat on\nthe way. The road was hilly and neither could go very fast, and when\nnight fell, they were both glad to see some lights in a window a little\ndistance in front of them.\n\nThe lights turned out to have been placed there by a farmer, who had\nplanned to have a particularly good supper as it was his wife's\nbirthday, and bade the rich man enter and sit down, while he himself\ntook the horse to the stable. The poor man asked timidly if he might\nspend the night in a corner, adding that he had brought his own supper\nwith him. Another time permission might have been refused him, for the\nfarmer was no lover of humble folk, but now he gave the elder brother\nleave to come in, pointing out a wooden chair where he could sit.\n\nSupper was soon served, and very glad the younger brother was to eat it,\nfor his long ride had made him very hungry. The farmer's wife, however,\nwould touch nothing, and at last declared that the only supper she\nwanted was one of the onions the poor man was cooking at the fire. Of\ncourse he gave it to her, though he would gladly have eaten it himself,\nas three onions are not much at the end of a long day's walk, and soon\nafter they all went to sleep, the poor man making himself as comfortable\nas he could in his corner.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA few hours later the farmer was aroused by the cries and groans of his\nwife.\n\n'Oh, I feel so ill, I'm sure I'm going to die,' wept she. 'It was that\nonion, I know it was. I wish I had never eaten it. It must have been\npoisoned.'\n\n'If the man has poisoned you he shall pay for it,' said her husband, and\nseizing a thick stick he ran downstairs and began to beat the poor man,\nwho had been sound asleep, and had nothing to defend himself with.\nLuckily, the noise aroused the younger brother, who jumped up and\nsnatched the stick from the farmer's hand, saying:\n\n'We are both going to Evora to try a law-suit. Come too, and accuse him\nthere if he has attempted to rob you or murder you, but don't kill him\nnow, or you will get yourself into trouble.'\n\n'Well, perhaps you are right,' answered the farmer, 'but the sooner that\nfellow has his deserts, the better I shall be pleased,' and without more\nwords he went to the stables and brought out a horse for himself and\nalso the black Andalusian mare ridden by the rich man, while the poor\nbrother, fearing more ill-treatment, started at once on foot.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow all that night it had rained heavily, and did not seem likely to\nstop, and in some places the road was so thick with mud that it was\nalmost impossible to get across it. In one spot it was so very bad that\na mule laden with baggage had got stuck in it, and tug as he might, his\nmaster was quite unable to pull him out. The muleteer in despair\nappealed to the two horsemen, who were carefully skirting the swamp at\nsome distance off, but they paid no heed to his cries, and he began to\ntalk cheerfully to his mule, hoping to keep up his spirits, declaring\nthat if the poor beast would only have a little patience help was sure\nto come.\n\nAnd so it did, for very soon the poor brother reached the place,\nbespattered with mud from head to foot, but ready to do all he could to\nhelp the mule and his master. First they set about finding some stout\nlogs of wood to lay down on the marsh so that they could reach the mule,\nfor by this time his frantic struggles had broken his bridle, and he was\ndeeper in than ever. Stepping cautiously along the wood, the poor man\ncontrived to lay hold of the animal's tail, and with a desperate effort\nthe mule managed to regain his footing on dry ground, but at the cost of\nleaving his tail in the poor man's hand. When he saw this the muleteer's\nanger knew no bounds, and forgetting that without the help given him he\nwould have lost his mule altogether, he began to abuse the poor man,\ndeclaring that he had ruined his beast, and the law would make him pay\nfor it. Then, jumping on the back of the mule, which was so glad to be\nout of the choking mud that he did not seem to mind the loss of his\ntail, the ungrateful wretch rode on, and that evening reached the inn at\nEvora, where the rich man and the farmer had already arrived for the\nnight.\n\nMeanwhile the poor brother walked wearily along, wondering what other\ndreadful adventures were in store for him.\n\n'I shall certainly be condemned for one or other of them,' thought he\nsadly; 'and after all, if I _have_ to die, I would rather choose my own\ndeath than leave it to my enemies,' and as soon as he entered Evora he\nlooked about for a place suitable for carrying out the plan he had made.\nAt length he found what he sought, but as it was too late and too dark\nfor him to make sure of success, he curled himself up under a doorway,\nand slept till morning.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAlthough it was winter, the sun rose in a clear sky, and its rays felt\nalmost warm when the poor man got up and shook himself. He intended it\nto be the day of his death, but in spite of that, and of the fact that\nhe was leaving his wife and children behind him, he felt almost\ncheerful. He had struggled so long, and was so very, very tired; but he\nwould not have minded that if he could have proved his innocence, and\ntriumphed over his enemies. However, they had all been too clever for\nhim, and he had no strength to fight any more. So he mounted the stone\nsteps that led to the battlements of the city, and stopped for a moment\nto gaze about him.\n\nIt happened that an old sick man who lived near by had begged to be\ncarried out and to be laid at the foot of the wall so that the beams of\nthe rising sun might fall upon him, and he would be able to talk with\nhis friends as they passed by to their work. Little did he guess that on\ntop of the battlements, exactly over his head, stood a man who was\ntaking his last look at the same sun, before going to his death that\nawaited him. But so it was; and as the steeple opposite was touched by\nthe golden light, the poor man shut his eyes and sprang forward. The\nwall was high, and he flew rapidly through the air, but it was not the\nground he touched, only the body of the sick man, who rolled over and\ndied without a groan. As for the other, he was quite unhurt, and was\nslowly rising to his feet when his arms were suddenly seized and held.\n\n'You have killed our father, do you see? do you see?' cried two young\nmen, 'and you will come with us this instant before the judge, and\nanswer for it.'\n\n'Your father? but I don't know him. What do you mean?' asked the poor\nman, who was quite bewildered with his sudden rush through the air, and\ncould not think why he should be accused of this fresh crime. But he got\nno reply, and was only hurried through the streets to the court-house,\nwhere his brother, the muleteer, and the farmer had just arrived, all as\nangry as ever, all talking at once, till the judge entered and ordered\nthem to be silent.\n\n'I will hear you one by one,' he said, and motioned the younger brother\nto begin.\n\nHe did not take long to state his case. The unfinished houses were his,\nleft him with the rest of the property by his father, and his brother\nrefused to give them up. In answer, the poor man told, in a few words,\nhow he had begged the houses from his brother, and produced the deed of\ngift which made him their owner.\n\nThe judge listened quietly and asked a few questions; then he gave his\nverdict.\n\n'The houses shall remain the property of the man to whom they were\ngiven, and to whom they belong. And as you,' he added, turning to the\nyounger brother, 'brought this accusation knowing full well it was\nwicked and unjust, I order you, besides losing the houses, to pay a\nthousand pounds damages to your brother.'\n\nThe rich man heard the judge with rage in his heart, the poor man with\nsurprise and gratitude. But he was not safe yet, for now it was the turn\nof the farmer. The judge could hardly conceal a smile at the story, and\ninquired if the wife was dead before the farmer left the house, and\nreceived for answer that he was in such a hurry for justice to be done\nthat he had not waited to see. Then the poor man told his tale, and once\nmore judgment was given in his favour, while twelve hundred pounds was\nordered to be paid him. As for the muleteer, he was informed very\nplainly that he had proved himself mean and ungrateful for the help that\nhad been given him, and as a punishment he must pay to the poor man a\nfine of fifty pounds, and hand him over the mule till his tail had grown\nagain.\n\nLastly, there came the two sons of the sick man.\n\n'This is the wretch who killed our father,' they said, 'and we demand\nthat he should die also.'\n\n'How did you kill him?' asked the judge, turning to the accused, and the\npoor man told how he had leaped from the wall, not knowing that anyone\nwas beneath.\n\n'Well, this is my judgment,' replied the judge, when they had all\nspoken: 'Let the accused sit under the wall, and let the sons of the\ndead man jump from the top and fall on him and kill him, and if they\nwill not do this, then they are condemned to pay eight hundred pounds\nfor their false accusation.'\n\nThe young men looked at each other, and slowly shook their heads.\n\n'We will pay the fine,' said they, and the judge nodded.\n\nSo the poor man rode the mule home, and brought back to his family\nenough money to keep them in comfort to the end of their days.\n\n\n    Adapted from the Portuguese.\n\n\n\n\n_THE ONE-HANDED GIRL_\n\n\nAN old couple once lived in a hut under a grove of palm trees, and they\nhad one son and one daughter. They were all very happy together for many\nyears, and then the father became very ill, and felt he was going to\ndie. He called his children to the place where he lay on the floor--for\nno one had any beds in that country--and said to his son, 'I have no\nherds of cattle to leave you--only the few things there are in the\nhouse--for I am a poor man, as you know. But choose: will you have my\nblessing or my property?'\n\n'Your property, certainly,' answered the son, and his father nodded.\n\n'And you?' asked the old man of the girl, who stood by her brother.\n\n'I will have blessing,' she answered, and her father gave her much\nblessing.\n\nThat night he died, and his wife and son and daughter mourned for him\nseven days, and gave him a burial according to the custom of his people.\nBut hardly was the time of mourning over, than the mother was attacked\nby a disease which was common in that country.\n\n'I am going away from you,' she said to her children, in a faint voice;\n'but first, my son, choose which you will have: blessing or property.'\n\n'Property, certainly,' answered the son,\n\n'And you, my daughter?'\n\n'I will have blessing,' said the girl; and her mother gave her much\nblessing, and that night she died.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen the days of mourning were ended, the brother bade his sister put\noutside the hut all that belonged to his father and his mother. So the\ngirl put them out, and he took them away, save only a small pot and a\nvessel in which she could clean her corn. But she had no corn to clean.\n\nShe sat at home, sad and hungry, when a neighbour knocked at the door.\n\n'My pot has cracked in the fire, lend me yours to cook my supper in, and\nI will give you a handful of corn in return.'\n\nAnd the girl was glad, and that night she was able to have supper\nherself, and next day another woman borrowed her pot, and then another\nand another, for never were known so many accidents as befell the\nvillage pots at that time. She soon grew quite fat with all the corn she\nearned with the help of her pot, and then one evening she picked up a\npumpkin seed in a corner, and planted it near her well, and it sprang\nup, and gave her many pumpkins.\n\nAt last it happened that a youth from her village passed through the\nplace where the girl's brother was, and the two met and talked.\n\n'What news is there of my sister?' asked the young man, with whom things\nhad gone badly, for he was idle.\n\n'She is fat and well-liking,' replied the youth, 'for the women borrow\nher mortar to clean their corn, and borrow her pot to cook it in, and\nfor all this they give her more food than she can eat.' And he went his\nway.\n\nNow the brother was filled with envy at the words of the man, and he set\nout at once, and before dawn he had reached the hut, and saw the pot and\nthe mortar were standing outside. He slung them over his shoulders and\ndeparted, pleased with his own cleverness; but when his sister awoke\nand sought for the pot to cook her corn for breakfast, she could find it\nnowhere. At length she said to herself:\n\n'Well, some thief must have stolen them while I slept. I will go and see\nif any of my pumpkins are ripe.' And indeed they were, and so many that\nthe tree was almost broken by the weight of them. So she ate what she\nwanted and took the others, to the village, and gave them in exchange\nfor corn, and the women said that no pumpkins were as sweet as these,\nand that she was to bring every day all that she had. In this way she\nearned more than she needed for herself, and soon was able to get\nanother mortar and cooking pot in exchange for her corn. Then she\nthought she was quite rich.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nUnluckily someone else thought so too, and this was her brother's wife,\nwho had heard all about the pumpkin tree, and sent her slave with a\nhandful of grain to buy her a pumpkin. At first the girl told him that\nso few were left that she could not spare any; but when she found that\nhe belonged to her brother, she changed her mind, and went out to the\ntree and gathered the largest and the ripest that was there.\n\n'Take this one,' she said to the slave, 'and carry it back to your\nmistress, but tell her to keep the corn, as the pumpkin is a gift.'\n\nThe brother's wife was overjoyed at the sight of the fruit, and when she\ntasted it, she declared it was the nicest she had ever eaten. Indeed,\nall night she thought of nothing else, and early in the morning she\ncalled another slave (for she was a rich woman) and bade him go and ask\nfor another pumpkin. But the girl, who had just been out to look at her\ntree, told him that they were all eaten, so he went back empty-handed to\nhis mistress.\n\nIn the evening her husband returned from hunting a long way off, and\nfound his wife in tears.\n\n'What is the matter?' asked he.\n\n'I sent a slave with some grain to your sister to buy some pumpkins, but\nshe would not sell me any, and told me there were none, though I know\nshe lets other people buy them.'\n\n'Well, never mind now--go to sleep,' said he, 'and to-morrow I will go\nand pull up the pumpkin tree, and that will punish her for treating you\nso badly.'\n\nSo before sunrise he got up and set out for his sister's house, and\nfound her cleaning some corn.\n\n'Why did you refuse to sell my wife a pumpkin yesterday when she wanted\none?' he asked.\n\n'The old ones are finished, and the new ones are not yet come,' answered\nthe girl. 'When her slave arrived two days ago, there were only four\nleft; but I gave him one, and would take no corn for it.'\n\n'I do not believe you: you have sold them all to other people. I shall\ngo and cut down the pumpkin,' cried her brother in a rage.\n\n'If you cut down the pumpkin you shall cut off my hand with it,'\nexclaimed the girl, running up to her tree and catching hold of it. But\nher brother followed, and with one blow cut off the pumpkin and her hand\ntoo.\n\nThen he went into the house and took away everything he could find, and\nsold the house to a friend of his who had long wished to have it, and\nhis sister had no home to go to.\n\nMeanwhile she had bathed her arm carefully, and bound on it some healing\nleaves that grew near by, and wrapped a cloth round the leaves, and went\nto hide in the forest, that her brother might not find her again.\n\nFor seven days she wandered about, eating only the fruit that hung from\nthe trees above her, and every night she climbed up and tucked herself\nsafely among the creepers which bound together the big branches, so that\nneither lions nor tigers nor panthers might get at her.\n\n[Illustration: HOW THE GIRL LOST HER HAND]\n\nWhen she woke up on the seventh morning she saw from her perch smoke\ncoming up from a little town on the edge of the forest. The sight of the\nhuts made her feel more lonely and helpless than before. She longed\ndesperately for a draught of milk from a gourd, for there were no\nstreams in that part, and she was very thirsty, but how was she to earn\nanything with only one hand? And at this thought her courage failed, and\nshe began to cry bitterly.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt happened that the king's son had come out from the town very early to\nshoot birds, and when the sun grew hot he felt tired.\n\n'I will lie here and rest under this tree,' he said to his attendants.\n'You can go and shoot instead, and I will just have this slave to stay\nwith me!' Away they went, and the young man fell asleep, and slept long.\nSuddenly he was awakened by something wet and salt falling on his face.\n\n'What is that? Is it raining?' he said to his slave. 'Go and look.'\n\n'No, master, it is not raining,' answered the slave.\n\n'Then climb up the tree and see what it is,' and the slave climbed up,\nand came back and told his master that a beautiful girl was sitting up\nthere, and that it must have been her tears which had fallen on the face\nof the king's son.\n\n'Why was she crying?' inquired the prince.\n\n'I cannot tell--I did not dare to ask her; but perhaps she would tell\nyou.' And the master, greatly wondering, climbed up the tree.\n\n'What is the matter with you?' said he gently, and, as she only sobbed\nlouder, he continued:\n\n'Are you a woman, or a spirit of the woods?'\n\n'I am a woman,' she answered slowly, wiping her eyes with a leaf of the\ncreeper that hung about her.\n\n'Then why do you cry?' he persisted.\n\n'I have many things to cry for,' she replied, 'more than you could ever\nguess.'\n\n'Come home with me,' said the prince; 'it is not very far. Come home to\nmy father and mother. I am a king's son.'\n\n'Then why are you here?' she said, opening her eyes and staring at him.\n\n'Once every month I and my friends shoot birds in the forest,' he\nanswered, 'but I was tired and bade them leave me to rest. And you--what\nare you doing up in this tree?'\n\nAt that she began to cry again, and told the king's son all that had\nbefallen her since the death of her mother.\n\n'I cannot come down with you, for I do not like anyone to see me,' she\nended with a sob.\n\n'Oh! I will manage all that,' said the king's son, and swinging himself\nto a lower branch, he bade his slave go quickly into the town, and bring\nback with him four strong men and a curtained litter. When the man was\ngone, the girl climbed down, and hid herself on the ground in some\nbushes. Very soon the slave returned with the litter, which was placed\non the ground close to the bushes where the girl lay.\n\n'Now go, all of you, and call my attendants, for I do not wish to stay\nhere any longer,' he said to the men, and as soon as they were out of\nsight he bade the girl get into the litter, and fasten the curtains\ntightly. Then he got in on the other side, and waited till his\nattendants came up.\n\n'What is the matter, O son of a king?' asked they, breathless with\nrunning.\n\n'I think I am ill; I am cold,' he said, and signing to the bearers, he\ndrew the curtains, and was carried through the forest right inside his\nown house.\n\n'Tell my father and mother that I have a fever, and want some gruel,'\nsaid he, 'and bid them send it quickly.'\n\n[Illustration: THE KING'S SON FINDS THE GIRL IN THE TREE]\n\nSo the slave hastened to the king's palace and gave his message, which\ntroubled both the king and the queen greatly. A pot of hot gruel was\ninstantly prepared, and carried over to the sick man, and as soon as the\ncouncil which was sitting was over, the king and his ministers went to\npay him a visit, bearing a message from the queen that she would follow\na little later.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow the prince had pretended to be ill in order to soften his parents'\nhearts, and the next day he declared he felt better, and, getting into\nhis litter, was carried to the palace in state, drums being beaten all\nalong the road.\n\nHe dismounted at the foot of the steps and walked up, a great parasol\nbeing held over his head by a slave. Then he entered the cool, dark room\nwhere his father and mother were sitting, and said to them:\n\n'I saw a girl yesterday in the forest whom I wish to marry, and, unknown\nto my attendants, I brought her back to my house in a litter. Give me\nyour consent, I beg, for no other woman pleases me as well, even though\nshe has but one hand!'\n\nOf course the king and queen would have preferred a daughter-in-law with\ntwo hands, and one who could have brought riches with her, but they\ncould not bear to say 'No' to their son, so they told him it should be\nas he chose, and that the wedding feast should be prepared immediately.\n\nThe girl could scarcely believe her good fortune, and, in gratitude for\nall the kindness shown her, was so useful and pleasant to her husband's\nparents that they soon loved her.\n\nBy and bye a baby was born to her, and soon after that the prince was\nsent on a journey by his father to visit some of the distant towns of\nthe kingdom, and to set right things that had gone wrong.\n\nNo sooner had he started than the girl's brother, who had wasted all\nthe riches his wife had brought him in recklessness and folly, and was\nnow very poor, chanced to come into the town, and as he passed he heard\na man say, 'Do you know that the king's son has married a woman who has\nlost one of her hands?' On hearing these words the brother stopped and\nasked, 'Where did he find such a woman?'\n\n'In the forest,' answered the man, and the cruel brother guessed at once\nit must be his sister.\n\nA great rage took possession of his soul as he thought of the girl whom\nhe had tried to ruin being after all so much better off than himself,\nand he vowed that he would work her ill. Therefore that very afternoon\nhe made his way to the palace and asked to see the king.\n\nWhen he was admitted to his presence, he knelt down and touched the\nground with his forehead, and the king bade him stand up and tell\nwherefore he had come.\n\n'By the kindness of your heart have you been deceived, O king,' said he.\n'Your son has married a girl who has lost a hand. Do you know why she\nhas lost it? She was a witch, and has wedded three husbands, and each\nhusband she has put to death with her arts. Then the people of the town\ncut off her hand, and turned her into the forest. And what I say is\ntrue, for her town is my town also.'\n\nThe king listened, and his face grew dark. Unluckily he had a hasty\ntemper, and did not stop to reason, and, instead of sending to the town,\nand discovering people who knew his daughter-in-law and could have told\nhim how hard she had worked and how poor she had been, he believed all\nthe brother's lying words, and made the queen believe them too. Together\nthey took counsel what they should do, and in the end they decided that\nthey also would put her out of the town. But this did not content the\nbrother.\n\n'Kill her,' he said. 'It is no more than she deserves for daring to\nmarry the king's son. Then she can do no more hurt to anyone.'\n\n'We cannot kill her,' answered they; 'if we did, our son would assuredly\nkill us. Let us do as the others did, and put her out of the town.' And\nwith this the envious brother was forced to be content.\n\n[Illustration: The One-handed Girl befriends a snake]\n\nThe poor girl loved her husband very much, but just then the baby was\nmore to her than all else in the world, and as long as she had him with\nher, she did not very much mind anything. So, taking her son on her arm,\nand hanging a little earthen pot for cooking round her neck, she left\nher house with its great peacock fans and slaves and seats of ivory, and\nplunged into the forest.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFor a while she walked, not knowing whither she went, then by and bye\nshe grew tired, and sat under a tree to rest and to hush her baby to\nsleep. Suddenly she raised her eyes, and saw a snake wriggling from\nunder the bushes towards her.\n\n'I am a dead woman,' she said to herself, and stayed quite still, for\nindeed she was too frightened to move. In another minute the snake had\nreached her side, and to her surprise he spoke.\n\n'Open your earthen pot, and let me go in. Save me from sun, and I will\nsave you from rain,' and she opened the pot, and when the snake had\nslipped in, she put on the cover. Soon she beheld another snake coming\nafter the other one, and when it had reached her it stopped and said,\n'Did you see a small grey snake pass this way just now?'\n\n'Yes,' she answered, 'it was going very quickly.'\n\n'Ah, I must hurry and catch it up,' replied the second snake, and it\nhastened on.\n\nWhen it was out of sight, a voice from the pot said:\n\n'Uncover me,' and she lifted the lid, and the little grey snake slid\nrapidly to the ground.\n\n'I am safe now,' he said. 'But tell me, where are you going?'\n\n'I cannot tell you, for I do not know,' she answered. 'I am just\nwandering in the wood.'\n\n'Follow me, and let us go home together,' said the snake, and the girl\nfollowed him through the forest and along the green paths, till they\ncame to a great lake, where they stopped to rest.\n\n[Illustration: \"MY BABY, MY BABY!\"]\n\n'The sun is hot,' said the snake, 'and you have walked far. Take your\nbaby and bathe in that cool place where the boughs of the tree stretch\nfar over the water.'\n\n'Yes, I will,' answered she, and they went in. The baby splashed and\ncrowed with delight, and then he gave a spring and fell right in, down,\ndown, down, and his mother could not find him, though she searched all\namong the reeds.\n\nFull of terror, she made her way back to the bank, and called to the\nsnake, 'My baby is gone!--he is drowned, and never shall I see him\nagain.'\n\n'Go in once more,' said the snake, 'and feel everywhere, even among the\ntrees that have their roots in the water, lest perhaps he may be held\nfast there.'\n\nSwiftly she went back and felt everywhere with her whole hand, even\nputting her fingers into the tiniest crannies, where a crab could hardly\nhave taken shelter.\n\n'No, he is not here,' she cried. 'How am I to live without him?' But the\nsnake took no notice, and only answered, 'Put in your other arm too.'\n\n'What is the use of that?' she asked, 'when it has no hand to feel\nwith?' but all the same she did as she was bid, and in an instant the\nwounded arm touched something round and soft, lying between two stones\nin a clump of reeds.\n\n'My baby, my baby!' she shouted, and lifted him up, merry and laughing,\nand not a bit hurt or frightened.\n\n'Have you found him this time?' asked the snake.\n\n'Yes, oh, yes!' she answered, 'and, why--why--I have got my hand back\nagain!' and from sheer joy she burst into tears.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe snake let her weep for a little while, and then he said--\n\n'Now we will journey on to my family, and we will all repay you for the\nkindness you showed to me.'\n\n'You have done more than enough in giving me back my hand,' replied the\ngirl; but the snake only smiled.\n\n'Be quick, lest the sun should set,' he answered, and began to wriggle\nalong so fast that the girl could hardly follow him.\n\nBy and bye they arrived at the house in a tree where the snake lived,\nwhen he was not travelling with his father and mother. And he told them\nall his adventures, and how he had escaped from his enemy. The father\nand mother snake could not do enough to show their gratitude. They made\ntheir guest lie down on a hammock woven of the strong creepers which\nhung from bough to bough, till she was quite rested after her\nwanderings, while they watched the baby and gave him milk to drink from\nthe coconuts which they persuaded their friends the monkeys to crack for\nthem. They even managed to carry small fruit tied up in their tails for\nthe baby's mother, who felt at last that she was safe and at peace. Not\nthat she forgot her husband, for she often thought of him and longed to\nshow him her son, and in the night she would sometimes lie awake and\nwonder where he was.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn this manner many weeks passed by.\n\nAnd what was the prince doing?\n\nWell, he had fallen very ill when he was on the furthest border of the\nkingdom, and he was nursed by some kind people who did not know who he\nwas, so that the king and queen heard nothing about him. When he was\nbetter he made his way slowly home again, and into his father's palace,\nwhere he found a strange man standing behind the throne with the\npeacock's feathers. This was his wife's brother, whom the king had taken\ninto high favour, though, of course, the prince was quite ignorant of\nwhat had happened.\n\nFor a moment the king and queen stared at their son, as if he had been\nunknown to them; he had grown so thin and weak during his illness that\nhis shoulders were bowed like those of an old man.\n\n'Have you forgotten me so soon?' he asked.\n\nAt the sound of his voice they gave a cry and ran towards him, and\npoured out questions as to what had happened, and why he looked like\nthat. But the prince did not answer any of them.\n\n'How is my wife?' he said. There was a pause.\n\nThen the queen replied:\n\n'She is dead.'\n\n'_Dead!_' he repeated, stepping a little backwards. 'And my child?'\n\n'He is dead too.'\n\nThe young man stood silent. Then he said, 'Show me their graves.'\n\nAt these words the king, who had been feeling rather uncomfortable, took\nheart again, for had he not prepared two beautiful tombs for his son to\nsee, so that he might never, never guess what had been done to his wife?\nAll these months the king and queen had been telling each other how good\nand merciful they had been not to take her brother's advice and to put\nher to death. But now, this somehow did not seem so certain.\n\nThen the king led the way to the courtyard just behind the palace, and\nthrough the gate into a beautiful garden where stood two splendid tombs\nin a green space under the trees. The prince advanced alone, and,\nresting his head against the stone, he burst into tears. His father and\nmother stood silently behind with a curious pang in their souls which\nthey did not quite understand. Could it be that they were ashamed of\nthemselves?\n\nBut after a while the prince turned round, and walking past them into\nthe palace he bade the slaves bring him mourning. For seven days no one\nsaw him, but at the end of them he went out hunting, and helped his\nfather rule his people as before. Only no one dared to speak to him of\nhis wife and son.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt last one morning, after the girl had been lying awake all night\nthinking of her husband, she said to her friend the snake:\n\n'You have all shown me much kindness, but now I am well again, and want\nto go home and hear some news of my husband, and if he still mourns for\nme!' Now the heart of the snake was sad at her words, but he only said:\n\n'Yes, thus it must be; go and bid farewell to my father and mother, but\nif they offer you a present, see that you take nothing but my father's\nring and my mother's casket.'\n\n[Illustration: The Girl asks the Snakes for the ring & Casket]\n\nSo she went to the parent snakes, who wept bitterly at the thought of\nlosing her, and offered her gold and jewels as much as she could carry\nin remembrance of them. But the girl shook her head and pushed the\nshining heap away from her.\n\n'I shall never forget you, never,' she said in a broken voice, 'but the\nonly tokens I will accept from you are that little ring and this old\ncasket.'\n\nThe two snakes looked at each other in dismay. The ring and the casket\nwere the only things they did not want her to have. Then after a short\npause they spoke.\n\n'Why do you want the ring and casket so much? Who has told you of them?'\n\n'Oh, nobody; it is just my fancy,' answered she. But the old snakes\nshook their heads and replied:\n\n'Not so; it is our son who told you, and, as he said, so it must be. If\nyou need food, or clothes, or a house, tell the ring and it will find\nthem for you. And if you are unhappy or in danger, tell the casket and\nit will set things right.' Then they both gave her their blessing, and\nshe picked up her baby and went her way.\n\nShe walked for a long time, till at length she came near the town where\nher husband and his father dwelt. Here she stopped under a grove of palm\ntrees, and told the ring that she wanted a house.\n\n'It is ready, mistress,' whispered a queer little voice which made her\njump, and, looking behind her, she saw a lovely palace made of the\nfinest woods, and a row of slaves with tall fans bowing before the door.\nGlad indeed was she to enter, for she was very tired, and, after eating\na good supper of fruit and milk which she found in one of the rooms,\nshe flung herself down on a pile of cushions and went to sleep with her\nbaby beside her.\n\nHere she stayed quietly, and every day the baby grew taller and\nstronger, and very soon he could run about and even talk. Of course the\nneighbours had a great deal to say about the house which had been built\nso quickly--so very quickly--on the outskirts of the town, and invented\nall kinds of stories about the rich lady who lived in it. And by and\nbye, when the king returned with his son from the wars, some of these\ntales reached his ears.\n\n'It is really very odd about that house under the palms,' he said to the\nqueen; 'I must find out something of the lady whom no one ever sees. I\ndaresay it is not a lady at all, but a gang of conspirators who want to\nget possession of my throne. To-morrow I shall take my son and my chief\nministers and insist on getting inside.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSoon after sunrise next day the prince's wife was standing on a little\nhill behind the house, when she saw a cloud of dust coming through the\ntown. A moment afterwards she heard faintly the roll of the drums that\nannounced the king's presence, and saw a crowd of people approaching the\ngrove of palms. Her heart beat fast. Could her husband be among them? In\nany case they must not discover her there; so just bidding the ring\nprepare some food for them, she ran inside, and bound a veil of golden\ngauze round her head and face. Then, taking the child's hand, she went\nto the door and waited.\n\nIn a few minutes the whole procession came up, and she stepped forward\nand begged them to come in and rest.\n\n'Willingly,' answered the king; 'go first, and we will follow you.'\n\nThey followed her into a long dark room, in which was a table covered\nwith gold cups and baskets filled with dates and coconuts and all kinds\nof ripe yellow fruits, and the king and the prince sat upon cushions and\nwere served by slaves, while the ministers, among whom she recognised\nher own brother, stood behind.\n\n'Ah, I owe all my misery to him,' she said to herself. 'From the first\nhe has hated me,' but outwardly she showed nothing. And when the king\nasked her what news there was in the town she only answered:\n\n'You have ridden far; eat first, and drink, for you must be hungry and\nthirsty, and then I will tell you my news.'\n\n'You speak sense,' answered the king, and silence prevailed for some\ntime longer. Then he said:\n\n'Now, lady, I have finished, and am refreshed, therefore tell me, I pray\nyou, who you are, and whence you come? But, first, be seated.'\n\nShe bowed her head and sat down on a big scarlet cushion, drawing her\nlittle boy, who was asleep in a corner, on to her knee, and began to\ntell the story of her life. As her brother listened, he would fain have\nleft the house and hidden himself in the forest, but it was his duty to\nwave the fan of peacock's feathers over the king's head to keep off the\nflies, and he knew he would be seized by the royal guards if he tried to\ndesert his post. He must stay where he was, there was no help for it,\nand luckily for him the king was too much interested in the tale to\nnotice that the fan had ceased moving, and that flies were dancing right\non the top of his thick curly hair.\n\nThe story went on, but the story-teller never once looked at the prince,\neven through her veil, though he on his side never moved his eyes from\nher. When she reached the part where she had sat weeping in the tree,\nthe king's son could restrain himself no longer.\n\n'It is my wife,' he cried, springing to where she sat with the sleeping\nchild in her lap. 'They have lied to me, and you are not dead after all,\nnor the boy either! But what has happened? Why did they lie to me? and\nwhy did you leave my house where you were safe?' And he turned and\nlooked fiercely at his father.\n\n'Let me finish my tale first, and then you will know,' answered she,\nthrowing back her veil, and she told how her brother had come to the\npalace and accused her of being a witch, and had tried to persuade the\nking to slay her. 'But he would not do that,' she continued softly, 'and\nafter all, if I had stayed on in your house, I should never have met the\nsnake, nor have got my hand back again. So let us forget all about it,\nand be happy once more, for see! our son is growing quite a big boy.'\n\n'And what shall be done to your brother?' asked the king, who was glad\nto think that someone had acted in this matter worse than himself.\n\n'Put him out of the town,' answered she.\n\n\n    From 'Swaheli Tales,' by E. Steere.\n\n\n\n\n_THE BONES OF DJULUNG_\n\n\nIN a beautiful island that lies in the southern seas, where chains of\ngay orchids bind the trees together, and the days and nights are equally\nlong and nearly equally hot, there once lived a family of seven sisters.\nTheir father and mother were dead, and they had no brothers, so the\neldest girl ruled over the rest, and they all did as she bade them. One\nsister had to clean the house, a second carried water from the spring in\nthe forest, a third cooked their food, while to the youngest fell the\nhardest task of all, for she had to cut and bring home the wood which\nwas to keep the fire continually burning. This was very hot and tiring\nwork, and when she had fed the fire and heaped up in a corner the sticks\nthat were to supply it till the next day, she often threw herself down\nunder a tree, and went sound asleep.\n\nOne morning, however, as she was staggering along with her bundle on her\nback, she thought that the river which flowed past their hut looked so\ncool and inviting that she determined to bathe in it, instead of taking\nher usual nap. Hastily piling up her load by the fire, and thrusting\nsome sticks into the flame, she ran down to the river and jumped in. How\ndelicious it was diving and swimming and floating in the dark forest,\nwhere the trees were so thick that you could hardly see the sun! But\nafter a while she began to look about her, and her eyes fell on a little\nfish that seemed made out of a rainbow, so brilliant were the colours he\nflashed out.\n\n'I should like him for a pet,' thought the girl, and the next time the\nfish swam by, she put out her hand and caught him. Then she ran along\nthe grassy path till she came to a cave in front of which a stream fell\nover some rocks into a basin. Here she put her little fish, whose name\nwas Djulung-djulung, and promising to return soon and bring him some\ndinner, she went away.\n\n[Illustration: THE LITTLE GIRL AND DJULUNG DJULUNG]\n\nBy the time she got home, the rice for their dinner was ready cooked,\nand the eldest sister gave the other six their portions in wooden\nbowls. But the youngest did not finish hers, and when no one was\nlooking, stole off to the fountain in the forest where the little fish\nwas swimming about.\n\n'See! I have not forgotten you,' she cried, and one by one she let the\ngrains of rice fall into the water, where the fish gobbled them up\ngreedily, for he had never tasted anything so nice.\n\n'That is all for to-day,' she said at last, 'but I will come again\nto-morrow,' and bidding him good-bye she went down the path.\n\nNow the girl did not tell her sisters about the fish, but every day she\nsaved half of her rice to give him, and called him softly in a little\nsong she had made for herself. If she sometimes felt hungry, no one knew\nof it, and, indeed, she did not mind that much, when she saw how the\nfish enjoyed it. And the fish grew fat and big, but the girl grew thin\nand weak, and the loads of wood felt heavier every day, and at last her\nsisters noticed it.\n\nThen they took counsel together, and watched her to see what she did,\nand one of them followed her to the fountain where Djulung lived, and\nsaw her give him all the rice she had saved from her breakfast.\nHastening home the sister told the others what she had witnessed, and\nthat a lovely fat fish might be had for the catching. So the eldest\nsister went and caught him, and he was boiled for supper, but the\nyoungest sister was away in the woods, and did not know anything about\nit.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNext morning she went as usual to the cave, and sang her little song,\nbut no Djulung came to answer it; twice and thrice she sang, then threw\nherself on her knees by the edge, and peered into the dark water, but\nthe trees cast such a deep shadow that her eyes could not pierce it.\n\n'Djulung cannot be dead, or his body would be floating on the surface,'\nshe said to herself, and rising to her feet she set out homewards,\nfeeling all of a sudden strangely tired.\n\n'What is the matter with me?' she thought, but somehow or other she\nmanaged to reach the hut, and threw herself down in a corner, where she\nslept so soundly that for days no one was able to wake her.\n\nAt length, one morning early, a cock began to crow so loud that she\ncould sleep no longer; and as he continued to crow she seemed to\nunderstand what he was saying, and that he was telling her that Djulung\nwas dead, killed and eaten by her sisters, and that his bones lay buried\nunder the kitchen fire. Very softly she got up, and took up the large\nstone under the fire, and creeping out carried the bones to the cave by\nthe fountain, where she dug a hole and buried them anew. And as she\nscooped out the hole with a stick she sang a song, bidding the bones\ngrow till they became a tree--a tree that reached up so high into the\nheavens that its leaves would fall across the sea into another island,\nwhose king would pick them up.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs there was no Djulung to give her rice to, the girl soon became fat\nagain, and as she was able to do her work as of old, her sisters did not\ntrouble about her. They never guessed that when she went into the forest\nto gather her sticks, she never failed to pay a visit to the tree, which\ngrew taller and more wonderful day by day. Never was such a tree seen\nbefore. Its trunk was of iron, its leaves were of silk, its flowers of\ngold, and its fruit of diamonds, and one evening, though the girl did\nnot know it, a soft breeze took one of the leaves, and blew it across\nthe sea to the feet of one of the king's attendants.\n\n'What a curious leaf! I have never beheld one like it before. I must\nshow it to the king,' he said, and when the king saw it he declared he\nwould never rest until he had found the tree which bore it, even if he\nhad to spend the rest of his life in visiting the islands that lay all\nround. Happily for him, he began with the island that was nearest, and\nhere in the forest he suddenly saw standing before him the iron tree,\nits boughs covered with shining leaves like the one he carried about\nhim.\n\n'But what sort of a tree is it, and how did it get here?' he asked of\nthe attendants he had with him. No one could answer him, but as they\nwere about to pass out of the forest a little boy went by, and the king\nstopped and inquired if there was anyone living in the neighbourhood\nwhom he might question.\n\n'Seven girls live in a hut down there,' replied the boy, pointing with\nhis finger to where the sun was setting.\n\n'Then go and bring them here, and I will wait,' said the king, and the\nboy ran off and told the sisters that a great chief, with strings of\njewels round his neck, had sent for them.\n\nPleased and excited the six elder sisters at once followed the boy, but\nthe youngest, who was busy, and who did not care about strangers, stayed\nbehind, to finish the work she was doing. The king welcomed the girls\neagerly, and asked them all manner of questions about the tree, but as\nthey had never even heard of its existence, they could tell him nothing.\n'And if we, who live close by the forest, do not know, you may be sure\nno one does,' added the eldest, who was rather cross at finding this was\nall that the king wanted of them.\n\n'But the boy told me there were seven of you, and there are only six\nhere,' said the king.\n\n'Oh, the youngest is at home, but she is always half asleep, and is of\nno use except to cut wood for the fire,' replied they in a breath.\n\n'That may be, but perhaps she dreams,' answered the king. 'Anyway, I\nwill speak to her also.' Then he signed to one of his attendants, who\nfollowed the path that the boy had taken to the hut.\n\n[Illustration: HOW THE IRON TREE BOWED DOWN AND THE GIRL GAVE OF ITS\nLEAVES AND FLOWERS TO THE KING]\n\nSoon the man returned, with the girl walking behind him. And as soon as\nshe reached the tree it bowed itself to the earth before her, and she\nstretched out her hand and picked some of its leaves and flowers and\ngave them to the king.\n\n'The maiden who can work such wonders is fitted to be the wife of the\ngreatest chief,' he said, and so he married her, and took her with him\nacross the sea to his own home, where they lived happy for ever after.\n\n\n    From 'Folk Lore,' by A. F. Mackenzie.\n\n\n\n\n_THE SEA KING'S GIFT_\n\n\nTHERE was once a fisherman who was called Salmon, and his Christian name\nwas Matte. He lived by the shore of the big sea; where else could he\nlive? He had a wife called Maie; could you find a better name for her?\nIn winter they dwelt in a little cottage by the shore, but in spring\nthey flitted to a red rock out in the sea and stayed there the whole\nsummer until it was autumn. The cottage on the rock was even smaller\nthan the other; it had a wooden bolt instead of an iron lock to the\ndoor, a stone hearth, a flagstaff, and a weathercock on the roof.\n\nThe rock was called Ahtola, and was not larger than the market-place of\na town. Between the crevices there grew a little rowan tree and four\nalder bushes. Heaven only knows how they ever came there; perhaps they\nwere brought by the winter storms. Besides that, there flourished some\ntufts of velvety grass, some scattered reeds, two plants of the yellow\nherb called tansy, four of a red flower, and a pretty white one; but the\ntreasures of the rock consisted of three roots of garlic, which Maie had\nput in a cleft. Rock walls sheltered them on the north side, and the sun\nshone on them on the south. This does not seem much, but it sufficed\nMaie for a herb plot.\n\nAll good things go in threes, so Matte and his wife fished for salmon in\nspring, for herring in summer, and for cod in winter. When on Saturdays\nthe weather was fine and the wind favourable, they sailed to the\nnearest town, sold their fish, and went to church on Sunday. But it\noften happened that for weeks at a time they were quite alone on the\nrock Ahtola, and had nothing to look at except their little yellow-brown\ndog, which bore the grand name of Prince, their grass tufts, their\nbushes and blooms, the sea bays and fish, a stormy sky and the blue,\nwhite-crested waves. For the rock lay far away from the land, and there\nwere no green islets or human habitations for miles round, only here and\nthere appeared a rock of the same red stone as Ahtola, besprinkled day\nand night with the ocean spray.\n\nMatte and Maie were industrious, hard-working folk, happy and contented\nin their poor hut, and they thought themselves rich when they were able\nto salt as many casks of fish as they required for winter and yet have\nsome left over with which to buy tobacco for the old man, and a pound or\ntwo of coffee for his wife, with plenty of burned corn and chicory in it\nto give it a flavour. Besides that, they had bread, butter, fish, a beer\ncask, and a buttermilk jar; what more did they require? All would have\ngone well had not Maie been possessed with a secret longing which never\nlet her rest; and this was, how she could manage to become the owner of\na cow.\n\n'What would you do with a cow?' asked Matte. 'She could not swim so far,\nand our boat is not large enough to bring her over here; and even if we\nhad her, we have nothing to feed her on.'\n\n'We have four alder bushes and sixteen tufts of grass,' rejoined Maie.\n\n'Yes, of course,' laughed Matte, 'and we have also three plants of\ngarlic. Garlic would be fine feeding for her.'\n\n'Every cow likes salt herring,' rejoined his wife. 'Even Prince is fond\nof fish.'\n\n'That may be,' said her husband. 'Methinks she would soon be a dear cow\nif we had to feed her on salt herring. All very well for Prince, who\nfights with the gulls over the last morsel. Put the cow out of your\nhead, mother, we are very well off as we are.'\n\nMaie sighed. She knew well that her husband was right, but she could not\ngive up the idea of a cow. The buttermilk no longer tasted as good as\nusual in the coffee; she thought of sweet cream and fresh butter, and of\nhow there was nothing in the world to be compared with them.\n\nOne day as Matte and his wife were cleaning herring on the shore they\nheard Prince barking, and soon there appeared a gaily painted boat with\nthree young men in it, steering towards the rock. They were students, on\na boating excursion, and wanted to get something to eat.\n\n'Bring us a junket, good mother,' cried they to Maie.\n\n'Ah! if only I had such a thing!' sighed Maie.\n\n'A can of fresh milk, then,' said the students; 'but it must not be\nskim.'\n\n'Yes, if only I had it!' sighed the old woman, still more deeply.\n\n'What! haven't you got a cow?'\n\nMaie was silent. This question so struck her to the heart that she could\nnot reply.\n\n'We have no cow,' Matte answered; 'but we have good smoked herring, and\ncan cook them in a couple of hours.'\n\n'All right, then, that will do,' said the students, as they flung\nthemselves down on the rock, while fifty silvery-white herring were\nturning on the spit in front of the fire.\n\n'What's the name of this little stone in the middle of the ocean?' asked\none of them.\n\n'Ahtola,' answered the old man.\n\n'Well, you should want for nothing when you live in the Sea King's\ndominion.'\n\nMatte did not understand. He had never read Kalevala and knew nothing of\nthe sea gods of old, but the students proceeded to explain to him.[2]\n\n    [Footnote 2: Kalevala is a collection of old Finnish songs about\n    gods and heroes.]\n\n'Ahti,' said they, 'is a mighty king who lives in his dominion of\nAhtola, and has a rock at the bottom of the sea, and possesses besides a\ntreasury of good things. He rules over all fish and animals of the deep;\nhe has the finest cows and the swiftest horses that ever chewed grass at\nthe bottom of the ocean. He who stands well with Ahti is soon a rich\nman, but one must beware in dealing with him, for he is very changeful\nand touchy. Even a little stone thrown into the water might offend him,\nand then as he takes back his gift, he stirs up the sea into a storm and\ndrags the sailors down into the depths. Ahti owns also the fairest\nmaidens, who bear the train of his queen Wellamos, and at the sound of\nmusic they comb their long, flowing locks, which glisten in the water.'\n\n'Oh!' cried Matte, 'have your worships really seen all that?'\n\n'We have as good as seen it,' said the students. 'It is all printed in a\nbook, and everything printed is true.'\n\n'I'm not so sure of that,' said Matte, as he shook his head.\n\nBut the herring were now ready, and the students ate enough for six, and\ngave Prince some cold meat which they happened to have in the boat.\nPrince sat on his hind legs with delight and mewed like a pussy cat.\nWhen all was finished, the students handed Matte a shining silver coin,\nand allowed him to fill his pipe with a special kind of tobacco. They\nthen thanked him for his kind hospitality and went on their journey,\nmuch regretted by Prince, who sat with a woeful expression and whined on\nthe shore as long as he could see a flip of the boat's white sail in the\ndistance.\n\nMaie had never uttered a word, but thought the more. She had good ears,\nand had laid to heart the story about Ahti. 'How delightful,' thought\nshe to herself, 'to possess a fairy cow! How delicious every morning and\nevening to draw milk from it, and yet have no trouble about the feeding,\nand to keep a shelf near the window for dishes of milk and junkets! But\nthis will never be my luck.'\n\n'What are you thinking of?' asked Matte.\n\n'Nothing,' said his wife; but all the time she was pondering over some\nmagic rhymes she had heard in her childhood from an old lame man, which\nwere supposed to bring luck in fishing.\n\n'What if I were to try?' thought she.\n\nNow this was Saturday, and on Saturday evenings Matte never set the\nherring-net, for he did not fish on Sunday. Towards evening, however,\nhis wife said:\n\n'Let us set the herring-net just this once.'\n\n'No,' said her husband, 'it is a Saturday night.'\n\n'Last night was so stormy, and we caught so little,' urged his wife;\n'to-night the sea is like a mirror, and with the wind in this direction\nthe herring are drawing towards land.'\n\n'But there are streaks in the north-western sky, and Prince was eating\ngrass this evening,' said the old man.\n\n'Surely he has not eaten my garlic,' exclaimed the old woman.\n\n'No; but there will be rough weather by to-morrow at sunset,' rejoined\nMatte.\n\n'Listen to me,' said his wife, 'we will set only one net close to the\nshore, and then we shall be able to finish up our half-filled cask,\nwhich will spoil if it stands open so long.'\n\nThe old man allowed himself to be talked over, and so they rowed out\nwith the net. When they reached the deepest part of the water, she began\nto hum the words of the magic rhyme, altering the words to suit the\nlongings of her heart:\n\n    Oh, Ahti, with the long, long beard,\n      Who dwellest in the deep blue sea,\n    Finest treasures have I heard,\n      And glittering fish belong to thee.\n    The richest pearls beyond compare\n      Are stored up in thy realm below,\n    And Ocean's cows so sleek and fair\n      Feed on the grass in thy green meadow.\n\n    King of the waters, far and near,\n      I ask not of thy golden store,\n    I wish not jewels of pearl to wear,\n      Nor silver either, ask I for,\n    But one is odd and even is two,\n      So give me a cow, sea-king so bold,\n    And in return I'll give to you\n      A slice of the moon, and the sun's gold.\n\n'What's that you're humming?' asked the old man.\n\n'Oh, only the words of an old rhyme that keeps running in my head,'\nanswered the old woman; and she raised her voice and went on:\n\n    Oh, Ahti, with the long, long beard,\n      Who dwellest in the deep blue sea,\n    A thousand cows are in thy herd,\n      I pray thee give one unto me.\n\n'That's a stupid sort of song,' said Matte. 'What else should one beg of\nthe sea-king but fish? But such songs are not for Sunday.'\n\nHis wife pretended not to hear him, and sang and sang the same tune all\nthe time they were on the water. Matte heard nothing more as he sat and\nrowed the heavy boat, while thinking of his cracked pipe and the fine\ntobacco. Then they returned to the island, and soon after went to bed.\n\nBut neither Matte nor Maie could sleep a wink; the one thought of how\nhe had profaned Sunday, and the other of Ahti's cow.\n\nAbout midnight the fisherman sat up, and said to his wife:\n\n'Dost thou hear anything?'\n\n'No,' said she.\n\n'I think the twirling of the weathercock on the roof bodes ill,' said\nhe; 'we shall have a storm.'\n\n'Oh, it is nothing but your fancy,' said his wife.\n\nMatte lay down, but soon rose again.\n\n'The weathercock is squeaking now,' said he.\n\n'Just fancy! Go to sleep,' said his wife; and the old man tried to.\n\nFor the third time he jumped out of bed.\n\n'Ho! how the weathercock is roaring at the pitch of its voice, as if it\nhad a fire inside it! We are going to have a tempest, and must bring in\nthe net.'\n\nBoth rose. The summer night was as dark as if it had been October, the\nweathercock creaked, and the storm was raging in every direction. As\nthey went out the sea lay around them as white as snow, and the spray\nwas dashing right over the fisher-hut. In all his life Matte had never\nremembered such a night. To launch the boat and put to sea to rescue the\nnet was a thing not to be thought of. The fisherman and his wife stood\naghast on the doorstep, holding on fast by the doorpost, while the foam\nsplashed over their faces.\n\n'Did I not tell thee that there is no luck in Sunday fishing?' said\nMatte sulkily; and his wife was so frightened that she never even once\nthought of Ahti's cows.\n\nAs there was nothing to be done, they went in. Their eyes were heavy for\nlack of slumber, and they slept as soundly as if there had not been such\na thing as an angry sea roaring furiously around their lonely dwelling.\nWhen they awoke, the sun was high in the heavens, the tempest had\nceased, and only the swell of the sea rose in silvery heavings against\nthe red rock.\n\n'What can that be?' said the old woman, as she peeped out of the door.\n\n'It looks like a big seal,' said Matte.\n\n[Illustration: HOW The Sea-Fairies Brought a COW for MAIE]\n\n'As sure as I live, it's a cow!' exclaimed Maie. And certainly it was a\ncow, a fine red cow, fat and flourishing, and looking as if it had been\nfed all its days on spinach. It wandered peacefully up and down the\nshore, and never so much as even looked at the poor little tufts of\ngrass, as if it despised such fare.\n\nMatte could not believe his eyes. But a cow she seemed, and a cow she\nwas found to be; and when the old woman began to milk her, every\npitcher and pan, even to the baler, was soon filled with the most\ndelicious milk.\n\nThe old man troubled his head in vain as to how she came there, and\nsallied forth to seek for his lost net. He had not proceeded far when he\nfound it cast up on the shore, and so full of fish that not a mesh was\nvisible.\n\n'It is all very fine to possess a cow,' said Matte, as he cleaned the\nfish; 'but what are we going to feed her on?'\n\n'We shall find some means,' said his wife; and the cow found the means\nherself. She went out and cropped the seaweed which grew in great\nabundance near the shore, and always kept in good condition. Every one,\nPrince alone excepted, thought she was a clever beast; but Prince barked\nat her, for he had now got a rival.\n\nFrom that day the red rock overflowed with milk and junkets, and every\nnet was filled with fish. Matte and Maie grew fat on this fine living,\nand daily became richer. She churned quantities of butter, and he hired\ntwo men to help him in his fishing. The sea lay before him like a big\nfish tank, out of which he hauled as many as he required; and the cow\ncontinued to fend for herself. In autumn, when Matte and Maie went\nashore, the cow went to sea, and in spring, when they returned to the\nrock, there she stood awaiting them.\n\n'We shall require a better house,' said Maie the following summer; 'the\nold one is too small for ourselves and the men.'\n\n'Yes,' said Matte. So he built a large cottage, with a real lock to the\ndoor, and a store-house for fish as well; and he and his men caught such\nquantities of fish that they sent tons of salmon, herring, and cod to\nRussia and Sweden.\n\n'I am quite overworked with so many folk,' said Maie; 'a girl to help me\nwould not come amiss.'\n\n'Get one, then,' said her husband; and so they hired a girl.\n\nThen Maie said: 'We have too little milk for all these folk. Now that I\nhave a servant, with the same amount of trouble she could look after\nthree cows.'\n\n'All right, then,' said her husband, somewhat provoked, 'you can sing a\nsong to the fairies.'\n\nThis annoyed Maie, but nevertheless she rowed out to sea on Sunday night\nand sang as before:\n\n    Oh, Ahti, with the long, long beard,\n      Who dwellest in the deep blue sea,\n    A thousand cows are in thy herd,\n      I pray thee give three unto me.\n\nThe following morning, instead of one, three cows stood on the island,\nand they all ate seaweed and fended for themselves like the first one.\n\n'Art thou satisfied now?' said Matte to his wife.\n\n'I should be quite satisfied,' said his wife, 'if only I had two\nservants to help, and if I had some finer clothes. Don't you know that I\nam addressed as Madam?'\n\n'Well, well,' said her husband. So Maie got several servants, and\nclothes fit for a great lady.\n\n'Everything would now be perfect if only we had a little better dwelling\nfor summer. You might build us a two-story house, and fetch soil to make\na garden. Then you might make a little arbour up there to let us have a\nsea-view; and we might have a fiddler to fiddle to us of an evening, and\na little steamer to take us to church in stormy weather.'\n\n'Anything more?' asked Matte; but he did everything that his wife\nwished. The rock Ahtola became so grand and Maie so great that all the\nsea-urchins and herring were lost in wonderment. Even Prince was fed on\nbeefsteaks and cream scones till at last he was as round as a butter\njar.\n\n'Are you satisfied now?' asked Matte.\n\n'I should be quite satisfied,' said Maie, 'if only I had thirty cows. At\nleast that number is required for such a household.'\n\n'Go to the fairies,' said Matte.\n\nHis wife set out in the new steamer and sang to the sea-king. Next\nmorning thirty cows stood on the shore, all finding food for themselves.\n\n'Know'st thou, good man, that we are far too cramped on this wretched\nrock, and where am I to find room for so many cows?'\n\n'There is nothing to be done but to pump out the sea.'\n\n'Rubbish!' said his wife. 'Who can pump out the sea?'\n\n'Try with thy new steamer, there is a pump in it.'\n\nMaie knew well that her husband was only making fun of her, but still\nher mind was set upon the same subject. 'I never could pump the sea\nout,' thought she, 'but perhaps I might fill it up, if I were to make a\nbig dam. I might heap up sand and stones, and make our island as big\nagain.'\n\nMaie loaded her boat with stones and went out to sea. The fiddler was\nwith her, and fiddled so finely that Ahti and Wellamos and all the sea's\ndaughters rose to the surface of the water to listen to the music.\n\n'What is that shining so brightly in the waves?' asked Maie.\n\n'That is sea foam glinting in the sunshine,' answered the fiddler.\n\n'Throw out the stones,' said Maie.\n\nThe people in the boat began to throw out the stones, splash, splash,\nright and left, into the foam. One stone hit the nose of Wellamos's\nchief lady-in-waiting, another scratched the sea queen herself on the\ncheek, a third plumped close to Ahti's head and tore off half of the\nsea-king's beard; then there was a commotion in the sea, the waves\nbubbled and bubbled like boiling water in a pot.\n\n'Whence comes this gust of wind?' said Maie; and as she spoke the sea\nopened and swallowed up the steamer. Maie sank to the bottom like a\nstone, but, stretching out her arms and legs, she rose to the surface,\nwhere she found the fiddler's fiddle, and used it as a float. At the\nsame moment she saw close beside her the terrible head of Ahti, and he\nhad only half a beard!\n\n'Why did you throw stones at me?' roared the sea-king.\n\n'Oh, your majesty, it was a mistake! Put some bear's grease on your\nbeard and that will soon make it grow again.'\n\n'Dame, did I not give you all you asked for--nay, even more?'\n\n'Truly, truly, your majesty. Many thanks for the cows.'\n\n'Well, where is the gold from the sun and the silver from the moon that\nyou promised me?'\n\n'Ah, your majesty, they have been scattered day and night upon the sea,\nexcept when the sky was overcast,' slyly answered Maie.\n\n'I'll teach you!' roared the sea-king; and with that he gave the fiddle\nsuch a 'puff' that it sent the old woman up like a sky-rocket on to her\nisland. There Prince lay, as famished as ever, gnawing the carcase of a\ncrow. There sat Matte in his ragged grey jacket, quite alone, on the\nsteps of the old hut, mending a net.\n\n'Heavens, mother,' said he, 'where are you coming from at such a\nwhirlwind pace, and what makes you in such a dripping condition?'\n\nMaie looked around her amazed, and said, 'Where is our two-story house?'\n\n'What house?' asked her husband.\n\n'Our big house, and the flower garden, and the men and the maids, and\nthe thirty beautiful cows, and the steamer, and everything else?'\n\n'You are talking nonsense, mother,' said he. 'The students have quite\nturned your head, for you sang silly songs last evening while we were\nrowing, and then you could not sleep till early morning. We had stormy\nweather during the night, and when it was past I did not wish to waken\nyou, so rowed out alone to rescue the net.'\n\n'But I've seen Ahti,' rejoined Maie.\n\n'You've been lying in bed, dreaming foolish fancies, mother, and then in\nyour sleep you walked into the water.'\n\n'But there is the fiddle,' said Maie.\n\n'A fine fiddle! It is only an old stick. No, no, old woman, another time\nwe will be more careful. Good luck never attends fishing on a Sunday.'\n\n\n    From Z. Topelius.\n\n\n\n\n_THE RASPBERRY WORM_\n\n\n'PHEW!' cried Lisa.\n\n'Ugh!' cried Aina.\n\n'What now?' cried the big sister.\n\n'A worm!' cried Lisa.\n\n'On the raspberry!' cried Aina.\n\n'Kill it!' cried Otto.\n\n'What a fuss over a poor little worm!' said the big sister scornfully.\n\n'Yes, when we had cleaned the raspberries so carefully,' said Lisa.\n\n'It crept out from that very large one,' put in Aina.\n\n'And supposing some one had eaten the raspberry,' said Lisa.\n\n'Then they would have eaten the worm, too,' said Aina.\n\n'Well, what harm?' said Otto.\n\n'Eat a worm!' cried Lisa.\n\n'And kill him with one bite!' murmured Aina.\n\n'Just think of it!' said Otto laughing.\n\n'Now it is crawling on the table,' cried Aina again.\n\n'Blow it away!' said the big sister.\n\n'Tramp on it!' laughed Otto.\n\nBut Lisa took a raspberry leaf, swept the worm carefully on to the leaf\nand carried it out into the yard. Then Aina noticed that a sparrow\nsitting on the fence was just getting ready to pounce on the poor little\nworm, so she took up the leaf, carried it out into the wood and hid it\nunder a raspberry bush where the greedy sparrow could not find it. Yes,\nand what more is there to tell about a raspberry worm? Who would give\nthree straws for such a miserable little thing? Yes, but who would not\nlike to live in such a pretty home as it lives in; in such a fresh\nfragrant dark-red cottage, far away in the quiet wood among flowers and\ngreen leaves!\n\nNow it was just dinner time, so they all had a dinner of raspberries and\ncream. 'Be careful with the sugar, Otto,' said the big sister; but\nOtto's plate was like a snowdrift in winter, with just a little red\nunder the snow.\n\nSoon after dinner the big sister said: 'Now we have eaten up the\nraspberries and we have none left to make preserve for the winter; it\nwould be fine if we could get two baskets full of berries, then we could\nclean them this evening, and to-morrow we could cook them in the big\npreserving pan, and then we should have raspberry jam to eat on our\nbread!'\n\n'Come, let us go to the wood and pick,' said Lisa.\n\n'Yes, let us,' said Aina. 'You take the yellow basket and I will take\nthe green one.'\n\n'Don't get lost, and come back safely in the evening,' said the big\nsister.\n\n'Greetings to the raspberry worm,' said Otto, mockingly. 'Next time I\nmeet him I shall do him the honour of eating him up.'\n\nSo Aina and Lisa went off to the wood. Ah! how delightful it was there,\nhow beautiful! It was certainly tiresome sometimes climbing over the\nfallen trees, and getting caught in the branches, and waging war with\nthe juniper bushes and the midges, but what did that matter? The girls\nclimbed well in their short dresses, and soon they were deep in the\nwood.\n\nThere were plenty of bilberries and elder berries, but no raspberries.\nThey wandered on and on, and at last they came . . . No, it could not be\ntrue! . . . they came to a large raspberry wood. The wood had been on\nfire once, and now raspberry bushes had grown up, and there were\nraspberry bushes and raspberry bushes as far as the eye could see. Every\nbush was weighed to the ground with the largest, dark red, ripe\nraspberries, such a wealth of berries as two little berry pickers had\nnever found before!\n\nLisa picked, Aina picked. Lisa ate, Aina ate, and in a little while\ntheir baskets were full.\n\n'Now, we shall go home,' said Aina. 'No, let us gather a few more,' said\nLisa. So they put the baskets down on the ground and began to fill their\npinafores, and it was not long before their pinafores were full, too.\n\n'Now we shall go home,' said Lisa. 'Yes, now we shall go home,' said\nAina. Both girls took a basket in one hand and held up her apron in the\nother and then turned to go home. But that was easier said than done.\nThey had never been so far in the great wood before, they could not find\nany road nor path, and soon the girls noticed that they had lost their\nway.\n\nThe worst of it was that the shadows of the trees were becoming so long\nin the evening sunlight, the birds were beginning to fly home, and the\nday was closing in. At last the sun went down behind the pine tops, and\nit was cool and dusky in the great wood.\n\nThe girls became anxious but went steadily on, expecting that the wood\nwould soon end, and that they would see the smoke from the chimneys of\ntheir home.\n\nAfter they had wandered on for a long time it began to grow dark. At\nlast they reached a great plain overgrown with bushes, and when they\nlooked around them, they saw, as much as they could in the darkness,\nthat they were among the same beautiful raspberry bushes from which they\nhad picked their baskets and their aprons full. Then they were so tired\nthat they sat down on a stone and began to cry.\n\n'I am so hungry,' said Lisa.\n\n'Yes,' said Aina, 'if we had only two good meat sandwiches now.'\n\nAs she said that, she felt something in her hand, and when she looked\ndown, she saw a large sandwich of bread and chicken, and at the same\ntime Lisa said: 'How very queer! I have a sandwich in my hand.'\n\n'And I, too,' said Aina. 'Will you dare to eat it?'\n\n'Of course I will,' said Lisa. 'Ah, if we only had a good glass of milk\nnow!'\n\nJust as she said that she felt a large glass of milk between her\nfingers, and at the same time Aina cried out, 'Lisa! Lisa! I have a\nglass of milk in my hand! Isn't it queer?'\n\nThe girls, however, were very hungry, so they ate and drank with a good\nappetite. When they had finished Aina yawned, stretched out her arms and\nsaid: 'Oh, if only we had a nice soft bed to sleep on now!'\n\nScarcely had she spoken before she felt a nice soft bed by her side, and\nthere beside Lisa was one too. This seemed to the girls more and more\nwonderful, but tired and sleepy as they were, they thought no more about\nit, but crept into the little beds, drew the coverlets over their heads\nand were soon asleep.\n\nWhen they awoke the sun was high in the heavens, the wood was beautiful\nin the summer morning, and the birds were flying about in the branches\nand the tree tops.\n\nAt first the girls were filled with wonder when they saw that they had\nslept in the wood among the raspberry bushes. They looked at each other,\nthey looked at their beds, which were of the finest flax covered over\nwith leaves and moss. At last Lisa said: 'Are you awake, Aina?'\n\n'Yes,' said Aina.\n\n'But I am still dreaming,' said Lisa.\n\n'No,' said Aina, 'but there is certainly some good fairy living among\nthese raspberry bushes. Ah, if we had only a hot cup of coffee now, and\na nice piece of white bread to dip into it!'\n\nScarcely had she finished speaking when she saw beside her a little\nsilver tray with a gilt coffee-pot, two cups of rare porcelain, a sugar\nbasin of fine crystal, silver sugar tongs, and some good fresh white\nbread. The girls poured out the beautiful coffee, put in the cream and\nsugar, and tasted it; never in their lives had they drunk such beautiful\ncoffee.\n\n[Illustration: How Lisa and Aina met the Raspberry King]\n\n'Now I should like to know very much who has given us all this,' said\nLisa gratefully.\n\n'I have, my little girls,' said a voice just then from the bushes.\n\nThe children looked round wonderingly, and saw a little kind-looking\nold man, in a white coat and a red cap, limping out from among the\nbushes, for he was lame in his left foot; neither Lisa nor Aina could\nutter a word, they were so filled with surprise.\n\n'Don't be afraid, little girls,' he said smiling kindly at them; he\ncould not laugh properly because his mouth was crooked. 'Welcome to my\nkingdom! Have you slept well and eaten well and drunk well?' he asked.\n\n'Yes, indeed we have,' said both the girls, 'but tell us . . .' and they\nwanted to ask who the old man was, but were afraid to.\n\n'I will tell you who I am,' said the old man; 'I am the raspberry king,\nwho reigns over all this kingdom of raspberry bushes, and I have lived\nhere for more than a thousand years. But the great spirit who rules over\nthe woods, and the sea, and the sky, did not want me to become proud of\nmy royal power and my long life. Therefore he decreed that one day in\nevery hundred years I should change into a little raspberry worm, and\nlive in that weak and helpless form from sunrise till sunset. During\nthat time my life is dependent on the little worm's life, so that a bird\ncan eat me, a child can pick me with the berries and trample under foot\nmy thousand years of life. Now yesterday was just my transformation day,\nand I was taken with the raspberry and would have been trampled to death\nif you had not saved my life. Until sunset I lay helpless in the grass,\nand when I was swept away from your table I twisted one of my feet, and\nmy mouth became crooked with terror; but when evening came and I could\ntake my own form again, I looked for you to thank you and reward you.\nThen I found you both here in my kingdom, and tried to meet you both as\nwell as I could without frightening you. Now I will send a bird from my\nwood to show you the way home. Good-bye, little children, thank you for\nyour kind hearts; the raspberry king can show that he is not\nungrateful.' The children shook hands with the old man and thanked him,\nfeeling very glad that they had saved the little raspberry worm. They\nwere just going when the old man turned round, smiled mischievously with\nhis crooked mouth, and said: 'Greetings to Otto from me, and tell him\nwhen I meet him again I shall do him the honour of eating him up.'\n\n'Oh, please don't do that,' cried both the girls, very frightened.\n\n'Well, for your sake I will forgive him,' said the old man, 'I am not\nrevengeful. Greetings to Otto and tell him that he may expect a gift\nfrom me, too. Good-bye.'\n\nThe two girls, light of heart, now took their berries and ran off\nthrough the wood after the bird; and soon it began to get lighter in the\nwood and they wondered how they could have lost their way yesterday, it\nseemed so easy and plain now.\n\nOne can imagine what joy there was when the two reached home. Everyone\nhad been looking for them, and the big sister had not been able to\nsleep, for she thought the wolves had eaten them up.\n\nOtto met them; he had a basket in his hand and said: 'Look, here is\nsomething that an old man has just left for you.'\n\nWhen the girls looked into the basket they saw a pair of most beautiful\nbracelets of precious stones, dark red, and made in the shape of a ripe\nraspberry and with an inscription: 'To Lisa and Aina'; beside them there\nwas a diamond breast pin in the shape of a raspberry worm: on it was\ninscribed 'Otto, never destroy the helpless!'\n\nOtto felt rather ashamed: he quite understood what it meant, but he\nthought that the old man's revenge was a noble one.\n\nThe raspberry king had also remembered the big sister, for when she went\nin to set the table for dinner, she found eleven big baskets of most\nbeautiful raspberries, and no one knew how they had come there, but\neveryone guessed.\n\nAnd so there was such a jam-making as had never been seen before, and if\nyou like to go and help in it, you might perhaps get a little, for they\nmust surely be making jam still to this very day.\n\n\n    From Z. Topelius.\n\n\n\n\n_THE STONES OF PLOUHINEC_\n\n\nPERHAPS some of you may have read a book called 'Kenneth; or the\nRear-Guard of the Grand Army of Napoleon.' If so, you will remember how\nthe two Scotch children found in Russia were taken care of by the French\nsoldiers and prevented as far as possible from suffering from the\nhorrors of the terrible Retreat. One of the soldiers, a Breton, often\ntried to make them forget how cold and hungry they were by telling them\ntales of his native country, Brittany, which is full of wonderful\nthings. The best and warmest place round the camp fire was always given\nto the children, but even so the bitter frost would cause them to\nshiver. It was then that the Breton would begin: 'Plouhinec is a small\ntown near Hennebonne by the sea,' and would continue until Kenneth or\nEffie would interrupt him with an eager question. Then he forgot how his\nmother had told him the tale, and was obliged to begin all over again,\nso the story lasted a long while, and by the time it was ended the\nchildren were ready to be rolled up in whatever coverings could be\nfound, and go to sleep.\n\nIt is this story that I am going to tell to you.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPlouhinec is a small town near Hennebonne by the sea. Around it\nstretches a desolate moor, where no corn can be grown, and the grass is\nso coarse that no beast grows fat on it. Here and there are scattered\ngroves of fir trees, and small pebbles are so thick on the ground that\nyou might almost take it for a beach. On the further side, the fairies,\nor korigans, as the people called them, had set up long long ago two\nrows of huge stones; indeed, so tall and heavy were they, that it seemed\nas if all the fairies in the world could not have placed them upright.\n\nNot far off from this great stone avenue, and on the banks of the little\nriver Intel, there lived a man named Marzinne and his sister Rozennik.\nThey always had enough black bread to eat, and wooden shoes or sabots to\nwear, and a pig to fatten, so the neighbours thought them quite rich;\nand what was still better, they thought themselves rich also.\n\nRozennik was a pretty girl, who knew how to make the best of everything,\nand she could, if she wished, have chosen a husband from the young men\nof Plouhinec, but she cared for none of them except Bernez, whom she had\nplayed with all her life, and Bernez, though he worked hard, was so very\nvery poor that Marzinne told him roughly he must look elsewhere for a\nwife. But whatever Marzinne might say Rozennik smiled and nodded to him\nas before, and would often turn her head as she passed, and sing\nsnatches of old songs over her shoulder.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nChristmas Eve had come, and all the men who worked under Marzinne or on\nthe farms round about were gathered in the large kitchen to eat the soup\nflavoured with honey followed by rich puddings, to which they were\nalways invited on this particular night. In the middle of the table was\na large wooden bowl, with wooden spoons placed in a circle round it, so\nthat each might dip in his turn. The benches were filled, and Marzinne\nwas about to give the signal, when the door was suddenly thrown open,\nand an old man came in, wishing the guests a good appetite for their\nsupper. There was a pause, and some of the faces looked a little\nfrightened; for the new comer was well known to them as a beggar, who\nwas also said to be a wizard who cast spells over the cattle, and caused\nthe corn to grow black, and old people to die, of what, nobody knew.\nStill, it was Christmas Eve, and besides it was as well not to offend\nhim, so the farmer invited him in, and gave him a seat at the table and\na wooden spoon like the rest.\n\nThere was not much talk after the beggar's entrance, and everyone was\nglad when the meal came to an end, and the beggar asked if he might\nsleep in the stable, as he should die of cold if he were left outside.\nRather unwillingly Marzinne gave him leave, and bade Bernez take the key\nand unlock the door. There was certainly plenty of room for a dozen\nbeggars, for the only occupants of the stable were an old donkey and a\nthin ox; and as the night was bitter, the wizard lay down between them\nfor warmth, with a sack of reeds for a pillow.\n\nHe had walked far that day, and even wizards get tired sometimes, so in\nspite of the hard floor he was just dropping off to sleep, when midnight\nstruck from the church tower of Plouhinec. At this sound the donkey\nraised her head and shook her ears, and turned towards the ox.\n\n'Well, my dear cousin,' said she, 'and how have you fared since last\nChristmas Eve, when we had a conversation together?'\n\nInstead of answering at once, the ox eyed the beggar with a long look of\ndisgust.\n\n'What is the use of talking,' he replied roughly, 'when a\ngood-for-nothing creature like that can hear all we say?'\n\n'Oh, you mustn't lose time in grumbling,' rejoined the donkey gaily,\n'and don't you see that the wizard is asleep?'\n\n'His wicked pranks do not make him rich, certainly,' said the ox, 'and\nhe isn't even clever enough to have found out what a piece of luck\nmight befall him a week hence.'\n\n'What piece of luck?' asked the donkey.\n\n'Why, don't you know,' inquired the ox, 'that once every hundred years\nthe stones on Plouhinec heath go down to drink at the river, and that\nwhile they are away the treasures underneath them are uncovered?'\n\n'Ah, I remember now,' replied the donkey, 'but the stones return so\nquickly to their places, that you certainly would be crushed to death\nunless you have in your hands a bunch of crowsfoot and of five-leaved\ntrefoil.'\n\n'Yes, but that is not enough,' said the ox; 'even supposing you get\nsafely by, the treasures you have brought with you will crumble into\ndust if you do not give in exchange a baptized soul. It is needful that\na Christian should die before you can enjoy the wealth of Plouhinec.'\n\nThe donkey was about to ask some further questions, when she suddenly\nfound herself unable to speak: the time allowed them for conversation\nwas over.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'Ah, my dear creatures,' thought the beggar, who had of course heard\neverything, 'you are going to make me richer than the richest men of\nVannes or Lorient. But I have no time to lose; to-morrow I must begin to\nhunt for the precious plants.'\n\nHe did not dare to seek too near Plouhinec, lest somebody who knew the\nstory might guess what he was doing, so he went away further towards the\nsouth, where the air was softer and the plants are always green. From\nthe instant it was light, till the last rays had faded out of the sky,\nhe searched every inch of ground where the magic plants might grow; he\nscarcely gave himself a minute to eat and drink, but at length he found\nthe crowsfoot in a little hollow! Well, that was certainly a great deal,\nbut after all, the crowsfoot was of no use without the trefoil, and\nthere was so little time left.\n\nHe had almost given up hope, when on the very last day before it was\nnecessary that he should start for Plouhinec, he came upon a little\nclump of trefoil, half hidden under a rock. Hardly able to breathe from\nexcitement, he sat down and hunted eagerly through the plant which he\nhad torn up. Leaf after leaf he threw aside in disgust, and he had\nnearly reached the end when he gave a cry of joy--the five-leaved\ntrefoil was in his hand.\n\nThe beggar scrambled to his feet, and without a pause walked quickly\ndown the road that led northwards. The moon was bright, and for some\nhours he kept steadily on, not knowing how many miles he had gone, nor\neven feeling tired. By and bye the sun rose, and the world began to\nstir, and stopping at a farmhouse door, he asked for a cup of milk and\nslice of bread and permission to rest for a while in the porch. Then he\ncontinued his journey, and so, towards sunset on New Year's Eve, he came\nback to Plouhinec.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs he was passing the long line of stones, he saw Bernez working with a\nchisel on the tallest of them all.\n\n'What are you doing there?' called the wizard, 'do you mean to hollow\nout for yourself a bed in that huge column?'\n\n'No,' replied Bernez quietly, 'but as I happened to have no work to do\nto-day, I thought I would just carve a cross on this stone. The holy\nsign can never come amiss.'\n\n'I believe you think it will help you to win Rozennik,' laughed the old\nman.\n\nBernez ceased his task for a moment to look at him.\n\n'Ah, so you know about that,' replied he; 'unluckily Marzinne wants a\nbrother-in-law who has more pounds than I have pence.'\n\n'And suppose I were to give you more pounds than Marzinne ever dreamed\nof?' whispered the sorcerer, glancing round to make sure that no one\noverheard him.\n\n'You?'\n\n'Yes, I.'\n\n'And what am I to do to gain the money,' inquired Bernez, who knew quite\nwell that the Breton peasant gives nothing for nothing.\n\n'What I want of you only needs a little courage,' answered the old man.\n\n'If that is all, tell me what I have got to do, and I will do it,' cried\nBernez, letting fall his chisel. 'If I have to risk thirty deaths, I am\nready.'\n\nWhen the beggar knew that Bernez would give him no trouble, he told him\nhow, during that very night, the treasures under the stones would be\nuncovered, and how in a very few minutes they could take enough to make\nthem both rich for life. But he kept silence as to the fate that awaited\nthe man who was without the crowsfoot and the trefoil, and Bernez\nthought that nothing but boldness and quickness were necessary. So he\nsaid:\n\n'Old man, I am grateful, indeed, for the chance you have given me, and\nthere will always be a pint of my blood at your service. Just let me\nfinish carving this cross. It is nearly done, and I will join you in the\nfir wood at whatever hour you please.'\n\n'You must be there without fail an hour before midnight,' answered the\nwizard, and went on his way.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs the hour struck from the great church at Plouhinec, Bernez entered\nthe wood. He found the beggar already there with a bag in each hand, and\na third slung round his neck.\n\n'You are punctual,' said the old man, 'but we need not start just yet.\nYou had better sit down and think what you will do when your pockets are\nfilled with gold and silver and jewels.'\n\n'Oh, it won't take me long to plan out that,' returned Bernez with a\nlaugh. 'I shall give Rozennik everything she can desire, dresses of all\nsorts, from cotton to silk, and good things of all kinds to eat, from\nwhite bread to oranges.'\n\n'The silver you find will pay for all that, and what about the gold?'\n\n'With the gold I shall make rich Rozennik's relations and every friend\nof hers in the parish,' replied he.\n\n'So much for the gold; and the jewels?'\n\n'Then,' cried Bernez, 'I will divide the jewels amongst everybody in the\nworld, so that they may be wealthy and happy; and I will tell them that\nit is Rozennik who would have it so.'\n\n'Hush! it is close on midnight--we must go,' whispered the wizard, and\ntogether they crept to the edge of the wood.\n\nWith the first stroke of twelve a great noise arose over the silent\nheath, and the earth seemed to rock under the feet of the two watchers.\nThe next moment by the light of the moon they beheld the huge stones\nnear them leave their places and go down the slope leading to the river,\nknocking against each other in their haste. Passing the spot where stood\nBernez and the beggar, they were lost in the darkness. It seemed as if a\nprocession of giants had gone by.\n\n'Quick,' said the wizard, in a low voice, and he rushed towards the\nempty holes, which even in the night shone brightly from the treasures\nwithin them. Flinging himself on his knees, the old man began filling\nthe wallets he had brought, listening intently all the time for the\nreturn of the stones up the hill, while Bernez more slowly put handfuls\nof all he could see into his pockets.\n\nThe sorcerer had just closed his third wallet, and was beginning to\nwonder if he could carry away any more treasures when a low murmur as of\na distant storm broke upon his ears.\n\nThe stones had finished drinking, and were hastening back to their\nplaces.\n\nOn they came, bent a little forward, the tallest of them all at their\nhead, breaking everything that stood in their way. At the sight Bernez\nstood transfixed with horror, and said,\n\n'We are lost! They will crush us to death.'\n\n'Not me!' answered the sorcerer, holding up the crowsfoot and the\nfive-leaved trefoil, 'for these will preserve me. But in order to keep\nmy riches, I was obliged to sacrifice a Christian to the stones, and an\nevil fate threw you in my way.' And as he spoke he stretched out the\nmagic herbs to the stones, which were advancing rapidly. As if\nacknowledging a power greater than theirs, the monstrous things\ninstantly parted to the right and left of the wizard, but closed their\nranks again as they approached Bernez.\n\nThe young man did not try to escape, he knew it was useless, and sank on\nhis knees and closed his eyes. But suddenly the tall stone that was\nleading stopped straight in front of Bernez, so that no other could get\npast.\n\nIt was the stone on which Bernez had carved the cross, and it was now a\nbaptized stone, and had power to save him.\n\nSo the stone remained before the young man till the rest had taken their\nplaces, and then, darting like a bird to its own hole, came upon the\nbeggar, who, thinking himself quite safe, was staggering along under the\nweight of his treasures.\n\nSeeing the stone approaching, he held out the magic herbs which he\ncarried, but the baptized stone was no longer subject to the spells that\nbound the rest, and passed straight on its way, leaving the wizard\ncrushed into powder in the heather.\n\nThen Bernez went home, and showed his wealth to Marzinne, who this time\ndid not refuse him as a brother-in-law, and he and Rozennik were\nmarried, and lived happy for ever after.\n\n\n    From 'Le Foyer Breton,' par Emile Souvestre.\n\n\n\n\n_THE CASTLE OF KERGLAS_\n\n\nPERONNIK was a poor idiot who belonged to nobody, and he would have died\nof starvation if it had not been for the kindness of the village people,\nwho gave him food whenever he chose to ask for it. And as for a bed,\nwhen night came, and he grew sleepy, he looked about for a heap of\nstraw, and making a hole in it, crept in, like a lizard. Idiot though he\nwas, he was never unhappy, but always thanked gratefully those who fed\nhim, and sometimes would stop for a little and sing to them. For he\ncould imitate a lark so well, that no one knew which was Peronnik and\nwhich was the bird.\n\nHe had been wandering in a forest one day for several hours, and when\nevening approached, he suddenly felt very hungry. Luckily, just at that\nplace the trees grew thinner, and he could see a small farmhouse a\nlittle way off. Peronnik went straight towards it, and found the\nfarmer's wife standing at the door holding in her hands the large bowl\nout of which her children had eaten their supper.\n\n'I am hungry, will you give me something to eat?' asked the boy.\n\n'If you can find anything here, you are welcome to it,' answered she,\nand, indeed, there was not much left, as everybody's spoon had dipped\nin. But Peronnik ate what was there with a hearty appetite, and thought\nthat he had never tasted better food.\n\n'It is made of the finest flour and mixed with the richest milk and\nstirred by the best cook in all the countryside,' and though he said it\nto himself, the woman heard him.\n\n'Poor innocent,' she murmured, 'he does not know what he is saying, but\nI will cut him a slice of that new wheaten loaf,' and so she did, and\nPeronnik ate up every crumb, and declared that nobody less than the\nbishop's baker could have baked it. This flattered the farmer's wife so\nmuch that she gave him some butter to spread on it, and Peronnik was\nstill eating it on the doorstep when an armed knight rode up.\n\n'Can you tell me the way to the castle of Kerglas?' asked he.\n\n'To Kerglas? are you _really_ going to Kerglas?' cried the woman,\nturning pale.\n\n'Yes; and in order to get there I have come from a country so far off\nthat it has taken me three months' hard riding to travel as far as\nthis.'\n\n'And why do you want to go to Kerglas?' said she.\n\n'I am seeking the basin of gold and the lance of diamonds which are in\nthe castle,' he answered. Then Peronnik looked up.\n\n'The basin and the lance are very costly things,' he said suddenly.\n\n'More costly and precious than all the crowns in the world,' replied the\nstranger, 'for not only will the basin furnish you with the best food\nthat you can dream of, but if you drink of it, it will cure you of any\nillness however dangerous, and will even bring the dead back to life, if\nit touches their mouths. As to the diamond lance, that will cut through\nany stone or metal.'\n\n'And to whom do these wonders belong?' asked Peronnik in amazement.\n\n'To a magician named Rogear who lives in the castle,' answered the\nwoman. 'Every day he passes along here, mounted on a black mare, with a\ncolt thirteen months old trotting behind. But no one dares to attack\nhim, as he always carries his lance.'\n\n'That is true,' said the knight, 'but there is a spell laid upon him\nwhich forbids his using it within the castle of Kerglas. The moment he\nenters, the basin and lance are put away in a dark cellar which no key\nbut one can open. And _that_ is the place where I wish to fight the\nmagician.'\n\n'You will never overcome him, Sir Knight,' replied the woman, shaking\nher head. 'More than a hundred gentlemen have ridden past this house\nbent on the same errand, and not one has ever come back.'\n\n'I know that, good woman,' returned the knight, 'but then they did not\nhave, like me, instructions from the hermit of Blavet.'\n\n'And what did the hermit tell you?' asked Peronnik.\n\n'He told me that I should have to pass through a wood full of all sorts\nof enchantments and voices, which would try to frighten me and make me\nlose my way. Most of those who have gone before me have wandered they\nknow not where, and perished from cold, hunger, or fatigue.'\n\n'Well, suppose you get through safely?' said the idiot.\n\n'If I do,' continued the knight, 'I shall then meet a sort of fairy\narmed with a needle of fire which burns to ashes all it touches. This\ndwarf stands guarding an apple-tree, from which I am bound to pluck an\napple.'\n\n'And next?' inquired Peronnik.\n\n'Next I shall find the flower that laughs, protected by a lion whose\nmane is formed of vipers. I must pluck that flower, and go on to the\nlake of the dragons and fight the black man who holds in his hand the\niron ball which never misses its mark and returns of its own accord to\nits master. After that, I enter the valley of pleasure, where some who\nconquered all the other obstacles have left their bones. If I can win\nthrough this, I shall reach a river with only one ford, where a lady in\nblack will be seated. She will mount my horse behind me, and tell me\nwhat I am to do next.'\n\nHe paused, and the woman shook her head.\n\n'You will never be able to do all that,' said she, but he bade her\nremember that these were only matters for men, and galloped away down\nthe path she pointed out.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe farmer's wife sighed and, giving Peronnik some more food, bade him\ngood-night. The idiot rose and was opening the gate which led into the\nforest when the farmer himself came up.\n\n'I want a boy to tend my cattle,' he said abruptly, 'as the one I had\nhas run away. Will you stay and do it?' and Peronnik, though he loved\nhis liberty and hated work, recollected the good food he had eaten, and\nagreed to stop.\n\nAt sunrise he collected his herd carefully and led them to the rich\npasture which lay along the borders of the forest, cutting himself a\nhazel wand with which to keep them in order.\n\nHis task was not quite so easy as it looked, for the cows had a way of\nstraying into the wood, and by the time he had brought one back another\nwas off. He had gone some distance into the trees, after a naughty black\ncow which gave him more trouble than all the rest, when he heard the\nnoise of horse's feet, and peeping through the leaves he beheld the\ngiant Rogear seated on his mare, with the colt trotting behind. Round\nthe giant's neck hung the golden bowl suspended from a chain, and in his\nhand he grasped the diamond lance, which gleamed like fire. But as soon\nas he was out of sight the idiot sought in vain for traces of the path\nhe had taken.\n\nThis happened not only once but many times, till Peronnik grew so used\nto him that he never troubled to hide. But on each occasion he saw him\nthe desire to possess the bowl and the lance became stronger.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne evening the boy was sitting alone on the edge of the forest, when a\nman with a white beard stopped beside him. 'Do you want to know the way\nto Kerglas?' asked the idiot, and the man answered 'I know it well.'\n\n'You have been there without being killed by the magician?' cried\nPeronnik.\n\n'Oh! he had nothing to fear from me,' replied the white-bearded man, 'I\nam Rogear's elder brother, the wizard Bryak. When I wish to visit him I\nalways pass this way, and as even I cannot go through the enchanted wood\nwithout losing myself, I call the colt to guide me.' Stooping down as he\nspoke he traced three circles on the ground and murmured some words very\nlow, which Peronnik could not hear. Then he added aloud:\n\n    Colt, free to run and free to eat,\n    Colt, gallop fast until we meet,\n\nand instantly the colt appeared, frisking and jumping to the wizard, who\nthrew a halter over his neck and leapt on his back.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPeronnik kept silence at the farm about this adventure, but he\nunderstood very well that if he was ever to get to Kerglas he must first\ncatch the colt which knew the way. Unhappily he had not heard the magic\nwords uttered by the wizard, and he could not manage to draw the three\ncircles, so if he was to summon the colt at all he must invent some\nother means of doing it.\n\nAll day long, while he was herding the cows, he thought and thought how\nhe was to call the colt, for he felt sure that once on its back he\ncould overcome the other dangers. Meantime he must be ready in case a\nchance should come, and he made his preparations at night, when every\none was asleep. Remembering what he had seen the wizard do, he patched\nup an old halter that was hanging in a corner of the stable, twisted a\nrope of hemp to catch the colt's feet, and a net such as is used for\nsnaring birds. Next he sewed roughly together some bits of cloth to\nserve as a pocket, and this he filled with glue and larks' feathers, a\nstring of beads, a whistle of elder wood, and a slice of bread rubbed\nover with bacon fat. Then he went out to the path down which Rogear, his\nmare, and the colt always rode, and crumbled the bread on one side of\nit.\n\nPunctual to their hour all three appeared, eagerly watched by Peronnik,\nwho lay hid in the bushes close by. Suppose it was useless; suppose the\nmare, and not the colt, ate the crumbs? Suppose--but no! the mare and\nher rider went safely by, vanishing round a corner, while the colt,\ntrotting along with its head on the ground, smelt the bread, and began\ngreedily to lick up the pieces. Oh, how good it was! Why had no one ever\ngiven it that before, and so absorbed was the little beast, sniffing\nabout after a few more crumbs, that it never heard Peronnik creep up\ntill it felt the halter on its neck and the rope round its feet, and--in\nanother moment--some one on its back.\n\nGoing as fast as the hobbles would allow, the colt turned into one of\nthe wildest parts of the forest, while its rider sat trembling at the\nstrange sights he saw. Sometimes the earth seemed to open in front of\nthem and he was looking into a bottomless pit; sometimes the trees burst\ninto flames and he found himself in the midst of a fire; often in the\nact of crossing a stream the water rose and threatened to sweep him\naway; and again, at the foot of a mountain, great rocks would roll\ntowards him, as if they would crush him and his colt beneath their\nweight. To his dying day Peronnik never knew whether these things were\nreal or if he only imagined them, but he pulled down his knitted cap so\nas to cover his eyes, and trusted the colt to carry him down the right\nroad.\n\nAt last the forest was left behind, and they came out on a wide plain\nwhere the air blew fresh and strong. The idiot ventured to peep out, and\nfound to his relief that the enchantments seemed to have ended, though a\nthrill of horror shot through him as he noticed the skeletons of men\nscattered over the plain, beside the skeletons of their horses. And what\nwere those grey forms trotting away in the distance? Were they--could\nthey be--_wolves_?\n\nBut vast though the plain seemed, it did not take long to cross, and\nvery soon the colt entered a sort of shady park in which was standing a\nsingle apple-tree, its branches bowed down to the ground with the weight\nof its fruit. In front was the korigan--the little fairy man--holding in\nhis hand the fiery sword, which reduced to ashes everything it touched.\nAt the sight of Peronnik he uttered a piercing scream, and raised his\nsword, but without appearing surprised the youth only lifted his cap,\nthough he took care to remain at a little distance.\n\n'Do not be alarmed, my prince,' said Peronnik, 'I am just on my way to\nKerglas, as the noble Rogear has begged me to come to him on business.'\n\n'Begged _you_ to come!' repeated the dwarf, 'and who, then, are you?'\n\n'I am the new servant he has engaged, as you know very well,' answered\nPeronnik.\n\n'I do not know at all,' rejoined the korigan sulkily, 'and you may be a\nrobber for all I can tell.'\n\n'I am so sorry,' replied Peronnik, 'but I may be wrong in calling myself\na servant, for I am only a bird-catcher. But do not delay me, I pray,\nfor his highness the magician expects me, and, as you see, has lent me\nhis colt so that I may reach the castle all the quicker.'\n\nAt these words the korigan cast his eyes for the first time on the colt,\nwhich he knew to be the one belonging to the magician, and began to\nthink that the young man was speaking the truth. After examining the\nhorse, he studied the rider, who had such an innocent, and indeed\nvacant, air that he appeared incapable of inventing a story. Still, the\ndwarf did not feel _quite_ sure that all was right, and asked what the\nmagician wanted with a bird-catcher.\n\n'From what he says, he wants one very badly,' replied Peronnik, 'as he\ndeclares that all his grain and all the fruit in his garden at Kerglas\nare eaten up by the birds.'\n\n'And how are you going to stop that, my fine fellow?' inquired the\nkorigan; and Peronnik showed him the snare he had prepared, and remarked\nthat no bird could possibly escape from it.\n\n'That is just what I should like to be sure of,' answered the korigan.\n'My apples are completely eaten up by blackbirds and thrushes. Lay your\nsnare, and if you can manage to catch them, I will let you pass.'\n\n'That is a fair bargain,' and as he spoke Peronnik jumped down and\nfastened his colt to a tree; then, stooping, he fixed one end of the net\nto the trunk of the apple-tree, and called to the korigan to hold the\nother while he took out the pegs. The dwarf did as he was bid, when\nsuddenly Peronnik threw the noose over his neck and drew it close, and\nthe korigan was held as fast as any of the birds he wished to snare.\n\nShrieking with rage, he tried to undo the cord, but he only pulled the\nknot tighter. He had put down the sword on the grass, and Peronnik had\nbeen careful to fix the net on the other side of the tree, so that it\nwas now easy for him to pluck an apple and to mount his horse, without\nbeing hindered by the dwarf, whom he left to his fate.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen they had left the plain behind them, Peronnik and his steed found\nthemselves in a narrow valley in which was a grove of trees, full of all\nsorts of sweet-smelling things--roses of every colour, yellow broom,\npink honeysuckle--while above them all towered a wonderful scarlet pansy\nwhose face bore a strange expression. This was the flower that laughs,\nand no one who looked at it could help laughing too. Peronnik's heart\nbeat high at the thought that he had reached safely the second trial,\nand he gazed quite calmly at the lion with the mane of vipers twisting\nand twirling, who walked up and down in front of the grove.\n\nThe young man pulled up and removed his cap, for, idiot though he was,\nhe knew that when you have to do with people greater than yourself, a\ncap is more useful in the hand than on the head. Then, after wishing all\nkinds of good fortune to the lion and his family, he inquired if he was\non the right road to Kerglas.\n\n'And what is your business at Kerglas?' asked the lion with a growl, and\nshowing his teeth.\n\n'With all respect,' answered Peronnik, pretending to be very frightened,\n'I am the servant of a lady who is a friend of the noble Rogear and\nsends him some larks for a pasty.'\n\n'Larks?' cried the lion, licking his long whiskers. 'Why, it must be a\ncentury since I have had any! Have you a large quantity with you?'\n\n'As many as this bag will hold,' replied Peronnik, opening, as he spoke,\nthe bag which he had filled with feathers and glue; and to prove what he\nsaid, he turned his back on the lion and began to imitate the song of a\nlark.\n\n'Come,' exclaimed the lion, whose mouth watered, 'show me the birds! I\nshould like to see if they are fat enough for my master.'\n\n'I would do it with pleasure,' answered the idiot, 'but if I once open\nthe bag they will all fly away.'\n\n'Well, open it wide enough for me to look in,' said the lion, drawing a\nlittle nearer.\n\n[Illustration: How Peronnik tricked the Viper-maned Lion with a bag]\n\nNow this was just what Peronnik had been hoping for, so he held the bag\nwhile the lion opened it carefully and put his head right inside, so\nthat he might get a good mouthful of larks. But the mass of feathers and\nglue stuck to him, and before he could pull his head out again Peronnik\nhad drawn tight the cord, and tied it in a knot that no man could untie.\nThen, quickly gathering the flower that laughs, he rode off as fast as\nthe colt could take him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe path soon led to the lake of the dragons, which he had to swim\nacross. The colt, who was accustomed to it, plunged into the water\nwithout hesitation; but as soon as the dragons caught sight of Peronnik\nthey approached from all parts of the lake in order to devour him.\n\nThis time Peronnik did not trouble to take off his cap, but he threw the\nbeads he carried with him into the water, as you throw black corn to a\nduck, and with each bead that he swallowed a dragon turned on his back\nand died, so that the idiot reached the other side without further\ntrouble.\n\nThe valley guarded by the black man now lay before him, and from afar\nPeronnik beheld him, chained by one foot to a rock at the entrance, and\nholding the iron ball which never missed its mark and always returned to\nits master's hand. In his head the black man had six eyes that were\nnever all shut at once, but kept watch one after the other. At this\nmoment they were all open, and Peronnik knew well that if the black man\ncaught a glimpse of him he would cast his ball. So, hiding the colt\nbehind a thicket of bushes, he crawled along a ditch and crouched close\nto the very rock to which the black man was chained.\n\nThe day was hot, and after a while the man began to grow sleepy. Two of\nhis eyes closed, and Peronnik sang gently. In a moment a third eye shut,\nand Peronnik sang on. The lid of a fourth eye dropped heavily, and then\nthose of the fifth and the sixth. The black man was asleep altogether.\n\nThen, on tiptoe, the idiot crept back to the colt, which he led over\nsoft moss past the black man into the vale of pleasure, a delicious\ngarden full of fruits that dangled before your mouth, fountains running\nwith wine, and flowers chanting in soft little voices. Further on,\ntables were spread with food, and girls dancing on the grass called to\nhim to join them.\n\nPeronnik heard, and, scarcely knowing what he did drew the colt into a\nslower pace. He sniffed greedily the smell of the dishes, and raised his\nhead the better to see the dancers. Another instant and he would have\nstopped altogether and been lost, like others before him, when suddenly\nthere came to him like a vision the golden bowl and the diamond lance.\nDrawing his whistle from his pocket, he blew it loudly, so as to drown\nthe sweet sounds about him, and ate what was left of his bread and bacon\nto still the craving of the magic fruits. His eyes he fixed steadily on\nthe ears of the colt, that he might not see the dancers.\n\nIn this way he was able to reach the end of the garden, and at length\nperceived the castle of Kerglas, with the river between them which had\nonly one ford. Would the lady be there, as the old man had told him?\nYes, surely that was she, sitting on a rock, in a black satin dress, and\nher face the colour of a Moorish woman's. The idiot rode up, and took\noff his cap more politely than ever, and asked if she did not wish to\ncross the river.\n\n'I was waiting for you to help me do so,' answered she. 'Come near, that\nI may get up behind you.'\n\nPeronnik did as she bade him, and by the help of his arm she jumped\nnimbly on to the back of the colt.\n\n'Do you know how to kill the magician?' asked the lady, as they were\ncrossing the ford.\n\n'I thought that, being a magician, he was immortal, and that no one\ncould kill him,' replied Peronnik.\n\n'Persuade him to taste that apple, and he will die, and if that is not\nenough I will touch him with my finger, for I am the plague,' answered\nshe.\n\n'But if I kill him, how am I to get the golden bowl and the diamond\nlance that are hidden in the cellar without a key?' rejoined Peronnik.\n\n[Illustration: PERONNIK IN THE VALE OF PLEASURE]\n\n[Illustration: The Lady in black slays Rogear the Magician]\n\n'The flower that laughs opens all doors and lightens all darkness,' said\nthe lady; and as she spoke, they reached the further bank, and\nadvanced towards the castle.\n\nIn front of the entrance was a sort of tent supported on poles, and\nunder it the giant was sitting, basking in the sun. As soon as he\nnoticed the colt bearing Peronnik and the lady, he lifted his head, and\ncried in a voice of thunder:\n\n'Why, it is surely the idiot, riding my colt thirteen months old!'\n\n'Greatest of magicians, you are right,' answered Peronnik.\n\n'And how did you manage to catch him?' asked the giant.\n\n'By repeating what I learnt from your brother Bryak on the edge of the\nforest,' replied the idiot. 'I just said--\n\n    Colt, free to run and free to eat,\n    Colt, gallop fast until we meet,\n\nand it came directly.'\n\n'You know my brother, then?' inquired the giant. 'Tell me why he sent\nyou here.'\n\n'To bring you two gifts which he has just received from the country of\nthe Moors,' answered Peronnik: 'the apple of delight and the woman of\nsubmission. If you eat the apple you will not desire anything else, and\nif you take the woman as your servant you will never wish for another.'\n\n'Well, give me the apple, and bid the woman get down,' answered Rogear.\n\nThe idiot obeyed, but at the first taste of the apple the giant\nstaggered, and as the long yellow finger of the woman touched him he\nfell dead.\n\nLeaving the magician where he lay, Peronnik entered the palace, bearing\nwith him the flower that laughs. Fifty doors flew open before him, and\nat length he reached a long flight of steps which seemed to lead into\nthe bowels of the earth. Down these he went till he came to a silver\ndoor without a bar or key. Then he held up high the flower that laughs,\nand the door slowly swung back, displaying a deep cavern, which was as\nbright as day from the shining of the golden bowl and the diamond lance.\nThe idiot hastily ran forward and hung the bowl round his neck from the\nchain which was attached to it, and took the lance in his hand. As he\ndid so, the ground shook beneath him, and with an awful rumbling the\npalace disappeared, and Peronnik found himself standing close to the\nforest where he led the cattle to graze.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThough darkness was coming on, Peronnik never thought of entering the\nfarm, but followed the road which led to the court of the duke of\nBrittany. As he passed through the town of Vannes he stopped at a\ntailor's shop, and bought a beautiful costume of brown velvet and a\nwhite horse, which he paid for with a handful of gold that he had picked\nup in the corridor of the castle of Kerglas. Thus he made his way to the\ncity of Nantes, which at that moment was besieged by the French.\n\nA little way off, Peronnik stopped and looked about him. For miles round\nthe country was bare, for the enemy had cut down every tree and burnt\nevery blade of corn; and, idiot though he might be, Peronnik was able to\ngrasp that inside the gates men were dying of famine. He was still\ngazing with horror, when a trumpeter appeared on the walls, and, after\nblowing a loud blast, announced that the duke would adopt as his heir\nthe man who could drive the French out of the country.\n\nOn the four sides of the city the trumpeter blew his blast, and the last\ntime Peronnik, who had ridden up as close as he might, answered him.\n\n'You need blow no more,' said he, 'for I myself will free the town from\nher enemies.' And turning to a soldier who came running up, waving his\nsword, he touched him with the magic lance, and he fell dead on the\nspot. The men who were following stood still, amazed. Their comrade's\narmour had not been pierced, of that they were sure, yet he was dead, as\nif he had been struck to the heart. But before they had time to recover\nfrom their astonishment, Peronnik cried out:\n\n'You see how my foes will fare; now behold what I can do for my\nfriends,' and, stooping down, he laid the golden bowl against the mouth\nof the soldier, who sat up as well as ever. Then, jumping his horse\nacross the trench, he entered the gate of the city, which had opened\nwide enough to receive him.\n\nThe news of these marvels quickly spread through the town, and put fresh\nspirit into the garrison, so that they declared themselves able to fight\nunder the command of the young stranger. And as the bowl restored all\nthe dead Bretons to life, Peronnik soon had an army large enough to\ndrive away the French, and fulfilled his promise of delivering his\ncountry.\n\nAs to the bowl and the lance, no one knows what became of them, but some\nsay that Bryak the sorcerer managed to steal them again, and that any\none who wishes to possess them must seek them as Peronnik did.\n\n\n    From 'Le Foyer Breton,' par Emile Souvestre.\n\n\n\n\n_THE BATTLE OF THE BIRDS_\n\n\nTHERE was to be a great battle between all the creatures of the earth\nand the birds of the air. News of it went abroad, and the son of the\nking of Tethertown said that when the battle was fought he would be\nthere to see it, and would bring back word who was to be king. But in\nspite of that, he was almost too late, and every fight had been fought\nsave the last, which was between a snake and a great black raven. Both\nstruck hard, but in the end the snake proved the stronger, and would\nhave twisted himself round the neck of the raven till he died had not\nthe king's son drawn his sword, and cut off the head of the snake at a\nsingle blow. And when the raven beheld that his enemy was dead, he was\ngrateful, and said:\n\n'For thy kindness to me this day, I will show thee a sight. So come up\nnow on the root of my two wings.' The king's son did as he was bid, and\nbefore the raven stopped flying, they had passed over seven bens and\nseven glens and seven mountain moors.\n\n'Do you see that house yonder?' said the raven at last. 'Go straight to\nit, for a sister of mine dwells there, and she will make you right\nwelcome. And if she asks, \"Wert thou at the battle of the birds?\" answer\nthat thou wert, and if she asks, \"Didst thou see my likeness?\" answer\nthat thou sawest it, but be sure thou meetest me in the morning at this\nplace.'\n\nThe king's son followed what the raven told him and that night he had\nmeat of each meat, and drink of each drink, warm water for his feet, and\na soft bed to lie in.\n\nThus it happened the next day, and the next, but on the fourth morning,\ninstead of meeting the raven, in his place the king's son found waiting\nfor him the handsomest youth that ever was seen, with a bundle in his\nhand.\n\n[Illustration: How the King's Son saved the Raven from the Snake\n\nby H. J. Ford 1910]\n\n'Is there a raven hereabouts?' asked the king's son, and the youth\nanswered:\n\n'I am that raven, and I was delivered by thee from the spells that bound\nme, and in reward thou wilt get this bundle. Go back by the road thou\ncamest, and lie as before, a night in each house, but be careful not to\nunloose the bundle till thou art in the place wherein thou wouldst most\nwish to dwell.'\n\nThen the king's son set out, and thus it happened as it had happened\nbefore, till he entered a thick wood near his father's house. He had\nwalked a long way, and suddenly the bundle seemed to grow heavier; first\nhe put it down under a tree, and next he thought he would look at it.\n\nThe string was easy to untie, and the king's son soon unfastened the\nbundle. What was it he saw there? Why, a great castle with an orchard\nall about it, and in the orchard fruit and flowers and birds of every\nkind. It was all ready for him to dwell in, but instead of being in the\nmidst of the forest, he _did_ wish he had left the bundle unloosed till\nhe had reached the green valley close to his father's palace. Well, it\nwas no use wishing, and with a sigh he glanced up, and beheld a huge\ngiant coming towards him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'Bad is the place where thou hast built thy house, king's son,' said the\ngiant.\n\n'True; it is not here that I wish it to be,' answered the king's son.\n\n'What reward wilt thou give me if I put it back in the bundle?' asked\nthe giant.\n\n'What reward dost thou ask?' answered the king's son.\n\n'The first boy thou hast when he is seven years old,' said the giant.\n\n'If I have a boy thou shalt get him,' answered the king's son, and as he\nspoke the castle and the orchard were tied up in the bundle again.\n\n'Now take thy road, and I will take mine,' said the giant. 'And if thou\nforgettest thy promise, _I_ will remember it.'\n\nLight of heart the king's son went on his road, till he came to the\ngreen valley near his father's palace. Slowly he unloosed the bundle,\nfearing lest he should find nothing but a heap of stones or rags. But\nno! all was as it had been before, and as he opened the castle door\nthere stood within the most beautiful maiden that ever was seen.\n\n'Enter, king's son,' said she, 'all is ready, and we will be married at\nonce,' and so they were.\n\nThe maiden proved a good wife, and the king's son, now himself a king,\nwas so happy that he forgot all about the giant. Seven years and a day\nhad gone by, when one morning, while standing on the ramparts, he beheld\nthe giant striding towards the castle. Then he remembered his promise,\nand remembered, too, that he had told the queen nothing about it. Now he\nmust tell her, and perhaps she might help him in his trouble.\n\nThe queen listened in silence to his tale, and after he had finished,\nshe only said:\n\n'Leave thou the matter between me and the giant,' and as she spoke, the\ngiant entered the hall and stood before them.\n\n'Bring out your son,' cried he to the king, 'as you promised me seven\nyears and a day since.'\n\nThe king glanced at his wife, who nodded, so he answered:\n\n'Let his mother first put him in order,' and the queen left the hall,\nand took the cook's son and dressed him in the prince's clothes, and led\nhim up to the giant, who held his hand, and together they went out along\nthe road. They had not walked far when the giant stopped and stretched\nout a stick to the boy.\n\n'If your father had that stick, what would he do with it?' asked he.\n\n'If my father had that stick, he would beat the dogs and cats that\nsteal the king's meat,' replied the boy.\n\n'Thou art the cook's son!' cried the giant. 'Go home to thy mother;' and\nturning his back he strode straight to the castle.\n\n'If you seek to trick me this time, the highest stone will soon be the\nlowest,' said he, and the king and queen trembled, but they could not\nbear to give up their boy.\n\n'The butler's son is the same age as ours,' whispered the queen; 'he\nwill not know the difference,' and she took the child and dressed him in\nthe prince's clothes, and the giant led him away along the road. Before\nthey had gone far he stopped, and held out a stick.\n\n'If thy father had that rod, what would he do with it?' asked the giant.\n\n'He would beat the dogs and cats that break the king's glasses,'\nanswered the boy.\n\n'Thou art the son of the butler!' cried the giant. 'Go home to thy\nmother;' and turning round he strode back angrily to the castle.\n\n'Bring out thy son at once,' roared he, 'or the stone that is highest\nwill be lowest,' and this time the real prince was brought.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut though his parents wept bitterly and fancied the child was suffering\nall kinds of dreadful things, the giant treated him like his own son,\nthough he never allowed him to see his daughters. The boy grew to be a\nbig boy, and one day the giant told him that he would have to amuse\nhimself alone for many hours, as he had a journey to make. So the boy\nwandered by the river, and down to the sea, and at last he wandered to\nthe top of the castle, where he had never been before. There he paused,\nfor the sound of music broke upon his ears, and opening a door near him,\nhe beheld a girl sitting by the window, holding a harp.\n\n'Haste and begone, I see the giant close at hand,' she whispered\nhurriedly, 'but when he is asleep, return hither, for I would speak with\nthee.' And the prince did as he was bid, and when midnight struck he\ncrept back to the top of the castle.\n\n'To-morrow,' said the girl, who was the giant's daughter, 'to-morrow\nthou wilt get the choice of my two sisters to marry, but thou must\nanswer that thou wilt not take either, but only me. This will anger him\ngreatly, for he wishes to betroth me to the son of the king of the Green\nCity, whom I like not at all.'\n\nThen they parted, and on the morrow, as the girl had said, the giant\ncalled his three daughters to him, and likewise the young prince, to\nwhom he spoke.\n\n'Now, O son of the king of Tethertown, the time has come for us to part.\nChoose one of my two elder daughters to wife, and thou shalt take her to\nyour father's house the day after the wedding.'\n\n'Give me the youngest instead,' replied the youth, and the giant's face\ndarkened as he heard him.\n\n'Three things must thou do first,' said he.\n\n'Say on, I will do them,' replied the prince, and the giant left the\nhouse, and bade him follow to the byre, where the cows were kept.\n\n'For a hundred years no man has swept this byre,' said the giant, 'but\nif by nightfall, when I reach home, thou hast not cleaned it so that a\ngolden apple can roll through it from end to end, thy blood shall pay\nfor it.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAll day long the youth toiled, but he might as well have tried to empty\nthe ocean. At length, when he was so tired he could hardly move, the\ngiant's youngest daughter stood in the doorway.\n\n'Lay down thy weariness,' said she, and the king's son, thinking he\ncould only die once, sank on the floor at her bidding, and fell sound\nasleep. When he woke the girl had disappeared, and the byre was so clean\nthat a golden apple could roll from end to end of it. He jumped up in\nsurprise, and at that moment in came the giant.\n\n'Hast thou cleaned the byre, king's son?' asked he.\n\n'I have cleaned it,' answered he.\n\n'Well, since thou wert so active to-day, to-morrow thou wilt thatch this\nbyre with a feather from every different bird, or else thy blood shall\npay for it,' and he went out.\n\nBefore the sun was up, the youth took his bow and his quiver and set off\nto kill the birds. Off to the moor he went, but never a bird was to be\nseen that day. At last he got so tired with running to and fro that he\ngave up heart.\n\n'There is but one death I can die,' thought he. Then at midday came the\ngiant's daughter.\n\n'Thou art tired, king's son?' said she.\n\n'I am,' answered he; 'all these hours have I wandered, and there fell\nbut these two blackbirds, both of one colour.'\n\n'Lay down thy weariness on the grass,' said she, and he did as she bade\nhim, and fell fast asleep.\n\nWhen he woke the girl had disappeared, and he got up, and returned to\nthe byre. As he drew near, he rubbed his eyes hard, thinking he was\ndreaming, for there it was, beautifully thatched, just as the giant had\nwished. At the door of the house he met the giant.\n\n'Hast thou thatched the byre, king's son?'\n\n'I have thatched it.'\n\n[Illustration: How the King's Son fetched the Magpie's Eggs]\n\n'Well, since thou hast been so active to-day, I have something else for\nthee! Beside the loch thou seest over yonder there grows a fir tree. On\nthe top of the fir tree is a magpie's nest, and in the nest are five\neggs. Thou wilt bring me those eggs for breakfast, and if one is cracked\nor broken, thy blood shall pay for it.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBefore it was light next day, the king's son jumped out of bed and ran\ndown to the loch. The tree was not hard to find, for the rising sun\nshone red on the trunk, which was five hundred feet from the ground to\nits first branch. Time after time he walked round it, trying to find\nsome knots, however small, where he could put his feet, but the bark was\nquite smooth, and he soon saw that if he was to reach the top at all, it\nmust be by climbing up with his knees like a sailor. But then he was a\nking's son and not a sailor, which made all the difference.\n\nHowever, it was no use standing there staring at the fir, at least he\nmust try to do his best, and try he did till his hands and knees were\nsore, for as soon as he had struggled up a few feet, he slid back again.\nOnce he climbed a little higher than before, and hope rose in his heart,\nthen down he came with such force that his hands and knees smarted worse\nthan ever.\n\n'This is no time for stopping,' said the voice of the giant's daughter,\nas he leant against the trunk to recover his breath.\n\n'Alas! I am no sooner up than down,' answered he.\n\n'Try once more,' said she, and she laid a finger against the tree and\nbade him put his foot on it. Then she placed another finger a little\nhigher up, and so on till he reached the top, where the magpie had built\nher nest.\n\n'Make haste now with the nest,' she cried, 'for my father's breath is\nburning my back,' and down he scrambled as fast as he could, but the\ngirl's little finger had caught in a branch at the top, and she was\nobliged to leave it there. But she was too busy to pay heed to this, for\nthe sun was getting high over the hills.\n\n'Listen to me,' she said. 'This night my two sisters and I will be\ndressed in the same garments, and you will not know me. But when my\nfather says 'Go to thy wife, king's son,' come to the one whose right\nhand has no little finger.'\n\nSo he went and gave the eggs to the giant, who nodded his head.\n\n'Make ready for thy marriage,' cried he, 'for the wedding shall take\nplace this very night, and I will summon thy bride to greet thee.' Then\nhis three daughters were sent for, and they all entered dressed in green\nsilk of the same fashion, and with golden circlets round their heads.\nThe king's son looked from one to another. _Which_ was the youngest?\nSuddenly his eyes fell on the hand of the middle one, and there was no\nlittle finger.\n\n'Thou hast aimed well this time too,' said the giant, as the king's son\nlaid his hand on her shoulder, 'but perhaps we may meet some other way;'\nand though he pretended to laugh, the bride saw a gleam in his eye which\nwarned her of danger.\n\nThe wedding took place that very night, and the hall was filled with\ngiants and gentlemen, and they danced till the house shook from top to\nbottom. At last everyone grew tired, and the guests went away, and the\nking's son and his bride were left alone.\n\n'If we stay here till dawn my father will kill thee,' she whispered,\n'but thou art my husband and I will save thee, as I did before,' and she\ncut an apple into nine pieces, and put two pieces at the head of the\nbed, and two pieces at the foot, and two pieces at the door of the\nkitchen, and two at the big door, and one outside the house. And when\nthis was done, and she heard the giant snoring, she and the king's son\ncrept out softly and stole across to the stable, where she led out the\nblue-grey mare and jumped on its back, and her husband mounted before\nher. Not long after, the giant awoke.\n\n'Are you asleep?' asked he.\n\n'Not yet,' answered the apple at the head of the bed, and the giant\nturned over, and soon was snoring as loudly as before. By and bye he\ncalled again.\n\n'Are you asleep?'\n\n'Not yet,' said the apple at the foot of the bed, and the giant was\nsatisfied. After a while, he called a third time, 'Are you asleep?'\n\n'Not yet,' replied the apple in the kitchen, but when, in a few minutes,\nhe put the question for the fourth time and received an answer from the\napple outside the house door, he guessed what had happened, and ran to\nthe room to look for himself.\n\nThe bed was cold and empty!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'My father's breath is burning my back,' cried the girl, 'put thy hand\ninto the ear of the mare, and whatever thou findest there, throw it\nbehind thee.' And in the mare's ear there was a twig of sloe tree, and\nas he threw it behind him there sprung up twenty miles of thornwood so\nthick that scarce a weasel could go through it. And the giant, who was\nstriding headlong forwards, got caught in it, and it pulled his hair and\nbeard.\n\n'This is one of my daughter's tricks,' he said to himself, 'but if I had\nmy big axe and my wood-knife, I would not be long making a way through\nthis,' and off he went home and brought back the axe and the wood-knife.\n\nIt took him but a short time to cut a road through the blackthorn, and\nthen he laid the axe and the knife under a tree.\n\n'I will leave them there till I return,' he murmured to himself, but a\nhoodie crow, which was sitting on a branch above, heard him.\n\n'If thou leavest them,' said the hoodie, 'we will steal them.'\n\n'You will,' answered the giant, 'and I must take them home.' So he took\nthem home, and started afresh on his journey.\n\n'My father's breath is burning my back,' cried the girl at midday. 'Put\nthy finger in the mare's ear and throw behind thee whatever thou findest\nin it,' and the king's son found a splinter of grey stone, and threw it\nbehind him, and in a twinkling twenty miles of solid rock lay between\nthem and the giant.\n\n'My daughter's tricks are the hardest things that ever met me,' said the\ngiant, 'but if I had my lever and my crowbar, I would not be long in\nmaking my way through this rock also,' but as he had _not_ got them, he\nhad to go home and fetch them. Then it took him but a short time to hew\nhis way through the rock.\n\n'I will leave the tools here,' he murmured aloud when he had finished.\n\n'If thou leavest them, we will steal them,' said a hoodie who was\nperched on a stone above him, and the giant answered:\n\n'Steal them if thou wilt; there is no time to go back.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'My father's breath is burning my back,' cried the girl; 'look in the\nmare's ear, king's son, or we are lost,' and he looked, and found a tiny\nbladder full of water, which he threw behind him, and it became a great\nloch. And the giant, who was striding on so fast, could not stop\nhimself, and he walked right into the middle and was drowned.\n\nThe blue-grey mare galloped on like the wind, and the next day the\nking's son came in sight of his father's house.\n\n'Get down and go in,' said the bride, 'and tell them that thou hast\nmarried me. But take heed that neither man nor beast kiss thee, for then\nthou wilt cease to remember me at all.'\n\n'I will do thy bidding,' answered he, and left her at the gate. All who\nmet him bade him welcome, and he charged his father and mother not to\nkiss him, but as he greeted them his old greyhound leapt on his neck,\nand kissed him on the mouth. And after that he did not remember the\ngiant's daughter.\n\nAll that day she sat on a well which was near the gate, waiting,\nwaiting, but the king's son never came. In the darkness she climbed up\ninto an oak tree that shadowed the well, and there she lay all night,\nwaiting, waiting.\n\nOn the morrow, at midday, the wife of a shoemaker who dwelt near the\nwell went to draw water for her husband to drink, and she saw the shadow\nof the girl in the tree, and thought it was her own shadow.\n\n[Illustration: So the Giant Was Drowned in the MIDDLE OF THE LAKE]\n\n'How handsome I am, to be sure,' said she, gazing into the well, and as\nshe stooped to behold herself better, the jug struck against the stones\nand broke in pieces, and she was forced to return to her husband without\nthe water, and this angered him.\n\n'Thou hast turned crazy,' said he in wrath. 'Go thou, my daughter, and\nfetch me a drink,' and the girl went, and the same thing befell her as\nhad befallen her mother.\n\n'Where is the water?' asked the shoemaker, when she came back, and as\nshe held nothing save the handle of the jug he went to the well himself.\nHe too saw the reflection of the woman in the tree, but looked up to\ndiscover whence it came, and there above him sat the most beautiful\nwoman in the world.\n\n'Come down,' he said, 'for a while thou canst stay in my house,' and\nglad enough the girl was to come.\n\nNow the king of the country was about to marry, and the young men about\nthe court thronged the shoemaker's shop to buy fine shoes to wear at the\nwedding.\n\n'Thou hast a pretty daughter,' said they when they beheld the girl\nsitting at work.\n\n'Pretty she is,' answered the shoemaker, 'but no daughter of mine.'\n\n'I would give a hundred pounds to marry her,' said one.\n\n'And I,' 'And I,' cried the others.\n\n'That is no business of mine,' answered the shoemaker, and the young men\nbade him ask her if she would choose one of them for a husband, and to\ntell them on the morrow. Then the shoemaker asked her, and the girl said\nthat she would marry the one who would bring his purse with him. So the\nshoemaker hurried to the youth who had first spoken, and he came back,\nand after giving the shoemaker a hundred pounds for his news, he sought\nthe girl, who was waiting for him.\n\n'Is it thou?' inquired she. 'I am thirsty, give me a drink from the well\nthat is out yonder.' And he poured out the water, but he could not move\nfrom the place where he was; and there he stayed till many hours had\npassed by.\n\n'Take away that foolish boy,' cried the girl to the shoemaker at last,\n'I am tired of him,' and then suddenly he was able to walk, and betook\nhimself to his home, but he did not tell the others what had happened to\nhim.\n\nNext day there arrived one of the other young men, and in the evening,\nwhen the shoemaker had gone out and they were alone, she said to him,\n'See if the latch is on the door.' The young man hastened to do her\nbidding, but as soon as he touched the latch, his fingers stuck to it,\nand there he had to stay for many hours, till the shoemaker came back,\nand the girl let him go. Hanging his head, he went home, but he told no\none what had befallen him.\n\nThen was the turn of the third man, and _his_ foot remained fastened to\nthe floor, till the girl unloosed it. And thankfully he ran off, and was\nnot seen looking behind him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'Take the purse of gold,' said the girl to the shoemaker, 'I have no\nneed of it, and it will better thee.' And the shoemaker took it and told\nthe girl he must carry the shoes for the wedding up to the castle.\n\n'I would fain get a sight of the king's son before he marries,' sighed\nshe.\n\n'Come with me, then,' answered he; 'the servants are all my friends, and\nthey will let you stand in the passage down which the king's son will\npass, and all the company too.'\n\nUp they went to the castle, and when the young men saw the girl standing\nthere, they led her into the hall where the banquet was laid out and\npoured her out some wine. She was just raising the glass to drink when a\nflame went up out of it, and out of the flame sprang two pigeons, one of\ngold and one of silver. They flew round and round the head of the girl,\nwhen three grains of barley fell on the floor, and the silver pigeon\ndived down, and swallowed them.\n\n'If thou hadst remembered how I cleaned the byre, thou wouldst have\ngiven me my share,' cooed the golden pigeon, and as he spoke three more\ngrains fell, and the silver pigeon ate them as before.\n\n'If thou hadst remembered how I thatched the byre, thou wouldst have\ngiven me my share,' cooed the golden pigeon again; and as he spoke three\nmore grains fell, and for the third time they were eaten by the silver\npigeon.\n\n'If thou hadst remembered how I got the magpie's nest, thou wouldst have\ngiven me my share,' cooed the golden pigeon.\n\nThen the king's son understood that they had come to remind him of what\nhe had forgotten, and his lost memory came back, and he knew his wife,\nand kissed her. But as the preparations had been made, it seemed a pity\nto waste them, so they were married a second time, and sat down to the\nwedding feast.\n\n\n    From 'Tales of the West Highlands.'\n\n\n\n\n_THE LADY OF THE FOUNTAIN_\n\n\nIN the centre of the great hall in the castle of Caerleon upon Usk, king\nArthur sat on a seat of green rushes, over which was thrown a covering\nof flame-coloured silk, and a cushion of red satin lay under his elbow.\nWith him were his knights Owen and Kynon and Kai, while at the far end,\nclose to the window, were Guenevere the queen and her maidens\nembroidering white garments with strange devices of gold.\n\n'I am weary,' said Arthur, 'and till my food is prepared I would fain\nsleep. You yourselves can tell each other tales, and Kai will fetch you\nfrom the kitchen a flagon of mead and some meat.'\n\nAnd when they had eaten and drunk, Kynon, the oldest among them, began\nhis story.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'I was the only son of my father and mother, and much store they set by\nme, but I was not content to stay with them at home, for I thought no\ndeed in all the world was too mighty for me. None could hold me back,\nand after I had won many adventures in my own land, I bade farewell to\nmy parents and set out to see the world. Over mountains, through\ndeserts, across rivers I went, till I reached a fair valley full of\ntrees, with a path running by the side of a stream. I walked along that\npath all the day, and in the evening I came to a castle in front of\nwhich stood two youths clothed in yellow, each grasping an ivory bow,\nwith arrows made of the bones of the whale, and winged with peacock's\nfeathers. By their sides hung golden daggers with hilts of the bones of\nthe whale.\n\n'Near these young men was a man richly dressed, who turned and went with\nme towards the castle, where all the dwellers were gathered in the hall.\nIn one window I beheld four and twenty damsels, and the least fair of\nthem was fairer than Guenevere at her fairest. Some took my horse, and\nothers unbuckled my armour, and washed it, with my sword and spear, till\nit all shone like silver. Then I washed myself and put on a vest and\ndoublet which they brought me, and I and the man that entered with me\nsat down before a table of silver, and a goodlier feast I never had.\n\n'All this time neither the man nor the damsels had spoken one word, but\nwhen our dinner was half over, and my hunger was stilled, the man began\nto ask who I was. Then I told him my name and my father's name, and why\nI came there, for indeed I had grown weary of gaining the mastery over\nall men at home, and sought if perchance there was one who could gain\nthe mastery over me. And at this the man smiled and answered:\n\n'\"If I did not fear to distress thee too much, I would show thee what\nthou seekest.\" His words made me sorrowful and fearful of myself, which\nthe man perceived, and added, \"If thou meanest truly what thou sayest,\nand desirest earnestly to prove thy valour, and not to boast vainly that\nnone can overcome thee, I have somewhat to show thee. But to-night thou\nmust sleep in this castle, and in the morning see that thou rise early\nand follow the road upwards through the valley, until thou reachest a\nwood. In the wood is a path branching to the right; go along this path\nuntil thou comest to a space of grass with a mound in the middle of it.\nOn the top of the mound stands a black man, larger than any two white\nmen; his eye is in the centre of his forehead and he has only one foot.\nHe carries a club of iron, and two white men could hardly lift it.\nAround him graze a thousand beasts, all of different kinds, for he is\nthe guardian of that wood, and it is he who will tell thee which way to\ngo in order to find the adventure thou art in quest of.\"\n\n[Illustration: KYNON MEETS WITH THE BLACK MASTER OF THE BEASTS]\n\n'So spake the man, and long did that night seem to me, and before dawn I\nrose and put on my armour, and mounted my horse and rode on till I\nreached the grassy space of which he had told me. There was the black\nman on top of the mound, as he had said, and in truth he was mightier in\nall ways than I had thought him to be. As for the club, Kai, it would\nhave been a burden for four of our warriors. He waited for me to speak,\nand I asked him what power he held over the beasts that thronged so\nclose about him.\n\n'\"I will show thee, little man,\" he answered, and with his club he\nstruck a stag on the head till he brayed loudly. And at his braying the\nanimals came running, numerous as the stars in the sky, so that scarce\nwas I able to stand among them. Serpents were there also, and dragons,\nand beasts of strange shapes, with horns in places where never saw I\nhorns before. And the black man only looked at them and bade them go and\nfeed. And they bowed themselves before him, as vassals before their\nlord.\n\n'\"Now, little man, I have answered thy question and showed thee my\npower,\" said he. \"Is there anything else thou wouldest know?\" Then I\ninquired of him my way, but he grew angry, and, as I perceived, would\nfain have hindered me; but at the last, after I had told him who I was,\nhis anger passed from him.\n\n'\"Take that path,\" said he, \"that leads to the head of this grassy\nglade, and go up the wood till thou reachest the top. There thou wilt\nfind an open space, and in the midst of it a tall tree. Under the tree\nis a fountain, and by the fountain a marble slab, and on the slab a bowl\nof silver, with a silver chain. Dip the bowl in the fountain, and throw\nthe water on the slab, and thou wilt hear a mighty peal of thunder, till\nheaven and earth seem trembling with the noise. After the thunder will\ncome hail, so fierce that scarcely canst thou endure it and live, for\nthe hailstones are both large and thick. Then the sun will shine again,\nbut every leaf of the tree will be lying on the ground. Next a flight of\nbirds will come and alight on the tree, and never didst thou hear a\nstrain so sweet as that which they will sing. And at the moment in\nwhich their song sounds sweetest thou wilt hear a murmuring and\ncomplaining coming towards thee along the valley, and thou wilt see a\nknight in black velvet bestriding a black horse, bearing a lance with a\nblack pennon, and he will spur his steed so as to fight thee. If thou\nturnest to flee, he will overtake thee, and if thou abidest where thou\nart, he will unhorse thee. And if thou dost not find trouble in that\nadventure, thou needest not to seek it during the rest of thy life.\"\n\n'So I bade the black man farewell, and took my way to the top of the\nwood, and there I found everything just as I had been told. I went up to\nthe tree beneath which stood the fountain, and filling the silver bowl\nwith water, emptied it on the marble slab. Thereupon the thunder came,\nlouder by far than I had expected to hear it, and after the thunder came\nthe shower, but heavier by far than I had expected to feel it, for, of a\ntruth I tell thee, Kai, not one of those hailstones would be stopped by\nskin or by flesh till it had reached the bone. I turned my horse's flank\ntowards the shower, and, bending over his neck, held my shield so that\nit might cover his head and my own. When the hail had passed, I looked\non the tree and not a single leaf was left on it, and the sky was blue\nand the sun shining, while on the branches were perched birds of every\nkind, who sang a song sweeter than any that has come to my ears, either\nbefore or since.\n\n'Thus, Kai, I stood listening to the birds, when lo, a murmuring voice\napproached me, saying:\n\n'\"O knight, what has brought thee hither? What evil have I done to thee,\nthat thou shouldest do so much to me, for in all my lands neither man\nnor beast that met that shower has escaped alive.\" Then from the valley\nappeared the knight on the black horse, grasping the lance with the\nblack pennon. Straightway we charged each other, and though I fought my\nbest, he soon overcame me, and I was thrown to the ground, while the\nknight seized the bridle of my horse, and rode away with it, leaving me\nwhere I was, without even despoiling me of my armour.\n\n'Sadly did I go down the hill again, and when I reached the glade where\nthe black man was, I confess to thee, Kai, it was a marvel that I did\nnot melt into a liquid pool, so great was my shame. That night I slept\nat the castle where I had been before, and I was bathed and feasted, and\nnone asked me how I had fared. The next morning when I arose I found a\nbay horse saddled for me, and, girding on my armour, I returned to my\nown court. The horse is still in the stable, and I would not part with\nit for any in Britain.\n\n'But of a truth, Kai, no man ever confessed an adventure so much to his\nown dishonour, and strange indeed it seems that none other man have I\never met that knew of the black man, and the knight, and the shower.'\n\n'Would it not be well,' said Owen, 'to go and discover the place?'\n\n'By the hand of my friend,' answered Kai, 'often dost thou utter that\nwith thy tongue which thou wouldest not make good with thy deeds.'\n\n'In truth,' said Guenevere the queen, who had listened to the tale,\n'thou wert better hanged, Kai, than use such speech towards a man like\nOwen.'\n\n'I meant nothing, lady,' replied Kai; 'thy praise of Owen is not greater\nthan mine.' And as he spoke Arthur awoke, and asked if he had not slept\nfor a little.\n\n'Yes, lord,' answered Owen, 'certainly thou hast slept.'\n\n'Is it time for us to go to meat?'\n\n'It is, lord,' answered Owen.\n\nThen the horn for washing themselves was sounded, and after that the\nking and his household sat down to eat. And when they had finished, Owen\nleft them, and made ready his horse and his arms.\n\nWith the first rays of the sun he set forth, and travelled through\ndeserts and over mountains and across rivers, and all befell him which\nhad befallen Kynon, till he stood under the leafless tree listening to\nthe song of the birds. Then he heard the voice, and turning to look\nfound the knight galloping to meet him. Fiercely they fought till their\nlances were broken, and then they drew their swords, and a blow from\nOwen cut through the knight's helmet, and pierced his skull.\n\nFeeling himself wounded unto death the knight fled, and Owen pursued him\ntill they came to a splendid castle. Here the knight dashed across the\nbridge that spanned the moat, and entered the gate, but as soon as he\nwas safe inside, the drawbridge was pulled up and caught Owen's horse in\nthe middle, so that half of him was inside and half out, and Owen could\nnot dismount and knew not what to do.\n\nWhile he was in this sore plight a little door in the castle gate\nopened, and he could see a street facing him, with tall houses. Then a\nmaiden with curling hair of gold looked through the little door and bade\nOwen open the gate.\n\n'By my troth!' cried Owen, 'I can no more open it from here than thou\nart able to set me free.'\n\n'Well,' said she, 'I will do my best to release thee if thou wilt do as\nI tell thee. Take this ring and put it on with the stone inside thy\nhand, and close thy fingers tight, for as long as thou dost conceal it,\nit will conceal thee. When the men inside have held counsel together,\nthey will come to fetch thee to thy death, and they will be much grieved\nnot to find thee. I will stand on the horse block yonder and thou canst\nsee me though I cannot see thee. Therefore draw near and place thy hand\non my shoulder and follow me wheresoever I go.'\n\nUpon that she went away from Owen, and when the men came out from the\ncastle to seek him and did not find him they were sorely grieved, and\nthey returned to the castle.\n\nThen Owen went to the maiden and placed his hand on her shoulder, and\nshe guided him to a large room, painted all over with rich colours, and\nadorned with images of gold. Here she gave him meat and drink, and water\nto wash with and garments to wear, and he lay down upon a soft bed, with\nscarlet and fur to cover him, and slept gladly.\n\nIn the middle of the night he woke hearing a great outcry, and he jumped\nup and clothed himself and went into the hall, where the maiden was\nstanding.\n\n'What is it?' he asked, and she answered that the knight who owned the\ncastle was dead, and they were bearing his body to the church. Never had\nOwen beheld such vast crowds, and following the dead knight was the most\nbeautiful lady in the world, whose cry was louder than the shout of the\nmen, or the braying of the trumpets. And Owen looked on her and loved\nher.\n\n'Who is she?' he asked the damsel. 'That is my mistress, the countess of\nthe fountain, and the wife of him whom thou didst slay yesterday.'\n\n'Verily,' said Owen, 'she is the woman that I love best.'\n\n'She shall also love thee not a little,' said the maiden.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThen she left Owen, and after a while went into the chamber of her\nmistress, and spoke to her, but the countess answered her nothing.\n\n'What aileth thee, mistress?' inquired the maiden.\n\n'Why hast thou kept far from me in my grief, Luned?' answered the\ncountess, and in her turn the damsel asked:\n\n'Is it well for thee to mourn so bitterly for the dead, or for anything\nthat is gone from thee?'\n\n[Illustration: HOW OWEN FIRST SAW THE COUNTESS OF THE FOUNTAIN]\n\n'There is no man in the world equal to him,' replied the countess,\nher cheeks growing red with anger. 'I would fain banish thee for such\nwords.'\n\n'Be not angry, lady,' said Luned, 'but listen to my counsel. Thou\nknowest well that alone thou canst not preserve thy lands, therefore\nseek some one to help thee.'\n\n'And how can I do that?' asked the countess.\n\n'I will tell thee,' answered Luned. 'Unless thou canst defend the\nfountain all will be lost, and none can defend the fountain except a\nknight of Arthur's court. There will I go to seek him, and woe betide me\nif I return without a warrior that can guard the fountain, as well as he\nwho kept it before.'\n\n'Go then,' said the countess, 'and make proof of that which thou hast\npromised.'\n\nSo Luned set out, riding on a white palfrey, on pretence of journeying\nto King Arthur's court, but instead of doing that she hid herself for as\nmany days as it would have taken her to go and come, and then she left\nher hiding-place, and went in to the countess.\n\n'What news from the court?' asked her mistress, when she had given Luned\na warm greeting.\n\n'The best of news,' answered the maiden, 'for I have gained the object\nof my mission. When wilt thou that I present to thee the knight who has\nreturned with me?'\n\n'To-morrow at midday,' said the countess, 'and I will cause all the\npeople in the town to come together.'\n\nTherefore the next day at noon Owen put on his coat of mail, and over it\nhe wore a splendid mantle, while on his feet were leather shoes fastened\nwith clasps of gold. And he followed Luned to the chamber of her\nmistress.\n\nRight glad was the countess to see them, but she looked closely at Owen\nand said:\n\n'Luned, this knight has scarcely the air of a traveller.'\n\n'What harm is there in that, lady?' answered Luned.\n\n'I am persuaded,' said the countess, 'that this man and no other chased\nthe soul from the body of my lord.'\n\n'Had he not been stronger than thy lord,' replied the damsel, 'he could\nnot have taken his life, and for that, and for all things that are past,\nthere is no remedy.'\n\n'Leave me, both of you,' said the countess, 'and I will take counsel.'\n\nThen they went out.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe next morning the countess summoned her subjects to meet in the\ncourtyard of the castle, and told them that now that her husband was\ndead there was none to defend her lands.\n\n'So choose you which it shall be,' she said. 'Either let one of you take\nme for a wife, or give me your consent to take a new lord for myself,\nthat my lands be not without a master.'\n\nAt her words the chief men of the city withdrew into one corner and took\ncounsel together, and after a while the leader came forward and said\nthat they had decided that it was best, for the peace and safety of all,\nthat she should choose a husband for herself. Thereupon Owen was\nsummoned to her presence, and he accepted with joy the hand that she\noffered him, and they were married forthwith, and the men of the earldom\ndid him homage.\n\nFrom that day Owen defended the fountain as the earl before him had\ndone, and every knight that came by was overthrown by him, and his\nransom divided among his barons. In this way three years passed, and no\nman in the world was more beloved than Owen.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow at the end of the three years it happened that Gwalchmai the knight\nwas with Arthur, and he perceived the king to be very sad.\n\n'My lord, has anything befallen thee?' he asked.\n\n'Oh, Gwalchmai, I am grieved concerning Owen, whom I have lost these\nthree years, and if a fourth year passes without him I can live no\nlonger. And sure am I that the tale told by Kynon the son of Clydno\ncaused me to lose him. I will go myself with the men of my household to\navenge him if he is dead, to free him if he is in prison, to bring him\nback if he is alive.'\n\nThen Arthur and three thousand men of his household set out in quest of\nOwen, and took Kynon for their guide. When Arthur reached the castle,\nthe youths were shooting in the same place, and the same yellow man was\nstanding by, and as soon as he beheld Arthur he greeted him and invited\nhim in, and they entered together. So vast was the castle that the\nking's three thousand men were of no more account than if they had been\ntwenty.\n\nAt sunrise Arthur departed thence, with Kynon for his guide, and reached\nthe black man first, and afterwards the top of the wooded hill, with the\nfountain and the bowl and the tree.\n\n'My lord,' said Kai, 'let me throw the water on the slab and receive the\nfirst adventure that may befall.'\n\n'Thou mayest do so,' answered Arthur, and Kai threw the water.\n\nImmediately all happened as before; the thunder and the shower of hail\nwhich killed many of Arthur's men; the song of the birds and the\nappearance of the black knight. And Kai met him and fought him, and was\noverthrown by him. Then the knight rode away, and Arthur and his men\nencamped where they stood.\n\nIn the morning Kai again asked leave to meet the knight and to try to\novercome him, which Arthur granted. But once more he was unhorsed, and\nthe black knight's lance broke his helmet and pierced the skin even to\nthe bone, and humbled in spirit he returned to the camp.\n\nAfter this every one of the knights gave battle, but none came out\nvictor, and at length there only remained Arthur himself and Gwalchmai.\n\n'Oh, let me fight him, my lord,' cried Gwalchmai, as he saw Arthur\ntaking up his arms.\n\n'Well, fight then,' answered Arthur, and Gwalchmai threw a robe over\nhimself and his horse, so that none knew him. All that day they fought,\nand neither was able to throw the other, and so it was on the next day.\nOn the third day the combat was so fierce that they fell both to the\nground at once, and fought on their feet, and at last the black knight\ngave his foe such a blow on his head that his helmet fell from his face.\n\n'I did not know it was thee, Gwalchmai,' said the black knight. 'Take my\nsword and my arms.'\n\n'No,' answered Gwalchmai, 'it is thou, Owen, who art the victor, take\nthou my sword': but Owen would not.\n\n'Give me your swords,' said Arthur from behind them, 'for neither of you\nhas vanquished the other,' and Owen turned and put his arms round\nArthur's neck.\n\nThe next day Arthur would have given orders to his men to make ready to\ngo back whence they came, but Owen stopped him.\n\n'My lord,' he said, 'during the three years that I have been absent from\nthee I have been preparing a banquet for thee, knowing full well that\nthou wouldst come to seek me. Tarry with me, therefore, for a while,\nthou and thy men.'\n\n[Illustration: HOW OWEN WAS FOUND BY THE LAKE]\n\nSo they rode to the castle of the countess of the fountain, and spent\nthree months in resting and feasting. And when it was time for them to\ndepart Arthur besought the countess that she would allow Owen to go with\nhim to Britain for the space of three months. With a sore heart she\ngranted permission, and so content was Owen to be once more with his old\ncompanions that three years instead of three months passed away like\na dream.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne day Owen sat at meat in the castle of Caerleon upon Usk, when a\ndamsel on a bay horse entered the hall, and riding straight up to the\nplace where Owen sat she stooped and drew the ring from off his hand.\n\n'Thus shall be treated the traitor and the faithless,' said she, and\nturning her horse's head she rode out of the hall.\n\nAt her words Owen remembered all that he had forgotten, and sorrowful\nand ashamed he went to his own chamber and made ready to depart. At the\ndawn he set out, but he did not go back to the castle, for his heart was\nheavy, but he wandered far into wild places till his body was weak and\nthin, and his hair was long. The wild beasts were his friends, and he\nslept by their side, but in the end he longed to see the face of a man\nagain, and he came down into a valley and fell asleep by a lake in the\nlands of a widowed countess.\n\nNow it was the time when the countess took her walk, attended by her\nmaidens, and when they saw a man lying by the lake they shrank back in\nterror, for he lay so still that they thought he was dead. But when they\nhad overcome their fright, they drew near him, and touched him, and saw\nthat there was life in him. Then the countess hastened to the castle,\nand brought from it a flask of precious ointment and gave it to one of\nher maidens.\n\n'Take that horse which is grazing yonder,' she said, 'and a suit of\nmen's garments, and place them near the man, and pour some of this\nointment near his heart. If there is any life in him that will bring it\nback. But if he moves, hide thyself in the bushes near by, and see what\nhe does.'\n\nThe damsel took the flask and did her mistress' bidding. Soon the man\nbegan to move his arms, and then rose slowly to his feet. Creeping\nforward step by step he took the garments from off the saddle and put\nthem on him, and painfully he mounted the horse. When he was seated the\ndamsel came forth and greeted him, and glad was he when he saw her, and\ninquired what castle that was before him.\n\n'It belongs to a widowed countess,' answered the maiden. 'Her husband\nleft her two earldoms, but it is all that remains of her broad lands,\nfor they have been torn from her by a young earl, because she would not\nmarry him.'\n\n'That is a pity,' replied Owen, but he said no more, for he was too weak\nto talk much. Then the maiden guided him to the castle, and kindled a\nfire, and brought him food. And there he stayed and was tended for three\nmonths, till he was handsomer than ever he was.\n\nAt noon one day Owen heard a sound of arms outside the castle, and he\nasked of the maiden what it was.\n\n'It is the earl of whom I spoke to thee,' she answered, 'who has come\nwith a great host to carry off my mistress.'\n\n'Beg of her to lend me a horse and armour,' said Owen, and the maiden\ndid so, but the countess laughed somewhat bitterly as she answered:\n\n'Nay, but I will _give_ them to him, and such a horse and armour and\nweapons as he has never had yet, though I know not what use they will be\nto him. Yet mayhap it will save them from falling into the hands of my\nenemies.'\n\nThe horse was brought out and Owen rode forth with two pages behind him,\nand they saw the great host encamped before them.\n\n'Where is the earl?' said he, and the pages answered:\n\n'In yonder troop where are four yellow standards.'\n\n'Await me,' said Owen, at the gate of the castle, and he cried a\nchallenge to the earl, who came to meet him. Hard did they fight, but\nOwen overthrew his enemy and drove him in front to the castle gate and\ninto the hall.\n\n'Behold the reward of thy blessed balsam,' said he, as he bade the earl\nkneel down before her, and made him swear that he would restore all that\nhe had taken from her.\n\nAfter that he departed, and went into the desert, and as he was passing\nthrough a wood he heard a loud yelling. Pushing aside the bushes he\nbeheld a lion standing on a great mound, and by it a rock. Near the rock\nwas a lion seeking to reach the mound, and each time he moved out darted\na serpent from the rock to prevent him. Then Owen unsheathed his sword,\nand cut off the serpent's head and went on his way, and the lion\nfollowed and played about him, as if he had been a greyhound. And much\nmore useful was he than a greyhound, for in the evening he brought large\nlogs in his mouth to kindle a fire, and killed a fat buck for dinner.\n\nOwen made his fire and skinned the buck, and put some of it to roast,\nand gave the rest to the lion for supper. While he was waiting for the\nmeat to cook he heard a sound of deep sighing close to him, and he said:\n\n'Who art thou?'\n\n'I am Luned,' replied a voice from a cave so hidden by bushes and green\nhanging plants that Owen had not seen it.\n\n'And what dost thou here?' cried he.\n\n'I am held captive in this cave on account of the knight who married the\ncountess and left her, for the pages spoke ill of him, and because I\ntold them that no man living was his equal they dragged me here and said\nI should die unless he should come to deliver me by a certain day, and\nthat is no further than the day after to-morrow. His name is Owen, the\nson of Urien, but I have none to send to tell him of my danger, or of a\nsurety he would deliver me.'\n\nOwen held his peace, but gave the maiden some of the meat, and bade her\nbe of good cheer. Then, followed by the lion, he set out for a great\ncastle on the other side of the plain, and men came and took his horse\nand placed it in a manger, and the lion went after and lay down on the\nstraw. Hospitable and kind were all within the castle, but so full of\nsorrow that it might have been thought death was upon them. At length,\nwhen they had eaten and drunk, Owen prayed the earl to tell him the\nreason of their grief.\n\n'Yesterday,' answered the earl, 'my two sons were seized, while they\nwere hunting, by a monster who dwells on those mountains yonder, and he\nvows that he will not let them go unless I will give him my daughter to\nwife.'\n\n'That shall never be,' said Owen; 'but what form hath this monster?'\n\n'In shape he is a man, but in stature he is a giant,' replied the earl,\n'and it were better by far that he should slay my sons than that I\nshould give up my daughter.'\n\nEarly next morning the dwellers in the castle were awakened by a great\nclamour, and they found that the giant had arrived with the two young\nmen. Swiftly Owen put on his armour and went forth to meet the giant,\nand the lion followed at his heels. And when the great beast beheld the\nhard blows which the giant dealt his master he flew at his throat, and\nmuch trouble had the monster in beating him off.\n\n'Truly,' said the giant, 'I should find no difficulty in fighting thee,\nif it were not for that lion.' When he heard that Owen felt shame that\nhe could not overcome the giant with his own sword, so he took the lion\nand shut him up in one of the towers of the castle, and returned to the\nfight. But from the sound of the blows the lion knew that the combat was\ngoing ill for Owen, so he climbed up till he reached the top of the\ntower, where there was a door on to the roof, and from the tower he\nsprang on to the walls, and from the walls to the ground. Then with a\nloud roar he leaped upon the giant, who fell dead under the blow of his\npaw.\n\nNow the gloom of the castle was turned into rejoicing, and the earl\nbegged Owen to stay with him till he could make him a feast, but the\nknight said he had other work to do, and rode back to the place where he\nhad left Luned, and the lion followed at his heels. When he came there\nhe saw a great fire kindled, and two youths leading out the maiden to\ncast her upon the pile.\n\n'Stop!' he cried, dashing up to them. 'What charge have you against\nher?'\n\n'She boasted that no man in the world was equal to Owen,' said they,\n'and we shut her in a cave, and agreed that none should deliver her but\nOwen himself, and that if he did not come by a certain day she should\ndie. And now the time has past and there is no sign of him.'\n\n'In truth he is a good knight, and had he but known that the maid was in\nperil he would have come to save her,' said Owen; 'but accept me in his\nstead, I entreat you.'\n\n'We will,' replied they, and the fight began.\n\nThe youths fought well and pressed hard on Owen, and when the lion saw\nthat he came to help his master. But the youths made a sign for the\nfight to stop, and said:\n\n'Chieftain, it was agreed we should give battle to thee alone, and it is\nharder for us to contend with yonder beast than with thee.'\n\nThen Owen shut up the lion in the cave where the maiden had been in\nprison, and blocked up the front with stones. But the fight with the\ngiant had sorely tried him, and the youths fought well, and pressed him\nharder than before. And when the lion saw that he gave a loud roar, and\nburst through the stones, and sprang upon the youths and slew them. And\nso Luned was delivered at the last.\n\nThen the maiden rode back with Owen to the lands of the lady of the\nfountain. And he took the lady with him to Arthur's court, where they\nlived happily till they died.\n\n\n    From the 'Mabinogion.'\n\n\n\n\n_THE FOUR GIFTS_\n\n\nIN the old land of Brittany, once called Cornwall, there lived a woman\nnamed Barbaik Bourhis, who spent all her days in looking after her farm\nwith the help of her niece Tephany. Early and late the two might be seen\nin the fields or in the dairy, milking cows, making butter, feeding\nfowls; working hard themselves and taking care that others worked too.\nPerhaps it might have been better for Barbaik if she had left herself a\nlittle time to rest and to think about other things, for soon she grew\nto love money for its own sake, and only gave herself and Tephany the\nfood and clothes they absolutely needed. And as for poor people, she\npositively hated them, and declared that such lazy creatures had no\nbusiness in the world.\n\nWell, this being the sort of person Barbaik was, it is easy to guess at\nher anger when one day she found Tephany talking outside the cow-house\nto young Denis, who was nothing more than a day labourer from the\nvillage of Plover. Seizing her niece by the arm, she pulled her sharply\naway, exclaiming:\n\n'Are you not ashamed, girl, to waste your time over a man who is as poor\nas a rat, when there are a dozen more who would be only too happy to buy\nyou rings of silver, if you would let them?'\n\n'Denis is a good workman, as you know very well,' answered Tephany, red\nwith anger, 'and he puts by money too, and soon he will be able to take\na farm for himself.'\n\n'Nonsense,' cried Barbaik, 'he will never save enough for a farm till he\nis a hundred. I would sooner see you in your grave than the wife of a\nman who carries his whole fortune on his back.'\n\n'What does fortune matter when one is young and strong?' asked Tephany,\nbut her aunt, amazed at such words, would hardly let her finish.\n\n'What does fortune matter?' repeated Barbaik, in a shocked voice. 'Is it\npossible that you are really so foolish as to despise money? If this is\nwhat you learn from Denis, I forbid you to speak to him, and I will have\nhim turned out of the farm if he dares to show his face here again. Now\ngo and wash the clothes and spread them out to dry.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTephany did not dare to disobey, but with a heavy heart went down the\npath to the river.\n\n'She is harder than these rocks,' said the girl to herself, 'yes, a\nthousand times harder. For the rain at least can at last wear away the\nstone, but you might cry for ever, and she would never care. Talking to\nDenis is the only pleasure I have, and if I am not to see him I may as\nwell enter a convent.'\n\nThinking these thoughts she reached the bank, and began to unfold the\nlarge packet of linen that had to be washed. The tap of a stick made her\nlook up, and standing before her she saw a little old woman, whose face\nwas strange to her.\n\n'You would like to sit down and rest, granny?' asked Tephany, pushing\naside her bundle.\n\n'When the sky is all the roof you have, you rest where you will,'\nreplied the old woman in trembling tones.\n\n'Are you so lonely, then?' inquired Tephany, full of pity. 'Have you no\nfriends who would welcome you into their houses?'\n\nThe old woman shook her head.\n\n'They all died long, long ago,' she answered, 'and the only friends I\nhave are strangers with kind hearts.'\n\nThe girl did not speak for a moment, then held out the small loaf and\nsome bacon intended for her dinner.\n\n'Take this,' she said; 'to-day at any rate you shall dine well,' and the\nold woman took it, gazing at Tephany the while.\n\n'Those who help others deserve to be helped,' she answered; 'your eyes\nare still red because that miser Barbaik has forbidden you to speak to\nthe young man from Plover. But cheer up, you are a good girl, and I will\ngive you something that will enable you to see him once every day.'\n\n'You?' cried Tephany, stupefied at discovering that the beggar knew all\nabout her affairs, but the old woman did not hear her.\n\n'Take this long copper pin,' she went on, 'and every time you stick it\nin your dress Mother Bourhis will be obliged to leave the house in order\nto go and count her cabbages. As long as the pin is in your dress you\nwill be free, and your aunt will not come back until you have put it in\nits case again.' Then, rising, she nodded to Tephany and vanished.\n\nThe girl stood where she was, as still as a stone. If it had not been\nfor the pin in her hands she would have thought she was dreaming. But by\nthat token she knew it was no common old woman who had given it to her,\nbut a fairy, wise in telling what would happen in the days to come. Then\nsuddenly Tephany's eyes fell on the clothes, and to make up for lost\ntime she began to wash them with great vigour.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNext evening, at the moment when Denis was accustomed to wait for her in\nthe shadow of the cow-house, Tephany stuck the pin in her dress, and at\nthe very same instant Barbaik took up her _sabots_ or wooden shoes and\nwent through the orchard and past to the fields, to the plot where the\ncabbages grew. With a heart as light as her footsteps, the girl ran from\nthe house, and spent her evening happily with Denis. And so it was for\nmany days after that. Then, at last, Tephany began to notice something,\nand the something made her very sad.\n\nAt first Denis seemed to find the hours that they were together fly as\nquickly as she did, but when he had taught her all the songs he knew,\nand told her all the plans he had made for growing rich and a great man,\nhe had nothing more to say to her, for he, like a great many other\npeople, was fond of talking himself, but not of listening to any one\nelse. Sometimes, indeed, he never came at all, and the next evening he\nwould tell Tephany that he had been forced to go into the town on\nbusiness, but though she never reproached him she was not deceived and\nsaw plainly that he no longer cared for her as he used to do.\n\nDay by day her heart grew heavier and her cheeks paler, and one evening,\nwhen she had waited for him in vain, she put her water-pot on her\nshoulder and went slowly down to the spring. On the path in front of her\nstood the fairy who had given her the pin, and as she glanced at Tephany\nshe gave a little mischievous laugh and said:\n\n'Why, my pretty maiden hardly looks happier than she did before, in\nspite of meeting her lover whenever she pleases.'\n\n'He has grown tired of me,' answered Tephany in a trembling voice, 'and\nhe makes excuses to stay away. Ah! granny dear, it is not enough to be\nable to see him, I must be able to amuse him and to keep him with me. He\nis so clever, you know. Help _me_ to be clever too.'\n\n'Is that what you want?' cried the old woman. 'Well, take this feather\nand stick it in your hair, and you will be as wise as Solomon himself.'\n\nBlushing with pleasure Tephany went home and stuck the feather into the\nblue ribbon which girls always wear in that part of the country. In a\nmoment she heard Denis whistling gaily, and as her aunt was safely\ncounting her cabbages, she hurried out to meet him. The young man was\nstruck dumb by her talk. There was nothing that she did not seem to\nknow, and as for songs she not only could sing those from every part of\nBritanny, but could compose them herself. Was this _really_ the quiet\ngirl who had been so anxious to learn all he could teach her, or was it\nsomebody else? Perhaps she had gone suddenly mad, and there was an evil\nspirit inside her. But in any case, night after night he came back, only\nto find her growing wiser and wiser. Soon the neighbours whispered their\nsurprise among themselves, for Tephany had not been able to resist the\npleasure of putting the feather in her hair for some of the people who\ndespised her for her poor clothes, and many were the jokes she made\nabout them. Of course they heard of her jests, and shook their heads\nsaying:\n\n'She is an ill-natured little cat, and the man that marries her will\nfind that it is she who will hold the reins and drive the horse.'\n\nIt was not long before Denis began to agree with them, and as he always\nliked to be master wherever he went, he became afraid of Tephany's sharp\ntongue, and instead of laughing as before when she made fun of other\npeople he grew red and uncomfortable, thinking that his turn would come\nnext.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSo matters went on till one evening Denis told Tephany that he really\ncould not stay a moment, as he had promised to go to a dance that was to\nbe held in the next village.\n\nTephany's face fell; she had worked hard all day, and had been counting\non a quiet hour with Denis. She did her best to persuade him to remain\nwith her, but he would not listen, and at last she grew angry.\n\n'Oh, I know why you are so anxious not to miss the dance,' she said;\n'it is because Azilicz of Penenru will be there.'\n\nNow Azilicz was the loveliest girl for miles round, and she and Denis\nhad known each other from childhood.\n\n'Oh yes, Azilicz will be there,' answered Denis, who was quite pleased\nto see her jealous, 'and naturally one would go a long way to watch her\ndance.'\n\n'Go then!' cried Tephany, and entering the house she slammed the door\nbehind her.\n\nLonely and miserable she sat down by the fire and stared into the red\nembers. Then, flinging the feather from her hair, she put her head on\nher hands, and sobbed passionately.\n\n'What is the use of being clever when it is beauty that men want? That\nis what I ought to have asked for. But it is too late, Denis will never\ncome back.'\n\n'Since you wish it so much you shall have beauty,' said a voice at her\nside, and looking round she beheld the old woman leaning on her stick.\n\n'Fasten this necklace round your neck, and as long as you wear it you\nwill be the most beautiful woman in the world,' continued the fairy.\nWith a little shriek of joy Tephany took the necklace, and snapping the\nclasp ran to the mirror which hung in the corner. Ah, _this_ time she\nwas not afraid of Azilicz or of any other girl, for surely none could be\nas fair and white as she. And with the sight of her face a thought came\nto her, and putting on hastily her best dress and her buckled shoes she\nhurried off to the dance.\n\nOn the way she met a beautiful carriage with a young man seated in it.\n\n'What a lovely maiden!' he exclaimed, as Tephany approached. 'Why, there\nis not a girl in my own country that can be compared to her. She, and no\nother, shall be my bride.'\n\nThe carriage was large and barred the narrow road, so Tephany was\nforced, much against her will, to remain where she was. But she looked\nthe young man full in the face as she answered:\n\n'Go your way, noble lord, and let me go mine. I am only a poor peasant\ngirl, accustomed to milk and make hay and spin.'\n\n'Peasant you may be, but I will make you a great lady,' said he, taking\nher hand and trying to lead her to the carriage.\n\n'I don't want to be a great lady, I only want to be the wife of Denis,'\nshe replied, throwing off his hand and running to the ditch which\ndivided the road from the cornfield, where she hoped to hide. Unluckily\nthe young man guessed what she was doing, and signed to his attendants,\nwho seized her and put her in the coach. The door was banged, and the\nhorses whipped up into a gallop.\n\nAt the end of an hour they arrived at a splendid castle, and Tephany,\nwho would not move, was lifted out and carried into the hall, while a\npriest was sent for to perform the marriage ceremony. The young man\ntried to win a smile from her by telling of all the beautiful things she\nshould have as his wife, but Tephany did not listen to him, and looked\nabout to see if there was any means by which she could escape. It did\nnot seem easy. The three great doors were closely barred, and the one\nthrough which she had entered shut with a spring, but her feather was\nstill in her hair, and by its aid she detected a crack in the wooden\npanelling, through which a streak of light could be dimly seen. Touching\nthe copper pin which fastened her dress, the girl sent every one in the\nhall to count the cabbages, while she herself passed through the little\ndoor, not knowing whither she was going.\n\nBy this time night had fallen, and Tephany was very tired. Thankfully\nshe found herself at the gate of a convent, and asked if she might stay\nthere till morning. But the portress answered roughly that it was no\nplace for beggars, and bade her begone, so the poor girl dragged herself\nslowly along the road, till a light and the bark of a dog told her that\nshe was near a farm.\n\nIn front of the house was a group of people; two or three women and the\nsons of the farmer. When their mother heard Tephany's request to be\ngiven a bed the good wife's heart softened, and she was just going to\ninvite her inside, when the young men, whose heads were turned by the\ngirl's beauty, began to quarrel as to which should do most for her. From\nwords they came to blows, and the women, frightened at the disturbance,\npelted Tephany with insulting names. She quickly ran down the nearest\npath, hoping to escape them in the darkness of the trees, but in an\ninstant she heard their footsteps behind her. Wild with fear her legs\ntrembled under her, when suddenly she bethought herself of her necklace.\nWith a violent effort she burst the clasp and flung it round the neck of\na pig which was grunting in a ditch, and as she did so she heard the\nfootsteps cease from pursuing her and run after the pig, for her charm\nhad vanished.\n\nOn she went, scarcely knowing where she was going, till she found\nherself, to her surprise and joy, close to her aunt's house. For several\ndays she felt so tired and unhappy that she could hardly get through her\nwork, and to make matters worse Denis scarcely ever came near her.\n\n'He was too busy,' he said, 'and really it was only rich people who\ncould afford to waste time in talking.'\n\nAs the days went on Tephany grew paler and paler, till everybody noticed\nit except her aunt. The water-pot was almost too heavy for her now, but\nmorning and evening she carried it to the spring, though the effort to\nlift it to her shoulder was often too much for her.\n\n'How could I have been so foolish,' she whispered to herself, when she\nwent down as usual at sunset. 'It was not freedom to see Denis that I\nshould have asked for, for he was soon weary of me, nor a quick tongue,\nfor he was afraid of it, nor beauty, for that brought me nothing but\ntrouble, but riches which make life easy both for oneself and others.\nAh! if I only dared to beg this gift from the fairy, I should be wiser\nthan before and know how to choose better.'\n\n'Be satisfied,' said the voice of the old woman, who seemed to be\nstanding unseen at Tephany's elbow. 'If you look in your right-hand\npocket when you go home you will find a small box. Rub your eyes with\nthe ointment it contains, and you will see that you yourself contain a\npriceless treasure.'\n\nTephany did not in the least understand what she meant, but ran back to\nthe farm as fast as she could, and began to fumble joyfully in her\nright-hand pocket. Sure enough, there was the little box with the\nprecious ointment. She was in the act of rubbing her eyes with it when\nBarbaik Bourhis entered the room. Ever since she had been obliged to\nleave her work and pass her time, she did not know why, in counting\ncabbages, everything had gone wrong, and she could not get a labourer to\nstay with her because of her bad temper. When, therefore, she saw her\nniece standing quietly before her mirror, Barbaik broke out:\n\n'So this is what you do when I am out in the fields! Ah! it is no wonder\nif the farm is ruined. Are you not ashamed, girl, to behave so?'\n\nTephany tried to stammer some excuse, but her aunt was half mad with\nrage, and a box on the ears was her only answer. At this Tephany, hurt,\nbewildered and excited, could control herself no longer, and turning\naway burst into tears. But what was her surprise when she saw that each\ntear-drop was a round and shining pearl. Barbaik, who also beheld this\nmarvel, uttered a cry of astonishment, and threw herself on her knees to\npick them up from the floor.\n\nShe was still gathering them when the door opened and in came Denis.\n\n'Pearls! Are they really pearls?' he asked, falling on his knees also,\nand looking up at Tephany he perceived others still more beautiful\nrolling down the girl's cheeks.\n\n'Take care not to let any of the neighbours hear of it, Denis,' said\nBarbaik. 'Of course you shall have your share, but nobody else shall get\na single one. Cry on, my dear, cry on,' she continued to Tephany. It is\nfor your good as well as ours,' and she held out her apron to catch\nthem, and Denis his hat.\n\nBut Tephany could hardly bear any more. She felt half choked at the\nsight of their greediness, and wanted to rush from the hall, and though\nBarbaik caught her arm to prevent this, and said all sorts of tender\nwords which she thought would make the girl weep the more, Tephany with\na violent effort forced back her tears, and wiped her eyes.\n\n'Is she finished already?' cried Barbaik, in a tone of disappointment.\n'Oh, try again, my dear. Do you think it would do any good to beat her a\nlittle?' she added to Denis, who shook his head.\n\n'That is enough for the first time. I will go into the town and find out\nthe value of each pearl.'\n\n'Then I will go with you,' said Barbaik, who never trusted any one and\nwas afraid of being cheated. So the two went out, leaving Tephany behind\nthem.\n\nShe sat quite still on her chair, her hands clasped tightly together, as\nif she was forcing something back. At last she raised her eyes, which\nhad been fixed on the ground, and beheld the fairy standing in a dark\ncorner by the hearth, observing her with a mocking look. The girl\ntrembled and jumped up, then, taking the feather, the pin, and the box,\nshe held them out to the old woman.\n\n'Here they are, all of them,' she cried; 'they belong to you. Let me\nnever see them again, but I have learned the lesson that they taught\nme. Others may have riches, beauty and wit, but as for me I desire\nnothing but to be the poor peasant girl I always was, working hard for\nthose she loves.'\n\n'Yes, you have learned your lesson,' answered the fairy, 'and now you\nshall lead a peaceful life and marry the man you love. For after all it\nwas not yourself you thought of but him.'\n\nNever again did Tephany see the old woman, but she forgave Denis for\nselling her tears, and in time he grew to be a good husband, who did his\nown share of work.\n\n\n    From 'Le Foyer Breton,' par E. Souvestre.\n\n\n\n\n_THE GROAC'H OF THE ISLE OF LOK_\n\n\nIN old times, when all kinds of wonderful things happened in Brittany,\nthere lived in the village of Lanillis a young man named Houarn Pogamm\nand a girl called Bellah Postik. They were cousins, and as their mothers\nwere great friends, and constantly in and out of each other's houses,\nthey had often been laid in the same cradle, and had played and fought\nover their games.\n\n'When they are grown up they will marry,' said the mothers; but just as\nevery one was beginning to think of wedding bells, the two mothers died,\nand the cousins, who had no money, went as servants in the same house.\nThis was better than being parted, of course, but not so good as having\na little cottage of their own, where they could do as they liked, and\nsoon they might have been heard bewailing to each other the hardness of\ntheir lots.\n\n'If we could only manage to buy a cow and get a pig to fatten,' grumbled\nHouarn, 'I would rent a bit of ground from the master, and then we could\nbe married.'\n\n'Yes,' answered Bellah, with a deep sigh; 'but we live in such hard\ntimes, and at the last fair the price of pigs had risen again.'\n\n'We shall have long to wait, that is quite clear,' replied Houarn,\nturning away to his work.\n\nWhenever they met they repeated their grievances, and at length Houarn's\npatience was exhausted, and one morning he came to Bellah and told her\nthat he was going away to seek his fortune.\n\nThe girl was very unhappy as she listened to this, and felt sorry that\nshe had not tried to make the best of things. She implored Houarn not to\nleave her, but he would listen to nothing.\n\n'The birds,' he said, 'continue flying until they reach a field of corn,\nand the bees do not stop unless they find the honey-giving flowers, and\nwhy should a man have less sense than they? Like them, I shall seek till\nI get what I want--that is, money to buy a cow and a pig to fatten. And\nif you love me, Bellah, you won't attempt to hinder a plan which will\nhasten our marriage.'\n\nThe girl saw it was useless to say more, so she answered sadly:\n\n'Well, go then, since you must. But first I will divide with you all\nthat my parents left me,' and going to her room, she opened a small\nchest, and took from it a bell, a knife, and a little stick.\n\n'This bell,' she said, 'can be heard at any distance, however far, but\nit only rings to warn us that our friends are in great danger. The knife\nfrees all it touches from the spells that have been laid on them; while\nthe stick will carry you wherever you want to go. I will give you the\nknife to guard you against the enchantments of wizards, and the bell to\ntell me of your perils. The stick I shall keep for myself, so that I can\nfly to you if ever you have need of me.'\n\nThen they cried for a little on each other's necks, and Houarn started\nfor the mountains.\n\nBut in those days, as in these, beggars abounded, and through every\nvillage he passed they followed Houarn in crowds, mistaking him for a\ngentleman, because there were no holes in his clothes.\n\n'There is no fortune to be made _here_,' he thought to himself; 'it is a\nplace for spending, and not earning. I see I must go further,' and he\nwalked on to Pont-aven, a pretty little town built on the bank of a\nriver.\n\nHe was sitting on a bench outside an inn, when he heard two men who were\nloading their mules talking about the Groac'h of the island of Lok.\n\n'What is a Groac'h?' asked he. 'I have never come across one.' And the\nmen answered that it was the name given to the fairy that dwelt in the\nlake, and that she was rich--oh! richer than all the kings in the world\nput together. Many had gone to the island to try and get possession of\nher treasures, but no one had ever come back.\n\nAs he listened Houarn's mind was made up.\n\n'I will go, and return too,' he said to the muleteers. They stared at\nhim in astonishment, and besought him not to be so mad and to throw away\nhis life in such a foolish manner; but he only laughed, and answered\nthat if they could tell him of any other way in which to procure a cow\nand a pig to fatten, he would think no more about it. But the men did\nnot know how this was to be done, and, shaking their heads over his\nobstinacy, left him to his fate.\n\nSo Houarn went down to the sea, and found a boatman who engaged to take\nhim to the isle of Lok.\n\nThe island was large, and lying almost across it was a lake, with a\nnarrow opening to the sea. Houarn paid the boatman and sent him away,\nand then proceeded to walk round the lake. At one end he perceived a\nsmall skiff, painted blue and shaped like a swan, lying under a clump of\nyellow broom. As far as he could see, the swan's head was tucked under\nits wing, and Houarn, who had never beheld a boat of the sort, went\nquickly towards it and stepped in, so as to examine it the better. But\nno sooner was he on board than the swan woke suddenly up; his head\nemerged from under his wing, his feet began to move in the water, and in\nanother moment they were in the middle of the lake.\n\nAs soon as the young man had recovered from his surprise, he prepared to\njump into the lake and swim to shore. But the bird had guessed his\nintentions, and plunged beneath the water, carrying Houarn with him to\nthe palace of the Groac'h.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow, unless you have been under the sea and beheld all the wonders that\nlie there, you can never have an idea what the Groac'h's palace was\nlike. It was all made of shells, blue and green and pink and lilac and\nwhite, shading into each other till you could not tell where one colour\nended and the other began. The staircases were of crystal, and every\nseparate stair sang like a woodland bird as you put your foot on it.\nRound the palace were great gardens full of all the plants that grow in\nthe sea, with diamonds for flowers.\n\nIn a large hall the Groac'h was lying on a couch of gold. The pink and\nwhite of her face reminded you of the shells of her palace, while her\nlong black hair was intertwined with strings of coral, and her dress of\ngreen silk seemed formed out of the sea. At the sight of her Houarn\nstopped, dazzled by her beauty.\n\n'Come in,' said the Groac'h, rising to her feet. 'Strangers and handsome\nyouths are always welcome here. Do not be shy, but tell me how you found\nyour way, and what you want.'\n\n'My name is Houarn,' he answered, 'Lanillis is my home, and I am trying\nto earn enough money to buy a little cow and a pig to fatten.'\n\n'Well, you can easily get that,' replied she; 'it is nothing to worry\nabout. Come in and enjoy yourself.' And she beckoned him to follow her\ninto a second hall whose floors and walls were formed of pearls, while\ndown the sides there were tables laden with fruit and wines of all\nkinds; and as he ate and drank, the Groac'h talked to him and told him\nhow the treasures he saw came from shipwrecked vessels, and were brought\nto her palace by a magic current of water.\n\n'I do not wonder,' exclaimed Houarn, who now felt quite at home--'I do\nnot wonder that the people on the earth have so much to say about you.'\n\n'The rich are always envied.'\n\n[Illustration: COME LAWYER, COME TAILOR, COME MILLER, COME SINGER]\n\n'For myself,' he added, with a laugh, 'I only ask for the half of your\nwealth.'\n\n'You can have it, if you will, Houarn,' answered the fairy.\n\n'What do you mean?' cried he.\n\n'My husband, Korandon, is dead,' she replied, 'and if you wish it, I\nwill marry you.'\n\nThe young man gazed at her in surprise. Could any one so rich and so\nbeautiful really wish to be his wife? He looked at her again, and Bellah\nwas forgotten as he answered:\n\n'A man would be mad indeed to refuse such an offer. I can only accept it\nwith joy.'\n\n'Then the sooner it is done the better,' said the Groac'h, and gave\norders to her servants. After that was finished, she begged Houarn to\naccompany her to a fish-pond at the bottom of the garden.\n\n'Come lawyer, come miller, come tailor, come singer!' cried she, holding\nout a net of steel; and at each summons a fish appeared and jumped into\nthe net. When it was full she went into a large kitchen and threw them\nall into a golden pot; but above the bubbling of the water Houarn seemed\nto hear the whispering of little voices.\n\n'Who is it whispering in the golden pot, Groac'h?' he inquired at last.\n\n'It is nothing but the noise of the wood sparkling,' she answered; but\nit did not sound the least like that to Houarn.\n\n'There it is again,' he said, after a short pause.\n\n'The water is getting hot, and it makes the fish jump,' she replied; but\nsoon the noise grew louder and like cries.\n\n'What _is_ it?' asked Houarn, beginning to feel uncomfortable.\n\n'Just the crickets on the hearth,' said she, and broke into a song which\ndrowned the cries from the pot.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut though Houarn held his peace, he was not as happy as before.\nSomething seemed to have gone wrong, and then he suddenly remembered\nBellah.\n\n'Is it possible I can have forgotten her so soon? What a wretch I am!'\nhe thought to himself; and he remained apart and watched the Groac'h\nwhile she emptied the fish into a plate, and bade him eat his dinner\nwhile she fetched wine from her cellar in a cave.\n\nHouarn sat down and took out the knife which Bellah had given him, but\nas soon as the blade touched the fish the enchantment ceased, and four\nmen stood before him.\n\n'Houarn, save us, we entreat you, and save yourself too!' murmured they,\nnot daring to raise their voices.\n\n'Why, it must have been _you_ who were crying out in the pot just now!'\nexclaimed Houarn.\n\n'Yes, it was us,' they answered. 'Like you, we came to the isle of Lok\nto seek our fortunes, and like you we consented to marry the Groac'h,\nand no sooner was the ceremony over than she turned us into fishes, as\nshe had done to all our forerunners, who are in the fish-pond still,\nwhere you will shortly join them.'\n\nOn hearing this Houarn leaped into the air, as if he already felt\nhimself frizzling in the golden pot. He rushed to the door, hoping to\nescape that way; but the Groac'h, who had heard everything, met him on\nthe threshold. Instantly she threw the steel net over his head, and the\neyes of a little green frog peeped through the meshes.\n\n'You shall go and play with the rest,' she said, carrying him off to the\nfish-pond.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was at this very moment that Bellah, who was skimming the milk in the\nfarm dairy, heard the fairy bell tinkle violently.\n\nAt the sound she grew pale, for she knew it meant that Houarn was in\ndanger; and, hastily changing the rough dress she wore for her work, she\nleft the farm with the magic stick in her hand.\n\nHer knees were trembling under her, but she ran as fast as she could to\nthe cross roads, where she drove her stick into the ground, murmuring as\nshe did so a verse her mother had taught her:\n\n    Little staff of apple-tree,\n    Over the earth and over the sea,\n    Up in the air be guide to me,\n    Everywhere to wander free,\n\nand immediately the stick became a smart little horse, with a rosette at\neach ear and a feather on his forehead. He stood quite still while\nBellah scrambled up, then he started off, his pace growing quicker and\nquicker, till at length the girl could hardly see the trees and houses\nas they flashed past. But, rapid as the pace was, it was not rapid\nenough for Bellah, who stooped and said:\n\n'The swallow is less swift than the wind, the wind is less swift than\nthe lightning. But you, my horse, if you love me, must be swifter than\nthem all, for there is a part of my heart that suffers--the best part of\nmy heart that is in danger.'\n\nAnd the horse heard her, and galloped like a straw carried along by a\ntempest till they reached the foot of a rock called the Leap of the\nDeer. There he stopped, for no horse or mule that ever was born could\nclimb that rock, and Bellah knew it, so she began to sing again:\n\n    Horse of Leon, given to me,\n    Over the earth and over the sea,\n    Up in the air be guide to me,\n    Everywhere to wander free,\n\nand when she had finished, the horse's fore legs grew shorter and spread\ninto wings, his hind legs became claws, feathers sprouted all over his\nbody, and she sat on the back of a great bird, which bore her to the\nsummit of the rock. Here she found a nest made of clay and lined with\ndried moss, and in the centre a tiny man, black and wrinkled, who gave a\ncry of surprise at the sight of Bellah.\n\n'Ah! you are the pretty girl who was to come and save me!'\n\n'To save you!' repeated Bellah. 'But who are you, my little friend?'\n\n'I am the husband of the Groac'h of the isle of Lok, and it is owing to\nher that I am here.'\n\n'But what are you doing in this nest?'\n\n[Illustration: HOW BELLAH FOUND KORANDON]\n\n'I am sitting on six eggs of stone, and I shall not be set free till\nthey are hatched.'\n\nOn hearing this Bellah began to laugh.\n\n'Poor little cock!' she said, 'and how am I to deliver you?'\n\n'By delivering Houarn, who is in the power of the Groac'h.'\n\n'Ah! tell me how I can manage that, and if I have to walk round the\nwhole of Brittany on my bended knees I will do it!'\n\n'Well, first you must dress yourself as a young man, and then go and\nseek the Groac'h. When you have found her you must contrive to get hold\nof the net of steel that hangs from her waist, and shut her up in it for\never.'\n\n'But where am I to find a young man's clothes?' asked she.\n\n'I will show you,' he replied, and as he spoke he pulled out three of\nhis red hairs and blew them away muttering something the while. In the\ntwinkling of an eye the four hairs changed into four tailors, of whom\nthe first carried a cabbage, the second a pair of scissors, the third a\nneedle, and the fourth an iron. Without waiting for orders, they sat\ndown in the nest and, crossing their legs comfortably, began to prepare\nthe suit of clothes for Bellah.\n\nWith one of the leaves of the cabbage they made her a coat, and another\nserved for a waistcoat; but it took two for the wide breeches which were\nthen in fashion. The hat was cut from the heart of the cabbage, and a\npair of shoes from the thick stem. And when Bellah had put them all on\nyou would have taken her for a gentleman dressed in green velvet, lined\nwith white satin.\n\nShe thanked the little men gratefully, and after a few more\ninstructions, jumped on the back of her great bird and was borne away to\nthe isle of Lok. Once there, she bade him transform himself back into a\nstick, and with it in her hand she stepped into the blue boat, which\nconducted her to the palace of shells.\n\nThe Groac'h seemed overjoyed to see her, and told her that never before\nhad she beheld such a handsome young man. Very soon she led her visitor\ninto the great hall, where wine and fruit were always waiting, and on\nthe table lay the magic knife, left there by Houarn. Unseen by the\nGroac'h, Bellah hid it in a pocket of her green coat, and then followed\nher hostess into the garden, and to the pond which contained the fish,\ntheir sides shining with a thousand different colours.\n\n'Oh! what beautiful, beautiful creatures!' said she. 'I'm sure I should\nnever be tired of watching them.' And she sat down on the bank, with her\nelbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, her eyes fixed on the\nfishes as they flashed past.\n\n'Would you not like to stay here always?' asked the Groac'h; and Bellah\nanswered that she desired nothing better.\n\n'Then you have only to marry me,' said the Groac'h. 'Oh! don't say no,\nfor I have fallen deeply in love with you.'\n\n'Well, I won't say \"No,\"' replied Bellah, with a laugh, 'but you must\npromise first to let me catch one of those lovely fish in your net.'\n\n'It is not so easy as it looks,' rejoined the Groac'h, smiling, 'but\ntake it, and try your luck.'\n\nBellah took the net which the Groac'h held out, and, turning rapidly,\nflung it over the witch's head.\n\n'Become in body what you are in soul!' cried she, and in an instant the\nlovely fairy of the sea was a toad, horrible to look upon. She struggled\nhard to tear the net asunder, but it was no use. Bellah only drew it the\ntighter, and, flinging the sorceress into a pit, she rolled a great\nstone across the mouth, and left her.\n\nAs she drew near the pond she saw a great procession of fishes advancing\nto meet her, crying in hoarse tones:\n\n'This is our lord and master, who has saved us from the net of steel and\nthe pot of gold!'\n\n'And who will restore you to your proper shapes,' said Bellah, drawing\nthe knife from her pocket. But just as she was going to touch the\nforemost fish, her eyes fell on a green frog on his knees beside her,\nhis little paws crossed over his little heart. Bellah felt as if\nfingers were tightening round her throat, but she managed to cry:\n\n'Is this you, my Houarn? Is this you?'\n\n'It is I,' croaked the little frog; and as the knife touched him he was\na man again, and, springing up, he clasped her in his arms.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'But we must not forget the others,' she said at last, and began to\ntransform the fishes to their proper shapes. There were so many of them\nthat it took quite a long time. Just as she had finished there arrived\nthe little dwarf from the Deer's Leap in a car drawn by six cockchafers,\nwhich once had been the six stone eggs.\n\n'Here I am!' he exclaimed. 'You have broken the spell that held me, and\nnow come and get your reward,' and, dismounting from his chariot, he led\nthem down into the caves filled with gold and jewels, and bade Bellah\nand Houarn take as much as they wanted.\n\nWhen their pockets were full, Bellah ordered her stick to become a\nwinged carriage, large enough to bear them and the men they had rescued\nback to Lanillis.\n\nThere they were married the next day, but instead of setting up\nhousekeeping with the little cow and pig to fatten that they had so long\nwished for, they were able to buy lands for miles round for themselves,\nand gave each man who had been delivered from the Groac'h a small farm,\nwhere he lived happily to the end of his days.\n\n\n    From 'Le Foyer Breton,' par E. Souvestre.\n\n\n\n\n_THE ESCAPE OF THE MOUSE_\n\n\nMANAWYDDAN the prince and his friend Pryderi were wanderers, for the\nbrother of Manawyddan had been slain, and his throne taken from him.\nVery sorrowful was Manawyddan, but Pryderi was stout of heart, and bade\nhim be of good cheer, as he knew a way out of his trouble.\n\n'And what may that be?' asked Manawyddan.\n\n'It is that thou marry my mother Rhiannon and become lord of the fair\nlands that I will give her for dowry. Never did any lady have more wit\nthan she, and in her youth none was more lovely; even yet she is good to\nlook upon.'\n\n'Thou art the best friend that ever a man had,' said Manawyddan. 'Let us\ngo now to seek Rhiannon, and the lands where she dwells.'\n\nThen they set forth, but the news of their coming ran swifter still, and\nRhiannon and Kicva, wife of Pryderi, made haste to prepare a feast for\nthem. And Manawyddan found that Pryderi had spoken the truth concerning\nhis mother, and asked if she would take him for her husband. Right\ngladly did she consent, and without delay they were married, and rode\naway to the hunt, Rhiannon and Manawyddan, Kicva and Pryderi, and they\nwould not be parted from each other by night or by day, so great was the\nlove between them.\n\nOne day, when they were returned, they were sitting out in a green\nplace, and suddenly the crash of thunder struck loudly on their ears,\nand a wall of mist fell between them, so that they were hidden one from\nthe other. Trembling they sat till the darkness fled and the light shone\nagain upon them, but in the place where they were wont to see cattle,\nand herds, and dwellings, they beheld neither house nor beast, nor man\nnor smoke; neither was any one remaining in the green place save these\nfour only.\n\n'Whither have they gone, and my host also?' cried Manawyddan, and they\nsearched the hall, and there was no man, and the castle, and there was\nnone, and in the dwellings that were left was nothing save wild beasts.\nFor a year these four fed on the meat that Manawyddan and Pryderi killed\nout hunting, and the honey of the bees that sucked the mountain heather.\nFor a time they desired nothing more, but when the next year began they\ngrew weary.\n\n'We cannot spend our lives thus,' said Manawyddan at last, 'let us go\ninto England and learn some trade by which we may live.' So they left\nWales, and went to Hereford, and there they made saddles, while\nManawyddan fashioned blue enamel ornaments to put on their trappings.\nAnd so greatly did the townsfolk love these saddles, that no others were\nbought throughout the whole of Hereford, till the saddlers banded\ntogether and resolved to slay Manawyddan and his companions.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen Pryderi heard of it, he was very wroth, and wished to stay and\nfight. But the counsels of Manawyddan prevailed, and they moved by night\nto another city.\n\n'What craft shall we follow?' asked Pryderi.\n\n'We will make shields,' answered Manawyddan.\n\n'But do we know anything of that craft?' answered Pryderi.\n\n'We will try it,' said Manawyddan, and they began to make shields, and\nfashioned them after the shape of the shields they had seen; and these\nlikewise they enamelled. And so greatly did they prosper that no man in\nthe town bought a shield except they had made it, till at length the\nshield-makers banded together as the saddlers had done, and resolved to\nslay them. But of this they had warning, and by night betook themselves\nto another town.\n\n'Let us take to making shoes,' said Manawyddan, 'for there are not any\namong the shoemakers bold enough to fight us.'\n\n'I know nothing of making shoes,' answered Pryderi, who in truth\ndespised so peaceful a craft.\n\n'But I know,' replied Manawyddan, 'and I will teach thee to stitch. We\nwill buy the leather ready dressed, and will make the shoes from it.'\n\nThen straightway he sought the town for the best leather, and for a\ngoldsmith to fashion the clasps, and he himself watched till it was\ndone, so that he might learn for himself. Soon he became known as 'The\nMaker of Gold Shoes,' and prospered so greatly, that as long as one\ncould be bought from him not a shoe was purchased from the shoemakers of\nthe town. And the craftsmen were wroth, and banded together to slay\nthem.\n\n'Pryderi,' said Manawyddan, when he had received news of it, 'we will\nnot remain in England any longer. Let us set forth to Dyved.'\n\nSo they journeyed until they came to their lands at Narberth. There they\ngathered their dogs round them, and hunted for a year as before.\n\nAfter that a strange thing happened. One morning Pryderi and Manawyddan\nrose up to hunt, and loosened their dogs, which ran before them, till\nthey came to a small bush. At the bush, the dogs shrank away as if\nfrightened, and returned to their masters, their hair bristling on their\nbacks.\n\n'We must see what is in that bush,' said Pryderi, and what was in it was\na boar, with a skin as white as the snow on the mountains. And he came\nout, and made a stand as the dogs rushed on him, driven on by the men.\nLong he stood at bay; then at last he betook himself to flight, and fled\nto a castle which was newly built, in a place where no building had ever\nbeen known. Into the castle he ran, and the dogs after him, and long\nthough their masters looked and listened, they neither saw nor heard\naught concerning dogs or boar.\n\n'I will go into the castle and get tidings of the dogs,' said Pryderi at\nlast.\n\n'Truly,' answered Manawyddan, 'thou wouldst do unwisely, for whosoever\nhas cast a spell over this land has set this castle here.'\n\n'I cannot give up my dogs,' replied Pryderi, and to the castle he went.\n\nBut within was neither man nor beast; neither boar nor dogs, but only a\nfountain with marble round it, and on the edge a golden bowl, richly\nwrought, which pleased Pryderi greatly. In a moment he forgot about his\ndogs, and went up to the bowl and took hold of it, and his hands stuck\nto the bowl, and his feet to the marble slab, and despair took\npossession of him.\n\nTill the close of day Manawyddan waited for him, and when the sun was\nfast sinking, he went home, thinking that he had strayed far.\n\n'Where are thy friend and thy dogs?' said Rhiannon, and he told her what\nhad befallen Pryderi.\n\n'A good friend hast thou lost,' answered Rhiannon, and she went up to\nthe castle and through the gate, which was open. There, in the centre of\nthe courtyard, she beheld Pryderi standing, and hastened towards him.\n\n'What dost thou here?' she asked, laying her hand on the bowl, and as\nshe spoke she too stuck fast, and was not able to utter a word. Then\nthunder was heard and a veil of darkness descended upon them, and the\ncastle vanished and they with it.\n\nWhen Kicva, the wife of Pryderi, found that neither her husband nor his\nmother returned to her, she was in such sorrow that she cared not\nwhether she lived or died. Manawyddan was grieved also in his heart, and\nsaid to her:\n\n'It is not fitting that we should stay here, for we have lost our dogs\nand cannot get food. Let us go into England--it is easier for us to live\nthere.' So they set forth.\n\n'What craft wilt thou follow?' asked Kicva as they went along.\n\n'I shall make shoes as once I did,' replied he; and he got all the\nfinest leather in the town and caused gilded clasps to be made for the\nshoes, till everyone flocked to buy, and all the shoemakers in the town\nwere idle and banded together in anger to kill him. But luckily\nManawyddan got word of it, and he and Kicva left the town one night and\nproceeded to Narberth, taking with him a sheaf of wheat, which he sowed\nin three plots of ground. And while the wheat was growing up, he hunted\nand fished, and they had food enough and to spare. Thus the months\npassed until the harvest; and one evening Manawyddan visited the\nfurthest of his fields of wheat; and saw that it was ripe.\n\n'To-morrow I will reap this,' said he; but on the morrow when he went to\nreap the wheat he found nothing but the bare straw.\n\nFilled with dismay he hastened to the second field, and there the corn\nwas ripe and golden.\n\n'To-morrow I will reap this,' he said, but on the morrow the ears had\ngone, and there was nothing but the bare straw.\n\n'Well, there is still one field left,' he said, and when he looked at\nit, it was still fairer than the other two. 'To-night I will watch\nhere,' thought he, 'for whosoever carried off the other corn will in\nlike manner take this, and I will know who it is.' So he hid himself and\nwaited.\n\nThe hours slid by, and all was still, so still that Manawyddan well-nigh\ndropped asleep. But at midnight there arose the loudest tumult in the\nworld, and peeping out he beheld a mighty host of mice, which could\nneither be numbered nor measured. Each mouse climbed up a straw till it\nbent down with its weight, and then it bit off one of the ears, and\ncarried it away, and there was not one of the straws that had not got a\nmouse to it.\n\nFull of wrath he rushed at the mice, but he could no more come up with\nthem than if they had been gnats, or birds of the air, save one only\nwhich lingered behind the rest, and this mouse Manawyddan came up with.\nStooping down he seized it by the tail, and put it in his glove, and\ntied a piece of string across the opening of the glove, so that the\nmouse could not escape. When he entered the hall where Kicva was\nsitting, he lighted a fire, and hung the glove up on a peg.\n\n'What hast thou there?' asked she.\n\n'A thief,' he answered, 'that I caught robbing me.'\n\n'What kind of a thief may it be which thou couldst put in thy glove?'\nsaid Kicva.\n\n'That I will tell thee,' he replied, and then he showed her how his\nfields of corn had been wasted, and how he had watched for the mice.\n\n'And one was less nimble than the rest, and is now in my glove.\nTo-morrow I will hang it, and I only wish I had them all.'\n\n'It is a marvel, truly,' said she, 'yet it would be unseemly for a man\nof thy dignity to hang a reptile such as this. Do not meddle with it,\nbut let it go.'\n\n'Woe betide me,' he cried, 'if I would not hang them all if I could\ncatch them, and such as I have I will hang.'\n\n'Verily,' said she, 'there is no reason that I should succour this\nreptile, except to prevent discredit unto thee.'\n\n'If I knew any cause that I should succour it, I would take thy\ncounsel,' answered Manawyddan, 'but as I know of none, I am minded to\ndestroy it.'\n\n'Do so then,' said Kicva.\n\nSo he went up a hill and set up two forks on the top, and while he was\ndoing this he saw a scholar coming towards him, whose clothes were\ntattered. Now it was seven years since Manawyddan had seen man or beast\nin that place, and the sight amazed him.\n\n'Good day to thee, my lord,' said the scholar.\n\n'Good greeting to thee, scholar. Whence dost thou come?'\n\n'From singing in England; but wherefore dost thou ask?'\n\n'Because for seven years no man hath visited this place.'\n\n'I wander where I will,' answered the scholar. 'And what work art _thou_\nupon?'\n\n'I am about to hang a thief that I caught robbing me!'\n\n'What manner of thief is that?' inquired the scholar. 'I see a creature\nin thy hand like unto a mouse, and ill does it become a man of thy rank\nto touch a reptile like this. Let it go free.'\n\n'I will not let it go free,' cried Manawyddan. 'I caught it robbing me,\nand it shall suffer the doom of a thief.'\n\n'Lord!' said the scholar, 'sooner than see a man like thee at such a\nwork, I would give thee a pound which I have received as alms to let it\ngo free.'\n\n'I will not let it go free, neither will I sell it.'\n\n'As thou wilt, lord,' answered the scholar, and he went his way.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nManawyddan was placing the cross-beam on the two forked sticks, where\nthe mouse was to hang, when a priest rode past.\n\n'Good-day to thee, lord; and what art thou doing?'\n\n'I am hanging a thief that I caught robbing me.'\n\n'What manner of thief, lord?'\n\n'A creature in the form of a mouse. It has been robbing me, and it shall\nsuffer the doom of a thief.'\n\n'Lord,' said the priest, 'sooner than see thee touch this reptile, I\nwould purchase its freedom.'\n\n'I will neither sell it nor set it free.'\n\n'It is true that a mouse is worth nothing, but rather than see thee\ndefile thyself with touching such a reptile as this, I will give thee\nthree pounds for it.'\n\n'I will not take any price for it. It shall be hanged as it deserves.'\n\n'Willingly, my lord, if it is thy pleasure.' And the priest went his\nway.\n\nThen Manawyddan noosed the string about the mouse's neck, and was about\nto draw it tight when a bishop, with a great following and horses\nbearing huge packs, came by.\n\n'What work art thou upon?' asked the bishop, drawing rein.\n\n'Hanging a thief that I caught robbing me.'\n\n'But is not that a _mouse_ that I see in thine hand?' asked the bishop.\n\n'Yes; that is the thief,' answered Manawyddan.\n\n'Well, since I have come at the doom of this reptile, I will ransom it\nof thee for seven pounds, rather than see a man of thy rank touch it.\nLoose it, and let it go!'\n\n'I will not let it loose.'\n\n'I will give thee four and twenty pounds to set it free,' said the\nbishop.\n\n'I will not set it free for as much again.'\n\n'If thou wilt not set it free for this, I will give thee all the horses\nthou seest and the seven loads of baggage.'\n\n'I will not set it free.'\n\n'Then tell me at what price thou wilt loose it, and I will give it.'\n\n'The spell must be taken off Rhiannon and Pryderi,' said Manawyddan.\n\n'That shall be done.'\n\n'But not yet will I loose the mouse. The charm that has been cast over\nall my lands must be taken off likewise.'\n\n'This shall be done also.'\n\n'But not yet will I loose the mouse till I know who she is.'\n\n'She is my wife,' answered the bishop.\n\n'And wherefore came she to me?' asked Manawyddan.\n\n'To despoil thee,' replied the bishop, 'for it is I who cast the charm\nover thy lands, to avenge Gwawl the son of Clud my friend. And it was I\nwho threw the spell upon Pryderi to avenge Gwawl for the trick that had\nbeen played on him in the game of Badger in the Bag. And not only was I\nwroth, but my people likewise, and when it was known that thou wast come\nto dwell in the land, they besought me much to change them into mice,\nthat they might eat thy corn. The first and the second nights it was the\nmen of my own house that destroyed thy two fields, but on the third\nnight my wife and her ladies came to me and begged me to change them\nalso into the shape of mice, that they might take part in avenging\nGwawl. Therefore I changed them. Yet had she not been ill and slow of\nfoot, thou couldst not have overtaken her. Still, since she was caught,\nI will restore thee Pryderi and Rhiannon, and will take the charm from\noff thy lands. I have told thee who she is; so now set her free.'\n\n'I will not set her free,' answered Manawyddan, 'till thou swear that no\nvengeance shall be taken for this, either upon Pryderi, or upon\nRhiannon, or on me.'\n\n'I grant thee this boon; and thou hast done wisely to ask it, for on thy\nhead would have lit all the trouble. Set now my wife free.'\n\n'I will not set her free till Pryderi and Rhiannon are with me.'\n\n'Behold, here they come,' said the bishop.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThen Manawyddan held out his hands and greeted Pryderi and Rhiannon, and\nthey seated themselves joyfully on the grass.\n\n'Ah, lord, hast thou not received all thou didst ask?' said the bishop.\n'Set now my wife free!'\n\n'That I will gladly,' answered Manawyddan, unloosing the cord from her\nneck, and as he did so the bishop struck her with his staff, and she\nturned into a young woman, the fairest that ever was seen.\n\n'Look around upon thy land,' said he, 'and thou wilt see it all tilled\nand peopled, as it was long ago.' And Manawyddan looked, and saw corn\ngrowing in the fields, and cows and sheep grazing on the hill-side, and\nhuts for the people to dwell in. And he was satisfied in his soul, but\none more question he put to the bishop.\n\n'What spell didst thou lay upon Pryderi and Rhiannon?'\n\n'Pryderi has had the knockers of the gate of my palace hung about him,\nand Rhiannon has carried the collars of my asses around her neck,' said\nthe bishop with a smile.\n\n\n    From the 'Mabinogion.'\n\n\n\n\n_THE BELIEVING HUSBANDS_\n\n\nONCE upon a time there dwelt in the land of Erin a young man who was\nseeking a wife, and of all the maidens round about none pleased him as\nwell as the only daughter of a farmer. The girl was willing and the\nfather was willing, and very soon they were married and went to live at\nthe farm. By and bye the season came when they must cut the peats and\npile them up to dry, so that they might have fires in the winter. So on\na fine day the girl and her husband, and the father and his wife all\nwent out upon the moor.\n\nThey worked hard for many hours, and at length grew hungry, so the young\nwoman was sent home to bring them food, and also to give the horses\ntheir dinner. When she went into the stable, she suddenly saw the heavy\npack-saddle of the speckled mare just over her head, and she jumped and\nsaid to herself:\n\n'Suppose that pack-saddle were to fall and kill me, how dreadful it\nwould be!' and she sat down just under the pack-saddle she was so much\nafraid of, and began to cry.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow the others out on the moor grew hungrier and hungrier.\n\n'What _can_ have become of her?' asked they, and at length the mother\ndeclared that she would wait no longer, and must go and see what had\nhappened.\n\nAs the bride was nowhere in the kitchen or the dairy, the old woman\nwent into the stable, where she found her daughter weeping bitterly.\n\n'What is the matter, my dove?' and the girl answered, between her sobs:\n\n'When I came in and saw the pack-saddle over my head, I thought how\ndreadful it would be if it fell and killed me,' and she cried louder\nthan before.\n\nThe old woman struck her hands together: 'Ah, to think of it! If that\nwere to be, what should I do?' and she sat down by her daughter, and\nthey both wrung their hands and let their tears flow.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'Something strange must have occurred,' exclaimed the old farmer on the\nmoor, who by this time was not only hungry, but cross. 'I must go after\nthem.' And he went and found them in the stable.\n\n'What is the matter?' asked he.\n\n'Oh!' replied his wife, 'when our daughter came home, did she not see\nthe pack-saddle over her head, and she thought how dreadful it would be\nif it were to fall and kill her.'\n\n'Ah, to think of it!' exclaimed he, striking his hands together, and he\nsat down beside them and wept too.\n\nAs soon as night fell the young man returned full of hunger, and there\nthey were, all crying together in the stable.\n\n'What is the matter?' asked he.\n\n'When thy wife came home,' answered the farmer, 'she saw the pack-saddle\nover her head, and she thought how dreadful it would be if it were to\nfall and kill her.'\n\n'Well, but it didn't fall,' replied the young man, and he went off to\nthe kitchen to get some supper, leaving them to cry as long as they\nliked.\n\nThe next morning he got up with the sun, and said to the old man and to\nthe old woman and to his wife:\n\n'Farewell: my foot shall not return to the house till I have found\nother three people as silly as you,' and he walked away till he came to\nthe town, and seeing the door of a cottage standing open wide, he\nentered. No man was present, but only some women spinning at their\nwheels.\n\n'You do not belong to this town,' said he.\n\n'You speak truth,' they answered, 'nor you either?'\n\n'I do not,' replied he, 'but is it a good place to live in?'\n\nThe women looked at each other.\n\n'The men of the town are so silly that we can make them believe anything\nwe please,' said they.\n\n'Well, here is a gold ring,' replied he, 'and I will give it to the one\namongst you who can make her husband believe the most impossible thing,'\nand he left them.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs soon as the first husband came home his wife said to him:\n\n'Thou art sick!'\n\n'Am I?' asked he.\n\n'Yes, thou art,' she answered; 'take off thy clothes and lie down.'\n\nSo he did, and when he was in his bed his wife went to him and said:\n\n'Thou art dead.'\n\n'Oh, am I?' asked he.\n\n'Thou art,' said she; 'shut thine eyes and stir neither hand nor foot.'\n\nAnd dead he felt sure he was.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSoon the second man came home, and his wife said to him:\n\n'You are not my husband!'\n\n'Oh, am I not?' asked he.\n\n'No, it is not you,' answered she, so he went away and slept in the\nwood.\n\nWhen the third man arrived his wife gave him his supper, and after that\nhe went to bed, just as usual. The next morning a boy knocked at the\ndoor, bidding him attend the burial of the man who was dead, and he was\njust going to get up when his wife stopped him.\n\n'Time enough,' said she, and he lay still till he heard the funeral\npassing the window.\n\n'Now rise, and be quick,' called the wife, and the man jumped out of bed\nin a great hurry, and began to look about him.\n\n'Why, where are my clothes?' asked he.\n\n'Silly that you are, they are on your back, of course,' answered the\nwoman.\n\n'Are they?' said he.\n\n'They are,' said she, 'and make haste lest the burying be ended before\nyou get there.'\n\nThen off he went, running hard, and when the mourners saw a man coming\ntowards them with nothing on but his nightshirt, they forgot in their\nfright what they were there for, and fled to hide themselves. And the\nnaked man stood alone at the head of the coffin.\n\nVery soon a man came out of the wood and spoke to him.\n\n'Do you know me?'\n\n'Not I,' answered the naked man. 'I do not know you.'\n\n'But why are you naked?' asked the first man.\n\n'Am I naked? My wife told me that I had all my clothes on,' answered he.\n\n'And _my_ wife told me that I myself was dead,' said the man in the\ncoffin.\n\nBut at the sound of his voice the two men were so terrified that they\nran straight home, and the man in the coffin got up and followed them,\nand it was _his_ wife that gained the gold ring, as he had been sillier\nthan the other two.\n\n\n    From 'West Highland Tales.'\n\n\n\n\n_THE HOODIE-CROW_\n\n\nONCE there lived a farmer who had three daughters, and good useful girls\nthey were, up with the sun, and doing all the work of the house. One\nmorning they all ran down to the river to wash their clothes, when a\nhoodie came round and sat on a tree close by.\n\n'Wilt thou wed me, thou farmer's daughter?' he said to the eldest.\n\n'Indeed I won't wed thee,' she answered, 'an ugly brute is the hoodie.'\nAnd the bird, much offended, spread his wings and flew away. But the\nfollowing day he came back again, and said to the second girl:\n\n'Wilt thou wed me, farmer's daughter?'\n\n'Indeed I will not,' answered she, 'an ugly brute is the hoodie.' And\nthe hoodie was more angry than before, and went away in a rage. However,\nafter a night's rest he was in a better temper, and thought that he\nmight be more lucky the third time, so back he went to the old place.\n\n'Wilt thou wed me, farmer's daughter?' he said to the youngest.\n\n'Indeed I will wed thee; a pretty creature is the hoodie,' answered she,\nand on the morrow they were married.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'I have something to ask thee,' said the hoodie when they were far away\nin his own house. 'Wouldst thou rather I should be a hoodie by day and a\nman by night, or a man by day and a hoodie by night?'\n\n[Illustration: INDEED I WILL WED THEE; A PRETTY CREATURE IS THE HOODIE]\n\nThe girl was surprised at his words, for she did not know that he could\nbe anything but a hoodie at all times.\n\nStill she said nothing of this, and only replied, 'I would rather thou\nwert a man by day and a hoodie by night.' And so he was; and a handsomer\nman or a more beautiful hoodie never was seen. The girl loved them both,\nand never wished for things to be different.\n\nBy and bye they had a son, and very pleased they both were. But in the\nnight soft music was heard stealing close towards the house, and every\nman slept, and the mother slept also. When they woke again it was\nmorning, and the baby was gone. High and low they looked for it, but\nnowhere could they find it, and the farmer, who had come to see his\ndaughter, was greatly grieved, as he feared it might be thought that he\nhad stolen it, because he did not want the hoodie for a son-in-law.\n\nThe next year the hoodie's wife had another son, and this time a watch\nwas set at every door. But it was no use. In vain they all determined\nthat, come what might, they would not close their eyes; at the first\nnote of music they all fell asleep, and when the farmer arrived in the\nmorning to see his grandson, he found them all weeping, for while they\nhad slept the baby had vanished.\n\nWell, the next year it all happened again, and the hoodie's wife was so\nunhappy that her husband resolved to take her away to another house he\nhad, and her sisters with her for company. So they set out in a coach\nwhich was big enough to hold them, and had not gone very far when the\nhoodie suddenly said:\n\n'You are sure you have not forgotten anything?'\n\n'I have forgotten my coarse comb,' answered the wife, feeling in her\npocket, and as she spoke the coach changed into a withered faggot, and\nthe man became a hoodie again, and flew away.\n\nThe two sisters returned home, but the wife followed the hoodie.\nSometimes she would see him on a hilltop, and then would hasten after\nhim, hoping to catch him. But by the time she had got to the top of the\nhill, he would be in the valley on the other side. When night came, and\nshe was tired, she looked about for some place to rest, and glad she was\nto see a little house full of light straight in front of her, and she\nhurried towards it as fast as she could.\n\nAt the door stood a little boy, and the sight of him filled her heart\nwith pleasure, she did not know why. A woman came out, and bade her\nwelcome, and set before her food, and gave her a soft bed to lie on. And\nthe hoodie's wife lay down, and so tired was she, that it seemed to her\nbut a moment before the sun rose, and she awoke again. From hill to hill\nshe went after the hoodie, and sometimes she saw him on the top; but\nwhen she got to the top, he had flown into the valley, and when she\nreached the valley he was on the top of another hill--and so it happened\ntill night came round again. Then she looked round for some place to\nrest in, and she beheld a little house of light before her, and fast she\nhurried towards it. At the door stood a little boy, and her heart was\nfilled with pleasure at the sight of him, she did not know why. After\nthat a woman bade her enter, and set food before her, and gave her a\nsoft bed to lie in. And when the sun rose she got up, and left the\nhouse, in search of the hoodie. This day everything befell as on the two\nother days, but when she reached the small house, the woman bade her\nkeep awake, and if the hoodie flew into the room, to try to seize him.\n\nBut the wife had walked far, and was very tired, and strive as she\nwould, she fell sound asleep.\n\nMany hours she slept, and the hoodie entered through a window, and let\nfall a ring on her hand. The girl awoke with a start, and leant forward\nto grasp him, but he was already flying off, and she only seized a\nfeather from his wing. And when dawn came, she got up and told the\nwoman.\n\n'He has gone over the hill of poison,' said she, 'and there you cannot\nfollow him without horse-shoes on your hands and feet. But I will help\nyou. Put on this suit of men's clothes, and go down this road till you\ncome to the smithy, and there you can learn to make horse-shoes for\nyourself.'\n\nThe girl thanked her, and put on the clothes and went down the road to\ndo her bidding. So hard did she work, that in a few days she was able to\nmake the horse-shoes. Early one morning she set out for the hill of\npoison. On her hands and feet she went, but even with the horse-shoes on\nshe had to be very careful not to stumble, lest some poisoned thorns\nshould enter into her flesh, and she should die. But when at last she\nwas over, it was only to hear that her husband was to be married that\nday to the daughter of a great lord.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow there was to be a race in the town, and everyone meant to be there,\nexcept the stranger who had come over the hill of poison--everyone, that\nis, but the cook, who was to make the bridal supper. Greatly he loved\nraces, and sore was his heart to think that one should be run without\nhis seeing it, so when he beheld a woman whom he did not know coming\nalong the street, hope sprang up in him.\n\n'Will you cook the wedding feast in place of me?' he said, 'and I will\npay you well when I return from the race.'\n\nGladly she agreed, and cooked the feast in a kitchen that looked into\nthe great hall, where the company were to eat it. After that she watched\nthe seat where the bridegroom was sitting, and taking a plateful of the\nbroth, she dropped the ring and the feather into it, and set it herself\nbefore him.\n\nWith the first spoonful he took up the ring, and a thrill ran through\nhim; in the second he beheld the feather and rose from his chair.\n\n'Who has cooked this feast?' asked he, and the real cook, who had come\nback from the race, was brought before him.\n\n'He may be the cook, but he did not cook this feast,' said the\nbridegroom, and then inquiry was made, and the girl was summoned to the\ngreat hall.\n\n'That is my married wife,' he declared, 'and no one else will I have,'\nand at that very moment the spells fell off him, and never more would he\nbe a hoodie. Happy indeed were they to be together again, and little did\nthey mind that the hill of poison took long to cross, for she had to go\nsome way forwards, and then throw the horse-shoes back for him to put on.\nStill, at last they were over, and they went back the way she had come,\nand stopped at the three houses in order to take their little sons to\ntheir own home.\n\nBut the story never says who had stolen them, nor what the coarse comb\nhad to do with it.\n\n\n    From 'West Highland Tales.'\n\n\n\n\n_THE BROWNIE OF THE LAKE_\n\n\nONCE upon a time there lived in France a man whose name was Jalm Riou.\nYou might have walked a whole day without meeting any one happier or\nmore contented, for he had a large farm, plenty of money, and, above\nall, a daughter called Barbaik, the most graceful dancer and the\nbest-dressed girl in the whole country side. When she appeared on\nholidays in her embroidered cap, five petticoats, each one a little\nshorter than the other, and shoes with silver buckles, the women were\nall filled with envy, but little cared Barbaik what they might whisper\nbehind her back as long as she knew that her clothes were finer than any\none else's and that she had more partners than any other girl.\n\nNow amongst all the young men who wanted to marry Barbaik, the one whose\nheart was most set on her was her father's head man, but as his manners\nwere rough and he was exceedingly ugly she would have nothing to say to\nhim, and, what was worse, often made fun of him with the rest.\n\nJegu, for that was his name, of course heard of this, and it made him\nvery unhappy. Still, he would not leave the farm, and look for work\nelsewhere, as he might have done, for then he would never see Barbaik at\nall, and what was life worth to him without that?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne evening he was bringing back his horses from the fields, and stopped\nat a little lake on the way home to let them drink. He was tired with a\nlong day's work, and stood with his hand on the mane of one of the\nanimals, waiting till they had done, and thinking all the while of\nBarbaik, when a voice came out of the gorse close by.\n\n'What is the matter, Jegu? You mustn't despair yet.'\n\nThe young man glanced up in surprise, and asked who was there.\n\n'It is I, the brownie of the lake,' replied the voice.\n\n'But where _are_ you?' inquired Jegu.\n\n'Look close, and you will see me among the reeds in the form of a little\ngreen frog. I can take,' he added proudly, 'any shape I choose, and\neven, which is much harder, be invisible if I want to.'\n\n'Then show yourself to me in the shape in which your family generally\nappear,' replied Jegu.\n\n'Certainly, if you wish,' and the frog jumped on the back of one of the\nhorses, and changed into a little dwarf, all dressed green.\n\nThis transformation rather frightened Jegu, but the brownie bade him\nhave no fears, for he would not do him any harm; indeed, he hoped that\nJegu might find him of some use.\n\n'But why should you take all this interest in me?' asked the peasant\nsuspiciously.\n\n'Because of a service you did me last winter, which I have never\nforgotten,' answered the little fellow. 'You know, I am sure, that the\nkorigans[3] who dwell in the White Corn country have declared war on my\npeople, because they say that they are the friends of man. We were\ntherefore obliged to take refuge in distant lands, and to hide ourselves\nat first under different animal shapes. Since that time, partly from\nhabit and partly to amuse ourselves, we have continued to transform\nourselves, and it was in this way that I got to know you.'\n\n    [Footnote 3: The spiteful fairies.]\n\n'How?' exclaimed Jegu, filled with astonishment.\n\n'Do you remember when you were digging in the field near the river,\nthree months ago, you found a robin redbreast caught in a net?'\n\n'Yes,' answered Jegu, 'I remember it very well, and I opened the net and\nlet him go.'\n\n'Well, I was that robin redbreast, and ever since I have vowed to be\nyour friend, and as you want to marry Barbaik, I will prove the truth of\nwhat I say by helping you to do so.'\n\n'Ah! my little brownie, if you can do that, there is nothing I won't\ngive you, except my soul.'\n\n'Then let me alone,' rejoined the dwarf, 'and I promise you that in a\nvery few months you shall be master of the farm and of Barbaik.'\n\n'But how are you going to do it?' exclaimed Jegu wonderingly.\n\n'That is my affair. Perhaps I may tell you later. Meanwhile you just eat\nand sleep, and don't worry yourself about anything.'\n\nJegu declared that nothing could be easier, and then taking off his hat,\nhe thanked the dwarf heartily, and led his horses back to the farm.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNext morning was a holiday, and Barbaik was awake earlier than usual, as\nshe wished to get through her work as soon as possible, and be ready to\nstart for a dance which was to be held some distance off. She went first\nto the cow-house, which it was her duty to keep clean, but to her\namazement she found fresh straw put down, the racks filled with hay, the\ncows milked, and the pails standing neatly in a row.\n\n'Of course, Jegu must have done this in the hope of my giving him a\ndance,' she thought to herself, and when she met him outside the door\nshe stopped and thanked him for his help. To be sure, Jegu only replied\nroughly that he didn't know what she was talking about, but this answer\nmade her feel all the more certain that it was he and nobody else.\n\nThe same thing took place every day, and never had the cow-house been so\nclean nor the cows so fat. Morning and evening Barbaik found her earthen\npots full of milk and a pound of butter freshly churned, ornamented with\nleaves. At the end of a few weeks she grew so used to this state of\naffairs that she only got up just in time to prepare breakfast.\n\nSoon even this grew to be unnecessary, for a day arrived when, coming\ndownstairs, she discovered that the house was swept, the furniture\npolished, the fire lit, and the food ready, so that she had nothing to\ndo except to ring the great bell which summoned the labourers from the\nfields to come and eat it. This, also, she thought was the work of Jegu,\nand she could not help feeling that a husband of this sort would be very\nuseful to a girl who liked to lie in bed and to amuse herself.\n\nIndeed, Barbaik had only to express a wish for it to be satisfied. If\nthe wind was cold or the sun was hot and she was afraid to go out lest\nher complexion should be spoilt, she need only to run down to the spring\nclose by and say softly, 'I should like my churns to be full, and my wet\nlinen to be stretched on the hedge to dry,' and she need never give\nanother thought to the matter.\n\nIf she found the rye bread too hard to bake, or the oven taking too long\nto heat, she just murmured, 'I should like to see my six loaves on the\nshelf above the bread box,' and two hours after there they were.\n\nIf she was too lazy to walk all the way to market along a dirty road,\nshe would say out loud the night before, 'Why am I not already back from\nMorlaix with my milk pot empty, my butter bowl inside it, a pound of\nwild cherries on my wooden plate, and the money I have gained in my\napron pocket?' and in the morning when she got up, lo and behold! there\nwere standing at the foot of her bed the empty milk pot with the butter\nbowl inside, the black cherries on the wooden plate, and six new pieces\nof silver in the pocket of her apron. And she believed that all this was\nowing to Jegu, and she could no longer do without him, even in her\nthoughts.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen things had reached this pass, the brownie told the young man that\nhe had better ask Barbaik to marry him, and this time the girl did not\nturn rudely away, but listened patiently to the end. In her eyes he was\nas ugly and awkward as ever, but he would certainly make a most useful\nhusband, and she could sleep every morning till breakfast time, just\nlike a young lady, and as for the rest of the day, it would not be half\nlong enough for all she meant to do. She would wear the beautiful\ndresses that came when she wished for them, and visit her neighbours,\nwho would be dying of envy all the while, and she would be able to dance\nas much as she wished. Jegu would always be there to work for her, and\nsave for her, and watch over her. So, like a well-brought-up girl,\nBarbaik answered that it should be as her father pleased, knowing quite\nwell that old Riou had often said that after he was dead there was no\none so capable of carrying on the farm.\n\nThe marriage took place the following month, and a few days later the\nold man died quite suddenly. Now Jegu had everything to see to himself,\nand somehow it did not seem so easy as when the farmer was alive. But\nonce more the brownie stepped in, and was better than ten labourers. It\nwas he who ploughed and sowed and reaped, and if, as happened\noccasionally, it was needful to get the work done quickly, the brownie\ncalled in some of his friends, and as soon as it was light a host of\nlittle dwarfs might have been seen in the fields, busy with hoe, fork or\nsickle. But by the time the people were about all was finished, and the\nlittle fellows had disappeared.\n\nAnd all the payment the brownie ever asked for was a bowl of broth.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFrom the very day of her marriage Barbaik had noted with surprise and\nrage that things ceased to be done for her as they had been done all the\nweeks and months before. She complained to Jegu of his laziness, and he\nonly stared at her, not understanding what she was talking about. But\nthe brownie, who was standing by, burst out laughing, and confessed that\nall the good offices she spoke of had been performed by him, for the\nsake of Jegu, but that now he had other business to do, and it was high\ntime that she looked after her house herself.\n\nBarbaik was furious. Each morning when she was obliged to get up before\ndawn to milk the cows and go to market, and each evening when she had to\nsit up till midnight in order to churn the butter, her heart was filled\nwith rage against the brownie who had caused her to expect a life of\nease and pleasure. But when she looked at Jegu and beheld his red face,\nsquinting eyes, and untidy hair, her anger was doubled.\n\n'If it had not been for _you_, you miserable dwarf!' she would say\nbetween her teeth, 'if it had not been for _you_ I should never have\nmarried that man, and I should still have been going to dances, where\nthe young men would have brought me presents of nuts and cherries, and\ntold me that I was the prettiest girl in the parish. While _now_ I can\nreceive no presents except from my husband. I can never dance, except\nwith my husband. Oh, you wretched dwarf, I will never, never forgive\nyou!'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn spite of her fierce words, no one knew better than Barbaik how to put\nher pride in her pocket when it suited her, and after receiving an\ninvitation to a wedding, she begged the brownie to get her a horse to\nride there. To her great joy he consented, bidding her set out for the\ncity of the dwarfs and to tell them exactly what she wanted. Full of\nexcitement, Barbaik started on her journey. It was not long, and when\nshe reached the town she went straight to the dwarfs, who were holding\ncounsel in a wide green place, and said to them, 'Listen, my friends! I\nhave come to beg you to lend me a black horse, with eyes, a mouth, ears,\nbridle and saddle.'\n\nShe had hardly spoken when the horse appeared, and mounting on his back\nshe started for the village where the wedding was to be held.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt first she was so delighted with the chance of a holiday from the work\nwhich she hated, that she noticed nothing, but very soon it struck her\nas odd that as she passed along the roads full of people they all\nlaughed as they looked at her horse. At length she caught some words\nuttered by one man to another, 'Why, the farmer's wife has sold her\nhorse's tail!' and turned in her saddle. Yes; it was true. Her horse had\nno tail! She had forgotten to ask for one, and the wicked dwarfs had\ncarried out her orders to the letter!\n\n'Well, at any rate, I shall soon be there,' she thought, and shaking the\nreins, tried to urge the horse to a gallop. But it was of no use; he\ndeclined to move out of a walk; and she was forced to hear all the jokes\nthat were made upon her.\n\nIn the evening she returned to the farm more angry than ever, and quite\ndetermined to revenge herself on the brownie whenever she had the\nchance, which happened to be very soon.\n\nIt was the spring, and just the time of year when the dwarfs held their\nfete, so one day the brownie asked Jegu if he might bring his friends to\nhave supper in the great barn, and whether he would allow them to dance\nthere. Of course, Jegu was only too pleased to be able to do anything\nfor the brownie, and he ordered Barbaik to spread her best table-cloths\nin the barn, and to make a quantity of little loaves and pancakes, and,\nbesides, to keep all the milk given by the cows that morning. He\nexpected she would refuse, as he knew she hated the dwarfs, but she said\nnothing, and prepared the supper as he had bidden her.\n\nWhen all was ready, the dwarfs, in new green suits, came bustling in,\nvery happy and merry, and took their seats at the table. But in a moment\nthey all sprang up with a cry, and ran away screaming, for Barbaik had\nplaced pans of hot coals under their feet, and all their poor little\ntoes were burnt.\n\n'You won't forget that in a hurry,' she said, smiling grimly to herself,\nbut in a moment they were back again with large pots of water, which\nthey poured on the fire. Then they joined hands and danced round it,\nsinging:\n\n    Wicked traitress, Barbe Riou,\n    Our poor toes are burned by you;\n    Now we hurry from your hall--\n    Bad luck light upon you all.\n\nThat evening they left the country for ever, and Jegu, without their\nhelp, grew poorer and poorer, and at last died of misery, while Barbaik\nwas glad to find work in the market of Morlaix.\n\n\n    From 'Le Foyer Breton,' par E. Souvestre\n\n\n\n\n_THE WINNING OF OLWEN_\n\n\nTHERE was once a king and queen who had a little boy, and they called\nhis name Kilwch. The queen, his mother, fell ill soon after his birth,\nand as she could not take care of him herself she sent him to a woman\nshe knew up in the mountains, so that he might learn to go out in all\nweathers, and bear heat and cold, and grow tall and strong. Kilwch was\nquite happy with his nurse, and ran races and climbed hills with the\nchildren who were his playfellows, and in the winter, when the snow lay\non the ground, sometimes a man with a harp would stop and beg for\nshelter, and in return would sing them songs of strange things that had\nhappened in the years gone by.\n\nBut long before this, changes had taken place in the court of Kilwch's\nfather. Soon after she had sent her baby away the queen became much\nworse, and at length, seeing that she was going to die, she called her\nhusband to her and said:\n\n'Never again shall I rise from this bed, and by and bye thou wilt take\nanother wife. But lest she should make thee forget thy son, I charge\nthee that thou take not a wife until thou see a briar with two blossoms\nupon my grave.' And this he promised her. Then she further bade him to\nsee to her grave that nothing might grow thereon. This likewise he\npromised her, and soon she died, and for seven years the king sent a man\nevery morning to see that nothing was growing on the queen's grave, but\nat the end of seven years he forgot.\n\nOne day when the king was out hunting he rode past the place where the\nqueen lay buried, and there he saw a briar growing with two blossoms on\nit.\n\n'It is time that I took a wife,' said he, and after long looking he\nfound one. But he did not tell her about his son; indeed he hardly\nremembered that he had one till she heard it at last from an old woman\nwhom she had gone to visit. And the new queen was very pleased, and sent\nmessengers to fetch the boy, and in his father's court he stayed, while\nthe years went by till one day the queen told him that a prophecy had\nforetold that he was to win for his wife Olwen the daughter of\nYspaddaden Penkawr.\n\nWhen he heard this Kilwch felt proud and happy. Surely he must be a man\nnow, he thought, or there would be no talk of a wife for him, and his\nmind dwelt all day upon his promised bride, and what she would be like\nwhen he beheld her.\n\n'What aileth thee, my son?' asked his father at last, when Kilwch had\nforgotten something he had been bidden to do, and Kilwch blushed red as\nhe answered:\n\n'My stepmother says that none but Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden\nPenkawr, shall be my wife.'\n\n'That will be easily fulfilled,' replied his father. 'Arthur the king is\nthy cousin. Go therefore unto him and beg him to cut thy hair, and to\ngrant thee this boon.'\n\n[Illustration: Kilwch arrives at the Gate of Arthur's Palace]\n\nThen the youth pricked forth upon a dapple grey horse of four years old,\nwith a bridle of linked gold, and gold upon his saddle. In his hand he\nbore two spears of silver with heads of steel; a war-horn of ivory was\nslung round his shoulder, and by his side hung a golden sword. Before\nhim were two brindled white-breasted greyhounds with collars of rubies\nround their necks, and the one that was on the left side bounded across\nto the right side, and the one on the right to the left, and like two\nsea-swallows sported round him. And his horse cast up four sods with\nhis four hoofs, like four swallows in the air about his head, now above,\nnow below. About him was a robe of purple, and an apple of gold was at\neach corner, and every one of the apples was of the value of a hundred\ncows. And the blades of grass bent not beneath him, so light were his\nhorse's feet as he journeyed toward the gate of Arthur's palace.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'Is there a porter?' cried Kilwch, looking round for some one to open\nthe gate.\n\n'There is; and I am Arthur's porter every first day of January,'\nanswered a man coming out to him. 'The rest of the year there are other\nporters, and among them Pennpingyon, who goes upon his head to save his\nfeet.'\n\n'Well, open the portal, I say.'\n\n'No, that I may not do, for none can enter save the son of a king or a\npedlar who has goods to sell. But elsewhere there will be food for thy\ndogs and hay for thy horse, and for thee collops cooked and peppered,\nand sweet wine shall be served in the guest chamber.'\n\n'That will not do for me,' answered Kilwch. 'If thou wilt not open the\ngate I will send up three shouts that shall be heard from Cornwall unto\nthe north, and yet again to Ireland.'\n\n'Whatsoever clamour thou mayest make,' spake Glewlwyd the porter, 'thou\nshalt not enter until I first go and speak with Arthur.'\n\nThen Glewlwyd went into the hall, and Arthur said to him:\n\n'Hast thou news from the gate?' and the porter answered:\n\n'Far have I travelled, both in this island and elsewhere, and many\nkingly men have I seen; but never yet have I beheld one equal in majesty\nto him who now stands at the door.'\n\n'If walking thou didst enter here, return thou running,' replied\nArthur, 'and let every one that opens and shuts the eye show him respect\nand serve him, for it is not meet to keep such a man in the wind and\nrain.' So Glewlwyd unbarred the gate and Kilwch rode in upon his\ncharger.\n\n'Greeting unto thee, O ruler of this land,' cried he, 'and greeting no\nless to the lowest than to the highest.'\n\n'Greeting to thee also,' answered Arthur. 'Sit thou between two of my\nwarriors, and thou shalt have minstrels before thee and all that belongs\nto one born to be a king, while thou remainest in my palace.'\n\n'I am not come,' replied Kilwch, 'for meat and drink, but to obtain a\nboon, and if thou grant it me I will pay it back, and will carry thy\npraise to the four winds of heaven. But if thou wilt not grant it to me,\nthen I will proclaim thy discourtesy wherever thy name is known.'\n\n'What thou askest that shalt thou receive,' said Arthur, 'as far as the\nwind dries and the rain moistens, and the sun revolves and the sea\nencircles and the earth extends. Save only my ship and my mantle, my\nsword and my lance, my shield and my dagger, and Guinevere my wife.'\n\n'I would that thou bless my hair,' spake Kilwch, and Arthur answered:\n\n'That shall be granted thee.'\n\nForthwith he bade his men fetch him a comb of gold and a scissors with\nloops of silver, and he combed the hair of Kilwch his guest.\n\n'Tell me who thou art,' he said, 'for my heart warms to thee, and I feel\nthou art come of my blood.'\n\n'I am Kilwch, son of Kilydd,' replied the youth.\n\n'Then my cousin thou art in truth,' replied Arthur, 'and whatsoever boon\nthou mayest ask thou shalt receive.'\n\n'The boon I crave is that thou mayest win for me Olwen, the daughter of\nYspaddaden Penkawr, and this boon I seek likewise at the hands of thy\nwarriors. From Sol, who can stand all day upon one foot; from Ossol,\nwho, if he were to find himself on the top of the highest mountain in\nthe world, could make it into a level plain in the beat of a bird's\nwing; from Clust, who, though he were buried under the earth, could yet\nhear the ant leave her nest fifty miles away: from these and from Kai\nand from Bedwyr and from all thy mighty men I crave this boon.'\n\n'O Kilwch,' said Arthur, 'never have I heard of the maiden of whom thou\nspeakest, nor of her kindred, but I will send messengers to seek her if\nthou wilt give me time.'\n\n'From this night to the end of the year right willingly will I grant\nthee,' replied Kilwch; but when the end of the year came and the\nmessengers returned Kilwch was wroth, and spoke rough words to Arthur.\n\nIt was Kai, the boldest of the warriors and the swiftest of foot--he who\ncould pass nine nights without sleep, and nine days beneath the\nwater--that answered him:\n\n'Rash youth that thou art, darest thou speak thus to Arthur? Come with\nus, and we will not part company till we have won that maiden, or till\nthou confess that there is none such in the world.'\n\nThen Arthur summoned his five best men and bade them go with Kilwch.\nThere was Bedwyr the one-handed, Kai's comrade and brother in arms, the\nswiftest man in Britain save Arthur; there was Kynddelig, who knew the\npaths in a land where he had never been as surely as he did those of his\nown country; there was Gwrhyr, that could speak all tongues; and\nGwalchmai the son of Gwyar, who never returned till he had gained what\nhe sought; and last of all there was Menw, who could weave a spell over\nthem so that none might see them, while they could see every one.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSo these seven journeyed together till they reached a vast open plain\nin which was a fair castle. But though it seemed so close it was not\nuntil the evening of the third day that they really drew near to it, and\nin front of it a flock of sheep was spread, so many in number that there\nseemed no end to them. A shepherd stood on a mound watching over them,\nand by his side was a dog, as large as a horse nine winters old.\n\n'Whose is this castle, O herdsman?' asked the knights.\n\n'Stupid are ye truly,' answered the herdsman. 'All the world knows that\nthis is the castle of Yspaddaden Penkawr.'\n\n'And who art thou?'\n\n'I am called Custennin, brother of Yspaddaden, and ill has he treated\nme. And who are you, and what do you here?'\n\n'We come from Arthur the king, to seek Olwen the daughter of\nYspaddaden,' but at this news the shepherd gave a cry:\n\n'O men, be warned and turn back while there is yet time. Others have\ngone on that quest, but none have escaped to tell the tale,' and he rose\nto his feet as if to leave them. Then Kilwch held out to him a ring of\ngold, and he tried to put it on his finger, but it was too small, so he\nplaced it in his glove, and went home and gave it to his wife.\n\n'Whence came this ring?' asked she, 'for such good luck is not wont to\nbefall thee.'\n\n'The man to whom this ring belonged thou shalt see here in the evening,'\nanswered the shepherd; 'he is Kilwch, son of Kilydd, cousin to king\nArthur, and he has come to seek Olwen.' And when the wife heard that she\nknew that Kilwch was her nephew, and her heart yearned after him, half\nwith joy at the thought of seeing him, and half with sorrow for the doom\nshe feared.\n\n[Illustration: FAIR OLWEN ARRIVES]\n\nSoon they heard steps approaching, and Kai and the rest entered into\nthe house and ate and drank. After that the woman opened a chest, and\nout of it came a youth with curling yellow hair.\n\n'It is a pity to hide him thus,' said Gwrhyr, 'for well I know that he\nhas done no evil.'\n\n'Three and twenty of my sons has Yspaddaden slain, and I have no more\nhope of saving this one,' replied she, and Kai was full of sorrow and\nanswered:\n\n'Let him come with me and be my comrade, and he shall never be slain\nunless I am slain also.' And so it was agreed.\n\n'What is your errand here?' asked the woman.\n\n'We seek Olwen the maiden for this youth,' answered Kai; 'does she ever\ncome hither so that she may be seen?'\n\n'She comes every Saturday to wash her hair, and in the vessel where she\nwashes she leaves all her rings, and never does she so much as send a\nmessenger to fetch them.'\n\n'Will she come if she is bidden?' asked Kai, pondering.\n\n'She will come; but unless you pledge me your faith that you will not\nharm her I will not fetch her.'\n\n'We pledge it,' said they, and the maiden came.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA fair sight was she in a robe of flame-coloured silk, with a collar of\nruddy gold about her neck, bright with emeralds and rubies. More yellow\nwas her head than the flower of the broom, and her skin was whiter than\nthe foam of the wave, and fairer were her hands than the blossom of the\nwood anemone. Four white trefoils sprang up where she trod, and\ntherefore was she called Olwen.\n\nShe entered, and sat down on a bench beside Kilwch, and he spake to her:\n\n'Ah, maiden, since first I heard thy name I have loved thee--wilt thou\nnot come away with me from this evil place?'\n\n'That I cannot do,' answered she, 'for I have given my word to my father\nnot to go without his knowledge, for his life will only last till I am\nbetrothed. Whatever is, must be, but this counsel I will give you. Go,\nand ask me of my father, and whatsoever he shall require of thee grant\nit, and thou shalt win me; but if thou deny him anything thou wilt not\nobtain me, and it will be well for thee if thou escape with thy life.'\n\n'All this I promise,' said he.\n\nSo she returned to the castle, and all Arthur's men went after her, and\nentered the hall.\n\n'Greeting to thee, Yspaddaden Penkawr,' said they. 'We come to ask thy\ndaughter Olwen for Kilwch, son of Kilydd.'\n\n'Come hither to-morrow and I will answer you,' replied Yspaddaden\nPenkawr, and as they rose to leave the hall he caught up one of the\nthree poisoned darts that lay beside him and flung it in their midst.\nBut Bedwyr saw and caught it, and flung it back so hard that it pierced\nthe knee of Yspaddaden.\n\n'A gentle son-in-law, truly!' he cried, writhing with pain. 'I shall\never walk the worse for this rudeness. Cursed be the smith who forged\nit, and the anvil on which it was wrought!'\n\nThat night the men slept in the house of Custennin the herdsman, and the\nnext day they proceeded to the castle, and entered the hall, and said:\n\n'Yspaddaden Penkawr, give us thy daughter and thou shalt keep her dower.\nAnd unless thou wilt do this we will slay thee.'\n\n'Her four great grandmothers and her four great grandfathers yet live,'\nanswered Yspaddaden Penkawr; 'it is needful that I take counsel with\nthem.'\n\n'Be it so; we will go to meat,' but as they turned he took up the second\ndart that lay by his side and cast it after them. And Menw caught it,\nand flung it at him, and wounded him in the chest, so that it came out\nat his back.\n\n'A gentle son-in-law, truly!' cried Yspaddaden; 'the iron pains me like\nthe bite of a horse-leech. Cursed be the hearth whereon it was heated,\nand the smith who formed it!'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe third day Arthur's men returned to the palace into the presence of\nYspaddaden.\n\n'Shoot not at me again,' said he, 'unless you desire death. But lift up\nmy eyebrows, which have fallen over my eyes, that I may see my\nson-in-law.' Then they arose, and as they did so Yspaddaden Penkawr took\nthe third poisoned dart and cast it at them. And Kilwch caught it, and\nflung it back, and it passed through his eyeball, and came out on the\nother side of his head.\n\n'A gentle son-in-law, truly! Cursed be the fire in which it was forged\nand the man who fashioned it!'\n\nThe next day Arthur's men came again to the palace and said:\n\n'Shoot not at us any more unless thou desirest more pain than even now\nthou hast, but give us thy daughter without more words.'\n\n'Where is he that seeks my daughter? Let him come hither so that I may\nsee him.' And Kilwch sat himself in a chair and spoke face to face with\nhim.\n\n'Is it thou that seekest my daughter?'\n\n'It is I,' answered Kilwch.\n\n'First give me thy word that thou wilt do nothing towards me that is not\njust, and when thou hast won for me that which I shall ask, then thou\nshalt wed my daughter.'\n\n'I promise right willingly,' said Kilwch. 'Name what thou wilt.'\n\n'Seest thou yonder hill? Well, in one day it shall be rooted up and\nploughed and sown, and the grain shall ripen, and of that wheat I will\nbake the cakes for my daughter's wedding.'\n\n'It will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest deem it\nwill not be easy,' answered Kilwch, thinking of Ossol, under whose feet\nthe highest mountain became straightway a plain, but Yspaddaden paid no\nheed, and continued:\n\n'Seest thou that field yonder? When my daughter was born nine bushels of\nflax were sown therein, and not one blade has sprung up. I require thee\nto sow fresh flax in the ground that my daughter may wear a veil spun\nfrom it on the day of her wedding.'\n\n'It will be easy for me to compass this.'\n\n'Though thou compass this there is that which thou wilt not compass. For\nthou must bring me the basket of Gwyddneu Garanhir which will give meat\nto the whole world. It is for thy wedding feast. Thou must also fetch me\nthe drinking-horn that is never empty, and the harp that never ceases to\nplay until it is bidden. Also the comb and scissors and razor that lie\nbetween the two ears of Trwyth the boar, so that I may arrange my hair\nfor the wedding. And though thou get this yet there is that which thou\nwilt not get, for Trwyth the boar will not let any man take from him the\ncomb and the scissors, unless Drudwyn the whelp hunt him. But no leash\nin the world can hold Drudwyn save the leash of Cant Ewin, and no collar\nwill hold the leash except the collar of Canhastyr.'\n\n'It will be easy for me to compass this, though thou mayest think it\nwill not be easy,' Kilwch answered him.\n\n'Though thou get all these things yet there is that which thou wilt not\nget. Throughout the world there is none that can hunt with this dog save\nMabon the son of Modron. He was taken from his mother when three nights\nold, and it is not known where he now is, nor whether he is living or\ndead, and though thou find him yet the boar will never be slain save\nonly with the sword of Gwrnach the giant, and if thou obtain it not\nneither shalt thou obtain my daughter.'\n\n'Horses shall I have, and knights from my lord Arthur. And I shall gain\nthy daughter, and thou shalt lose thy life.'\n\nThe speech of Kilwch the son of Kilydd with Yspaddaden Penkawr was\nended.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThen Arthur's men set forth, and Kilwch with them, and journeyed till\nthey reached the largest castle in the world, and a black man came out\nto meet them.\n\n'Whence comest thou, O man?' asked they, 'and whose is that castle?'\n\n'That is the castle of Gwrnach the giant, as all the world knows,'\nanswered the man, 'but no guest ever returned thence alive, and none may\nenter the gate except a craftsman, who brings his trade.' But little did\nArthur's men heed his warning, and they went straight to the gate.\n\n'Open!' cried Gwrhyr.\n\n'I will not open,' replied the porter.\n\n'And wherefore?' asked Kai.\n\n'The knife is in the meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there is\nrevelry in the hall of Gwrnach the giant, and save for a craftsman who\nbrings his trade the gate will not be opened to-night.'\n\n'Verily, then, I may enter,' said Kai, 'for there is no better burnisher\nof swords than I.'\n\n'This will I tell Gwrnach the giant, and I will bring thee his answer.'\n\n'Bid the man come before me,' cried Gwrnach, when the porter had told\nhis tale, 'for my sword stands much in need of polishing,' so Kai passed\nin and saluted Gwrnach the giant.\n\n'Is it true what I hear of thee, that thou canst burnish swords?'\n\n'It is true,' answered Kai. Then was the sword of Gwrnach brought to\nhim.\n\n'Shall it be burnished white or blue?' said Kai, taking a whetstone from\nunder his arm.\n\n'As thou wilt,' answered the giant, and speedily did Kai polish half the\nsword. The giant marvelled at his skill, and said:\n\n'It is a wonder that such a man as thou shouldst be without a\ncompanion.'\n\n'I have a companion, noble sir, but he has no skill in this art.'\n\n'What is his name?' asked the giant.\n\n'Let the porter go forth, and I will tell him how he may know him. The\nhead of his lance will leave its shaft, and draw blood from the wind,\nand descend upon its shaft again.' So the porter opened the gate and\nBedwyr entered.\n\nNow there was much talk amongst those who remained without when the gate\nclosed upon Bedwyr, and Goreu, son of Custennin, prevailed with the\nporter, and he and his companions got in also and hid themselves.\n\nBy this time the whole of the sword was polished, and Kai gave it into\nthe hand of Gwrnach the giant, who felt it and said:\n\n'Thy work is good; I am content.'\n\nThen said Kai:\n\n'It is thy scabbard that hath rusted thy sword; give it to me that I may\ntake out the wooden sides of it and put in new ones.' And he took the\nscabbard in one hand and the sword in the other, and came and stood\nbehind the giant, as if he would have sheathed the sword in the\nscabbard. But with it he struck a blow at the head of the giant, and it\nrolled from his body. After that they despoiled the castle of its gold\nand jewels, and returned, bearing the sword of the giant, to Arthur's\ncourt.\n\nThey told Arthur how they had sped, and they all took counsel together,\nand agreed that they must set out on the quest for Mabon the son of\nModron, and Gwrhyr, who knew the languages of beasts and of birds, went\nwith them. So they journeyed until they came to the nest of an ousel,\nand Gwrhyr spoke to her.\n\n'Tell me if thou knowest aught of Mabon the son of Modron, who was taken\nwhen three nights old from between his mother and the wall.'\n\nAnd the ousel answered:\n\n'When I first came here I was a young bird, and there was a smith's\nanvil in this place. But from that time no work has been done upon it,\nsave that every evening I have pecked at it, till now there is not so\nmuch as the size of a nut remaining thereof. Yet all that time I have\nnever once heard of the man you name. Still, there is a race of beasts\nolder than I, and I will guide you to them.'\n\nSo the ousel flew before them, till she reached the stag of Redynvre;\nbut when they inquired of the stag whether he knew aught of Mabon he\nshook his head.\n\n'When first I came hither,' said he, 'the plain was bare save for one\noak sapling, which grew up to be an oak with a hundred branches. All\nthat is left of that oak is a withered stump, but never once have I\nheard of the man you name. Nevertheless, as you are Arthur's men, I will\nguide you to the place where there is an animal older than I;' and the\nstag ran before them till he reached the owl of Cwm Cawlwyd. But when\nthey inquired of the owl if he knew aught of Mabon he shook his head.\n\n'When first I came hither,' said he, 'the valley was a wooded glen; then\na race of men came and rooted it up. After that there grew a second\nwood, and then a third, which you see. Look at my wings also--are they\nnot withered stumps? Yet until to-day I have never heard of the man you\nname. Still, I will guide you to the oldest animal in the world, and the\none that has travelled most, the eagle of Gwern Abbey.' And he flew\nbefore them, as fast as his old wings would carry him, till he reached\nthe eagle of Gwern Abbey, but when they inquired of the eagle whether he\nknew aught of Mabon he shook his head.\n\n[Illustration: The Stag of Redynvre brings the Seven Companions to the\nOwl of Cwm Cawlwyd]\n\n'When I first came hither,' said the eagle, 'there was a rock here, and\nevery evening I pecked at the stars from the top of it. Now, behold, it\nis not even a span high! But only once have I heard of the man you name,\nand that was when I went in search of food as far as Llyn Llyw. I\nswooped down upon a salmon, and struck my claws into him, but he drew me\ndown under water till scarcely could I escape from him. Then I summoned\nall my kindred to destroy him, but he made peace with me, and I took\nfifty fish spears from his back. Unless he may know something of the man\nwhom you seek I cannot tell who may. But I will guide you to the place\nwhere he is.'\n\nSo they followed the eagle, who flew before them, though so high was he\nin the sky, it was often hard to mark his flight. At length he stopped\nabove a deep pool in a river.\n\n'Salmon of Llyn Llyw,' he called, 'I have come to thee with an embassy\nfrom Arthur to inquire if thou knowest aught concerning Mabon the son of\nModron?' And the Salmon answered:\n\n'As much as I know I will tell thee. With every tide I go up the river,\ntill I reach the walls of Gloucester, and there have I found such wrong\nas I never found elsewhere. And that you may see that what I say is true\nlet two of you go thither on my shoulders.' So Kai and Gwrhyr went upon\nthe shoulders of the salmon, and were carried under the walls of the\nprison, from which proceeded the sound of great weeping.\n\n'Who is it that thus laments in this house of stone?'\n\n'It is I, Mabon the son of Modron.'\n\n'Will silver or gold bring thy freedom, or only battle and fighting?'\nasked Gwrhyr again.\n\n'By fighting alone shall I be set free,' said Mabon.\n\nThen they sent a messenger to Arthur to tell him that Mabon was found,\nand he brought all his warriors to the castle of Gloucester and fell\nfiercely upon it; while Kai and Bedwyr went on the shoulders of the\nsalmon to the gate of the dungeon, and broke it down and carried away\nMabon. And he now being free returned home with Arthur.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAfter this, on a certain day, as Gwrhyr was walking across a mountain he\nheard a grievous cry, and he hastened towards it. In a little valley he\nsaw the heather burning and the fire spreading fast towards an anthill,\nand all the ants were hurrying to and fro, not knowing whither to go.\nGwrhyr had pity on them, and put out the fire, and in gratitude the ants\nbrought him the nine bushels of flax seed which Yspaddaden Penkawr\nrequired of Kilwch. And many of the other marvels were done likewise by\nArthur and his knights, and at last it came to the fight with Trwyth the\nboar, to obtain the comb and the scissors and the razor that lay between\nhis ears. But hard was the boar to catch, and fiercely did he fight when\nArthur's men gave him battle, so that many of them were slain.\n\nUp and down the country went Trwyth the boar, and Arthur followed after\nhim, till they came to the Severn sea. There three knights caught his\nfeet unawares and plunged him into the water, while one snatched the\nrazor from him, and another seized the scissors. But before they laid\nhold of the comb he had shaken them all off, and neither man nor horse\nnor dog could reach him till he came to Cornwall, whither Arthur had\nsworn he should not go. Thither Arthur followed after him with his\nknights, and if it had been hard to win the razor and the scissors, the\nstruggle for the comb was fiercer still. Often it seemed as if the boar\nwould be the victor, but at length Arthur prevailed, and the boar was\ndriven into the sea. And whether he was drowned or where he went no man\nknows to this day.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the end all the marvels were done, and Kilwch set forward, and with\nhim Goreu, the son of Custennin, to Yspaddaden Penkawr, bearing in their\nhands the razor, the scissors and the comb, and Yspaddaden Penkawr was\nshaved by Kaw.\n\n'Is thy daughter mine now?' asked Kilwch.\n\n'She is thine,' answered Yspaddaden, 'but it is Arthur and none other\nwho has won her for thee. Of my own free will thou shouldst never have\nhad her, for now I must lose my life.' And as he spake Goreu the son of\nCustennin cut off his head, as it had been ordained, and Arthur's hosts\nreturned each man to his own country.\n\n\n    From the 'Mabinogion.'\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\n\nInconsistencies in hyphenation of words preserved. (cowhouse, cow-house;\nfarmhouse, farm-house; maybe, may-be; seaweeds, sea-weeds)\n\nPg. 44, \"money\" changed to \"monkey\" as inferred from context. (till the\nmonkey came again.)\n\nPg. 45, comma inserted in sentence to make sense clearer. (Why, isn't\nyour heart here?)\n\nPg. 66, story _A LOST PARADISE_, name of author \"Sebillot\" changed to\n\"Sebillot\" to match spelling in _A FRENCH PUCK_ and _THE STORY OF A\nVERY BAD BOY_.\n\nPg. 80, inserted closing single quote mark. (we have a good start.')\n\nPg. 96, illustration facing this page, and Pg. 99 illustration. In the\ncaptions, the name of the character \"SEVENINCHES\" is changed to \"SEVEN\nINCHES\" for readability and to match usage in text as well as in the\nList of Illustrations. (SEVEN INCHES CARRIES AWAY THE PRINCESSES) (IN\nCAME SEVEN INCHES HAND IN HAND WITH THE YOUNGEST SISTER)\n\nPg. 102, \"botttom\" changed to \"bottom\". (and the bottom of the\ndraw-well)\n\nPg. 116, name \"Toueno-Bueno\" (2 occurrences on this page) is spelled\n\"Toueno-Boueno\" elsewhere in the chapter. Original text preserved.\n\nPg. 141, \"tavellers'\" changed to \"travellers'\". (the travellers' 'serai'\nor inn)\n\nPg. 154, inserted closing single quote mark. (church that is yonder.')\n\nPg. 175, single quote mark appears superfluous at beginning of paragraph\nand so removed. (Yes, he had been wrong)\n\nPg. 198, caption of illustration facing this page, when transcribed for\nthe text version, opening double quote mark added. (\"MY BABY, MY BABY!\")\n\nPg. 223, caption of illustration, the words \"the Sea-Fairies Brought\"\nare inferred as the original is unclear. The words chosen match those\ngiven in the List of Illustrations.\n\nPg. 256, caption of illustration facing this page, when transcribed for\nthe text version \"Rogear\" changed to \"Rogear\" (slays Rogear the Magician.)\n\nPg. 282, \"stars\" is presumed as original is unclear. (as the stars in\nthe sky)\n\nPg. 289, inserted closing single quote mark. (town to come together.')\n\nPg. 314, caption of illustration, when transcribed for text version, for\nreadability, commas added to match caption given in list of\nillustrations. (COME LAWYER, COME TAILOR....)\n\nPg. 334, added ending punctuation. (and slept in the wood.)","title":"The Lilac Fairy Book","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":101865}