{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_3027/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_3027","id":"gutenberg_3027","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3027","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's Literature","Fairy tales","Folklore"],"text":"Ver.04.07.00*END*\n\n\n\nThis etext was prepared by Scanned by jcbyers@capitalnet.com, typed and\nProofread by LMShaf@aol.com\n\n\n\n\n\n           The Orange Fairy Book\n           Edited by Andrew Lang\n\n\nPreface\n\n\n\nThe children who read fairy books, or have fairy books read to them, do\nnot read prefaces, and the parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, who\ngive fairy books to their daughters, nieces, and cousines, leave\nprefaces unread.  For whom, then, are prefaces written?  When an author\npublishes a book 'out of his own head,' he writes the preface for his\nown pleasure.  After reading over his book in print--to make sure that\nall the 'u's' are not printed as 'n's,' and all the 'n's' as 'u's' in\nthe proper names--then the author says, mildly, in his preface, what he\nthinks about his own book, and what he means it to prove--if he means\nit to prove anything--and why it is not a better book than it is.  But,\nperhaps, nobody reads prefaces except other authors; and critics, who\nhope that they will find enough in the preface to enable them to do\nwithout reading any of the book.\n\nThis appears to be the philosophy of prefaces in general, and perhaps\nauthors might be more daring and candid than they are with advantage,\nand write regular criticisms of their own books in their prefaces, for\nnobody can be so good a critic of himself as the author--if he has a\nsense of humour.  If he has not, the less he says in his preface the\nbetter.\n\nThese Fairy Books, however, are not written by the Editor, as he has\noften explained, 'out of his own head.'  The stories are taken from\nthose told by grannies to grandchildren in many countries and in many\nlanguages-- French, Italian, Spanish, Catalan, Gaelic, Icelandic,\nCherokee, African, Indian, Australian, Slavonic, Eskimo, and what not.\nThe stories are not literal, or word by word translations, but have\nbeen altered in many ways to make them suitable for children.  Much has\nbeen left out in places, and the narrative has been broken up into\nconversations, the characters telling each other how matters stand, and\nspeaking for themselves, as children, and some older people, prefer\nthem to do.  In many tales, fairly cruel and savage deeds are done, and\nthese have been softened down as much as possible; though it is\nimpossible, even if it were desirable, to conceal the circumstance that\npopular stories were never intended to be tracts and nothing else.\nThough they usually take the side of courage and kindness, and the\nvirtues in general, the old story-tellers admire successful cunning as\nmuch as Homer does in the Odyssey.  At least, if the cunning hero,\nhuman or animal, is the weaker, like Odysseus, Brer Rabbit, and many\nothers, the story-teller sees little in intellect but superior cunning,\nby which tiny Jack gets the better of the giants.  In the fairy tales\nof no country are 'improper' incidents common, which is to the credit\nof human nature, as they were obviously composed mainly for children.\nIt is not difficult to get rid of this element when it does occur in\npopular tales.\n\nThe old puzzle remains a puzzle--why do the stories of the remotest\npeople so closely resemble each other?  Of course, in the immeasurable\npast, they have been carried about by conquering races, and learned by\nconquering races from vanquished peoples.  Slaves carried far from home\nbrought their stories with them into captivity.  Wanderers, travellers,\nshipwrecked men, merchants, and wives stolen from alien tribes have\ndiffused the stories; gipsies and Jews have passed them about; Roman\nsoldiers of many different races, moved here and there about the\nEmpire, have trafficked in them.  From the remotest days men have been\nwanderers, and wherever they went their stories accompanied them.  The\nslave trade might take a Greek to Persia, a Persian to Greece; an\nEgyptian woman to Phoenicia; a Babylonian to Egypt; a Scandinavian\nchild might be carried with the amber from the Baltic to the Adriatic;\nor a Sidonian to Ophir, wherever Ophir may have been; while the\nPortuguese may have borne their tales to South Africa, or to Asia, and\nthence brought back other tales to Egypt.  The stories wandered\nwherever the Buddhist missionaries went, and the earliest French\nvoyageurs told them to the Red Indians.  These facts help to account\nfor the sameness of the stories everywhere;  and the uniformity of\nhuman fancy in early societies must be the cause of many other\nresemblances.\n\nIn this volume there are stories from the natives of Rhodesia,\ncollected by Mr. Fairbridge, who speaks the native language, and one is\nbrought by Mr. Cripps from another part of Africa, Uganda.  Three tales\nfrom the Punjaub were collected and translated by Major Campbell.\nVarious savage tales, which needed a good deal of editing, are derived\nfrom the learned pages of the 'Journal of the Anthropological\nInstitute.'  With these exceptions, and 'The Magic Book,' translated by\nMrs. Pedersen, from 'Eventyr fra Jylland,' by Mr. Ewald Tang Kristensen\n(Stories from Jutland), all the tales have been done, from various\nsources, by Mrs. Lang, who has modified, where it seemed desirable, all\nthe narratives.\n\n\n\n                   CONTENTS\n\n\n\nThe Story of the Hero Makoma The Magic Mirror Story of the King who\nwould see Paradise How Isuro the Rabbit tricked Gudu Ian, the Soldier's\nSon The Fox and the Wolf How Ian Direach got the Blue Falcon The Ugly\nDuckling The Two Caskets The Goldsmith's Fortune The Enchanted Wreath\nThe Foolish Weaver The Clever Cat The Story of Manus Pinkel the Thief\nThe Adventures of a Jackal The Adventures of the Jachal's Eldest Son\nThe Adventures of the Younger Son of the Jackal The Three Treasures of\nthe Giants The Rover of the Plain The White Doe The Girl Fish The Owl\nand the Eagle The Frog and the Lion Fairy The Adventures of Covan the\nBrown-haired The Princess Bella-Flor The Bird of Truth The Mink and the\nWolf Adventures of an Indian Brave How the Stalos were Tricked Andras\nBaive The White Slipper The Magic Book\n\n\n\n            The Orange Fairy Book\n\n\n\n       The Story of the Hero Makoma        From the Senna (Oral\nTradition)\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time, at the town of Senna on the banks of the Zambesi, was\nborn a child.  He was not like other children, for he was very tall and\nstrong; over his shoulder he carried a big sack, and in his hand an\niron hammer.  He could also speak like a grown man, but usually he was\nvery silent.\n\nOne day his mother said to him: 'My child, by what name shall we know\nyou?'\n\nAnd he answered: 'Call all the head men of Senna here to the river's\nbank.' And his mother called the head men of the town, and when they\nhad come he led them down to a deep black pool in the river where all\nthe fierce crocodiles lived.\n\n'O great men!' he said, while they all listened, 'which of you will\nleap into the pool and overcome the crocodiles?' But no one would come\nforward.  So he turned and sprang into the water and disappeared.\n\nThe people held their breath, for they thought: 'Surely the boy is\nbewitched and throws away his life, for the crocodiles will eat him!'\nThen suddenly the ground trembled, and the pool, heaving and swirling,\nbecame red with blood, and presently the boy rising to the surface swam\non shore.\n\nBut he was no longer just a boy!  He was stronger than any man and very\ntall and handsome, so that the people shouted with gladness when they\nsaw him.\n\n'Now, O my people!' he cried, waving his hand, 'you know my name--I am\nMakoma, \"the Greater\"; for have I not slain the crocodiles into the\npool where none would venture?'\n\nThen he said to his mother: 'Rest gently, my mother, for I go to make a\nhome for myself and become a hero.'  Then, entering his hut he took\nNu-endo, his iron hammer, and throwing the sack over his shoulder, he\nwent away.\n\nMakoma crossed the Zambesi, and for many moons he wandered towards the\nnorth and west until he came to a very hilly country where, one day, he\nmet a huge giant making mountains.\n\n'Greeting,' shouted Makoma, 'you are you?'\n\n'I am Chi-eswa-mapiri, who makes the mountains,' answered the giant;\n'and who are you?'\n\n'I am Makoma, which signifies \"greater,\"' answered he.\n\n'Greater than who?' asked the giant.\n\n'Greater than you!' answered Makoma.\n\nThe giant gave a roar and rushed upon him.  Makoma said nothing, but\nswinging his great hammer, Nu-endo, he struck the giant upon the head.\n\nHe struck him so hard a blow that the giant shrank into quite a little\nman, who fell upon his knees saying: 'You are indeed greater than I, O\nMakoma; take me with you to be your slave!'  So Makoma picked him up\nand dropped him into the sack that he carried upon his back.\n\nHe was greater than ever now, for all the giant's strength had gone\ninto him; and he resumed his journey, carrying his burden with as\nlittle difficulty as an eagle might carry a hare.\n\nBefore long he came to a country broken up with huge stones and immense\nclods of earth.   Looking over one of the heaps he saw a giant wrapped\nin dust dragging out the very earth and hurling it in handfuls on\neither side of him.\n\n'Who are you,' cried Makoma, 'that pulls up the earth in this way?'\n\n'I am Chi-dubula-taka,' said he, 'and I am making the river-beds.'\n\n'Do you know who I am?' said Makoma.  'I am he that is called\n\"greater\"!'\n\n'Greater than who?' thundered the giant.\n\n'Greater than you!' answered Makoma.\n\nWith a shout, Chi-dubula-taka seized a great clod of earth and launched\nit at Makoma.  But the hero had his sack held over his left arm and the\nstones and earth fell harmlessly upon it, and, tightly gripping his\niron hammer, he rushed in and struck the giant to the ground.\nChi-dubula-taka grovelled before him, all the while growing smaller and\nsmaller; and when he had become a convenient size Makoma picked him up\nand put him into the sack beside Chi- eswa-mapiri.\n\nHe went on his way even greater than before, as all the river-maker's\npower had become his; and at last he came to a forest of bao- babs and\nthorn trees.  He was astonished at their size, for every one was full\ngrown and larger than any trees he had ever seen, and close by he saw\nChi-gwisa-miti, the giant who was planting the forest.\n\nChi-gwisa-miti was taller than either of his brothers, but Makoma was\nnot afraid, and called out to him: 'Who are you, O Big One?'\n\n'I,' said the giant, 'am Chi-gwisa-miti, and I am planting these\nbao-babs and thorns as food for my children the elephants.'\n\n'Leave off!' shouted the hero, 'for I am Makoma, and would like to\nexchange a blow with thee!'\n\nThe giant, plucking up a monster bao-bab by the roots, struck heavily\nat Makoma; but the hero sprang aside, and as the weapon sank deep into\nthe soft earth, whirled Nu-endo the hammer round his head and felled\nthe giant with one blow.\n\nSo terrible was the stroke that Chi-gwisa- miti shrivelled up as the\nother giants had done; and when he had got back his breath he begged\nMakoma to take him as his servant.  'For,' said he, 'it is honourable\nto serve a man so great as thou.'\n\nMakoma, after placing him in his sack, proceeded upon his journey, and\ntravelling for many days he at last reached a country so barren and\nrocky that not a single living thing grew upon it--everywhere reigned\ngrim desolation.  And in the midst of this dead region he found a man\neating fire.\n\n'What are you doing?' demanded Makoma.\n\n'I am eating fire,' answered the man, laughing; 'and my name is\nChi-idea-moto, for I am the flame-spirit, and can waste and destroy\nwhat I like.'\n\n'You are wrong,' said Makoma; 'for I am Makoma, who is \"greater\" than\nyou--and you cannot destroy me!'\n\nThe fire-eater laughed again, and blew a flame at Makoma.  But the hero\nsprang behind a rock--just in time, for the ground upon which he had\nbeen standing was turned to molten glass, like an overbaked pot, by the\nheat of the flame-spirit's breath.\n\nThen the hero flung his iron hammer at Chi- idea-moto, and, striking\nhim, it knocked him helpless; so Makoma placed him in the sack,\nWoro-nowu, with the other great men that he had overcome.\n\nAnd now, truly, Makoma was a very great hero; for he had the strength\nto make hills, the industry to lead rivers over dry wastes, foresight\nand wisdom in planting trees, and the power of producing fire when he\nwished.\n\nWandering on he arrived one day at a great plain, well watered and full\nof game; and in the very middle of it, close to a large river, was a\ngrassy spot, very pleasant to make a home upon.\n\nMakoma was so delighted with the little meadow that he sat down under a\nlarge tree and removing the sack from his shoulder, took out all the\ngiants and set them before him.  'My friends,' said he, 'I have\ntravelled far and am weary.  Is not this such a place as would suit a\nhero for his home?  Let us then go, to-morrow, to bring in timber to\nmake a kraal.'\n\nSo the next day Makoma and the giants set out to get poles to build the\nkraal, leaving only Chi-eswa-mapiri to look after the place and cook\nsome venison which they had killed.  In the evening, when they\nreturned, they found the giant helpless and tied to a tree by one\nenormous hair!\n\n'How is it,' said Makoma, astonished, 'that we find you thus bound and\nhelpless?'\n\n'O Chief,' answered Chi-eswa-mapiri, 'at mid- day a man came out of the\nriver; he was of immense statue, and his grey moustaches were of such\nlength that I could not see where they ended!  He demanded of me \"Who\nis thy master?\" And I answered: \"Makoma, the greatest of heroes.\" Then\nthe man seized me, and pulling a hair from his moustache, tied me to\nthis tree--even as you see me.'\n\nMakoma was very wroth, but he said nothing, and drawing his finger-nail\nacross the hair (which was as thick and strong as palm rope) cut it,\nand set free the mountain-maker.\n\nThe three following days exactly the same thing happened, only each\ntime with a different one of the party; and on the fourth day Makoma\nstayed in camp when the others went to cut poles, saying that he would\nsee for himself what sort of man this was that lived in the river and\nwhose moustaches were so long that they extended beyond men's sight.\n\nSo when the giants had gone he swept and tidied the camp and put some\nvenison on the fire to roast.  At midday, when the sun was right\noverhead, he heard a rumbling noise from the river, and looking up he\nsaw the head and shoulders of an enormous man emerging from it.  And\nbehold! right down the river-bed and up the river-bed, till they faded\ninto the blue distance, stretched the giant's grey moustaches!\n\n'Who are you?' bellowed the giant, as soon as he was out of the water.\n\n'I am he that is called Makoma,' answered the hero; 'and, before I slay\nthee, tell me also what is thy name and what thou doest in the river?'\n\n'My name is Chin-debou Mau-giri,' said the giant.  'My home is in the\nriver, for my moustache is the grey fever-mist that hangs above the\nwater, and with which I bind all those that come unto me so that they\ndie.'\n\n'You cannot bind me!' shouted Makoma, rushing upon him and striking\nwith his hammer.  But the river giant was so slimy that the blow slid\nharmlessly off his green chest, and as Makoma stumbled and tried to\nregain his balance, the giant swung one of his long hairs around him\nand tripped him up.\n\nFor a moment Makoma was helpless, but remembering the power of the\nflame-spirit which had entered into him, he breathed a fiery breath\nupon the giant's hair and cut himself free.\n\nAs Chin-debou Mau-giri leaned forward to seize him the hero flung his\nsack Woronowu over the giant's slippery head, and gripping his iron\nhammer, struck him again; this time the blow alighted upon the dry sack\nand Chin- debou Mau-giri fell dead.\n\nWhen the four giants returned at sunset with the poles, they rejoiced\nto find that Makoma had overcome the fever-spirit, and they feasted on\nthe roast venison till far into the night; but in the morning, when\nthey awoke, Makoma was already warming his hands to the fire, and his\nface was gloomy.\n\n'In the darkness of the night, O my friends,' he said presently, 'the\nwhite spirits of my fathers came upon me and spoke, saying: \"Get thee\nhence, Makoma, for thou shalt have no rest until thou hast found and\nfought with Sakatirina, who had five heads, and is very great and\nstrong; so take leave of thy friends, for thou must go alone.\"'\n\nThen the giants were very sad, and bewailed the loss of their hero; but\nMakoma comforted them, and gave back to each the gifts he had taken\nfrom them.  Then bidding them 'Farewell,' he went on his way.\n\nMakoma travelled far towards the west; over rough mountains and\nwater-logged morasses, fording deep rivers, and tramping for days\nacross dry deserts where most men would have died, until at length he\narrived at a hut standing near some large peaks, and inside the hut\nwere two beautiful women.\n\n'Greeting!' said the hero.  'Is this the country of Sakatirina of five\nheads, whom I am seeking?'\n\n'We greet you, O Great One!' answered the women.  'We are the wives of\nSakatirina; your search is at an end, for there stands he whom you\nseek!'  And they pointed to what Makoma had thought were two tall\nmountain peaks.  'Those are his legs,' they said; 'his body you cannot\nsee, for it is hidden in the clouds.'\n\nMakoma was astonished when he beheld how tall was the giant; but,\nnothing daunted, he went forward until he reached one of Sakatirina's\nlegs, which he struck heavily with Nu-endo.  Nothing happened, so he\nhit again and then again until, presently, he heard a tired, far-away\nvoice saying: 'Who is it that scratches my feet?'\n\nAnd Makoma shouted as loud as he could, answering: 'It is I, Makoma,\nwho is called \"Greater\"!' And he listened, but there was no answer.\n\nThen Makoma collected all the dead brushwood and trees that he could\nfind, and making an enormous pile round the giant's legs, set a light\nto it.\n\nThis time the giant spoke; his voice was very terrible, for it was the\nrumble of thunder in the clouds.  'Who is it,' he said, 'making that\nfire smoulder around my feet?'\n\n'It is I, Makoma!' shouted the hero.  'And I have come from far away to\nsee thee, O Sakatirina, for the spirits of my fathers bade me go seek\nand fight with thee, lest I should grow fat, and weary of myself.'\n\nThere was silence for a while, and then the giant spoke softly: 'It is\ngood, O Makoma!' he said.  'For I too have grown weary.  There is no\nman so great as I, therefore I am all alone.  Guard thyself!' and\nbending suddenly he seized the hero in his hands and dashed him upon\nthe ground.  And lo! instead of death, Makoma had found life, for he\nsprang to his feet mightier in strength and stature than before, and\nrushing in he gripped the giant by the waist and wrestled with him.\n\nHour by hour they fought, and mountains rolled beneath their feet like\npebbles in a flood; now Makoma would break away, and summoning up his\nstrength, strike the giant with Nu-endo his iron hammer, and Sakatirina\nwould pluck up the mountains and hurl them upon the hero, but neither\none could slay the other.  At last, upon the second day, they grappled\nso strongly that they could not break away; but their strength was\nfailing, and, just as the sun was sinking, they fell together to the\nground, insensible.\n\nIn the morning when they awoke, Mulimo the Great Spirit was standing by\nthem; and he said: 'O Makoma and Sakatirina!  Ye are heroes so great\nthat no man may come against you.  Therefore ye will leave the world\nand take up your home with me in the clouds.'  And as he spake the\nheroes became invisible to the people of the Earth, and were no more\nseen among them.\n\n[Native Rhodesian Tale.]\n\n\n\n               The Magic Mirror                From the Senna\n\n\n\nA long, long while ago, before ever the White Men were seen in Senna,\nthere lived a man called Gopani-Kufa.\n\nOne day, as he was out hunting, he came upon a strange sight.  An\nenormous python had caught an antelope and coiled itself around it; the\nantelope, striking out in despair with its horns, had pinned the\npython's neck to a tree, and so deeply had its horns sunk in the soft\nwood that neither creature could get away.\n\n'Help!' cried the antelope, 'for I was doing no harm, yet I have been\ncaught, and would have been eaten, had I not defended myself.'\n\n'Help me,' said the python, 'for I am Insato, King of all the Reptiles,\nand will reward you well!'\n\nGopani-Kufa considered for a moment, then stabbing the antelope with\nhis assegai, he set the python free.\n\n'I thank you,' said the python; 'come back here with the new moon, when\nI shall have eaten the antelope, and I will reward you as I promised.'\n\n'Yes,' said the dying antelope, 'he will reward you, and lo! your\nreward shall be your own undoing!'\n\nGopani-Kufa went back to his kraal, and with the new moon he returned\nagain to the spot where he had saved the python.\n\nInsato was lying upon the ground, still sleepy from the effects of his\nhuge meal, and when he saw the man he thanked him again, and said:\n'Come with me now to Pita, which is my own country, and I will give you\nwhat you will of all my possessions.'\n\nGopani-Kufa at first was afraid, thinking of what the antelope had\nsaid, but finally he consented and followed Insato into the forest.\n\nFor several days they travelled, and at last they came to a hole\nleading deep into the earth.  It was not very wide, but large enough to\nadmit a man.  'Hold on to my tail,' said Insato, 'and I will go down\nfirst, drawing you after me.'  The man did so, and Insato entered.\n\nDown, down, down they went for days, all the while getting deeper and\ndeeper into the earth, until at last the darkness ended and they\ndropped into a beautiful country; around them grew short green grass,\non which browsed herds of cattle and sheep and goats.  In the distance\nGopani-Kufa saw a great collection of houses all square, built of stone\nand very tall, and their roofs were shining with gold and burnished\niron.\n\nGopani-Kufa turned to Insato, but found, in the place of the python, a\nman, strong and handsome, with the great snake's skin wrapped round him\nfor covering; and on his arms and neck were rings of pure gold.\n\nThe man smiled.  'I am Insato,' said he, 'but in my own country I take\nman's shape--even as you see me--for this is Pita, the land over which\nI am king.'  He then took Gopani-Kufa by the hand and led him towards\nthe town.\n\nOn the way they passed rivers in which men and women were bathing and\nfishing and boating; and farther on they came to gardens covered with\nheavy crops of rice and maize, and many other grains which Gopani-Kufa\ndid not even know the name of.  And as they passed, the people who were\nsinging at their work in the fields, abandoned their labours and\nsaluted Insato with delight, bringing also palm wine and green\ncocoanuts for refreshment, as to one returned from a long journey.\n\n'These are my children!' said Insato, waving his hand towards the\npeople.  Gopani-Kufa was much astonished at all that he saw, but he\nsaid nothing.  Presently they came to the town; everything here, too,\nwas beautiful, and everything that a man might desire he could obtain.\nEven the grains of dust in the streets were of gold and silver.\n\nInsato conducted Gopani-Kufa to the palace, and showing him his rooms,\nand the maidens who would wait upon him, told him that they would have\na great feast that night, and on the morrow he might name his choice of\nthe riches of Pita and it should be given him.  Then he was away.\n\nNow Gopani-Kufa had a wasp called Zengi-mizi.  Zengi-mizi was not an\nordinary wasp, for the spirit of the father of Gopani-Kufa had entered\nit, so that it was exceedingly wise.  In times of doubt Gopani-Kufa\nalways consulted the wasp as to what had better be done, so on this\noccasion he took it out of the little rush basket in which he carried\nit, saying: 'Zengi-mizi, what gift shall I ask of Insato to-morrow when\nhe would know the reward he shall bestow on me for saving his life?'\n\n'Biz-z-z,' hummed Zengi-mizi, 'ask him for Sipao the Mirror.'  And it\nflew back into its basket.\n\nGopani-Kufa was astonished at this answer; but knowing that the words\nof Zengi-mizi were true words, he determined to make the request.  So\nthat night they feasted, and on the morrow Insato came to Gopani-Kufa\nand, giving him greeting joyfully, he said:\n\n'Now, O my friend, name your choice amongst my possessions and you\nshall have it!'\n\n'O king!' answered Gopani-Kufa, 'out of all your possessions I will\nhave the Mirror, Sipao.'\n\nThe king started.  'O friend, Gopani-Kufa,' he said, 'ask anything but\nthat!  I did not think that you would request that which is most\nprecious to me.'\n\n'Let me think over it again then, O king,' said Gopani-Kufa, 'and\nto-morrow I will let you know if I change my mind.'\n\nBut the king was still much troubled, fearing the loss of Sipao, for\nthe mirror had magic powers, so that he who owned it had but to ask and\nhis wish would be fulfilled; to it Insato owed all that he possessed.\n\nAs soon as the king left him, Gopani-Kufa again took Zengi-mizi, out of\nhis basket.  'Zengi-mizi,' he said, 'the king seems loth to grant my\nrequest for the Mirror--is there not some other thing of equal value\nfor which I might ask?'\n\nAnd the wasp answered: 'There is nothing in the world, O Gopani-Kufa,\nwhich is of such value as this Mirror, for it is a Wishing Mirror, and\naccomplishes the desires of him who owns it.  If the king hesitates, go\nto him the next day, and the day after, and in the end he will bestow\nthe Mirror upon you, for you saved his life.'\n\nAnd it was even so.  For three days Gopani- Kufa returned the same\nanswer to the king, and, at last, with tears in his eyes, Insato gave\nhim the Mirror, which was of polished iron, saying: 'Take Sipao, then,\nO Gopani- Kufa, and may thy wishes come true.  Go back now to thine own\ncountry; Sipao will show you the way.'\n\nGopani-Kufa was greatly rejoiced, and, taking farewell of the king,\nsaid to the Mirror:\n\n'Sipao, Sipao, I wish to be back upon the Earth again!'\n\nInstantly he found himself standing upon the upper earth; but, not\nknowing the spot, he said again to the Mirror:\n\n'Sipao, Sipao, I want the path to my own kraal!'\n\nAnd behold! right before him lay the path!\n\nWhen he arrived home he found his wife and daughter mourning for him,\nfor they thought that he had been eaten by lions; but he comforted\nthem, saying that while following a wounded antelope he had missed his\nway and had wandered for a long time before he had found the path again.\n\nThat night he asked Zengi-mizi, in whom sat the spirit of his father,\nwhat he had better ask Sipao for next?\n\n'Biz-z-z,' said the wasp, 'would you not like to be as great a chief as\nInsato?'\n\nAnd Gopani-Kufa smiled, and took the Mirror and said to it:\n\n'Sipao, Sipao, I want a town as great as that of Insato, the King of\nPita; and I wish to be chief over it!'\n\nThen all along the banks of the Zambesi river, which flowed near by,\nsprang up streets of stone buildings, and their roofs shone with gold\nand burnished iron like those in Pita; and in the streets men and women\nwere walking, and young boys were driving out the sheep and cattle to\npasture; and from the river came shouts and laughter from the young men\nand maidens who had launched their canoes and were fishing.  And when\nthe people of the new town beheld Gopani-Kufa they rejoiced greatly and\nhailed him as chief.\n\nGopani-Kufa was now as powerful as Insato the King of the Reptiles had\nbeen, and he and his family moved into the palace that stood high above\nthe other buildings right in the middle of the town.  His wife was too\nastonished at all these wonders to ask any questions, but his daughter\nShasasa kept begging him to tell her how he had suddenly become so\ngreat; so at last he revealed the whole secret, and even entrusted\nSipao the Mirror to her care, saying:\n\n'It will be safer with you, my daughter, for you dwell apart; whereas\nmen come to consult me on affairs of state, and the Mirror might be\nstolen.'\n\nThen Shasasa took the Magic Mirror and hid it beneath her pillow, and\nafter that for many years Gopani-Kufa ruled his people both well and\nwisely, so that all men loved him, and never once did he need to ask\nSipao to grant him a wish.\n\nNow it happened that, after many years, when the hair of Gopani-Kufa\nwas turning grey with age, there came white men to that country.  Up\nthe Zambesi they came, and they fought long and fiercely with\nGopani-Kufa; but, because of the power of the Magic Mirror, he beat\nthem, and they fled to the sea-coast.  Chief among them was one Rei, a\nman of much cunning, who sought to discover whence sprang Gopani-Kufa's\npower.  So one day he called to him a trusty servant named Butou, and\nsaid: 'Go you to the town and find out for me what is the secret of its\ngreatness.'\n\nAnd Butou, dressing himself in rags, set out, and when he came to\nGopani-Kufa's town he asked for the chief; and the people took him into\nthe presence of Gopani-Kufa.  When the white man saw him he humbled\nhimself, and said: 'O Chief! take pity on me, for I have no home!  When\nRei marched against you I alone stood apart, for I knew that all the\nstrength of the Zambesi lay in your hands, and because I would not\nfight against you he turned me forth into the forest to starve!'\n\nAnd Gopani-Kufa believed the white man's story, and he took him in and\nfeasted him, and gave him a house.\n\nIn this way the end came.  For the heart of Shasasa, the daughter of\nGopani-Kufa, went forth to Butou the traitor, and from her he learnt\nthe secret of the Magic Mirror.  One night, when all the town slept, he\nfelt beneath her pillow and, finding the Mirror, he stole it and fled\nback with it to Rei, the chief of the white men.\n\nSo it befell that, one day, as Gopani-Kufa was gazing up at the river\nfrom a window of the palace he again saw the war-canoes of the white\nmen; and at the sight his spirit misgave him.\n\n'Shasasa! my daughter!' he cried wildly, 'go fetch me the mirror, for\nthe white men are at hand.'\n\n'Woe is me, my father!' she sobbed.  'The Mirror is gone!  For I loved\nButou the traitor, and he has stolen Sipao from me!'\n\nThen Gopani-Kufa calmed himself, and drew out Zengi-mizi from its rush\nbasket.\n\n'O spirit of my father!' he said, 'what now shall I do?'\n\n'O Gopani-Kufa!' hummed the wasp, 'there is nothing now that can be\ndone, for the words of the antelope which you slew are being fulfilled.'\n\n'Alas!  I am an old man--I had forgotten!' cried the chief.  'The words\nof the antelope were true words--my reward shall be my undoing--they\nare being fulfilled!'\n\nThen the white men fell upon the people of Gopani-Kufa and slew them\ntogether with the chief and his daughter Shasasa; and since then all\nthe power of the Earth has rested in the hands of the white men, for\nthey have in their possession Sipao, the Magic Mirror.\n\n\n\n       Story of the King Who Would See                   Paradise\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was king who, one day out hunting, came upon a\nfakeer in a lonely place in the mountains.  The fakeer was seated on a\nlittle old bedstead reading the Koran, with his patched cloak thrown\nover his shoulders.\n\nThe king asked him what he was reading; and he said he was reading\nabout Paradise, and praying that he might be worthy to enter there.\nThen they began to talk, and, by-and- bye, the king asked the fakeer if\nhe could show him a glimpse of Paradise, for he found it very difficult\nto believe in what he could not see.  The fakeer replied that he was\nasking a very difficult, and perhaps a very dangerous, thing; but that\nhe would pray for him, and perhaps he might be able to do it; only he\nwarned the king both against the dangers of his unbelief, and against\nthe curiosity which prompted him to ask this thing.  However, the king\nwas not to be turned from his purpose, and he promised the fakeer\nalways to provided him with food, if he, in return, would pray for him.\n To this the fakeer agreed, and so they parted.\n\nTime went on, and the king always sent the old fakeer his food\naccording to his promise; but, whenever he sent to ask him when he was\ngoing to show him Paradise, the fakeer always replied: 'Not yet, not\nyet!'\n\nAfter a year or two had passed by, the king heard one day that the\nfakeer was very ill-- indeed, he was believed to be dying.  Instantly\nhe hurried off himself, and found that it was really true, and that the\nfakeer was even then breathing his last.  There and then the king\nbesought him to remember his promise, and to show him a glimpse of\nParadise.  The dying fakeer replied that if the king would come to his\nfuneral, and, when the grave was filled in, and everyone else was gone\naway, he would come and lay his hand upon the grave, he would keep his\nword, and show him a glimpse of Paradise.  At the same time he implored\nthe king not to do this thing, but to be content to see Paradise when\nGod called him there.  Still the king's curiosity was so aroused that\nhe would not give way.\n\nAccordingly, after the fakeer was dead, and had been buried, he stayed\nbehind when all the rest went away; and then, when he was quite alone,\nhe stepped forward, and laid his hand upon the grave!  Instantly the\nground opened, and the astonished king, peeping in, saw a flight of\nrough steps, and, at the bottom of them, the fakeer sitting, just as he\nused to sit, on his rickety bedstead, reading the Koran!\n\nAt first the king was so surprised and frightened that he could only\nstare; but the fakeer beckoned to him to come down, so, mustering up\nhis courage, he boldly stepped down into the grave.\n\nThe fakeer rose, and, making a sign to the king to follow, walked a few\npaces along a dark passage.  Then he stopped, turned solemnly to his\ncompanion, and, with a movement of his hand, drew aside as it were a\nheavy curtain, and revealed--what?  No one knows what was there shown\nto the king, nor did he ever tell anyone; but, when the fakeer at\nlength dropped the curtain, and the king turned to leave the place, he\nhad had his glimpse of Paradise!  Trembling in every limb, he staggered\nback along the passage, and stumbled up the steps out of the tomb into\nthe fresh air again.\n\nThe dawn was breaking.  It seemed odd to the king that he had been so\nlong in the grave.  It appeared but a few minutes ago that he had\ndescended, passed along a few steps to the place where he had peeped\nbeyond the veil, and returned again after perhaps five minutes of that\nwonderful view!  And what WAS it he had seen?  He racked his brains to\nremember, but he could not call to mind a single thing!  How curious\neverything looked too!  Why, his own city, which by now he was\nentering, seemed changed and strange to him!  The sun was already up\nwhen he turned into the palace gate and entered the public durbar hall.\n It was full; and there upon the throne sat another king!  The poor\nking, all bewildered, sat down and stared about him.  Presently a\nchamberlain came across and asked him why he sat unbidden in the king's\npresence.  'But I am the king!' he cried.\n\n'What king?' said the chamberlain.\n\n'The true king of this country,' said he indignantly.\n\nThen the chamberlain went away, and spoke to the king who sat on the\nthrone, and the old king heard words like 'mad,' 'age,' 'compassion.'\nThen the king on the throne called him to come forward, and, as he\nwent, he caught sight of himself reflected in the polished steel shield\nof the bodyguard, and started back in horror!  He was old, decrepit,\ndirty, and ragged!  His long white beard and locks were unkempt, and\nstraggled all over his chest and shoulders.  Only one sign of royalty\nremained to him, and that was the signet ring upon his right hand.  He\ndragged it off with shaking fingers and held it up to the king.\n\n'Tell me who I am,' he cried; 'there is my signet, who once sat where\nyou sit--even yesterday!'\n\nThe king looked at him compassionately, and examined the signet with\ncuriosity.  Then he commanded, and they brought out dusty records and\narchives of the kingdom, and old coins of previous reigns, and compared\nthem faithfully.  At last the king turned to the old man, and said:\n'Old man, such a king as this whose signet thou hast, reigned seven\nhundred years ago; but he is said to have disappeared, none know\nwhither; where got you the ring?'\n\nThen the old man smote his breast, and cried out with a loud\nlamentation; for he understood that he, who was not content to wait\npatiently to see the Paradise of the faithful, had been judged already.\n And he turned and left the hall without a word, and went into the\njungle, where he lived for twenty-five years a life of prayer and\nmeditations, until at last the Angel of Death came to him, and\nmercifully released him, purged and purified through his punishment.\n\n[A Pathan story told to Major Campbell.]\n\n\n\n      How Isuro the Rabbit Tricked Gudu\n\n\n\nFar away in a hot country, where the forests are very thick and dark,\nand the rivers very swift and strong, there once lived a strange pair\nof friends.  Now one of the friends was a big white rabbit named Isuro,\nand the other was a tall baboon called Gudu, and so fond were they of\neach other that they were seldom seen apart.\n\nOne day, when the sun was hotter even than usual, the rabbit awoke from\nhis midday sleep, and saw Gudu the baboon standing beside him.\n\n'Get up,' said Gudu; 'I am going courting, and you must come with me.\nSo put some food in a bag, and sling it round your neck, for we may not\nbe able to find anything to eat for a long while.'\n\nThen the rabbit rubbed his eyes, and gathered a store of fresh green\nthings from under the bushes, and told Gudu that he was ready for the\njourney.\n\nThey went on quite happily for some distance, and at last they came to\na river with rocks scattered here and there across the stream.\n\n'We can never jump those wide spaces if we are burdened with food,'\nsaid Gudu, 'we must throw it into the river, unless we wish to fall in\nourselves.'  And stooping down, unseen by Isuro, who was in front of\nhim, Gudu picked up a big stone, and threw it into the water with a\nloud splash.\n\n'It is your turn now,' he cried to Isuro.  And with a heavy sigh, the\nrabbit unfastened his bag of food, which fell into the river.\n\nThe road on the other side led down an avenue of trees, and before they\nhad gone very far Gudu opened the bag that lay hidden in the thick hair\nabout his neck, and began to eat some delicious-looking fruit.\n\n'Where did you get that from?' asked Isuro enviously.\n\n'Oh, I found after all that I could get across the rocks quite easily,\nso it seemed a pity not to keep my bag,' answered Gudu.\n\n'Well, as you tricked me into throwing away mine, you ought to let me\nshare with you,' said Isuro.  But Gudu pretended not to hear him, and\nstrode along the path.\n\nBy-and-bye they entered a wood, and right in front of them was a tree\nso laden with fruit that its branches swept the ground.  And some of\nthe fruit was still green, and some yellow.  The rabbit hopped forward\nwith joy, for he was very hungry; but Gudu said to him: 'Pluck the\ngreen fruit, you will find it much the best.  I will leave it all for\nyou, as you have had no dinner, and take the yellow for myself.'  So\nthe rabbit took one of the green oranges and began to bite it, but its\nskin was so hard that he could hardly get his teeth through the rind.\n\n'It does not taste at all nice,' he cried, screwing up his face; 'I\nwould rather have one of the yellow ones.'\n\n'No! no!  I really could not allow that,' answered Gudu.  'They would\nonly make you ill.  Be content with the green fruit.'  And as they were\nall he could get, Isuro was forced to put up with them.\n\nAfter this had happened two or three times, Isuro at last had his eyes\nopened, and made up his mind that, whatever Gudu told him, he would do\nexactly the opposite.  However, by this time they had reached the\nvillage where dwelt Gudu's future wife, and as they entered Gudu\npointed to a clump of bushes, and said to Isuro: 'Whenever I am eating,\nand you hear me call out that my food has burnt me, run as fast as you\ncan and gather some of those leaves that they may heal my mouth.'\n\nThe rabbit would have liked to ask him why he ate food that he knew\nwould burn him, only he was afraid, and just nodded in reply; but when\nthey had gone on a little further, he said to Gudu:\n\n'I have dropped my needle; wait here a moment while I go and fetch it.'\n\n'Be quick then,' answered Gudu, climbing into a tree.  And the rabbit\nhastened back to the bushes, and gathered a quantity of the leaves,\nwhich he hid among his fur, 'For,' thought he, 'if I get them now I\nshall save myself the trouble of a walk by-and-by.'\n\nWhen he had plucked as many as he wanted he returned to Gudu, and they\nwent on together.\n\n The sun was almost setting by the time they reached their journey's\nend and being very tired they gladly sat down by a well.  Then Gudu's\nbetrothed, who had been watching for him, brought out a pitcher of\nwater--which she poured over them to wash off the dust of the road--and\ntwo portions of food.  But once again the rabbit's hopes were dashed to\nthe ground, for Gudu said hastily:\n\n'The custom of the village forbids you to eat till I have finished.'\nAnd Isuro did not know that Gudu was lying, and that he only wanted\nmore food.  So he saw hungrily looking on, waiting till his friend had\nhad enough.\n\nIn a little while Gudu screamed loudly: 'I am burnt!  I am burnt!'\nthough he was not burnt at all.  Now, though Isuro had the leaves about\nhim, he did not dare to produce them at the last moment lest the baboon\nshould guess why he had stayed behind.  So he just went round a corner\nfor a short time, and then came hopping back in a great hurry.  But,\nquick though he was, Gudu had been quicker still, and nothing remained\nbut some drops of water.\n\n'How unlucky you are,' said Gudu, snatching the leaves; 'no sooner had\nyou gone than ever so many people arrived, and washed their hands, as\nyou see, and ate your portion.'  But, though Isuro knew better than to\nbelieve him, he said nothing, and went to bed hungrier than he had ever\nbeen in his life.\n\nEarly next morning they started for another village, and passed on the\nway a large garden where people were very busy gathering monkey- nuts.\n\n'You can have a good breakfast at last,' said Gudu, pointing to a heap\nof empty shells; never doubting but that Isuro would meekly take the\nportion shown him, and leave the real nuts for himself.  But what was\nhis surprise when Isuro answered:\n\n'Thank you; I think I should prefer these.'  And, turning to the\nkernels, never stopped as long as there was one left.  And the worst of\nit was that, with so many people about, Gudu could not take the nuts\nfrom him.\n\nIt was night when they reached the village where dwelt the mother of\nGudu's betrothed, who laid meat and millet porridge before them.\n\n'I think you told me you were fond of porridge,' said Gudu; but Isuro\nanswered: 'You are mistaking me for somebody else, as I always eat meat\nwhen I can get it.'  And again Gudu was forced to be content with the\nporridge, which he hated.\n\nWhile he was eating it, however a sudden thought darted into his mind,\nand he managed to knock over a great pot of water which was hanging in\nfront of the fire, and put it quite out.\n\n'Now,' said the cunning creature to himself, 'I shall be able in the\ndark to steal his meat!'  But the rabbit had grown as cunning as he,\nand standing in a corner hid the meat behind him, so that the baboon\ncould not find it.\n\n'O Gudu!' he cried, laughing aloud, 'it is you who have taught me to be\nclever.'  And calling to the people of the house, he bade them kindle\nthe fire, for Gudu would sleep by it, but that he would pass the night\nwith some friends in another hut.\n\n It was still quite dark when Isuro heard his name called very softly,\nand, on opening his eyes, beheld Gudu standing by him.  Laying his\nfinger on his nose, in token of silence, he signed to Isuro to get up\nand follow him, and it was not until they were some distance from the\nhut that Gudu spoke.\n\n'I am hungry and want something to eat better than that nasty porridge\nthat I had for supper.  So I am going to kill one of those goats, and\nas you are a good cook you must boil the flesh for me.'  The rabbit\nnodded, and Gudu disappeared behind a rock, but soon returned dragging\nthe dead goat with him.  The two then set about skinning it, after\nwhich they stuffed the skin with dried leaves, so that no one would\nhave guessed it was not alive, and set it up in the middle of a lump of\nbushes, which kept it firm on its feet.  While he was doing this, Isuro\ncollected sticks for a fire, and when it was kindled, Gudu hastened to\nanother hut to steal a pot which he filled with water from the river,\nand, planting two branches in the ground, they hung the pot with the\nmeat in it over the fire.\n\n'It will not be fit to eat for two hours at least,' said Gudu, 'so we\ncan both have a nap.'  And he stretched himself out on the ground, and\npretended to fall fast asleep, but, in reality, he was only waiting\ntill it was safe to take all the meat for himself.  'Surely I hear him\nsnore,' he thought; and he stole to the place where Isuro was lying on\na pile of wood, but the rabbit's eyes were wide open.\n\n'How tiresome,' muttered Gudu, as he went back to his place; and after\nwaiting a little longer he got up, and peeped again, but still the\nrabbit's pink eyes stared widely.  If Gudu had only known, Isuro was\nasleep all the time; but this he never guessed, and by-and- bye he grew\nso tired with watching that he went to sleep himself.  Soon after,\nIsuro woke up, and he too felt hungry, so he crept softly to the pot\nand ate all the meat, while he tied the bones together and hung them in\nGudu's fur.  After that he went back to the wood-pile and slept again.\n\nIn the morning the mother of Gudu's betrothed came out to milk her\ngoats, and on going to the bushes where the largest one seemed\nentangled, she found out the trick.  She made such lament that the\npeople of the village came running, and Gudu and Isuro jumped up also,\nand pretended to be as surprised and interested as the rest.  But they\nmust have looked guilty after all, for suddenly an old man pointed to\nthem, and cried:\n\n'Those are thieves.'  And at the sound of his voice the big Gudu\ntrembled all over.\n\n'How dare you say such things?  I defy you to prove it,' answered Isuro\nboldly.  And he danced forward, and turned head over heels, and shook\nhimself before them all.\n\n'I spoke hastily; you are innocent,' said the old man; 'but now let the\nbaboon do likewise.'  And when Gudu began to jump the goat's bones\nrattled and the people cried: 'It is Gudu who is the goat-slayer!'  But\nGudu answered:\n\n'Nay, I did not kill your goat; it was Isuro, and he ate the meat, and\nhung the bones round my neck.  So it is he who should die!'  And the\npeople looked at each other, for they knew not what to believe.  At\nlength one man said:\n\n'Let them both die, but they may choose their own deaths.'\n\nThen Isuro answered:\n\n'If we must die, put us in the place where the wood is cut, and heap it\nup all round us, so that we cannot escape, and set fire to the wood;\nand if one is burned and the other is not, then he that is burned is\nthe goat- slayer.'\n\nAnd the people did as Isuro had said.  But Isuro knew of a hole under\nthe wood-pile, and when the fire was kindled he ran into the hole, but\nGudu died there.\n\nWhen the fire had burned itself out and only ashes were left where the\nwood had been, Isuro came out of his hole, and said to the people:\n\n'Lo! did I not speak well?  He who killed your goat is among those\nashes.'\n\n[Mashona Story.]\n\n\n\n            Ian, the Soldier's Son\n\n\n\nThere dwelt a knight in Grianaig of the land of the West, who had three\ndaughters, and for goodness and beauty they had not their like in all\nthe isles.  All the people loved them, and loud was the weeping when\none day, as the three maidens sat on the rocks on the edge of the sea,\ndipping their feet in the water, there arose a great beast from under\nthe waves and swept them away beneath the ocean.  And none knew whither\nthey had gone, or how to seek them.\n\nNow there lived in a town a few miles off a soldier who had three sons,\nfine youths and strong, and the best players at shinny in that country.\n At Christmastide that year, when families met together and great\nfeasts were held, Ian, the youngest of the three brothers, said:\n\n'Let us have a match at shinny on the lawn of the knight of Grianaig,\nfor his lawn is wider and the grass smoother than ours.'\n\nBut the others answered:\n\n'Nay, for he is in sorrow, and he will think of the games that we have\nplayed there when his daughters looked on.'\n\n'Let him be pleased or angry as he will,' said Ian; 'we will drive our\nball on his lawn to-day.'\n\nAnd so it was done, and Ian won three games from his brothers.  But the\nknight looked out of his window, and was wroth; and bade his men bring\nthe youths before him.  When he stood in his hall and beheld them, his\nheart was softened somewhat; but his face was angry as he asked:\n\n'Why did you choose to play shinny in front of my castle when you knew\nfull well that the remembrance of my daughters would come back to me?\nThe pain which you have made me suffer you shall suffer also.'\n\n'Since we have done you wrong,' answered Ian, the youngest, 'build us a\nship, and we will go and seek your daughters.  Let them be to windward,\nor to leeward, or under the four brown boundaries of the sea, we will\nfind them before a year and a day goes by, and will carry them back to\nGrianaig.'\n\nIn seven days the ship was built, and great store of food and wine\nplaced in her.  And the three brothers put her head to the sea and\nsailed away, and in seven days the ship ran herself on to a beach of\nwhite sand, and they all went ashore.  They had none of them ever seen\nthat land before, and looked about them.  Then they saw that, a short\nway from them, a number of men were working on a rock, with one man\nstanding over them.\n\n'What place is this?' asked the eldest brother.  And the man who was\nstanding by made answer:\n\n'This is the place where dwell the three daughters of the knight of\nGrianaig, who are to be wedded to-morrow to three giants.'\n\n'How can we find them?' asked the young man again.  And the overlooker\nanswered:\n\n'To reach the daughters of the knight of Grianaig you must get into\nthis basket, and be drawn by a rope up the face of this rock.'\n\n'Oh, that is easily done,' said the eldest brother, jumping into the\nbasket, which at once began to move--up, and up, and up--till he had\ngone about half-way, when a fat black raven flew at him and pecked him\ntill he was nearly blind, so that he was forced to go back the way he\nhad come.\n\nAfter that the second brother got into the creel; but he fared no\nbetter, for the raven flew upon him, and he returned as his brother had\ndone.\n\n'Now it is my turn,' said Ian.  But when he was halfway up the raven\nset upon him also.\n\n'Quick! quick!' cried Ian to the men who held the rope.  'Quick! quick!\nor I shall be blinded!' And the men pulled with all their might, and in\nanother moment Ian was on top, and the raven behind him.\n\n'Will you give me a piece of tobacco?' asked the raven, who was now\nquite quiet.\n\n'You rascal!  Am I to give you tobacco for trying to peck my eyes out?'\nanswered Ian.\n\n'That was part of my duty,' replied the raven; 'but give it to me, and\nI will prove a good friend to you.'  So Ian broke off a piece of\ntobacco and gave it to him.  The raven hid it under his wing, and then\nwent on; 'Now I will take you to the house of the big giant, where the\nknight's daughter sits sewing, sewing, till even her thimble is wet\nwith tears.'  And the raven hopped before him till they reached a large\nhouse, the door of which stood open.  They entered and passed through\none hall after the other, until they found the knight's daughter, as\nthe bird had said.\n\n'What brought you here?' asked she.  And Ian made answer:\n\n'Why may I not go where you can go?'\n\n'I was brought hither by a giant,' replied she.\n\n'I know that,' said Ian; 'but tell me where the giant is, that I may\nfind him.'\n\n'He is on the hunting hill,' answered she; 'and nought will bring him\nhome save a shake of the iron chain which hangs outside the gate.  But,\nthere, neither to leeward, nor to windward, nor in the four brown\nboundaries of the sea, is there any man that can hold battle against\nhim, save only Ian, the soldier's son, and he is now but sixteen years\nold, and how shall he stand against the giant?'\n\n'In the land whence I have come there are many men with the strength of\nIan,' answered he.  And he went outside and pulled at the chain, but he\ncould not move it, and fell on to his knees.  At that he rose swiftly,\nand gathering up his strength, he seized the chain, and this time he\nshook it so that the link broke.  And the giant heard it on the hunting\nhill, and lifted his head, thinking--\n\n'It sounds like the noise of Ian, the soldier's son,' said he; 'but as\nyet he is only sixteen years old.  Still, I had better look to it.'\nAnd home he came.\n\n'Are you Ian, the soldier's son?' he asked, as he entered the castle.\n\n'No, of a surety,' answered the youth, who had no wish that they should\nknow him.\n\n'Then who are you in the leeward, or in the windward, or in the four\nbrown boundaries of the sea, who are able to move my battle- chain?'\n\n'That will be plain to you after wrestling with me as I wrestle with my\nmother.  And one time she got the better of me, and two times she did\nnot.'\n\nSo they wrestled, and twisted and strove with each other till the giant\nforced Ian to his knee.\n\n'You are the stronger,' said Ian; and the giant answered:\n\n'All men know that!' And they took hold of each other once more, and at\nlast Ian threw the giant, and wished that the raven were there to help\nhim.  No sooner had he wished his wish than the raven came.\n\n'Put your hand under my right wing and you will find a knife sharp\nenough to take off his head,' said the raven.  And the knife was so\nsharp that it cut off the giant's head with a blow.\n\n'Now go and tell the daughter of the king of Grianaig; but take heed\nlest you listen to her words, and promise to go no further, for she\nwill seek to help you.  Instead, seek the middle daughter, and when you\nhave found her, you shall give me a piece of tobacco for reward.'\n\n'Well have you earned the half of all I have,' answered Ian.  But the\nraven shook his head.\n\n'You know only what has passed, and nothing of what lies before.  If\nyou would not fail, wash yourself in clean water, and take balsam from\na vessel on top of the door, and rub it over your body, and to-morrow\nyou will be as strong as many men, and I will lead you to the dwelling\nof the middle one.'\n\nIan did as the raven bade him, and in spite of the eldest daughter's\nentreaties, he set out to seek her next sister.  He found her where she\nwas seated sewing, her very thimble wet from the tears which she had\nshed.\n\n'What brought you here?' asked the second sister.\n\n'Why may I not go where you can go?' answered he; 'and why are you\nweeping?'\n\n'Because in one day I shall be married to the giant who is on the\nhunting hill.'\n\n'How can I get him home?' asked Ian.\n\n'Nought will bring him but a shake of that iron chain which hangs\noutside the gate.  But there is neither to leeward, nor to westward,\nnor in the four brown boundaries of the sea, any man that can hold\nbattle with him, save Ian, the soldier's son, and he is now but sixteen\nyears of age.'\n\n'In the land whence I have come there are many men with the strength of\nIan,' said he.  And he went outside and pulled at the chain, but he\ncould not move it, and fell on his knees.  At that he rose to his feet,\nand gathering up his strength mightily, he seized the chain, and this\ntime he shook it so that three links broke.  And the second giant heard\nit on the hunting hill, and lifted his head, thinking--\n\n'It sounds like the noise of Ian, the soldier's son,' said he; 'but as\nyet he is only sixteen years old.  Still, I had better look to it.'\nAnd home he came.\n\n'Are you Ian, the soldier's son?' he asked, as he entered the castle.\n\n'No, of a surety,' answered the youth, who had no wish that this giant\nshould know him either; 'but I will wrestle with you as if I were he.'\n\nThen they seized each other by the shoulder, and the giant threw him on\nhis two knees.  'You are the stronger,' cried Ian; 'but I am not beaten\nyet.'  And rising to his feet, he threw his arms round the giant.\n\nBackwards and forwards they swayed, and first one was uppermost and\nthen the other; but at length Ian worked his leg round the giant's and\nthrew him to the ground.  Then he called to the raven, and the raven\ncame flapping towards him, and said: 'Put your hand under my right\nwing, and you will find there a knife sharp enough to take off his\nhead.'  And sharp indeed it was, for with a single blow, the giant's\nhead rolled from his body.\n\n'Now wash yourself with warm water, and rub yourself over with oil of\nbalsam, and to- morrow you will be as strong as many men.  But beware\nof the words of the knight's daughter, for she is cunning, and will try\nto keep you at her side.  So farewell; but first give me a piece of\ntobacco.'\n\n'That I will gladly,' answered Ian breaking off a large bit.\n\nHe washed and rubbed himself that night, as the raven had told him, and\nthe next morning he entered the chamber where the knight's daughter was\nsitting.\n\n'Abide here with me,' she said, 'and be my husband.  There is silver\nand gold in plenty in the castle.'  But he took no heed, and went on\nhis way till he reached the castle where the knight's youngest daughter\nwas sewing in the hall.  And tears dropped from her eyes on to her\nthimble.\n\n'What brought you here?' asked she.  And Ian made answer:\n\n'Why may I not go where you can go?'\n\n'I was brought hither by a giant.'\n\n'I know full well,' said he.\n\n'Are you Ian, the soldier's son?' asked she again.  And again he\nanswered:\n\n'Yes, I am; but tell me, why are you weeping?'\n\n'To-morrow the giant will return from the hunting hill, and I must\nmarry him,' she sobbed.  And Ian took no heed, and only said: 'How can\nI bring him home?'\n\n'Shake the iron chain that hangs outside the gate.'\n\nAnd Ian went out, and gave such a pull to the chain that he fell down\nat full length from the force of the shake.  But in a moment he was on\nhis feet again, and seized the chain with so much strength that four\nlinks came off in his hand.  And the giant heard him in the hunting\nhill, as he was putting the game he had killed into a bag.\n\n'In the leeward, or the windward, or in the four brown boundaries of\nthe sea, there is none who could give my chain a shake save only Ian,\nthe soldier's son.  And if he has reached me, then he has left my two\nbrothers dead behind him.'  With that he strode back to the castle, the\nearth trembling under him as he went.\n\n'Are you Ian, the soldier's son?' asked he.  And the youth answered:\n\n'No, of a surety.'\n\n'Then who are you in the leeward, or the windward, or in the four brown\nboundaries of the sea, who are able to shake my battle chain?  There is\nonly Ian, the soldier's son, who can do this, and he is but now sixteen\nyears old.\n\n'I will show you who I am when you have wrestled with me,' said Ian.\nAnd they threw their arms round each other, and the giant forced Ian on\nto his knees; but in a moment he was up again, and crooking his leg\nround the shoulders of the giant, he threw him heavily to the ground.\n'Stumpy black raven, come quick!' cried he; and the raven came, and\nbeat the giant about the head with his wings, so that he could not get\nup.  Then he bade Ian take out a sharp knife from under his feathers,\nwhich he carried with him for cutting berries, and Ian smote off the\ngiant's head with it.  And so sharp was that knife that, with one blow,\nthe giant's head rolled on the ground.\n\n'Rest now this night also,' said the raven, 'and to-morrow you shall\ntake the knight's three daughters to the edge of the rock that leads to\nthe lower world.  But take heed to go down first yourself, and let them\nfollow after you.  And before I go you shall give me a piece of\ntobacco.'\n\n'Take it all,' answered Ian, 'for well have you earned it.'\n\n'No; give me but a piece.  You know what is behind you, but you have no\nknowledge of what is before you.'  And picking up the tobacco in his\nbeak, the raven flew away.\n\nSo the next morning the knight's youngest daughter loaded asses with\nall the silver and gold to be found in the castle, and she set out with\nIan the soldier's son for the house where her second sister was waiting\nto see what would befall.  She also had asses laden with precious\nthings to carry away, and so had the eldest sister, when they reached\nthe castle where she had been kept a prisoner.  Together they all rode\nto the edge of the rock, and then Ian lay down and shouted, and the\nbasket was drawn up, and in it they got one by one, and were let down\nto the bottom.  When the last one was gone, Ian should have gone also,\nand left the three sisters to come after him; but he had forgotten the\nraven's warning, and bade them go first, lest some accident should\nhappen.  Only, he begged the youngest sister to let him keep the little\ngold cap which, like the others, she wore on her head; and then he\nhelped them, each in her turn, into the basket.\n\n Long he waited, but wait as he might, the basket never came back, for\nin their joy at being free the knight's daughters had forgotten all\nabout Ian, and had set sail in the ship that had brought him and his\nbrothers to the land of Grianaig.\n\nAt last he began to understand what had happened to him, and while he\nwas taking counsel with himself what had best be done, the raven came\nto him.\n\n'You did not heed my words,' he said gravely.\n\n'No, I did not, and therefore am I here,' answered Ian, bowing his head.\n\n'The past cannot be undone,' went on the raven.  'He that will not take\ncounsel will take combat.  This night, you will sleep in the giant's\ncastle.  And now you shall give me a piece of tobacco.'\n\n'I will.  But, I pray you, stay in the castle with me.'\n\n'That I may not do, but on the morrow I will come.'\n\nAnd on the morrow he did, and he bade Ian go to the giant's stable\nwhere stood a horse to whom it mattered nothing if she journeyed over\nland or sea.\n\n'But be careful,' he added, 'how you enter the stable, for the door\nswings without ceasing to and fro, and if it touches you, it will cause\nyou to cry out.  I will go first and show you the way.'\n\n'Go,' said Ian.  And the raven gave a bob and a hop, and thought he was\nquite safe, but the door slammed on a feather of his tail, and he\nscreamed loudly.\n\nThen Ian took a run backwards, and a run forwards, and made a spring;\nbut the door caught one of his feet, and he fell fainting on the stable\nfloor.  Quickly the raven pounced on him, and picked him up in his beak\nand claws, and carried him back to the castle, where he laid ointments\non his foot till it was as well as ever it was.\n\n'Now come out to walk,' said the raven, 'but take heed that you wonder\nnot at aught you may behold; neither shall you touch anything.  And,\nfirst, give me a piece of tobacco.'\n\nMany strange things did Ian behold in that island, more than he had\nthought for.  In a glen lay three heroes stretched on their backs, done\nto death by three spears that still stuck in their breasts.  But he\nkept his counsel and spake nothing, only he pulled out the spears, and\nthe men sat up and said:\n\n'You are Ian the soldier's son, and a spell is laid upon you to travel\nin our company, to the cave of the black fisherman.'\n\nSo together they went till they reached the cave, and one of the men\nentered, to see what should be found there.  And he beheld a hag,\nhorrible to look upon, seated on a rock, and before he could speak, she\nstruck him with her club, and changed him into a stone; and in like\nmanner she dealt with the other three.  At the last Ian entered.\n\n'These men are under spells,' said the witch, 'and alive they can never\nbe till you have anointed them with the water which you must fetch from\nthe island of Big Women.  See that you do not tarry.'  And Ian turned\naway with a sinking heart, for he would fain have followed the youngest\ndaughter of the knight of Grianaig.\n\n'You did not obey my counsel,' said the raven, hopping towards him,\n'and so trouble has come upon you.  But sleep now, and to- morrow you\nshall mount the horse which is in the giant's stable, that can gallop\nover sea and land.  When you reach the island of Big Women, sixteen\nboys will come to meet you, and will offer the horse food, and wish to\ntake her saddle and bridle from her.  But see that they touch her not,\nand give her food yourself, and yourself lead her into the stable, and\nshut the door.  And be sure that for every turn of the lock given by\nthe sixteen stable lads you give one.  And now you shall break me off a\npiece of tobacco.'\n\nThe next morning Ian arose, and led the horse from the stable, without\nthe door hurting him, and he rode across the sea to the island of the\nBig Women, where the sixteen stable lads met him, and each one offered\nto take his horse, and to feed her, and to put her into the stable.\nBut Ian only answered:\n\n'I myself will put her in and will see to her.'  And thus he did.  And\nwhile he was rubbing her sides the horse said to him:\n\n'Every kind of drink will they offer you, but see you take none, save\nwhey and water only.'  And so it fell out; and when the sixteen\nstable-boys saw that he would drink nothing, they drank it all\nthemselves, and one by one lay stretched around the board.\n\nThen Ian felt pleased in his heart that he had withstood their fair\nwords, and he forgot the counsel that the horse had likewise given him\nsaying:\n\n'Beware lest you fall asleep, and let slip the chance of getting home\nagain'; for while the lads were sleeping sweet music reached his ears,\nand he slept also.\n\nWhen this came to pass the steed broke through the stable door, and\nkicked him and woke him roughly.\n\n'You did not heed my counsel,' said she; 'and who knows if it is not\ntoo late to win over the sea?  But first take that sword which hangs on\nthe wall, and cut off the heads of the sixteen grooms.'\n\nFilled with shame at being once more proved heedless, Ian arose and did\nas the horse bade him.  Then he ran to the well and poured some of the\nwater into a leather bottle, and jumping on the horse's back rode over\nthe sea to the island where the raven was waiting for him.\n\n'Lead the horse into the stable,' said the raven, 'and lie down\nyourself to sleep, for to-morrow you must make the heroes to live\nagain, and must slay the hag.  And have a care not to be so foolish\nto-morrow as you were to-day.'\n\n'Stay with me for company,' begged Ian; but the raven shook his head,\nand flew away.\n\nIn the morning Ian awoke, and hastened to the cave where the old hag\nwas sitting, and he struck her dead as she was, before she could cast\nspells on him.  Next he sprinkled the water over the heroes, who came\nto life again, and together they all journeyed to the other side of the\nisland, and there the raven met them.\n\n'At last you have followed the counsel that was given you,' said the\nraven; 'and now, having learned wisdom, you may go home again to\nGrianaig.  There you will find that the knight's two eldest daughters\nare to be wedded this day to your two brothers, and the youngest to the\nchief of the men at the rock.  But her gold cap you shall give to me\nand, if you want it, you have only to think of me and I will bring it\nto you.  And one more warning I give you.  If anyone asks you whence\nyou came, answer that you have come from behind you; and if anyone asks\nyou whither you are going, say that you are going before you.'\n\nSo Ian mounted the horse and set her face to the sea and her back to\nthe shore, and she was off, away and away till she reached the church\nof Grianaig, and there, in a field of grass, beside a well of water, he\nleaped down from his saddle.\n\n'Now,' the horse said to him, 'draw your sword and cut off my head.'\nBut Ian answered:\n\n'Poor thanks would that be for all the help I have had from you.'\n\n'It is the only way that I can free myself from the spells that were\nlaid by the giants on me and the raven; for I was a girl and he was a\nyouth wooing me!  So have no fears, but do as I have said.'\n\nThen Ian drew his sword as she bade him, and cut off her head, and went\non his way without looking backwards.  As he walked he saw a woman\nstanding at her house door.  She asked him whence he had come, and he\nanswered as the raven had told him, that he came from behind.  Next she\ninquired whither he was going, and this time he made reply that he was\ngoing on before him, but that he was thirsty and would like a drink.\n\n'You are an impudent fellow,' said the woman; 'but you shall have a\ndrink.'  And she gave him some milk, which was all she had till her\nhusband came home.\n\n'Where is your husband?' asked Ian, and the woman answered him:\n\n'He is at the knight's castle trying to fashion gold and silver into a\ncap for the youngest daughter, like unto the caps that her sisters\nwear, such as are not to be found in all this land.  But, see, he is\nreturning; and now we shall hear how he has sped.'\n\nAt that the man entered the gate, and beholding a strange youth, he\nsaid to him: 'What is your trade, boy?'\n\n'I am a smith,' replied Ian.  And the man answered:\n\n'Good luck has befallen me, then, for you can help me to make a cap for\nthe knight's daughter.'\n\n'You cannot make that cap, and you know it,' said Ian.\n\n'Well, I must try,' replied the man, 'or I shall be hanged on a tree;\nso it were a good deed to help me.'\n\n'I will help you if I can,' said Ian; 'but keep the gold and silver for\nyourself, and lock me into the smithy to-night, and I will work my\nspells.'  So the man, wondering to himself, locked him in.\n\nAs soon as the key was turned in the lock Ian wished for the raven, and\nthe raven came to him, carrying the cap in his mouth.\n\n'Now take my head off,' said the raven.  But Ian answered:\n\n'Poor thanks were that for all the help you have given me.'\n\n'It is the only thanks you can give me,' said the raven, 'for I was a\nyouth like yourself before spells were laid on me.'\n\nThen Ian drew his sword and cut off the head of the raven, and shut his\neyes so that he might see nothing.  After that he lay down and slept\ntill morning dawned, and the man came and unlocked the door and shook\nthe sleeper.\n\n'Here is the cap,' said Ian drowsily, drawing it from under his pillow.\n And he fell asleep again directly.\n\nThe sun was high in the heavens when he woke again, and this time he\nbeheld a tall, brown- haired youth standing by him.\n\n'I am the raven,' said the youth, 'and the spells are broken.  But now\nget up and come with me.'\n\nThen they two went together to the place where Ian had left the dead\nhorse; but no horse was there now, only a beautiful maiden.\n\n'I am the horse,' she said, 'and the spells are broken'; and she and\nthe youth went away together.\n\nIn the meantime the smith had carried the cap to the castle, and bade a\nservant belonging to the knight's youngest daughter bear it to her\nmistress.  But when the girl's eyes fell on it, she cried out:\n\n'He speaks false; and if he does not bring me the man who really made\nthe cap I will hang him on the tree beside my window.'\n\nThe servant was filled with fear at her words, and hastened and told\nthe smith, who ran as fast as he could to seek for Ian.  And when he\nfound him and brought him into the castle, the girl was first struck\ndumb with joy; then she declared that she would marry nobody else.  At\nthis some one fetched to her the knight of Grianaig, and when Ian had\ntold his tale, he vowed that the maiden was right, and that his elder\ndaughters should never wed with men who had not only taken glory to\nthemselves which did not belong to them, but had left the real doer of\nthe deeds to his fate.\n\nAnd the wedding guests said that the knight had spoken well; and the\ntwo elder brothers were fain to leave the country, for no one would\nconverse with them.\n\n[From Tales of the West Highlands.]\n\n\n\n             The Fox and the Wolf\n\n\n\nAt the foot of some high mountains there was, once upon a time, a small\nvillage, and a little way off two roads met, one of them going to the\neast and the other to the west.  The villagers were quiet, hard-working\nfolk, who toiled in the fields all day, and in the evening set out for\nhome when the bell began to ring in the little church.  In the summer\nmornings they led out their flocks to pasture, and were happy and\ncontented from sunrise to sunset.\n\nOne summer night, when a round full moon shone down upon the white\nroad, a great wolf came trotting round the corner.\n\n'I positively must get a good meal before I go back to my den,' he said\nto himself; 'it is nearly a week since I have tasted anything but\nscraps, though perhaps no one would think it to look at my figure!  Of\ncourse there are plenty of rabbits and hares in the mountains; but\nindeed one needs to be a greyhound to catch them, and I am not so young\nas I was!  If I could only dine off that fox I saw a fortnight ago,\ncurled up into a delicious hairy ball, I should ask nothing better; I\nwould have eaten her then, but unluckily her husband was lying beside\nher, and one knows that foxes, great and small, run like the wind.\nReally it seems as if there was not a living creature left for me to\nprey upon but a wolf, and, as the proverb says: \"One wolf does not bite\nanother.\" However, let us see what this village can produce.  I am as\nhungry as a schoolmaster.'\n\nNow, while these thoughts were running through the mind of the wolf,\nthe very fox he had been thinking of was galloping along the other road.\n\n'The whole of this day I have listened to those village hens clucking\ntill I could bear it no longer,' murmured she as she bounded along,\nhardly seeming to touch the ground.  'When you are fond of fowls and\neggs it is the sweetest of all music.  As sure as there is a sun in\nheaven I will have some of them this night, for I have grown so thin\nthat my very bones rattle, and my poor babies are crying for food.'\nAnd as she spoke she reached a little plot of grass, where the two\nroads joined, and flung herself under a tree to take a little rest, and\nto settle her plans.  At this moment the wolf came up.\n\nAt the sight of the fox lying within his grasp his mouth began to\nwater, but his joy was somewhat checked when he noticed how thin she\nwas.  The fox's quick ears heard the sound of his paws, though they\nwere soft as velvet, and turning her head she said politely:\n\n'Is that you, neighbour?  What a strange place to meet in!  I hope you\nare quite well?'\n\n'Quite well as regards my health,' answered the wolf, whose eye\nglistened greedily, 'at least, as well as one can be when one is very\nhungry.  But what is the matter with you?  A fortnight ago you were as\nplump as heart could wish!'\n\n'I have been ill--very ill,' replied the fox, 'and what you say is\nquite true.  A worm is fat in comparison with me.'\n\n'He is.  Still, you are good enough for me; for \"to the hungry no bread\nis hard.\"'\n\n'Oh, you are always joking!  I'm sure you are not half as hungry as I!'\n\n'That we shall soon see,' cried the wolf, opening his huge mouth and\ncrouching for a spring.\n\n'What are you doing?' exclaimed the fox, stepping backwards.\n\n'What am I doing?  What I am going to do is to make my supper off you,\nin less time than a cock takes to crow.'\n\n'Well, I suppose you must have your joke,' answered the fox lightly,\nbut never removing her eye from the wolf, who replied with a snarl\nwhich showed all his teeth:\n\n'I don't want to joke, but to eat!'\n\n'But surely a person of your talents must perceive that you might eat\nme to the very last morsel and never know that you had swallowed\nanything at all!'\n\n'In this world the cleverest people are always the hungriest,' replied\nthe wolf.\n\n'Ah! how true that is; but--'\n\n'I can't stop to listen to your \"buts\" and \"yets,\"' broke in the wolf\nrudely; 'let us get to the point, and the point is that I want to eat\nyou and not talk to you.'\n\n'Have you no pity for a poor mother?' asked the fox, putting her tail\nto her eyes, but peeping slily out of them all the same.\n\n'I am dying of hunger,' answered the wolf, doggedly; 'and you know,' he\nadded with a grin, 'that charity begins at home.'\n\n'Quite so,' replied the fox; 'it would be unreasonable of me to object\nto your satisfying your appetite at my expense.  But if the fox resigns\nherself to the sacrifice, the mother offers you one last request.'\n\n'Then be quick and don't waste my time, for I can't wait much longer.\nWhat is it you want?'\n\n'You must know,' said the fox, 'that in this village there is a rich\nman who makes in the summer enough cheeses to last him for the whole\nyear, and keeps them in an old well, now dry, in his courtyard.  By the\nwell hang two buckets on a pole that were used, in former days, to draw\nup water.  For many nights I have crept down to the palace, and have\nlowered myself in the bucket, bringing home with me enough cheese to\nfeed the children.  All I beg of you is to come with me, and, instead\nof hunting chickens and such things, I will make a good meal off cheese\nbefore I die.'\n\n'But the cheeses may be all finished by now?'\n\n'If you were only to see the quantities of them!' laughed the fox.\n'And even if they were finished, there would always be ME to eat.'\n\n'Well, I will come.  Lead the way, but I warn you that if you try to\nescape or play any tricks you are reckoning without your host-- that is\nto say, without my legs, which are as long as yours!'\n\nAll was silent in the village, and not a light was to be seen but that\nof the moon, which shone bright and clear in the sky.  The wolf and the\nfox crept softly along, when suddenly they stopped and looked at each\nother; a savoury smell of frying bacon reached their noses, and reached\nthe noses of the sleeping dogs, who began to bark greedily.\n\n'Is it safe to go on, think you?' asked the wolf in a whisper.  And the\nfox shook her head.\n\n'Not while the dogs are barking,' said she; 'someone might come out to\nsee if anything was the matter.'  And she signed to the wolf to curl\nhimself up in the shadow beside her.\n\nIn about half an hour the dogs grew tired of barking, or perhaps the\nbacon was eaten up and there was no smell to excite them.  Then the\nwolf and the fox jumped up, and hastened to the foot of the wall.\n\n'I am lighter than he is,' thought the fox to herself, 'and perhaps if\nI make haste I can get a start, and jump over the wall on the other\nside before he manages to spring over this one.'  And she quickened her\npace.  But if the wolf could not run he could jump, and with one bound\nhe was beside his companion.\n\n'What were you going to do, comrade?'\n\n'Oh, nothing,' replied the fox, much vexed at the failure of her plan.\n\n'I think if I were to take a bit out of your haunch you would jump\nbetter,' said the wolf, giving a snap at her as he spoke.  The fox drew\nback uneasily.\n\n'Be careful, or I shall scream,' she snarled.  And the wolf,\nunderstanding all that might happen if the fox carried out her threat,\ngave a signal to his companion to leap on the wall, where he\nimmediately followed her.\n\nOnce on the top they crouched down and looked about them.  Not a\ncreature was to be seen in the courtyard, and in the furthest corner\nfrom the house stood the well, with its two buckets suspended from a\npole, just as the fox had described it.  The two thieves dragged\nthemselves noiselessly along the wall till they were opposite the well,\nand by stretching out her neck as far as it would go the fox was able\nto make out that there was only very little water in the bottom, but\njust enough to reflect the moon, big, and round and yellow.\n\n'How lucky!' cried she to the wolf.  'There is a huge cheese about the\nsize of a mill wheel.  Look! look! did you ever see anything so\nbeautiful!'\n\n'Never!' answered the wolf, peering over in his turn, his eyes\nglistening greedily, for he imagined that the moon's reflection in the\nwater was really a cheese.\n\n'And now, unbeliever, what have you to say?' and the fox laughed gently.\n\n'That you are a woman--I mean a fox--of your word,' replied the wolf.\n\n'Well, then, go down in that bucket and eat your fill,' said the fox.\n\n'Oh, is that your game?' asked the wolf, with a grin.  'No! no!  The\nperson who goes down in the bucket will be you!  And if you don't go\ndown your head will go without you!'\n\n'Of course I will go down, with the greatest pleasure,' answered the\nfox, who had expected the wolf's reply.\n\n'And be sure you don't eat all the cheese, or it will be the worse for\nyou,' continued the wolf.  But the fox looked up at him with tears in\nher eyes.\n\n'Farewell, suspicious one!' she said sadly.  And climbed into the\nbucket.\n\nIn an instant she had reached the bottom of the well, and found that\nthe water was not deep enough to cover her legs.\n\n'Why, it is larger and richer than I thought,' cried she, turning\ntowards the wolf, who was leaning over the wall of the well.\n\n'Then be quick and bring it up,' commanded the wolf.\n\n'How can I, when it weighs more than I do?' asked the fox.\n\n'If it is so heavy bring it in two bits, of course,' said he.\n\n'But I have no knife,' answered the fox.  'You will have to come down\nyourself, and we will carry it up between us.'\n\n'And how am I to come down?' inquired the wolf.\n\n'Oh, you are really very stupid!  Get into the other bucket that is\nnearly over your head.'\n\nThe wolf looked up, and saw the bucket hanging there, and with some\ndifficulty he climbed into it.  As he weighed at least four times as\nmuch as the fox the bucket went down with a jerk, and the other bucket,\nin which the fox was seated, came to the surface.\n\nAs soon as he understood what was happening, the wolf began to speak\nlike an angry wolf, but was a little comforted when he remembered that\nthe cheese still remained to him.\n\n'But where is the cheese?' he asked of the fox, who in her turn was\nleaning over the parapet watching his proceedings with a smile.\n\n'The cheese?' answered the fox; 'why I am taking it home to my babies,\nwho are too young to get food for themselves.'\n\n'Ah, traitor!' cried the wolf, howling with rage.  But the fox was not\nthere to hear this insult, for she had gone off to a neighbouring\nfowl-house, where she had noticed some fat young chickens the day\nbefore.\n\n'Perhaps I did treat him rather badly,' she said to herself.  'But it\nseems getting cloudy, and if there should be heavy rain the other\nbucket will fill and sink to the bottom, and his will go up--at least\nit may!'\n\n[From Cuentos Populares, por Antonio de Trueba.]\n\n\n\n     How Ian Direach Got the Blue Falcon\n\n\n\nLong ago a king and queen ruled over the islands of the west, and they\nhad one son, whom they loved dearly.  The boy grew up to be tall and\nstrong and handsome, and he could run and shoot, and swim and dive\nbetter than any lad of his own age in the country.  Besides, he knew\nhow to sail about, and sing songs to the harp, and during the winter\nevenings, when everyone was gathered round the huge hall fire shaping\nbows or weaving cloth, Ian Direach would tell them tales of the deeds\nof his fathers.\n\nSo the time slipped by till Ian was almost a man, as they reckoned men\nin those days, and then his mother the queen died.  There was great\nmourning throughout all the isles, and the boy and his father mourned\nher bitterly also; but before the new year came the king had married\nanother wife, and seemed to have forgotten his old one.  Only Ian\nremembered.\n\nOn a morning when the leaves were yellow in the trees of the glen, Ian\nslung his bow over his shoulder, and filling his quiver with arrows,\nwent on to the hill in search of game.  But not a bird was to be seen\nanywhere, till at length a blue falcon flew past him, and raising his\nbow he took aim at her.  His eye was straight and his hand steady, but\nthe falcon's flight was swift, and he only shot a feather from her\nwing.  As the sun was now low over the sea he put the feather in his\ngame bag, and set out homewards.\n\n'Have you brought me much game to-day?' asked his stepmother as he\nentered the hall.\n\n'Nought save this,' he answered, handing her the feather of the blue\nfalcon, which she held by the tip and gazed at silently.  Then she\nturned to Ian and said:\n\n'I am setting it on you as crosses and as spells, and as the fall of\nthe year!  That you may always be cold, and wet and dirty, and that\nyour shoes may ever have pools in them, till you bring me hither the\nblue falcon on which that feather grew.'\n\n'If it is spells you are laying I can lay them too,' answered Ian\nDireach; 'and you shall stand with one foot on the great house and\nanother on the castle, till I come back again, and your face shall be\nto the wind, from wheresoever it shall blow.'  Then he went away to\nseek the bird, as his stepmother bade him; and, looking homewards from\nthe hill, he saw the queen standing with one foot on the great house,\nand the other on the castle, and her face turned towards whatever\ntempest should blow.\n\nOn he journeyed, over hills, and through rivers till he reached a wide\nplain, and never a glimpse did he catch of the falcon.  Darker and\ndarker it grew, and the small birds were seeking their nests, and at\nlength Ian Direach could see no more, and he lay down under some bushes\nand sleep came to him.  And in his dream a soft nose touched him, and a\nwarm body curled up beside him, and a low voice whispered to him:\n\n'Fortune is against you, Ian Direach; I have but the cheek and the hoof\nof a sheep to give you, and with these you must be content.'  With that\nIan Direach awoke, and beheld Gille Mairtean the fox.\n\nBetween them they kindled a fire, and ate their supper.  Then Gille\nMairtean the fox bade Ian Direach lie down as before, and sleep till\nmorning.  And in the morning, when he awoke, Gille Mairtean said:\n\n'The falcon that you seek is in the keeping of the Giant of the Five\nHeads, and the Five Necks, and the Five Humps.  I will show you the way\nto his house, and I counsel you to do his bidding, nimbly and\ncheerfully, and, above all, to treat his birds kindly, for in this\nmanner he may give you his falcon to feed and care for.  And when this\nhappens, wait till the giant is out of his house; then throw a cloth\nover the falcon and bear her away with you.  Only see that not one of\nher feathers touches anything within the house, or evil will befall\nyou.'\n\n'I thank you for your counsel,' spake Ian Direach, 'and I will be\ncareful to follow it.'  Then he took the path to the giant's house.\n\n'Who is there?' cried the giant, as someone knocked loudly on the door\nof his house.\n\n'One who seeks work as a servant,' answered Ian Direach.\n\n'And what can you do?' asked the giant again.\n\n'I can feed birds and tend pigs; I can feed and milk a cow, and also\ngoats and sheep, if you have any of these,' replied Ian Direach.\n\n'Then enter, for I have great need of such a one,' said the giant.\n\nSo Ian Direach entered, and tended so well and carefully all the birds\nand beasts, that the giant was better satisfied than ever he had been,\nand at length he thought that he might even be trusted to feed the\nfalcon.  And the heart of Ian was glad, and he tended the blue falcon\ntill his fathers shone like the sky, and the giant was well pleased;\nand one day he said to him:\n\n'For long my brothers on the other side of the mountain have besought\nme to visit them, but never could I go for fear of my falcon.  Now I\nthink I can leave her with you for one day, and before nightfall I\nshall be back again.'\n\nScarcely was the giant out of sight next morning when Ian Direach\nseized the falcon, and throwing a cloth over her head hastened with her\nto the door.  But the rays of the sun pierced through the thickness of\nthe cloth, and as they passed the doorpost she gave a spring, and the\ntip of one of her feathers touched the post, which gave a scream, and\nbrought the giant back in three strides.  Ian Direach trembled as he\nsaw him; but the giant only said:\n\n'If you wish for my falcon you must first bring me the White Sword of\nLight that is in the house of the Big Women of Dhiurradh.'\n\n'And where do they live?' asked Ian.  But the giant answered:\n\n'Ah, that is for you to discover.'  And Ian dared say no more, and\nhastened down to the waste.  There, as he hoped, he met his friend\nGille Mairtean the fox, who bade him eat his supper and lie down to\nsleep.  And when he had wakened next morning the fox said to him:\n\n'Let us go down to the shore of the sea.'  And to the shore of the sea\nthey went.  And after they had reached the shore, and beheld the sea\nstretching before them, and the isle of Dhiurradh in the midst of it,\nthe soul of Ian sank, and he turned to Gille Mairtean and asked why he\nhad brought him thither, for the giant, when he had sent him, had known\nfull well that without a boat he could never find the Big Women.\n\n'Do not be cast down,' answered the fox, 'it is quite easy!  I will\nchange myself into a boat, and you shall go on board me, and I will\ncarry you over the sea to the Seven Big Women of Dhiurradh.  Tell them\nthat you are skilled in brightening silver and gold, and in the end\nthey will take you as servant, and if you are careful to please them\nthey will give you the White Sword of Light to make bright and shining.\n But when you seek to steal it, take heed that its sheath touches\nnothing inside the house, or ill will befall you.'\n\nSo Ian Direach did all things as the fox had told him, and the Seven\nBig Women of Dhiurradh took him for their servant, and for six weeks he\nworked so hard that his seven mistresses said to each other: 'Never has\na servant had the skill to make all bright and shining like this one.\nLet us give him the White Sword of Light to polish like the rest.'\n\nThen they brought forth the White Sword of Light from the iron closet\nwhere it hung, and bade him rub it till he could see his face in the\nshining blade; and he did so.  But one day, when the Seven Big Women\nwere out of the way, he bethought him that the moment had come for him\nto carry off the sword, and, replacing it in its sheath, he hoisted it\non his shoulder.  But just as he was passing through the door the tip\nof the sheath touched it, and the door gave a loud shriek.  And the Big\nWomen heard it, and came running back, and took the sword from him, and\nsaid:\n\n'If it is our sword you want, you must first bring us the bay colt of\nthe King of Erin.'\n\nHumbled and ashamed, Ian Direach left the house, and sat by the side of\nthe sea, and soon Gille Mairtean the fox came to him.\n\n'Plainly I see that you have taken no heed to my words, Ian Direach,'\nspoke the fox.  'But eat first, and yet once more will I help you.'\n\nAt these words the heart returned again to Ian Direach, and he gathered\nsticks and made a fire and ate with Gille Mairtean the fox, and slept\non the sand.  At dawn next morning Gille Mairtean said to Ian Direach:\n\n'I will change myself into a ship, and will bear you across the seas to\nErin, to the land where dwells the king.  And you shall offer yourself\nto serve in his stable, and to tend his horses, till at length so well\ncontent is he, that he gives you the bay colt to wash and brush.  But\nwhen you run away with her see that nought except the soles of her\nhoofs touch anything within the palace gates, or it will go ill with\nyou.'\n\nAfter he had thus counselled Ian Direach, the fox changed himself into\na ship, and set sail for Erin.  And the king of that country gave into\nIan Direach's hands the care of his horses, and never before did their\nskins shine so brightly or was their pace so swift.  And the king was\nwell pleased, and at the end of a month he sent for Ian and said to him:\n\n'You have given me faithful service, and now I will entrust you with\nthe most precious thing that my kingdom holds.'  And when he had\nspoken, he led Ian Direach to the stable where stood the bay colt.  And\nIan rubbed her and fed her, and galloped with her all round the\ncountry, till he could leave one wind behind him and catch the other\nwhich was in front.\n\n 'I am going away to hunt,' said the king one morning while he was\nwatching Ian tend the bay colt in her stable.  'The deer have come down\nfrom the hill, and it is time for me to give them chase.'  Then he went\naway; and when he was no longer in sight, Ian Direach led the bay colt\nout of the stable, and sprang on her back.  But as they rode through\nthe gate, which stood between the palace and the outer world, the colt\nswished her tail against the post, which shrieked loudly.  In a moment\nthe king came running up, and he seized the colt's bridle.\n\n'If you want my bay colt, you must first bring me the daughter of the\nking of the Franks.'\n\nWith slow steps went Ian Direach down to the shore where Gille Mairtean\nthe fox awaited him.\n\n'Plainly I see that you have not done as I bid you, nor will you ever\ndo it,' spoke Gille Mairtean the fox; 'but I will help you yet again.\nfor a third time I will change myself into a ship, and we will sail to\nFrance.'\n\nAnd to France they sailed, and, as he was the ship, the Gille Mairtean\nsailed where he would, and ran himself into the cleft of a rock, high\non to the land.  Then, he commanded Ian Direach to go up to the king's\npalace, saying that he had been wrecked, that his ship was made fast in\na rock, and that none had been saved but himself only.\n\nIan Direach listened to the words of the fox, and he told a tale so\npitiful, that the king and queen, and the princess their daughter, all\ncame out to hear it.  And when they had heard, nought would please them\nexcept to go down to the shore and visit the ship, which by now was\nfloating, for the tide was up.  Torn and battered was she, as if she\nhad passed through many dangers, yet music of a wondrous sweetness\npoured forth from within.\n\n'Bring hither a boat,' cried the princess, 'that I may go and see for\nmyself the harp that gives forth such music.'  And a boat was brought,\nand Ian Direach stepped in to row it to the side of the ship.\n\nTo the further side he rowed, so that none could see, and when he\nhelped the princess on board he gave a push to the boat, so that she\ncould not get back to it again.  And the music sounded always sweeter,\nthough they could never see whence it came, and sought it from one part\nof the vessel to another.  When at last they reached the deck and\nlooked around them, nought of land could they see, or anything save the\nrushing waters.\n\nThe princess stood silent, and her face grew grim.  At last she said:\n\n'An ill trick have you played me!  What is this that you have done, and\nwhither are we going?'\n\n'It is a queen you will be,' answered Ian Direach, 'for the king of\nErin has sent me for you, and in return he will give me his bay colt,\nthat I may take him to the Seven Big Women of Dhiurradh, in exchange\nfor the White Sword of Light.  This I must carry to the giant of the\nFive Heads and Five Necks and Five Humps, and, in place of it, he will\nbestow on me the blue falcon, which I have promised my stepmother, so\nthat she may free me from the spell which she has laid on me.'\n\n'I would rather be wife to you,' answered the princess.\n\nBy-and-by the ship sailed into a harbour on the coast of Erin, and cast\nanchor there.  And Gille Mairtean the fox bade Ian Direach tell the\nprincess that she must bide yet a while in a cave amongst the rocks,\nfor they had business on land, and after a while they would return to\nher.  Then they took a boat and rowed up to some rocks, and as they\ntouched the land Gille Mairtean changed himself into a fair woman, who\nlaughed, and said to Ian Direach, 'I will give the king a fine wife.'\n\nNow the king of Erin had been hunting on the hill, and when he saw a\nstrange ship sailing towards the harbour, he guessed that it might be\nIan Direach, and left his hunting, and ran down to the hill to the\nstable.  Hastily he led the bay colt from his stall, and put the golden\nsaddle on her back, and the silver bridle over his head, and with the\ncolt's bridle in his hand, he hurried to meet the princess.\n\n'I have brought you the king of France's daughter,' said Ian Direach.\nAnd the king of Erin looked at the maiden, and was well pleased, not\nknowing that it was Gille Mairtean the fox.  And he bowed low, and\nbesought her to do him the honour to enter the palace; and Gille\nMairtean, as he went in, turned to look back at Ian Direach, and\nlaughed.\n\nIn the great hall the king paused and pointed to an iron chest which\nstood in a corner.\n\n'In that chest is the crown that has waited for you for many years,' he\nsaid, 'and at last you have come for it.'  And he stooped down to\nunlock the box.\n\nIn an instant Gille Mairtean the fox had sprung on his back, and gave\nhim such a bite that he fell down unconscious.  Quickly the fox took\nhis own shape again, and galloped away to the sea shore, where Ian\nDireach and the princess and the bay colt awaited him.\n\n'I will become a ship,' cried Gille Mairtean, 'and you shall go on\nboard me.'  And so he did, and Ian Direach let the bay colt into the\nship and the princess went after them, and they set sail for Dhiurradh.\n The wind was behind them, and very soon they saw the rocks of\nDhiurradh in front.  Then spoke Gille Mairtean the fox:\n\n'Let the bay colt and the king's daughter hide in these rocks, and I\nwill change myself into the colt, and go with you to the house of the\nSeven Big Women.'\n\nJoy filed the hearts of the Big Women when they beheld the bay colt led\nup to their door by Ian Direach.  And the youngest of them fetched the\nWhite Sword of Light, and gave it into the hands of Ian Direach, who\ntook off the golden saddle and the silver bridle, and went down the\nhill with the sword to the place where the princess and the real colt\nawaited him.\n\n'Now we shall have the ride that we have longed for!' cried the Seven\nBig Women; and they saddled and bridled the colt, and the eldest one\ngot upon the saddle.  Then the second sister sat on the back of the\nfirst, and the third on the back of the second, and so on for the whole\nseven.  And when they were all seated, the eldest struck her side with\na whip and the colt bounded forward.  Over the moors she flew, and\nround and round the mountains, and still the Big Women clung to her and\nsnorted with pleasure.  At last she leapt high in the air, and came\ndown on top of Monadh the high hill, where the crag is.  And she rested\nher fore feet on the crag, and threw up her hind legs, and the Seven\nBig Women fell over the crag, and were dead when they reached the\nbottom.  And the colt laughed, and became a fox again and galloped away\nto the sea shore, where Ian Direach, and the princess and the real colt\nand the White Sword of Light were awaiting him.\n\n'I will make myself into a ship,' said Gille Mairtean the fox, 'and\nwill carry you and the princess, and the bay colt and the White Sword\nof Light, back to the land.'  And when the shore was reached, Gille\nMairtean the fox took back his own shape, and spoke to Ian Direach in\nthis wise:\n\n'Let the princess and the White Sword of Light, and the bay colt,\nremain among the rocks, and I will change myself into the likeness of\nthe White Sword of Light, and you shall bear me to the giant, and,\ninstead, he will give you the blue falcon.'  And Ian Direach did as the\nfox bade him, and set out for the giant's castle.  From afar the giant\nbeheld the blaze of the White Sword of Light, and his heart rejoiced;\nand he took the blue falcon and put it in a basket, and gave it to Ian\nDireach, who bore it swiftly away to the place where the princess, and\nthe bay colt, and the real Sword of Light were awaiting him.\n\nSo well content was the giant to possess the sword he had coveted for\nmany a year, that he began at once to whirl it through the air, and to\ncut and slash with it.  For a little while Gille Mairtean let the giant\nplay with him in this manner; then he turned in the giant's hand, and\ncut through the Five Necks, so that the Five Heads rolled on the\nground.  Afterwards he went back to Ian Direach and said to him:\n\n'Saddle the colt with the golden saddle, and bridle her with the silver\nbridle, and sling the basket with the falcon over your shoulders, and\nhold the White Sword of Light with its back against your nose.  Then\nmount the colt, and let the princess mount behind you, and ride thus to\nyour father's palace.  But see that the back of the sword is ever\nagainst your nose, else when your stepmother beholds you, she will\nchange you into a dry faggot.  If, however, you do as I bid you, she\nwill become herself a bundle of sticks.'\n\nIan Direach hearkened to the words of Gille Mairtean, and his\nstepmother fell as a bundle of sticks before him; and he set fire to\nher, and was free from her spells for ever.  After that he married the\nprincess, who was the best wife in all the islands of the West.\nHenceforth he was safe from harm, for had he not the bay colt who could\nleave one wind behind her and catch the other wind, and the blue falcon\nto bring him game to eat, and the White Sword of Light to pierce\nthrough his foes?\n\nAnd Ian Direach knew that all this he owed to Gille Mairtean the fox,\nand he made a compact with him that he might choose any beast out of\nhis herds, whenever hunger seized him, and that henceforth no arrow\nshould be let fly at him or at any of his race.  But Gille Mairtean the\nfox would take no reward for the help he had given to Ian Direach, only\nhis friendship.  Thus all things prospered with Ian Direach till he\ndied.\n\n[From Tales of the West Highlands.]\n\n\n\n              The Ugly Duckling\n\n\n\nIt was summer in the land of Denmark, and though for most of the year\nthe country looks flat and ugly, it was beautiful now.  The wheat was\nyellow, the oats were green, the hay was dry and delicious to roll in,\nand from the old ruined house which nobody lived in, down to the edge\nof the canal, was a forest of great burdocks, so tall that a whole\nfamily of children might have dwelt in them and never have been found\nout.\n\nIt was under these burdocks that a duck had built herself a warm nest,\nand was not sitting all day on six pretty eggs.  Five of them were\nwhite, but the sixth, which was larger than the others, was of an ugly\ngrey colour.  The duck was always puzzled about that egg, and how it\ncame to be so different from the rest.  Other birds might have thought\nthat when the duck went down in the morning and evening to the water to\nstretch her legs in a good swim, some lazy mother might have been on\nthe watch, and have popped her egg into the nest.  But ducks are not\nclever at all, and are not quick at counting, so this duck did not\nworry herself about the matter, but just took care that the big egg\nshould be as warm as the rest.\n\nThis was the first set of eggs that the duck had ever laid, and, to\nbegin with, she was very pleased and proud, and laughed at the other\nmothers, who were always neglecting their duties to gossip with each\nother or to take little extra swims besides the two in the morning and\nevening that were necessary for health.  But at length she grew tired\nof sitting there all day.  'Surely eggs take longer hatching than they\ndid,' she said to herself; and she pined for a little amusement also.\nStill, she knew that if she left her eggs and the ducklings in them to\ndie none of her friends would ever speak to her again; so there she\nstayed, only getting off the eggs several times a day to see if the\nshells were cracking--which may have been the very reason why they did\nnot crack sooner.\n\nShe had looked at the eggs at least a hundred and fifty times, when, to\nher joy, she saw a tiny crack on two of them, and scrambling back to\nthe nest she drew the eggs closer the one to the other, and never moved\nfor the whole of that day.  Next morning she was rewarded by noticing\ncracks in the whole five eggs, and by midday two little yellow heads\nwere poking out from the shells.  This encouraged her so much that,\nafter breaking the shells with her bill, so that the little creatures\ncould get free of them, she sat steadily for a whole night upon the\nnest, and before the sun arose the five white eggs were empty, and ten\npairs of eyes were gazing out upon the green world.\n\nNow the duck had been carefully brought up, and did not like dirt, and,\nbesides, broken shells are not at all comfortable things to sit or walk\nupon; so she pushed the rest out over the side, and felt delighted to\nhave some company to talk to till the big egg hatched.  But day after\nday went on, and the big egg showed no signs of cracking, and the duck\ngrew more and more impatient, and began to wish to consult her husband,\nwho never came.\n\n'I can't think what is the matter with it,' the duck grumbled to her\nneighbour who had called in to pay her a visit.  'Why I could have\nhatched two broods in the time that this one has taken!'\n\n'Let me look at it,' said the old neighbour.  'Ah, I thought so; it is\na turkey's egg.  Once, when I was young, they tricked me to sitting on\na brood of turkey's eggs myself, and when they were hatched the\ncreatures were so stupid that nothing would make them learn to swim.  I\nhave no patience when I think of it.'\n\n'Well, I will give it another chance,' sighed the duck, 'and if it does\nnot come out of its shell in another twenty-four hours, I will just\nleave it alone and teach the rest of them to swim properly and to find\ntheir own food.  I really can't be expected to do two things at once.'\nAnd with a fluff of her feathers she pushed the egg into the middle of\nthe nest.\n\nAll through the next day she sat on, giving up even her morning bath\nfor fear that a blast of cold might strike the big egg.  In the\nevening, when she ventured to peep, she thought she saw a tiny crack in\nthe upper part of the shell.  Filled with hope, she went back to her\nduties, though she could hardly sleep all night for excitement.  When\nshe woke with the first steaks of light she felt something stirring\nunder her.  Yes, there it was at last; and as she moved, a big awkward\nbird tumbled head foremost on the ground.\n\nThere was no denying it was ugly, even the mother was forced to admit\nthat to herself, though she only said it was 'large' and 'strong.'\n'You won't need any teaching when you are once in the water,' she told\nhim, with a glance of surprise at the dull brown which covered his\nback, and at his long naked neck.  And indeed he did not, though he was\nnot half so pretty to look at as the little yellow balls that followed\nher.\n\nWhen they returned they found the old neighbour on the bank waiting for\nthem to take them into the duckyard.  'No, it is not a young turkey,\ncertainly,' whispered she in confidence to the mother, 'for though it\nis lean and skinny, and has no colour to speak of, yet there is\nsomething rather distinguished about it, and it holds its head up well.'\n\n'It is very kind of you to say so,' answered the mother, who by this\ntime had some secret doubts of its loveliness.  'Of course, when you\nsee it by itself it is all right, though it is different, somehow, from\nthe others.  But one cannot expect all one's children to be beautiful!'\n\nBy this time they had reached the centre of the yard, where a very old\nduck was sitting, who was treated with great respect by all the fowls\npresent.\n\n'You must go up and bow low before her,' whispered the mother to her\nchildren, nodding her head in the direction of the old lady, 'and keep\nyour legs well apart, as you see me do.  No well-bred duckling turns in\nits toes.  It is a sign of common parents.'\n\nThe little ducks tried hard to make their small fat bodies copy the\nmovements of their mother, and the old lady was quite pleased with\nthem; but the rest of the ducks looked on discontentedly, and said to\neach other:\n\n'Oh, dear me, here are ever so many more!  The yard is full already;\nand did you ever see anything quite as ugly as that great tall\ncreature?  He is a disgrace to any brood.  I shall go and chase him\nout!'  So saying she put up her feathers, and running to the big\nduckling bit his neck.\n\nThe duckling gave a loud quack; it was the first time he had felt any\npain, and at the sound his mother turned quickly.\n\n'Leave him alone,' she said fiercely, 'or I will send for his father.\nHe was not troubling you.'\n\n'No; but he is so ugly and awkward no one can put up with him,'\nanswered the stranger.  And though the duckling did not understand the\nmeaning of the words, he felt he was being blamed, and became more\nuncomfortable still when the old Spanish duck who ruled the fowlyard\nstruck in:\n\n'It certainly is a great pity he is so different from these beautiful\ndarlings.  If he could only be hatched over again!'\n\nThe poor little fellow drooped his head, and did not know where to\nlook, but was comforted when his mother answered:\n\n'He may not be quite as handsome as the others, but he swims better,\nand is very strong; I am sure he will make his way in the world as well\nas anybody.'\n\n'Well, you must feel quite at home here,' said the old duck waddling\noff.  And so they did, all except the duckling, who was snapped at by\neveryone when they thought his mother was not looking.  Even the\nturkey-cock, who was so big, never passed him without mocking words,\nand his brothers and sisters, who would not have noticed any difference\nunless it had been put into their heads, soon became as rude and unkind\nas the rest.\n\nAt last he could bear it no longer, and one day he fancied he saw signs\nof his mother turning against him too; so that night, when the ducks\nand hens were still asleep, he stole away through an open door, and\nunder cover of the burdock leaves scrambled on by the bank of the\ncanal, till he reached a wide grassy moor, full of soft marshy places\nwhere the reeds grew.  Here he lay down, but he was too tired and too\nfrightened to fall asleep, and with the earliest peep of the sun the\nreeds began to rustle, and he saw that he had blundered into a colony\nof wild ducks.  But as he could not run away again he stood up and\nbowed politely.\n\n'You are ugly,' said the wild ducks, when they had looked him well\nover; 'but, however, it is no business of ours, unless you wish to\nmarry one of our daughters, and that we should not allow.'  And the\nduckling answered that he had no idea of marrying anybody, and wanted\nnothing but to be left alone after his long journey.\n\nSo for two whole days he lay quietly among the reeds, eating such food\nas he could find, and drinking the water of the moorland pool, till he\nfelt himself quite strong again.  He wished he might stay were he was\nfor ever, he was so comfortable and happy, away from everyone, with\nnobody to bite him and tell him how ugly he was.\n\nHe was thinking these thoughts, when two young ganders caught sight of\nhim as they were having their evening splash among the reeds, looking\nfor their supper.\n\n'We are getting tired of this moor,' they said, 'and to-morrow we think\nof trying another, where the lakes are larger and the feeding better.\nWill you come with us?'\n\n'Is it nicer than this?' asked the duckling doubtfully.  And the words\nwere hardly out of his mouth, when 'Pif! pah!' and the two new- comers\nwere stretched dead beside him.\n\nAt the sound of the gun the wild ducks in the rushes flew into the air,\nand for a few minutes the firing continued.\n\nLuckily for himself the duckling could not fly, and he floundered along\nthrough the water till he could hide himself amidst some tall ferns\nwhich grew in a hollow.  But before he got there he met a huge creature\non four legs, which he afterwards knew to be a dog, who stood and gazed\nat him with a long red tongue hanging out of his mouth.  The duckling\ngrew cold with terror, and tried to hide his head beneath his little\nwings; but the dog snuffed at him and passed on, and he was able to\nreach his place of shelter.\n\n'I am too ugly even for a dog to eat,' said he to himself.  'Well, that\nis a great mercy.'  And he curled himself up in the soft grass till the\nshots died away in the distance.\n\nWhen all had been quiet for a long time, and there were only stars to\nsee him, he crept out and looked about him.\n\nHe would never go near a pool again, never, thought he; and seeing that\nthe moor stretched far away in the opposite direction from which he had\ncome, he marched bravely on till he got to a small cottage, which\nseemed too tumbledown for the stones to hold together many hours\nlonger.  Even the door only hung upon one hinge, and as the only light\nin the room sprang from a tiny fire, the duckling edged himself\ncautiously in, and lay down under a chair close to the broken door,\nfrom which he could get out if necessary.  But no one seemed to see him\nor smell him; so he spend the rest of the night in peace.\n\nNow in the cottage dwelt an old woman, her cat, and a hen; and it was\nreally they, and not she, who were masters of the house.  The old\nwoman, who passed all her days in spinning yarn, which she sold at the\nnearest town, loved both the cat and the hen as her own children, and\nnever contradicted them in any way; so it was their grace, and not\nhers, that the duckling would have to gain.\n\nIt was only next morning, when it grew light, that they noticed their\nvisitor, who stood trembling before them, with his eye on the door\nready to escape at any moment.  They did not, however, appear very\nfierce, and the duckling became less afraid as they approached him.\n\n'Can you lay eggs?' asked the hen.  And the duckling answered meekly:\n\n'No; I don't know how.'  Upon which the hen turned her back, and the\ncat came forward.\n\n'Can you ruffle your fur when you are angry, or purr when you are\npleased?' said she.  And again the duckling had to admit that he could\ndo nothing but swim, which did not seem of much use to anybody.\n\nSo the cat and the hen went straight off to the old woman, who was\nstill in bed.\n\n'Such a useless creature has taken refuge here,' they said.  'It calls\nitself a duckling; but it can neither lay eggs nor purr!  What had we\nbetter do with it?'\n\n'Keep it, to be sure!' replied the old woman briskly.  'It is all\nnonsense about it not laying eggs.  Anyway, we will let it stay here\nfor a bit, and see what happens.'\n\nSo the duckling remained for three weeks, and shared the food of the\ncat and the hen; but nothing in the way of eggs happened at all.  Then\nthe sun came out, and the air grew soft, and the duckling grew tired of\nbeing in a hut, and wanted with all his might to have a swim.  And one\nmorning he got so restless that even his friends noticed it.\n\n'What is the matter?' asked the hen; and the duckling told her.\n\n'I am so longing for the water again.  You can't think how delicious it\nis to put your head under the water and dive straight to the bottom.'\n\n'I don't think I should enjoy it,' replied the hen doubtfully.  'And I\ndon't think the cat would like it either.'  And the cat, when asked,\nagreed there was nothing she would hate so much.\n\n'I can't stay here any longer, I Must get to the water,' repeated the\nduck.  And the cat and the hen, who felt hurt and offended, answered\nshortly:\n\n'Very well then, go.'\n\nThe duckling would have liked to say good- bye, and thank them for\ntheir kindness, as he was polite by nature; but they had both turned\ntheir backs on him, so he went out of the rickety door feeling rather\nsad.  But, in spite of himself, he could not help a thrill of joy when\nhe was out in the air and water once more, and cared little for the\nrude glances of the creatures he met.  For a while he was quite happy\nand content; but soon the winter came on, and snow began to fall, and\neverything to grow very wet and uncomfortable.  And the duckling soon\nfound that it is one thing to enjoy being in the water, and quite\nanother to like being damp on land.\n\nThe sun was setting one day, like a great scarlet globe, and the river,\nto the duckling's vast bewilderment, was getting hard and slippery,\nwhen he heard a sound of whirring wings, and high up in the air a flock\nof swans were flying.  They were as white as snow which had fallen\nduring the night, and their long necks with yellow bills were stretched\nsouthwards, for they were going--they did not quite know whither--but\nto a land where the sun shone all day.  Oh, if he only could have gone\nwith them!  But that was not possible, of course; and besides, what\nsort of companion could an ugly thing like him be to those beautiful\nbeings?  So he walked sadly down to a sheltered pool and dived to the\nvery bottom, and tried to think it was the greatest happiness he could\ndream of.  But, all the same, he knew it wasn't!\n\nAnd every morning it grew colder and colder, and the duckling had hard\nwork to keep himself warm.  Indeed, it would be truer to say that he\nnever was warm at all; and at last, after one bitter night, his legs\nmoved so slowly that the ice crept closer and closer, and when the\nmorning light broke he was caught fast, as in a trap; and soon his\nsenses went from him.\n\nA few hours more and the poor duckling's life had been ended.  But, by\ngood fortune, a man was crossing the river on his way to his work, and\nsaw in a moment what had happened.  He had on thick wooden shoes, and\nhe went and stamped so hard on the ice that it broke, and then he\npicked up the duckling and tucked him under his sheepskin coat, where\nhis frozen bones began to thaw a little.\n\nInstead of going on his work, the man turned back and took the bird to\nhis children, who gave him a warm mess to eat and put him in a box by\nthe fire, and when they came back from school he was much more\ncomfortable than he had been since he had left the old woman's cottage.\n They were kind little children, and wanted to play with him; but,\nalas! the poor fellow had never played in his life, and thought they\nwanted to tease him, and flew straight into the milk-pan, and then into\nthe butter-dish, and from that into the meal- barrel, and at last,\nterrified at the noise and confusion, right out of the door, and hid\nhimself in the snow amongst the bushes at the back of the house.\n\nHe never could tell afterwards exactly how he had spent the rest of the\nwinter.  He only knew that he was very miserable and that he never had\nenough to eat.  But by-and-by things grew better.  The earth became\nsofter, the sun hotter, the birds sang, and the flowers once more\nappeared in the grass.  When he stood up, he felt different, somehow,\nfrom what he had done before he fell asleep among the reeds to which he\nhad wandered after he had escaped from the peasant's hut.  His body\nseemed larger, and his wings stronger.  Something pink looked at him\nfrom the side of a hill.  He thought he would fly towards it and see\nwhat it was.\n\nOh, how glorious it felt to be rushing through the air, wheeling first\none way and then the other!  He had never thought that flying could be\nlike that!  The duckling was almost sorry when he drew near the pink\ncloud and found it was made up of apple blossoms growing beside a\ncottage whose garden ran down to the banks of the canal.  He fluttered\nslowly to the ground and paused for a few minutes under a thicket of\nsyringas, and while he was gazing about him, there walked slowly past a\nflock of the same beautiful birds he had seen so many months ago.\nFascinated, he watched them one by one step into the canal, and float\nquietly upon the waters as if they were part of them.\n\n'I will follow them,' said the duckling to himself; 'ugly though I am,\nI would rather be killed by them than suffer all I have suffered from\ncold and hunger, and from the ducks and fowls who should have treated\nme kindly.'  And flying quickly down to the water, he swam after them\nas fast as he could.\n\nIt did not take him long to reach them, for they had stopped to rest in\na green pool shaded by a tree whose branches swept the water.  And\ndirectly they saw him coming some of the younger ones swam out to meet\nhim with cries of welcome, which again the duckling hardly understood.\nHe approached them glad, yet trembling, and turning to one of the older\nbirds, who by this time had left the shade of the tree, he said:\n\n'If I am to die, I would rather you should kill me.  I don't know why I\nwas ever hatched, for I am too ugly to live.'  And as he spoke, he\nbowed his head and looked down into the water.\n\nReflected in the still pool he saw many white shapes, with long necks\nand golden bills, and, without thinking, he looked for the dull grey\nbody and the awkward skinny neck.  But no such thing was there.\nInstead, he beheld beneath him a beautiful white swan!\n\n'The new one is the best of all,' said the children when they came down\nto feed the swans with biscuit and cake before going to bed.  'His\nfeathers are whiter and his beak more golden than the rest.'  And when\nhe heard that, the duckling thought that it was worth while having\nundergone all the persecution and loneliness that he had passed\nthrough, as otherwise he would never have known what it was to be\nreally happy.\n\n[Hans Andersen.]\n\n\n\n               The Two Caskets\n\n\n\nFar, far away, in the midst of a pine forest, there lived a woman who\nhad both a daughter and a stepdaughter.  Ever since her own daughter\nwas born the mother had given her all that she cried for, so she grew\nup to be as cross and disagreeable as she was ugly.  Her stepsister, on\nthe other hand, had spent her childhood in working hard to keep house\nfor her father, who died soon after his second marriage; and she was as\nmuch beloved by the neighbours for her goodness and industry as she was\nfor her beauty.\n\nAs the years went on, the difference between the two girls grew more\nmarked, and the old woman treated her stepdaughter worse than ever, and\nwas always on the watch for some pretext for beating her, or depriving\nher of her food.  Anything, however foolish, was good enough for this,\nand one day, when she could think of nothing better, she set both the\ngirls to spin while sitting on the low wall of the well.\n\n'And you had better mind what you do,' said she, 'for the one whose\nthread breaks first shall be thrown to the bottom.'\n\nBut of course she took good care that her own daughter's flax was fine\nand strong, while the stepsister had only some coarse stuff, which no\none would have thought of using.  As might be expected, in a very\nlittle while the poor girl's thread snapped, and the old woman, who had\nbeen watching from behind a door, seized her stepdaughter by her\nshoulders, and threw her into the well.\n\n'That is an end of you!' she said.  But she was wrong, for it was only\nthe beginning.\n\nDown, down, down went the girl--it seemed as if the well must reach to\nthe very middle of the earth; but at last her feet touched the ground,\nand she found herself in a field more beautiful than even the summer\npastures of her native mountains.  Trees waved in the soft breeze, and\nflowers of the brightest colours danced in the grass.  And though she\nwas quite alone, the girl's heart danced too, for she felt happier than\nshe had since her father died.  So she walked on through the meadow\ntill she came to an old tumbledown fence--so old that it was a wonder\nit managed to stand up at all, and it looked as if it depended for\nsupport on the old man's beard that climbed all over it.\n\nThe girl paused for a moment as she came up, and gazed about for a\nplace where she might safely cross.  But before she could move a voice\ncried from the fence:\n\n'Do not hurt me, little maiden; I am so old, so old, I have not much\nlonger to live.'\n\nAnd the maiden answered:\n\n'No, I will not hurt you; fear nothing.'  And then seeing a spot where\nthe clematis grew less thickly than in other places, she jumped lightly\nover.\n\n'May all go well with thee,' said the fence, as the girl walked on.\n\nShe soon left the meadow and turned into a path which ran between two\nflowery hedges.  Right in front of her stood an oven, and through its\nopen door she could see a pile of white loaves.\n\n'Eat as many loaves as you like, but do me no harm, little maiden,'\ncried the oven.  And the maiden told her to fear nothing, for she never\nhurt anything, and was very grateful for the oven's kindness in giving\nher such a beautiful white loaf.  When she had finished it, down to the\nlast crumb, she shut the oven door and said: 'Good-morning.'\n\n'May all go well with thee,' said the oven, as the girl walked on.\n\nBy-and-by she became very thirsty, and seeing a cow with a milk-pail\nhanging on her horn, turned towards her.\n\n'Milk me and drink as much as you will, little maiden,' cried the cow,\n'but be sure you spill none on the ground; and do me no harm, for I\nhave never harmed anyone.'\n\n'Nor I,' answered the girl; 'fear nothing.'  So she sat down and milked\ntill the pail was nearly full.  Then she drank it all up except a\nlittle drop at the bottom.\n\n'Now throw any that is left over my hoofs, and hang the pail on my\nhorns again,' said the cow.  And the girl did as she was bid, and\nkissed the cow on her forehead and went her way.\n\nMany hours had now passed since the girl had fallen down the well, and\nthe sun was setting.\n\n'Where shall I spend the night?' thought she.  And suddenly she saw\nbefore her a gate which she had not noticed before, and a very old\nwoman leaning against it.\n\n'Good evening,' said the girl politely; and the old woman answered:\n\n'Good evening, my child.  Would that everyone was as polite as you.\nAre you in search of anything?'\n\n'I am in search of a place,' replied the girl; and the woman smiled and\nsaid:\n\n'Then stop a little while and comb my hair, and you shall tell me all\nthe things you can do.'\n\n'Willingly, mother,' answered the girl.  And she began combing out the\nold woman's hair, which was long and white.\n\nHalf an hour passed in this way, and then the old woman said:\n\n'As you did not think yourself too good to comb me, I will show you\nwhere you may take service.  Be prudent and patient and all will go\nwell.'\n\nSo the girl thanked her, and set out for a farm at a little distance,\nwhere she was engaged to milk the cows and sift the corn.\n\nAs soon as it was light next morning the girl got up and went into the\ncow-house.  'I'm sure you must be hungry,' said she, patting each in\nturn.  And then she fetched hay from the barn, and while they were\neating it, she swept out the cow-house, and strewed clean straw upon\nthe floor.  The cows were so pleased with the care she took of them\nthat they stood quite still while she milked them, and did not play any\nof the tricks on her that they had played on other dairymaids who were\nrough and rude.  And when she had done, and was going to get up from\nher stool, she found sitting round her a whole circle of cats, black\nand white, tabby and tortoise- shell, who all cried with one voice:\n\n'We are very thirsty, please give us some milk!'\n\n'My poor little pussies,' said she, 'of course you shall have some.'\nAnd she went into the dairy, followed by all the cats, and gave each\none a little red saucerful.  But before they drank they all rubbed\nthemselves against her knees and purred by way of thanks.\n\nThe next thing the girl had to do was to go to the storehouse, and to\nsift the corn through a sieve.  While she was busy rubbing the corn she\nheard a whirr of wings, and a flock of sparrows flew in at the window.\n\n'We are hungry; give us some corn! give us some corn!' cried they; and\nthe girl answered:\n\n'You poor little birds, of course you shall have some!' and scattered a\nfine handful over the floor.  When they had finished they flew on her\nshoulders and flapped their wings by way of thanks.\n\n Time went by, and no cows in the whole country-side were so fat and\nwell tended as hers, and no dairy had so much milk to show.  The\nfarmer's wife was so well satisfied that she gave her higher wages, and\ntreated her like her own daughter.  At length, one day, the girl was\nbidden by her mistress to come into the kitchen, and when there, the\nold woman said to her: 'I know you can tend cows and keep a diary; now\nlet me see what you can do besides.  Take this sieve to the well, and\nfill it with water, and bring it home to me without spilling one drop\nby the way.'\n\nThe girl's heart sank at this order; for how was it possible for her to\ndo her mistress's bidding?  However, she was silent, and taking the\nsieve went down to the well with it.  Stopping over the side, she\nfilled it to the brim, but as soon as she lifted it the water all ran\nout of the holes.  Again and again she tried, but not a drop would\nremaining in the sieve, and she was just turning away in despair when a\nflock of sparrows flew down from the sky.\n\n'Ashes! ashes!' they twittered; and the girl looked at them and said:\n\n'Well, I can't be in a worse plight than I am already, so I will take\nyour advice.'  And she ran back to the kitchen and filled her sieve\nwith ashes.  Then once more she dipped the sieve into the well, and,\nbehold, this time not a drop of water disappeared!\n\n'Here is the sieve, mistress,' cried the girl, going to the room where\nthe old woman was sitting.\n\n'You are cleverer than I expected,' answered she; 'or else someone\nhelped you who is skilled in magic.'  But the girl kept silence, and\nthe old woman asked her no more questions.\n\nMany days passed during which the girl went about her work as usual,\nbut at length one day the old woman called her and said:\n\n'I have something more for you to do.  There are here two yarns, the\none white, the other black.  What you must do is to wash them in the\nriver till the black one becomes white and the white black.'  And the\ngirl took them to the river and washed hard for several hours, but wash\nas she would they never changed one whit.\n\n'This is worse than the sieve,' thought she, and was about to give up\nin despair when there came a rush of wings through the air, and on\nevery twig of the birch trees which grew by the bank was perched a\nsparrow.\n\n'The black to the east, the white to the west!' they sang, all at once;\nand the girl dried her tears and felt brave again.  Picking up the\nblack yarn, she stood facing the east and dipped it in the river, and\nin an instant it grew white as snow, then turning to the west, she held\nthe white yarn in the water, and it became as black as a crow's wing.\nShe looked back at the sparrows and smiled and nodded to them, and\nflapping their wings in reply they flew swiftly away.\n\nAt the sight of the yarn the old woman was struck dumb; but when at\nlength she found her voice she asked the girl what magician had helped\nher to do what no one had done before.  But she got no answer, for the\nmaiden was afraid of bringing trouble on her little friends.\n\nFor many weeks the mistress shut herself up in her room, and the girl\nwent about her work as usual.  She hoped that there was an end to the\ndifficult tasks which had been set her; but in this she was mistaken,\nfor one day the old woman appeared suddenly in the kitchen, and said to\nher:\n\n'There is one more trial to which I must put you, and if you do not\nfail in that you will be left in peace for evermore.  Here are the\nyarns which you washed.  Take them and weave them into a web that is as\nsmooth as a king's robe, and see that it is spun by the time that the\nsun sets.'\n\n'This is the easiest thing I have been set to do,' thought the girl,\nwho was a good spinner.  But when she began she found that the skein\ntangled and broke every moment.\n\n'Oh, I can never do it!' she cried at last, and leaned her head against\nthe loom and wept; but at that instant the door opened, and there\nentered, one behind another, a procession of cats.\n\n'What is the matter, fair maiden?' asked they.  And the girl answered:\n\n'My mistress has given me this yarn to weave into a piece of cloth,\nwhich must be finished by sunset, and I have not even begun yet, for\nthe yarn breaks whenever I touch it.'\n\n'If that is all, dry your eyes,' said the cats; 'we will manage it for\nyou.'  And they jumped on the loom, and wove so fast and so skilfully\nthat in a very short time the cloth was ready and was as fine as any\nking ever wore.  The girl was so delighted at the sight of it that she\ngave each cat a kiss on his forehead as they left the room behind one\nthe other as they had come.\n\n'Who has taught you this wisdom?' asked the old woman, after she had\npassed her hands twice or thrice over the cloth and could find no\nroughness anywhere.  But the girl only smiled and did not answer.  She\nhad learned early the value of silence.\n\nAfter a few weeks the old woman sent for her maid and told her that as\nher year of service was now up, she was free to return home, but that,\nfor her part, the girl had served her so well that she hoped she might\nstay with her.  But at these words the maid shook her head, and\nanswered gently:\n\n'I have been happy here, Madam, and I thank you for your goodness to\nme; but I have left behind me a stepsister and a stepmother, and I am\nfain to be with them once more.'  The old woman looked at her for a\nmoment, and then she said:\n\n'Well, that must be as you like; but as you have worked faithfully for\nme I will give you a reward.  Go now into the loft above the store\nhouse and there you will find many caskets.  Choose the one which\npleases you best, but be careful not to open it till you have set it in\nthe place where you wish it to remain.'\n\nThe girl left the room to go to the loft, and as soon as she got\noutside, she found all the cats waiting for her.  Walking in\nprocession, as was their custom, they followed her into the loft, which\nwas filled with caskets big and little, plain and splendid.  She lifted\nup one and looked at it, and then put it down to examine another yet\nmore beautiful.  Which should she choose, the yellow or the blue, the\nred or the green, the gold or the silver?  She hesitated long, and went\nfirst to one and then to another, when she heard the cats' voices\ncalling: 'Take the black! take the black!'\n\nThe words make her look round--she had seen no black casket, but as the\ncats continued their cry she peered into several corners that had\nremained unnoticed, and at length discovered a little black box, so\nsmall and so black, that it might easily have been passed over.\n\n'This is the casket that pleases me best, mistress,' said the girl,\ncarrying it into the house.  And the old woman smiled and nodded, and\nbade her go her way.  So the girl set forth, after bidding farewell to\nthe cows and the cats and the sparrows, who all wept as they said\ngood-bye.\n\nShe walked on and on and on, till she reached the flowery meadow, and\nthere, suddenly, something happened, she never knew what, but she was\nsitting on the wall of the well in her stepmother's yard.  Then she got\nup and entered the house.\n\nThe woman and her daughter stared as if they had been turned into\nstone; but at length the stepmother gasped out:\n\n'So you are alive after all!  Well, luck was ever against me!  And\nwhere have you been this year past?' Then the girl told how she had\ntaken service in the under-world, and, beside her wages, had brought\nhome with her a little casket, which she would like to set up in her\nroom.\n\n'Give me the money, and take the ugly little box off to the outhouse,'\ncried the woman, beside herself with rage, and the girl, quite\nfrightened at her violence, hastened away, with her precious box\nclasped to her bosom.\n\nThe outhouse was in a very dirty state, as no one had been near it\nsince the girl had fallen down the well; but she scrubbed and swept\ntill everything was clean again, and then she placed the little casket\non a small shelf in the corner.\n\n'Now I may open it,' she said to herself; and unlocking it with the key\nwhich hung to its handle, she raised the lid, but started back as she\ndid so, almost blinded by the light that burst upon her.  No one would\never have guessed that that little black box could have held such a\nquantity of beautiful things!  Rings, crowns, girdles, necklaces--all\nmade of wonderful stones; and they shone with such brilliance that not\nonly the stepmother and her daughter but all the people round came\nrunning to see if the house was on fire.  Of course the woman felt\nquite ill with greed and envy, and she would have certainly taken all\nthe jewels for herself had she not feared the wrath of the neighbours,\nwho loved her stepdaughter as much as they hated her.\n\nBut if she could not steal the casket and its contents for herself, at\nleast she could get another like it, and perhaps a still richer one.\nSo she bade her own daughter sit on the edge of the well, and threw her\ninto the water, exactly as she had done to the other girl; and, exactly\nas before, the flowery meadow lay at the bottom.\n\nEvery inch of the way she trod the path which her stepsister had\ntrodden, and saw the things which she had seen; but there the likeness\nended.  When the fence prayed her to do it no harm, she laughed rudely,\nand tore up some of the stakes so that she might get over the more\neasily; when the oven offered her bread, she scattered the loaves onto\nthe ground and stamped on them; and after she had milked the cow, and\ndrunk as much as she wanted, she threw the rest on the grass, and\nkicked the pail to bits, and never heard them say, as they looked after\nher: 'You shall not have done this to me for nothing!'\n\nTowards evening she reached the spot where the old woman was leaning\nagainst the gate- post, but she passed her by without a word.\n\n'Have you no manners in your country?' asked the crone.\n\n'I can't stop and talk; I am in a hurry,' answered the girl.  'It is\ngetting late, and I have to find a place.'\n\n'Stop and comb my hair for a little,' said the old woman, 'and I will\nhelp you to get a place.'\n\n'Comb your hair, indeed!  I have something better to do than that!' And\nslamming the gate in the crone's face she went her way.  And she never\nheard the words that followed her: 'You shall not have done this to me\nfor nothing!'\n\nBy-and-by the girl arrived at the farm, and she was engaged to look\nafter the cows and sift the corn as her stepsister had been.  But it\nwas only when someone was watching her that she did her work; at other\ntimes the cow-house was dirty, and the cows ill-fed and beaten, so that\nthey kicked over the pail, and tried to butt her; and everyone said\nthey had never seen such thin cows or such poor milk.  As for the cats,\nshe chased them away, and ill-treated them, so that they had not even\nthe spirit to chase the rats and mice, which nowadays ran about\neverywhere.  And when the sparrows came to beg for some corn, they\nfared no better than the cows and the cats, for the girl threw her\nshoes at them, till they flew in a fright to the woods, and took\nshelter amongst the trees.\n\nMonths passed in this manner, when, one day, the mistress called the\ngirl to her.\n\n'All that I have given you to do you have done ill,' said she, 'yet\nwill I give you another chance.  For though you cannot tend cows, or\ndivide the grain from the chaff, there may be other things that you can\ndo better.  Therefore take this sieve to the well, and fill it with\nwater, and see that you bring it back without spilling a drop.'\n\nThe girl took the sieve and carried it to the well as her sister had\ndone; but no little birds came to help her, and after dipping it in the\nwell two or three times she brought it back empty.\n\n'I thought as much,' said the old woman angrily; 'she that is useless\nin one thing is useless in another.'\n\nPerhaps the mistress may have thought that the girl had learnt a\nlesson, but, if she did, she was quite mistaken, as the work was no\nbetter done than before.  By-and-by she sent for her again, and gave\nher maid the black and white yarn to wash in the river; but there was\nno one to tell her the secret by which the black would turn white, and\nthe white black; so she brought them back as they were.  This time the\nold woman only looked at her grimly but the girl was too well pleased\nwith herself to care what anyone thought about her.\n\nAfter some weeks her third trial came, and the yarn was given her to\nspin, as it had been given to her stepsister before her.\n\nBut no procession of cats entered the room to weave a web of fine\ncloth, and at sunset she only brought back to her mistress an armful of\ndirty, tangled wool.\n\n'There seems nothing in the world you can do,' said the old woman, and\nleft her to herself.\n\nSoon after this the year was up, and the girl went to her mistress to\ntell her that she wished to go home.\n\n'Little desire have I to keep you,' answered the old woman, 'for no one\nthing have you done as you ought.  Still, I will give you some payment,\ntherefore go up into the loft, and choose for yourself one of the\ncaskets that lies there.  But see that you do not open it till you\nplace it where you wish it to stay.'\n\nThis was what the girl had been hoping for, and so rejoiced was she,\nthat, without even stopping to thank the old woman, she ran as fast as\nshe could to the loft.  There were the caskets, blue and red, green and\nyellow, silver and gold; and there in the corner stood a little black\ncasket just like the one her stepsister had brought home.\n\n'If there are so many jewels in that little black thing, this big red\none will hold twice the number,' she said to herself; and snatching it\nup she set off on her road home without even going to bid farewell to\nher mistress.\n\n'See, mother, see what I have brought!' cried she, as she entered the\ncottage holding the casket in both hands.\n\n'Ah! you have got something very different from that little black box,'\nanswered the old woman with delight.  But the girl was so busy finding\na place for it to stand that she took little notice of her mother.\n\n'It will look best here--no, here,' she said, setting it first on one\npiece of furniture and then on another.  'No, after all it is to fine\nto live in a kitchen, let us place it in the guest chamber.'\n\nSo mother and daughter carried it proudly upstairs and put it on a\nshelf over the fireplace; then, untying the key from the handle, they\nopened the box.  As before, a bright light leapt out directly the lid\nwas raised, but it did not spring from the lustre of jewels, but from\nhot flames, which darted along the walls and burnt up the cottage and\nall that was in it and the mother and daughter as well.\n\nAs they had done when the stepdaughter came home, the neighbours all\nhurried to see what was the matter; but they were too late.  Only the\nhen-house was left standing; and, in spite of her riches, there the\nstepdaughter lived happily to the end of her days.\n\n[From Thorpe's Yule-Tide Stories.]\n\n\n\n\n\n           The Goldsmith's Fortune\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a goldsmith who lived in a certain village\nwhere the people were as bad and greedy, and covetous, as they could\npossibly be; however, in spite of his surroundings, he was fat and\nprosperous.  He had only one friend whom he liked, and that was a\ncowherd, who looked after cattle for one of the farmers in the village.\n Every evening the goldsmith would walk across to the cowherd's house\nand say: 'Come, let's go out for a walk!'\n\nNow the cowherd didn't like walking in the evening, because, he said,\nhe had been out grazing the cattle all day, and was glad to sit down\nwhen night came; but the goldsmith always worried him so that the poor\nman had to go against his will.  This at last so annoyed him that he\ntried to think how he could pick a quarrel with the goldsmith, so that\nhe should not beg him to walk with him any more.  He asked another\ncowherd for advice, and he said the best thing he could do was to go\nacross and kill the goldsmith's wife, for then the goldsmith would be\nsure to regard him as an enemy; so, being a foolish person, and there\nbeing no laws in that country by which a man would be certainly\npunished for such a crime, the cowherd one evening took a big stick and\nwent across to the goldsmith's house when only Mrs. Goldsmith was at\nhome, and banged her on the head so hard that she died then and there.\n\nWhen the goldsmith came back and found his wife dead he said nothing,\nbut just took her outside into the dark lane and propped her up against\nthe wall of his house, and then went into the courtyard and waited.\nPresently a rich stranger came along the lane, and seeing someone\nthere, as he supposed, he said:\n\n'Good-evening, friend! a fine night to- night!'  But the goldsmith's\nwife said nothing.  The man then repeated his words louder; but still\nthere was no reply.  A third time he shouted:\n\n'Good-evening, friend! are you deaf?' but the figure never replied.\nThen the stranger, being angry at what he thought very rude behaviour,\npicked up a big stone and threw it at Mrs. Goldsmith, crying:\n\n'Let that teach you manners!'\n\nInstantly poor Mrs.  Goldsmith tumbled over; and the stranger,\nhorrified at seeing what he had done, was immediately seized by the\ngoldsmith, who ran out screaming:\n\n'Wretch! you have killed my wife!  Oh, miserable one; we will have\njustice done to thee!'\n\nWith many protestations and reproaches they wrangled together, the\nstranger entreating the goldsmith to say nothing and he would pay him\nhandsomely to atone for the sad accident.  At last the goldsmith\nquieted down, and agreed to accept one thousand gold pieces from the\nstranger, who immediately helped him to bury his poor wife, and then\nrushed off to the guest house, packed up his things and was off by\ndaylight, lest the goldsmith should repent and accuse him as the\nmurderer of his wife.  Now it very soon appeared that the goldsmith had\na lot of extra money, so that people began to ask questions, and\nfinally demanded of him the reason for his sudden wealth.\n\n'Oh,' said he, 'my wife died, and I sold her.'\n\n'You sold your dead wife?' cried the people.\n\n'Yes,' said the goldsmith.\n\n'For how much?'\n\n'A thousand gold pieces,' replied the goldsmith.\n\nInstantly the villagers went away and each caught hold of his own wife\nand throttled her, and the next day they all went off to sell their\ndead wives.  Many a weary mile did they tramp, but got nothing but hard\nwords or laughter, or directions to the nearest cemetery, from people\nto whom they offered dead wives for sale.  At last they perceived that\nthey had been cheated somehow by that goldsmith.  So off they rushed\nhome, seized the unhappy man, and, without listening to his cries and\nentreaties, hurried him down to the river bank and flung\nhim--plop!--into the deepest, weediest, and nastiest place they could\nfind.\n\n'That will teach him to play tricks on us,' said they.  'For as he\ncan't swim he'll drown, and we sha'n't have any more trouble with him!'\n\nNow the goldsmith really could not swim, and as soon as he was thrown\ninto the deep river he sank below the surface; so his enemies went away\nbelieving that they had seen the last of him.  But, in reality, he was\ncarried down, half drowned, below the next bend in the river, where he\nfortunately came across a 'snag' floating in the water (a snag is, you\nknow, a part of a tree or bush which floats very nearly under the\nsurface of the water); and he held on to this snag, and by great good\nluck eventually came ashore some two or three miles down the river.  At\nthe place where he landed he came across a fine fat cow buffalo, and\nimmediately he jumped on her back and rode home.  When the village\npeople saw him, they ran out in surprise, and said:\n\n'Where on earth do you come from, and where did you get that buffalo?'\n\n'Ah!' said the goldsmith, 'you little know what delightful adventures I\nhave had!  Why, down in that place in the river where you threw me in I\nfound meadows, and trees, and fine pastures, and buffaloes, and all\nkinds of cattle.  In fact, I could hardly tear myself away; but I\nthought that I must really let you all know about it.'\n\n'Oh, oh!' thought the greedy village people; 'if there are buffaloes to\nbe had for the taking we'll go after some too.'  Encouraged by the\ngoldsmith they nearly all ran off the very next morning to the river;\nand, in order that they might get down quickly to the beautiful place\nthe goldsmith told them of, they tied great stones on to their feet and\ntheir necks, and one after another they jumped into the water as fast\nas the could, and were drowned.  And whenever any one of them waved his\nhands about and struggled the goldsmith would cry out:\n\n'Look! he's beckoning the rest of you to come; he's got a fine\nbuffalo!' And others who were doubtful would jump in, until not one was\nleft.  Then the cunning goldsmith went back and took all the village\nfor himself, and became very rich indeed.  But do you think he was\nhappy?  Not a bit.  Lies never made a man happy yet.  Truly, he got the\nbetter of a set of wicked and greedy people, but only by being wicked\nand greedy himself; and, as it turned out, when he got so rich he got\nvery fat; and at last was so fat that he couldn't move, and one day he\ngot the apoplexy and died, and no one in the world cared the least bit.\n\n[Told by a Pathan to Major Campbell.]\n\n\n\n             The Enchanted Wreath\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived near a forest a man and his wife and two\ngirls; one girl was the daughter of the man, and the other the daughter\nof his wife; and the man's daughter was good and beautiful, but the\nwoman's daughter was cross and ugly.  However, her mother did not know\nthat, but thought her the most bewitching maiden that ever was seen.\n\nOne day the man called to his daughter and bade her come with him into\nthe forest to cut wood.  They worked hard all day, but in spite of the\nchopping they were very cold, for it rained heavily, and when they\nreturned home, they were wet through.  Then, to his vexation, the man\nfound that he had left his axe behind him, and he knew that if it lay\nall night in the mud it would become rusty and useless.  So he said to\nhis wife:\n\n'I have dropped my axe in the forest, bid your daughter go and fetch\nit, for mine has worked hard all day and is both wet and weary.'\n\nBut the wife answered:\n\n'If your daughter is wet already, it is all the more reason that she\nshould go and get the axe.  Besides, she is a great strong girl, and a\nlittle rain will not hurt her, while my daughter would be sure to catch\na bad cold.'\n\nBy long experience the man knew there was no good saying any more, and\nwith a sigh he told the poor girl she must return to the forest for the\naxe.\n\nThe walk took some time, for it was very dark, and her shoes often\nstuck in the mud, but she was brave as well as beautiful and never\nthought of turning back merely because the path was both difficult and\nunpleasant.  At last, with her dress torn by brambles that she could\nnot see, and her fact scratched by the twigs on the trees, she reached\nthe spot where she and her father had been cutting in the morning, and\nfound the axe in the place he had left it.  To her surprise, three\nlittle doves were sitting on the handle, all of them looking very sad.\n\n'You poor little things,' said the girl, stroking them.  'Why do you\nsit there and get wet?  Go and fly home to your nest, it will be much\nwarmer than this; but first eat this bread, which I saved from my\ndinner, and perhaps you will feel happier.  It is my father's axe you\nare sitting on, and I must take it back as fast as I can, or I shall\nget a terrible scolding from my stepmother.'  She then crumbled the\nbread on the ground, and was pleased to see the doves flutter quite\ncheerfully towards it.\n\n'Good-bye,' she said, picking up the axe, and went her way homewards.\n\nBy the time they had finished all the crumbs the doves felt must\nbetter, and were able to fly back to their nest in the top of a tree.\n\n'That is a good girl,' said one; 'I really was too weak to stretch out\na wing before she came.  I should like to do something to show how\ngrateful I am.'\n\n'Well, let us give her a wreath of flowers that will never fade as long\nas she wears it,' cried another.\n\n'And let the tiniest singing birds in the world sit amongst the\nflowers,' rejoined the third.\n\n'Yes, that will do beautifully,' said the first.  And when the girl\nstepped into her cottage a wreath of rosebuds was on her head, and a\ncrowd of little birds were singing unseen.\n\nThe father, who was sitting by the fire, thought that, in spite of her\nmuddy clothes, he had never seen his daughter looking so lovely; but\nthe stepmother and the other girl grew wild with envy.\n\n'How absurd to walk about on such a pouring night, dressed up like\nthat,' she remarked crossly, and roughly pulled off the wreath as she\nspoke, to place it on her own daughter.  As she did so the roses became\nwithered and brown, and the birds flew out of the window.\n\n'See what a trumpery thing it is!' cried the stepmother; 'and now take\nyour supper and go to bed, for it is near upon midnight.'\n\nBut though she pretended to despise the wreath, she longed none the\nless for her daughter to have one like it.\n\nNow it happened that the next evening the father, who had been alone in\nthe forest, came back a second time without his axe.  The stepmother's\nheart was glad when she saw this, and she said quite mildly:\n\n'Why, you have forgotten your axe again, you careless man!  But now\nyour daughter shall stay at home, and mine shall go and bring it back';\nand throwing a cloak over the girl's shoulders, she bade her hasten to\nthe forest.\n\nWith a very ill grace the damsel set forth, grumbling to herself as she\nwent; for though she wished for the wreath, she did not at all want the\ntrouble of getting it.\n\nBy the time she reached the spot where her stepfather had been cutting\nthe wood the girl was in a very bad temper indeed, and when she caught\nsight of the axe, there were the three little doves, with drooping\nheads and soiled, bedraggled feathers, sitting on the handle.\n\n'You dirty creatures,' cried she, 'get away at once, or I will throw\nstones at you!   And the doves spread their wings in a fright and flew\nup to the very top of a tree, their bodies shaking with anger.\n\n'What shall we do to revenge ourselves on her?' asked the smallest of\nthe doves, 'we were never treated like that before.'\n\n'Never,' said the biggest dove.  'We must find some way of paying her\nback in her own coin!'\n\n'I know,' answered the middle dove; 'she shall never be able to say\nanything but \"dirty creatures\" to the end of her life.'\n\n'Oh, how clever of you!  That will do beautifully,' exclaimed the other\ntwo.  And they flapped their wings and clucked so loud with delight,\nand made such a noise, that they woke up all the birds in the trees\nclose by.\n\n'What in the world is the matter?' asked the birds sleepily.\n\n'That is our secret,' said the doves.\n\nMeanwhile the girl had reached home crosser than ever; but as soon as\nher mother heard her lift the latch of the door she ran out to hear her\nadventures.  'Well, did you get the wreath?' cried she.\n\n'Dirty creatures!' answered her daughter.\n\n'Don't speak to me like that!  What do you mean?' asked the mother\nagain.\n\n'Dirty creatures!' repeated the daughter, and nothing else could she\nsay.\n\nThen the woman saw that something evil had befallen her, and turned in\nher rage to her stepdaughter.\n\n'You are at the bottom of this, I know,' she cried; and as the father\nwas out of the way she took a stick and beat the girl till she screamed\nwith pain and went to bed sobbing.\n\nIf the poor girl's life had been miserable before, it was ten times\nworse now, for the moment her father's back was turned the others\nteased and tormented her from morning till night; and their fury was\nincreased by the sight of her wreath, which the doves had placed again\non her head.\n\nThings went on like this for some weeks, when, one day, as the king's\nson was riding through the forest, he heard some strange birds singing\nmore sweetly than birds had ever sung before.  He tied his horse to a\ntree, and followed where the sound led him, and, to his surprise, he\nsaw before him a beautiful girl chopping wood, with a wreath of pink\nrose-buds, out of which the singing came.  Standing in the shelter of a\ntree, he watched her a long while, and then, hat in hand, he went up\nand spoke to her.\n\n'Fair maiden, who are you, and who gave you that wreath of singing\nroses?' asked he, for the birds were so tiny that till you looked\nclosely you never saw them.\n\n'I live in a hut on the edge of the forest,' she answered, blushing,\nfor she had never spoken to a prince before.  'As to the wreath, I know\nnot how it came there, unless it may be the gift of some doves whom I\nfed when they were starving!   The prince was delighted with this\nanswer, which showed the goodness of the girl's heart, and besides he\nhad fallen in love with her beauty, and would not be content till she\npromised to return with him to the palace, and become his bride.  The\nold king was naturally disappointed at his son's choice of a wife, as\nhe wished him to marry a neighbouring princess; but as from his birth\nthe prince had always done exactly as he like, nothing was said and a\nsplendid wedding feast was got ready.\n\nThe day after her marriage the bride sent a messenger, bearing handsome\npresents to her father, and telling him of the good fortune which had\nbefallen her.  As may be imagined, the stepmother and her daughter were\nso filled with envy that they grew quite ill, and had to take to their\nbeds, and nobody would have been sorry it they had never got up again;\nbut that did not happen.  At length, however, they began to feel\nbetter, for the mother invented a plan by which she could be revenged\non the girl who had never done her any harm.\n\nHer plan was this.  In the town where she had lived before she was\nmarried there was an old witch, who had more skill in magic that any\nother witch she knew.  To this witch she would go and beg her to make\nher a mask with the face of her stepdaughter, and when she had the mask\nthe rest would be easy.  She told her daughter what she meant to do,\nand although the daughter could only say 'dirty creatures,' in answer,\nshe nodded and smiled and looked well pleased.\n\nEverything fell out exactly as the woman had hoped.  By the aid of her\nmagic mirror the witch beheld the new princess walking in her gardens\nin a dress of green silk, and in a few minutes had produced a mask so\nlike her, that very few people could have told the difference.\nHowever, she counselled the woman that when her daughter first wore\nit-- for that, of course, was what she intended her to do--she had\nbetter pretend that she had a toothache, and cover her head with a lace\nveil.  The woman thanked her and paid her well, and returned to her\nhut, carrying the mask under her cloak.\n\nIn a few days she heard that a great hunt was planned, and the prince\nwould leave the palace very early in the morning, so that his wife\nwould be alone all day.  This was a chance not to be missed, and taking\nher daughter with her she went up to the palace, where she had never\nbeen before.  The princess was too happy in her new home to remember\nall that she had suffered in the old one, and she welcomed them both\ngladly, and gave them quantities of beautiful things to take back with\nthem.  At last she took them down to the shore to see a pleasure boat\nwhich her husband had had made for her; and here, the woman seizing her\nopportunity, stole softly behind the girl and pushed her off the rock\non which she was standing, into the deep water, where she instantly\nsank to the bottom.  Then she fastened the mask on her daughter, flung\nover her shoulders a velvet cloak, which the princess had let fall, and\nfinally arranged a lace veil over her head.\n\n'Rest your cheek on your hand, as if you were in pain, when the prince\nreturns,' said the mother; 'and be careful not to speak, whatever you\ndo.  I will go back to the witch and see if she cannot take off the\nspell laid on you by those horrible birds.  Ah! why did I not think of\nit before!'\n\nNo sooner had the prince entered the palace than he hastened to the\nprincess's apartments, where he found her lying on the sofa apparently\nin great pain.\n\n'My dearest wife, what is the matter with you?' he cried, kneeling down\nbeside her, and trying to take her hand; but she snatched it away, and\npointing to her cheek murmured something he could not catch.\n\n'What is it?  tell me!  Is the pain bad?  When did it begin?  Shall I\nsend for your ladies to bath the place?' asked the prince, pouring out\nthese and a dozen other questions, to which the girl only shook her\nhead.\n\n'But I can't leave you like this,' he continued, starting up, 'I must\nsummon all the court physicians to apply soothing balsams to the sore\nplace!   And as he spoke he sprang to his feet to go in search of them.\n This so frightened the pretended wife, who knew that if the physicians\nonce came near her the trick would at once be discovered, that she\nforgot her mother's counsel not to speak, and forgot even the spell\nthat had been laid upon her, and catching hold of the prince's tunic,\nshe cried in tones of entreaty: 'Dirty creatures!'\n\nThe young man stopped, not able to believe his ears, but supposed that\npain had made the princess cross, as it sometimes does.  However, he\nguessed somehow that she wised to be left alone, so he only said:\n\n'Well, I dare say a little sleep will do you good, if you can manage to\nget it, and that you will wake up better to-morrow.'\n\nNow, that night happened to be very hot and airless, and the prince,\nafter vainly trying to rest, at length got up and went to the window.\nSuddenly he beheld in the moonlight a form with a wreath of roses on\nher head rise out of the sea below him and step on to the sands,\nholding out her arms as she did so towards the palace.\n\n'That maiden is strangely like my wife,' thought he; 'I must see her\ncloser!   And he hastened down to the water.  But when he got there,\nthe princess, for she indeed it was, had disappeared completely, and he\nbegan to wonder if his eyes had deceived him.\n\nThe next morning he went to the false bride's room, but her ladies told\nhim she would neither speak nor get up, though she ate everything they\nset before her.  The prince was sorely perplexed as to what could be\nthe matter with her, for naturally he could not guess that she was\nexpecting her mother to return every moment, and to remove the spell\nthe doves had laid upon her, and meanwhile was afraid to speak lest she\nshould betray herself.  At length he made up his mind to summon all the\ncourt physicians; he did not tell her what he was going to do, lest it\nshould make her worse, but he went himself and begged the four learned\nleeches attached to the king's person to follow him to the princess's\napartments.  Unfortunately, as they entered, the princess was so\nenraged at the sight of them that she forgot all about the doves, and\nshrieked out: 'Dirty creatures! dirty creatures!' which so offended the\nphysicians that they left the room at once, and nothing that the prince\ncould say would prevail on them to remain.  He then tried to persuade\nhis wife to send them a message that she was sorry for her rudeness,\nbut not a word would she say.\n\nLate that evening, when he had performed all the tiresome duties which\nfall to the lot of every prince, the young man was leaning out of his\nwindow, refreshing himself with the cool breezes that blew off the sea.\n His thoughts went back to the scene of the morning, and he wondered\nif, after all, he had not made a great mistake in marrying a low-born\nwife, however beautiful she might be.  How could he have imagined that\nthe quiet, gentle girl who had been so charming a companion to him\nduring the first days of their marriage, could have become in a day the\nrude, sulky woman, who could not control her temper even to benefit\nherself.  One thing was clear, if she did not change her conduct very\nshortly he would have to send her away from court.\n\nHe was thinking these thoughts, when his eyes fell on the sea beneath\nhim, and there, as before, was the figure that so closely resembled his\nwife, standing with her feet in the water, holding out her arms to him.\n\n'Wait for me!  Wait for me!  Wait for me!' he cried; not even knowing\nhe was speaking.  But when he reached the shore there was nothing to be\nseen but the shadows cast by the moonlight.\n\nA state ceremonial in a city some distance off caused the prince to\nride away at daybreak, and he left without seeing his wife again.\n\n'Perhaps she may have come to her senses by to-morrow,' said he to\nhimself; 'and, anyhow, if I am going to send her back to her father, it\nmight be better if we did not meet in the meantime!  Then he put the\nmatter from his mind, and kept his thoughts on the duty that lay before\nhim.\n\nIt was nearly midnight before he returned to the palace, but, instead\nof entering, he went down to the shore and hid behind a rock.  He had\nscarcely done so when the girl came out of the sea, and stretched out\nher arms towards his window.  In an instant the prince had seized her\nhand, and though she made a frightened struggle to reach the water--for\nshe in her turn had had a spell laid upon her--he held her fast.\n\n'You are my own wife, and I shall never let you go,' he said.  But the\nwords were hardly out of his mouth when he found that it was a hare\nthat he was holding by the paw.  Then the hare changed into a fish, and\nthe fish into a bird, and the bird into a slimy wriggling snake.  This\ntime the prince's hand nearly opened of itself, but with a strong\neffort he kept his fingers shut, and drawing his sword cut off its\nhead, when the spell was broken, and the girl stood before him as he\nhad seen her first, the wreath upon her head and the birds singing for\njoy.\n\nThe very next morning the stepmother arrived at the palace with an\nointment that the old witch had given her to place upon her daughter's\ntongue, which would break the dove's spell, if the rightful bride had\nreally been drowned in the sea; if not, then it would be useless.  The\nmother assured her that she had seen her stepdaughter sink, and that\nthere was no fear that she would ever come up again; but, to make all\nquite safe, the old woman might bewitch the girl; and so she did.\nAfter that the wicked stepmother travelled all through the night to get\nto the palace as soon as possible, and made her way straight into her\ndaughter's room.\n\n'I have got it!  I have got it!' she cried triumphantly, and laid the\nointment on her daughter's tongue.\n\n'Now what do you say?' she asked proudly.\n\n'Dirty creatures! dirty creatures!' answered the daughter; and the\nmother wrung her hands and wept, as she knew that all her plans had\nfailed.\n\nAt this moment the prince entered with his real wife.  'You both\ndeserved death,' he said, 'and if it were left to me, you should have\nit.  But the princess has begged me to spare your lives, so you will be\nput into a ship and carried off to a desert island, where you will stay\ntill you die.'\n\nThen the ship was made ready and the wicked woman and her daughter were\nplaced in it, and it sailed away, and no more was heard of them.  But\nthe prince and his wife lived together long and happily, and ruled\ntheir people well.\n\n[Adapted from Thorpe's Yule-Tide Stories.]\n\n\n\n              The Foolish Weaver\n\n\n\nOnce a weaver, who was in want of work, took service with a certain\nfarmer as a shepherd.\n\nThe farmer, knowing that the man was very slow-witted, gave him most\ncareful instructions as to everything that he was to do.\n\nFinally he said: 'If a wolf or any wild animal attempts to hurt the\nflock you should pick up a big stone like this' (suiting the action to\nthe word) 'and throw a few such at him, and he will be afraid and go\naway.'  The weaver said that he understood, and started with the flocks\nto the hillsides where they grazed all day.\n\nBy chance in the afternoon a leopard appeared, and the weaver instantly\nran home as fast as he could to get the stones which the farmer had\nshown him, to throw at the creature.  When he came back all the flock\nwere scattered or killed, and when the farmer heard the tale he beat\nhim soundly.  'Were there no stones on the hillside that you should run\nback to get them, you senseless one?' he cried; 'you are not fit to\nherd sheep.  To-day you shall stay at home and mind my old mother who\nis sick, perhaps you will be able to drive flies off her face, if you\ncan't drive beasts away from sheep!'\n\nSo, the next day, the weaver was left at home to take care of the\nfarmer's old sick mother.  Now as she lay outside on a bed, it turned\nout that the flies became very troublesome, and the weaver looked round\nfor something to drive them away with; and as he had been told to pick\nup the nearest stone to drive the beasts away from the flock, he\nthought he would this time show how cleverly he could obey orders.\nAccordingly he seized the nearest stone, which was a big, heavy one,\nand dashed it at the flies; but, unhappily, he slew the poor old woman\nalso; and then, being afraid of the wrath of the farmer, he fled and\nwas not seen again in that neighbourhood.\n\nAll that day and all the next night he walked, and at length he came to\na village where a great many weavers lived together.\n\n'You are welcome,' said they.  'Eat and sleep, for to-morrow six of us\nstart in search of fresh wool to weave, and we pray you to give us your\ncompany.'\n\n'Willingly,' answered the weaver.  So the next morning the seven\nweavers set out to go to the village where they could buy what they\nwanted.  On the way they had to cross a ravine which lately had been\nfull of water, but now was quite dry.  The weavers, however, were\naccustomed to swim over this ravine; therefore, regardless of the fact\nthat this time it was dry, they stripped, and, tying their clothes on\ntheir heads, they proceeded to swim across the dry sand and rocks that\nformed the bed of the ravine.  Thus they got to the other side without\nfurther damage than bruised knees and elbows, and as soon as they were\nover, one of them began to count the party to make sure that all were\nsafe there.  He counted all except himself, and then cried out that\nsomebody was missing!  This set each of them counting; but each made\nthe same mistake of counting all except himself, so that they became\ncertain that one of their party was missing!  They ran up and down the\nbank of the ravine wringing their hands in great distress and looking\nfor signs of their lost comrade.  There a farmer found them and asked\nwhat was the matter.  'Alas!' said one, 'seven of us started from the\nother bank and one must have been drowned on the crossing, as we can\nonly find six remaining!' The farmer eyed them a minute, and then,\npicking up his stick, he dealt each a sounding blow, counting, as he\ndid so, 'One! two! three!' and so on up to the seven.  When the weavers\nfound that there were seven of them they were overcome with gratitude\nto one whom they took for a magician as he could thus make seven out of\nan obvious six.\n\n[From the Pushto.]\n\n\n\n\n\n               The Clever Cat\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived an old man who dwelt with his son in a\nsmall hut on the edge of the plain.  He was very old, and had worked\nvery hard, and when at last he was struck down by illness he felt that\nhe should never rise from his bed again.\n\nSo, one day, he bade his wife summon their son, when he came back from\nhis journey to the nearest town, where he had been to buy bread.\n\n'Come hither, my son,' said he; 'I know myself well to be dying, and I\nhave nothing to leave you but my falcon, my cat and my greyhound; but\nif you make good use of them you will never lack food.  Be good to your\nmother, as you have been to me.  And now farewell!'\n\nThen he turned his face to the wall and died.\n\nThere was great mourning in the hut for many days, but at length the\nson rose up, and calling to his greyhound, his cat and his falcon, he\nleft the house saying that he would bring back something for dinner.\nWandering over the plain, he noticed a troop of gazelles, and pointed\nto his greyhound to give chase.  The dog soon brought down a fine fat\nbeast, and slinging it over his shoulders, the young man turned\nhomewards.  On the way, however, he passed a pond, and as he approached\na cloud of birds flew into the air.  Shaking his wrist, the falcon\nseated on it darted into the air, and swooped down upon the quarry he\nhad marked, which fell dead to the ground.  The young man picked it up,\nand put it in his pouch and then went towards home again.\n\nNear the hut was a small barn in which he kept the produce of the\nlittle patch of corn, which grew close to the garden.  Here a rat ran\nout almost under his feet, followed by another and another; but quick\nas thought the cat was upon them and not one escaped her.\n\nWhen all the rats were killed, the young man left the barn.  He took\nthe path leading to the door of the hut, but stopped on feeling a hand\nlaid on his shoulder.\n\n'Young man,' said the ogre (for such was the stranger), 'you have been\na good son, and you deserve the piece of luck which has befallen you\nthis day.  Come with me to that shining lake yonder, and fear nothing.'\n\nWondering a little at what might be going to happen to him, the youth\ndid as the ogre bade him, and when they reached the shore of the lake,\nthe ogre turned and said to him:\n\n'Step into the water and shut your eyes!  You will find yourself\nsinking slowly to the bottom; but take courage, all will go well.  Only\nbring up as much silver as you can carry, and we will divide it between\nus.'\n\nSo the young man stepped bravely into the lake, and felt himself\nsinking, sinking, till he reached firm ground at last.  In front of him\nlay four heaps of silver, and in the midst of them a curious white\nshining stone, marked over with strange characters, such as he had\nnever seen before.  He picked it up in order to examine it more\nclosely, and as he held it the stone spoke.\n\n'As long as you hold me, all your wishes will come true,' it said.\n'But hide me in your turban, and then call to the ogre that you are\nready to come up.'\n\nIn a few minutes the young man stood again by the shores of the lake.\n\n'Well, where is the silver?' asked the ogre, who was awaiting him.\n\n'Ah, my father, how can I tell you!  So bewildered was I, and so\ndazzled with the splendours of everything I saw, that I stood like a\nstatue, unable to move.  Then hearing steps approaching I got\nfrightened, and called to you, as you know.'\n\n'You are no better than the rest,' cried the ogre, and turned away in a\nrage.\n\nWhen he was out of sight the young man took the stone from his turban\nand looked at it.  'I want the finest camel that can be found, and the\nmost splendid garments,' said he.\n\n'Shut your eyes then,' replied the stone.  And he shut them; and when\nhe opened them again the camel that he had wished for was standing\nbefore him, while the festal robes of a desert prince hung from his\nshoulders.  Mounting the camel, he whistled the falcon to his wrist,\nand, followed by his greyhound and his cat, he started homewards.\n\nHis mother was sewing at her door when this magnificent stranger rode\nup, and, filled with surprise, she bowed low before him.\n\n'Don't you know me, mother?' he said with a laugh.  And on hearing his\nvoice the good woman nearly fell to the ground with astonishment.\n\n'How have you got that camel and those clothes?' asked she.  'Can a son\nof mine have committed murder in order to possess them?'\n\n'Do not be afraid; they are quite honestly come by,' answered the\nyouth.  'I will explain all by-and-by; but now you must go to the\npalace and tell the king I wish to marry his daughter.'\n\nAt these words the mother thought her son had certainly gone mad, and\nstared blankly at him.  The young man guessed what was in her heart,\nand replied with a smile:\n\n'Fear nothing.  Promise all that he asks; it will be fulfilled somehow.'\n\nSo she went to the palace, where she found the king sitting in the Hall\nof Justice listening to the petitions of his people.  The woman waited\nuntil all had been heard and the hall was empty, and then went up and\nknelt before the throne.\n\n'My son has sent me to ask for the hand of the princess,' said she.\n\nThe king looked at her and thought that she was mad; but, instead of\nordering his guards to turn her out, he answered gravely:\n\n'Before he can marry the princess he must build me a palace of ice,\nwhich can be warmed with fires, and wherein the rarest singing- birds\ncan live!'\n\n'It shall be done, your Majesty,' said she, and got up and left the\nhall.\n\nHer son was anxiously awaiting her outside the palace gates, dressed in\nthe clothes that he wore every day.\n\n'Well, what have I got to do?' he asked impatiently, drawing his mother\naside so that no one could overhear them.\n\n'Oh, something quite impossible; and I hope you will put the princess\nout of your head,' she replied.\n\n'Well, but what is it?' persisted he.\n\n'Nothing but to build a palace of ice wherein fires can burn that shall\nkeep it so warm that the most delicate singing-birds can live in it!'\n\n'I thought it would be something much harder than that,' exclaimed the\nyoung man.  'I will see about it at once.'  And leaving his mother, he\nwent into the country and took the stone from his turban.\n\n'I want a palace of ice that can be warmed with fires and filled with\nthe rarest singing-birds!'\n\n'Shut your eyes, then,' said the stone; and he shut them, and when he\nopened them again there was the palace, more beautiful than anything he\ncould have imagined, the fires throwing a soft pink glow over the ice.\n\n'It is fit even for the princess,' thought he to himself.\n\nAs soon as the king awoke next morning he ran to the window, and there\nacross the plain he beheld the palace.\n\n'That young man must be a great wizard; he may be useful to me.'  And\nwhen the mother came again to tell him that his orders had been\nfulfilled he received her with great honour, and bade her tell her son\nthat the wedding was fixed for the following day.\n\nThe princess was delighted with her new home, and with her husband\nalso; and several days slipped happily by, spent in turning over all\nthe beautiful things that the palace contained.  But at length the\nyoung man grew tired of always staying inside walls, and he told his\nwife that the next day he must leave her for a few hours, and go out\nhunting.  'You will not mind?' he asked.  And she answered as became a\ngood wife:\n\n'Yes, of course I shall mind; but I will spend the day in planning out\nsome new dresses; and then it will be so delightful when you come back,\nyou know!'\n\nSo the husband went off to hunt, with the falcon on his wrist, and the\ngreyhound and the cat behind him--for the palace was so warm that even\nthe cat did not mind living in it.\n\nNo sooner had he gone, than the ogre who had been watching his chance\nfor many days, knocked at the door of the palace.\n\n'I have just returned from a far country,' he said, 'and I have some of\nthe largest and most brilliant stones in the world with me.  The\nprincess is known to love beautiful things, perhaps she might like to\nbuy some?'\n\nNow the princess had been wondering for many days what trimming she\nshould put on her dresses, so that they should outshine the dresses of\nthe other ladies at the court balls.  Nothing that she thought of\nseemed good enough, so, when the message was brought that the ogre and\nhis wares were below, she at once ordered that he should be brought to\nher chamber.\n\nOh! what beautiful stones he laid before her; what lovely rubies, and\nwhat rare pearls!  No other lady would have jewels like those--of that\nthe princess was quite sure; but she cast down her eyes so that the\nogre might not see how much she longed for them.\n\n'I fear they are too costly for me,' she said carelessly; 'and besides,\nI have hardly need of any more jewels just now.'\n\n'I have no particular wish to sell them myself,' answered the ogre,\nwith equal indifference.  'But I have a necklace of shining stones\nwhich was left me by father, and one, the largest engraven with weird\ncharacters, is missing.  I have heard that it is in your husband's\npossession, and if you can get me that stone you shall have any of\nthese jewels that you choose.  But you will have to pretend that you\nwant it for yourself; and, above all, do not mention me, for he sets\ngreat store by it, and would never part with it to a stranger!\nTo-morrow I will return with some jewels yet finer than those I have\nwith me to-day.  So, madam, farewell!'\n\nLeft alone, the princess began to think of many things, but chiefly as\nto whether she would persuade her husband to give her the stone or not.\n At one moment she felt he had already bestowed so much upon her that\nit was a shame to ask for the only object he had kept back.  No, it\nwould be mean; she could not do it!  But then, those diamonds, and\nthose string of pearls!  After all, they had only been married a week,\nand the pleasure of giving it to her ought to be far greater than the\npleasure of keeping it for himself.  And she was sure it would be!\n\nWell, that evening, when the young man had supped off his favourite\ndishes which the princess took care to have specially prepared for him,\nshe sat down close beside him, and began stroking his head.  For some\ntime she did not speak, but listened attentively to all the adventures\nthat had befallen him that day.\n\n'But I was thinking of you all the time,' said he at the end, 'and\nwishing that I could bring you back something you would like.  But,\nalas! what is there that you do not possess already?'\n\n'How good of you not to forget me when you are in the midst of such\ndangers and hardships,' answered she.  'Yes, it is true I have many\nbeautiful things; but if you want to give me a present--and to-morrow\nis my birthday--there IS one thing that I wish for very much.'\n\n'And what is that?  Of course you shall have it directly!' he asked\neagerly.\n\n'It is that bright stone which fell out of the folds of your turban a\nfew days ago,' she answered, playing with his finger; 'the little stone\nwith all those funny marks upon it.  I never saw any stone like it\nbefore.'\n\nThe young man did not answer at first; then he said, slowly:\n\n'I have promised, and therefore I must perform.  But will you swear\nnever to part from it, and to keep it safely about you always?  More I\ncannot tell you, but I beg you earnestly to take heed to this.'\n\nThe princess was a little startled by his manner, and began to be sorry\nthat she had every listened to the ogre.  But she did not like to draw\nback, and pretended to be immensely delighted at her new toy, and\nkissed and thanked her husband for it.\n\n'After all I needn't give it to the ogre,' thought she as she dropped\noff to sleep.\n\nUnluckily the next morning the young man went hunting again, and the\nogre, who was watching, knew this, and did not come till much later\nthan before.  At the moment that he knocked at the door of the palace\nthe princess had tired of all her employments, and her attendants were\nat their wits' end how to amuse her, when a tall negro dressed in\nscarlet came to announce that the ogre was below, and desired to know\nif the princess would speak to him.\n\n'Bring him hither at once!' cried she, springing up from her cushions,\nand forgetting all her resolves of the previous night.  In another\nmoment she was bending with rapture over the glittering gems.\n\n'Have you got it?' asked the ogre in a whisper, for the princess's\nladies were standing as near as they dared to catch a glimpse of the\nbeautiful jewels.\n\n'Yes, here,' she answered, slipping the stone from her sash and placing\nit among the rest.  Then she raised her voice, and began to talk\nquickly of the prices of the chains and necklaces, and after some\nbargaining, to deceive the attendants, she declared that she liked one\nstring of pearls better than all the rest, and that the ogre might take\naway the other things, which were not half as valuable as he supposed.\n\n'As you please, madam,' said he, bowing himself out of the palace.\n\nSoon after he had gone a curious thing happened.  The princess\ncarelessly touched the wall of her room, which was wont to reflect the\nwarm red light of the fire on the hearth, and found her hand quite wet.\n She turned round, and--was it her fancy? or did the fire burn more\ndimly than before?  Hurriedly she passed into the picture gallery,\nwhere pools of water showed here and there on the floor, and a cold\nchill ran through her whole body.  At that instant her frightened\nladies came running down the stairs, crying:\n\n'Madam! madam! what has happened?  The palace is disappearing under our\neyes!'\n\n'My husband will be home very soon,' answered the princess--who, though\nnearly as much frightened as her ladies, felt that she must set them a\ngood example.  'Wait till then, and he will tell us what to do.'\n\nSo they waited, seated on the highest chairs they could find, wrapped\nin their warmest garments, and with piles of cushions under their feet,\nwhile the poor birds flew with numbed wings hither and thither, till\nthey were so lucky as to discover an open window in some forgotten\ncorner.  Through this they vanished, and were seen no more.\n\nAt last, when the princess and her ladies had been forced to leave the\nupper rooms, where the walls and floors had melted away, and to take\nrefuge in the hall, the young man came home.  He had ridden back along\na winding road from which he did not see the palace till he was close\nupon it, and stood horrified at the spectacle before him.  He knew in\nan instant that his wife must have betrayed his trust, but he would not\nreproach her, as she must be suffering enough already.  Hurrying on he\nsprang over all that was left of the palace walls, and the princess\ngave a cry of relief at the sight of him.\n\n'Come quickly,' he said, 'or you will be frozen to death!'  And a\ndreary little procession set out for the king's palace, the greyhound\nand the cat bringing up the rear.\n\nAt the gates he left them, though his wife besought him to allow her to\nenter.\n\n'You have betrayed me and ruined me,' he said sternly; 'I go to seek my\nfortune alone.'  And without another word he turned and left her.\n\nWith his falcon on his wrist, and his greyhound and cat behind him, the\nyoung man walked a long way, inquiring of everyone he met whether they\nhad seen his enemy the ogre.  But nobody had.  Then he bade his falcon\nfly up into the sky--up, up, and up--and try if his sharp eyes could\ndiscover the old thief.  The bird had to go so high that he did not\nreturn for some hours; but he told his master that the ogre was lying\nasleep in a splendid palace in a far country on the shores of the sea.\nThis was delightful news to the young man, who instantly bought some\nmeat for the falcon, bidding him make a good meal.\n\n'To-morrow,' said he, 'you will fly to the palace where the ogre lies,\nand while he is asleep you will search all about him for a stone on\nwhich is engraved strange signs; this you will bring to me.  In three\ndays I shall expect you back here.'\n\n'Well, I must take the cat with me,' answered the bird.\n\nThe sun had not yet risen before the falcon soared high into the air,\nthe cat seated on his back, with his paws tightly clasping the bird's\nneck.\n\n'You had better shut your eyes or you may get giddy,' said the bird;\nand the cat, you had never before been off the ground except to climb a\ntree, did as she was bid.\n\nAll that day and all that night they flew, and in the morning they saw\nthe ogre's palace lying beneath them.\n\n'Dear me,' said the cat, opening her eyes for the first time, 'that\nlooks to me very like a rat city down there, let us go down to it; they\nmay be able to help us.'  So they alighted in some bushes in the heart\nof the rat city.  The falcon remained where he was, but the cat lay\ndown outside the principal gate, causing terrible excitement among the\nrats.\n\nAt length, seeing she did not move, one bolder than the rest put its\nhead out of an upper window of the castle, and said, in a trembling\nvoice:\n\n'Why have you come here?  What do you want?  If it is anything in our\npower, tell us, and we will do it.'\n\n'If you would have let me speak to you before, I would have told you\nthat I come as a friend,' replied the cat; 'and I shall be greatly\nobliged if you would send four of the strongest and cunningest among\nyou, to do me a service.'\n\n'Oh, we shall be delighted,' answered the rat, much relieved.  'But if\nyou will inform me what it is you wish them to do I shall be better\nable to judge who is most fitted for the post.'\n\n'I thank you,' said the cat.  'Well, what they have to do is this:\nTo-night they must burrow under the walls of the castle and go up to\nthe room were an ogre lies asleep.  Somewhere about him he has hidden a\nstone, on which are engraved strange signs.  When they have found it\nthey must take it from him without his waking, and bring it to me.'\n\n'Your orders shall be obeyed,' replied the rat.  And he went out to\ngive his instructions.\n\nAbout midnight the cat, who was still sleeping before the gate, was\nawakened by some water flung at her by the head rat, who could not make\nup his mind to open the doors.\n\n'Here is the stone you wanted,' said he, when the cat started up with a\nloud mew; 'if you will hold up your paws I will drop it down.'  And so\nhe did.  'And now farewell,' continued the rat; 'you have a long way to\ngo, and will do well to start before daybreak.'\n\n'Your counsel is good,' replied the cat, smiling to itself; and putting\nthe stone in her mouth she went off to seek the falcon.\n\nNow all this time neither the cat nor the falcon had had any food, and\nthe falcon soon got tired carrying such a heavy burden.  When night\narrived he declared he could go no further, but would spend it on the\nbanks of a river.\n\n'And it is my turn to take care of the stone,' said he, 'or it will\nseem as if you had done everything and I nothing.'\n\n'No, I got it, and I will keep it,' answered the cat, who was tired and\ncross; and they began a fine quarrel.  But, unluckily, in the midst of\nit, the cat raised her voice, and the stone fell into the ear of a big\nfish which happened to be swimming by, and though both the cat and the\nfalcon sprang into the water after it, they were too late.\n\nHalf drowned, and more than half choked, the two faithful servants\nscrambled back to land again.  The falcon flew to a tree and spread his\nwings in the sun to dry, but the cat, after giving herself a good\nshake, began to scratch up the sandy banks and to throw the bits into\nthe stream.\n\n'What are you doing that for?' asked a little fish.  'Do you know that\nyou are making the water quite muddy?'\n\n'That doesn't matter at all to me,' answered the cat.  'I am going to\nfill up all the river, so that the fishes may die.'\n\n'That is very unkind, as we have never done you any harm,' replied the\nfish.  'Why are you so angry with us?'\n\n'Because one of you has got a stone of mine-- a stone with strange\nsigns upon it--which dropped into the water.  If you will promise to\nget it back for me, why, perhaps I will leave your river alone.'\n\n'I will certainly try,' answered the fish in a great hurry; 'but you\nmust have a little patience, as it may not be an easy task.'  And in an\ninstant his scales might be seen flashing quickly along.\n\nThe fish swam as fast as he could to the sea, which was not far\ndistant, and calling together all his relations who lived in the\nneighbourhood, he told them of the terrible danger which threatened the\ndwellers in the river.\n\n'None of us has got it,' said the fishes, shaking their heads; 'but in\nthe bay yonder there is a tunny who, although he is so old, always goes\neverywhere.  He will be able to tell you about it, if anyone can.'  So\nthe little fish swam off to the tunny, and again related his story.\n\n'Why I was up that river only a few hours ago!' cried the tunny; 'and\nas I was coming back something fell into my ear, and there it is still,\nfor I went to sleep, when I got home and forgot all about it.  Perhaps\nit may be what you want.'  And stretching up his tail he whisked out\nthe stone.\n\n'Yes, I think that must be it,' said the fish with joy.  And taking the\nstone in his mouth he carried it to the place where the cat was waiting\nfor him.\n\n'I am much obliged to you,' said the cat, as the fish laid the stone on\nthe sand, 'and to reward you, I will let your river alone.'  And she\nmounted the falcon's back, and they flew to their master.\n\nAh, how glad he was to see them again with the magic stone in their\npossession.  In a moment he had wished for a palace, but this time it\nwas of green marble; and then he wished for the princess and her ladies\nto occupy it.  And there they lived for many years, and when the old\nking died the princess's husband reigned in his stead.\n\n[Adapted from Contes Berberes.]\n\n\n\n              The Story of Manus\n\n\n\nFar away over the sea of the West there reigned a king who had two\nsons; and the name of the one was Oireal, and the name of the other was\nIarlaid.  When the boys were still children, their father and mother\ndied, and a great council was held, and a man was chosen from among\nthem who would rule the kingdom till the boys were old enough to rule\nit themselves.\n\nThe years passed on, and by-and-by another council was held, and it was\nagreed that the king's sons were now of an age to take the power which\nrightly belonged to them.  So the youths were bidden to appear before\nthe council, and Oireal the elder was smaller and weaker than his\nbrother.\n\n'I like not to leave the deer on the hill and the fish in the rivers,\nand sit in judgment on my people,' said Oireal, when he had listened to\nthe words of the chief of the council.  And the chief waxed angry, and\nanswered quickly:\n\n'Not one clod of earth shall ever be yours if this day you do not take\non yourself the vows that were taken by the king your father.'\n\nThen spake Iarlaid, the younger, and he said: 'Let one half be yours,\nand the other give to me; then you will have fewer people to rule over.'\n\n'Yes, I will do that,' answered Oireal.\n\nAfter this, one half of the men of the land of Lochlann did homage to\nOireal, and the other half to Iarlaid.  And they governed their\nkingdoms as they would, and in a few years they became grown men with\nbeards on their chins; and Iarlaid married the daughter of the king of\nGreece, and Oireal the daughter of the king of Orkney.  The next year\nsons were born to Oireal and Iarlaid; and the son of Oireal was big and\nstrong, but the son of Iarlaid was little and weak, and each had six\nfoster brothers who went everywhere with the princes.\n\nOne day Manus, son of Oireal, and his cousin, the son of Iarlaid,\ncalled to their foster brothers, and bade them come and play a game at\nshinny in the great field near the school where they were taught all\nthat princes and nobles should know.  Long they played, and swiftly did\nthe ball pass from one to another, when Manus drove the ball at his\ncousin, the son of Iarlaid.  The boy, who was not used to be roughly\nhandled, even in jest, cried out that he was sorely hurt, and went home\nwith his foster brothers and told his tale to his mother.  The wife of\nIarlaid grew white and angry as she listened, and thrusting her son\naside, sought the council hall where Iarlaid was sitting.\n\n'Manus has driven a ball at my son, and fain would have slain him,'\nsaid she.  'Let an end be put to him and his ill deeds.'\n\nBut Iarlaid answered:\n\n'Nay, I will not slay the son of my brother.'\n\n'And he shall not slay my son,' said the queen.  And calling to her\nchamberlain she ordered him to lead the prince to the four brown\nboundaries of the world, and to leave him there with a wise man, who\nwould care for him, and let no harm befall him.  And the wise man set\nthe boy on the top of a hill where the sun always shone, and he could\nsee every man, but no man could see him.\n\nThen she summoned Manus to the castle, and for a whole year she kept\nhim fast, and his own mother could not get speech of him.  But in the\nend, when the wife of Oireal fell sick, Manus fled from the tower which\nwas his prison, and stole back to his on home.\n\nFor a few years he stayed there in peace, and then the wife of Iarlaid\nhis uncle sent for him.\n\n'It is time that you were married,' she said, when she saw that Manus\nhad grown tall and strong like unto Iarlaid.  'Tall and strong you are,\nand comely of face.  I know a bride that will suit you well, and that\nis the daughter of the mighty earl of Finghaidh, that does homage for\nhis lands to me.  I myself will go with a great following to his house,\nand you shall go with me.'\n\nThus it was done; and though the earl's wife was eager to keep her\ndaughter with her yet a while, she was fain to yield, as the wife of\nIarlaid vowed that not a rood of land should the earl have, unless he\ndid her bidding.  But if he would give his daughter to Manus, she would\nbestow on him the third part of her own kingdom, with much treasure\nbeside.  This she did, not from love to Manus, but because she wished\nto destroy him.  So they were married, and rode back with the wife of\nIarlaid to her own palace.  And that night, while he was sleeping,\nthere came a wise man, who was his father's friend, and awoke him\nsaying: 'Danger lies very close to you, Manus, son of Oireal.  You hold\nyourself favoured because you have as a bride the daughter of a mighty\nearl; but do you know what bride the wife of Iarlaid sought for her own\nson?  It was no worldly wife she found for him, but the swift March\nwind, and never can you prevail against her.'\n\n'Is it thus?' answered Manu.  And at the first streak of dawn he went\nto the chamber where the queen lay in the midst of her maidens.\n\n'I have come,' he said, 'for the third part of the kingdom, and for the\ntreasure which you promised me.'  But the wife of Iarlaid laughed as\nshe heard him.\n\n'Not a clod shall you have here,' spake she.  'You must go to the Old\nBergen for that.  Mayhap under its stones and rough mountains you may\nfind a treasure!'\n\n'Then give me your son's six foster brothers as well as my own,'\nanswered he.  And the queen gave them to him, and they set out for Old\nBergen.\n\nA year passed by, and found them still in that wild land, hunting the\nreindeer, and digging pits for the mountain sheep to fall into.  For a\ntime Manus and his companions lived merrily, but at length Manus grew\nweary of the strange country, and they all took ship for the land of\nLochlann.  The wind was fierce and cold, and long was the voyage; but,\none spring day, they sailed into the harbour that lay beneath the\ncastle of Iarlaid.  The queen looked from her window and beheld him\nmounting the hill, with the twelve foster brothers behind him.  Then\nshe said to her husband: 'Manus has returned with his twelve foster\nbrothers.  Would that I could put an end to him and his murdering and\nhis slaying.'\n\n'That were a great pity,' answered Iarlaid.  'And it is not I that will\ndo it.'\n\n'If you will not do it I will,' said she.  And she called the twelve\nfoster brothers and made them vow fealty to herself.  So Manus was left\nwith no man, and sorrowful was he when he returned alone to Old Bergen.\n It was late when his foot touched the shore, and took the path towards\nthe forest.  On his way there met him a man in a red tunic.\n\n'Is it you, Manus, come back again?' asked he.\n\n'It is I,' answered Manus; 'alone have I returned from the land of\nLochlann.'\n\nThe man eyed him silently for a moment, and then he said:\n\n'I dreamed that you were girt with a sword and became king of\nLochlann.'  But Manus answered:\n\n'I have no sword and my bow is broken.'\n\n'I will give you a new sword if you will make me a promise,' said the\nman once more.\n\n'To be sure I will make it, if ever I am king,' answered Manus.  'But\nspeak, and tell me what promise I am to make.'\n\n'I was your grandfather's armourer,' replied the man, 'and I wish to be\nyour armourer also.'\n\n'That I will promise readily,' said Manus; and followed the man into\nhis house, which was at a little distance.  But the house was not like\nother houses, for the walls of every room were hung so thick with arms\nthat you could not see the boards.\n\n'Choose what you will,' said the man; and Manus unhooked a sword and\ntried it across his knee, and it broke, and so did the next, and the\nnext.\n\n'Leave off breaking the swords,' cried the man, 'and look at this old\nsword and helmet and tunic that I wore in the wars of your grandfather.\n Perhaps you may find them of stouter steel.'  And Manus bent the sword\nthrice across his knee but he could not break it.  So he girded it to\nhis side, and put on the old helmet.  As he fastened the strap his eye\nfell on a cloth flapping outside the window.\n\n'What cloth is that?' asked he.\n\n'It is a cloth that was woven by the Little People of the forest,' said\nthe man; 'and when you are hungry it will give you food and drink, and\nif you meet a foe, he will not hurt you, but will stoop and kiss the\nback of your hand in token of submission.  Take it, and use it well.'\nManus gladly wrapped the shawl round his arm, and was leaving the\nhouse, when he heard the rattling of a chain blown by the wind.\n\n'What chain is that?' asked he.\n\n'The creature who has that chain round his neck, need not fear a\nhundred enemies,' answered the armourer.  And Manus wound it round him\nand passed on into the forest.\n\nSuddenly there sprang out from the bushes two lions, and a lion cub\nwith them.  The fierce beasts bounded towards him, roaring loudly, and\nwould fain have eaten him, but quickly Manus stooped and spread the\ncloth upon the ground.  At that the lions stopped, and bowing their\ngreat heads, kissed the back of his wrist and went their ways.  But the\ncub rolled itself up in the cloth; so Manus picked them both up, and\ncarried them with him to Old Bergen.\n\nAnother year went by, and then he took the lion cub and set forth to\nthe land of Lochlann.  And the wife of Iarlaid came to meet him, and a\nbrown dog, small but full of courage, came with her.  When the dog\nbeheld the lion cub he rushed towards him, thinking to eat him; but the\ncub caught the dog by the neck, and shook him, and he was dead.  And\nthe wife of Iarlaid mourned him sore, and her wrath was kindled, and\nmany times she tried to slay Manus and his cub, but she could not.  And\nat last they two went back to Old Bergen, and the twelve foster\nbrothers went also.\n\n'Let them go,' said the wife of Iarlaid, when she heard of it.  'My\nbrother the Red Gruagach will take the head off Manus as well in Old\nBergen as elsewhere.'\n\nNow these words were carried by a messenger to the wife of Oireal, and\nshe made haste and sent a ship to Old Bergen to bear away her son\nbefore the Red Gruagach should take the head off him.  And in the ship\nwas a pilot.  But the wife of Iarlaid made a thick fog to cover the\nface of the sea, and the rowers could not row, lest they should drive\nthe ship on to a rock.  And when night came, the lion cub, whose eyes\nwere bright and keen, stole up to Manus, and Manus got on his back, and\nthe lion cub sprang ashore and bade Manus rest on the rock and wait for\nhim.  So Manus slept, and by-and-by a voice sounded in his ears,\nsaying: 'Arise!' And he saw a ship in the water beneath him, and in the\nship sat the lion cup in the shape of the pilot.\n\nThen they sailed away through the fog, and none saw them; and they\nreached the land of Lochlann, and the lion cub with the chain round his\nneck sprang from the ship and Manus followed after.  And the lion cub\nkilled all the men that guarded the castle, and Iarlaid and his wife\nalso, so that, in the end, Manus son of Oireal was crowned king of\nLochlann.\n\n[Shortened from West Highland Tales.]\n\n\n\n               Pinkel the Thief\n\n\n\nLong, long ago there lived a widow who had three sons.  The two eldest\nwere grown up, and though they were known to be idle fellows, some of\nthe neighbours had given them work to do on account of the respect in\nwhich their mother was held.  But at the time this story begins they\nhad both been so careless and idle that their masters declared they\nwould keep them no longer.\n\nSo home they went to their mother and youngest brother, of whom they\nthought little, because he made himself useful about the house, and\nlooked after the hens, and milked the cow.  'Pinkel,' they called him\nin scorn, and by-and-by 'Pinkel' became his name throughout the village.\n\nThe two young men thought it was much nicer to live at home and be idle\nthan to be obliged to do a quantity of disagreeable things they did not\nlike, and they would have stayed by the fire till the end of their\nlives had not the widow lost patience with them and said that since\nthey would not look for work at home they must seek it elsewhere, for\nshe would not have them under her roof any longer.  But she repented\nbitterly of her words when Pinkel told her that he too was old enough\nto go out into the world, and that when he had made a fortune he would\nsend for his mother to keep house for him.\n\nThe widow wept many tears at parting from her youngest son, but as she\nsaw that his heart was set upon going with his brothers, she did not\ntry to keep him.  So the young men started off one morning in high\nspirits, never doubting that work such as they might be willing to do\nwould be had for the asking, as soon as their little store of money was\nspent.\n\nBut a very few days of wandering opened their eyes.  Nobody seemed to\nwant them, or, if they did, the young men declared that they were not\nable to undertake all that the farmers or millers or woodcutters\nrequired of them.  The youngest brother, who was wiser, would gladly\nhave done some of the work that the others refused, but he was small\nand slight, and no one thought of offering him any.  Therefore they\nwent from one place to another, living only on the fruit and nuts they\ncould find in the woods, and getting hungrier every day.\n\nOne night, after they had been walking for many hours and were very\ntired, they came to a large lake with an island in the middle of it.\nFrom the island streamed a strong light, by which they could see\neverything almost as clearly as if the sun had been shining, and they\nperceived that, lying half hidden in the rushes, was a boat.\n\n'Let us take it and row over to the island, where there must be a\nhouse,' said the eldest brother; 'and perhaps they will give us food\nand shelter.'  And they all got in and rowed across in the direction of\nthe light.  As they drew near the island they saw that it came from a\ngolden lantern hanging over the door of a hut, while sweet tinkling\nmusic proceeded from some bells attached to the golden horns of a goat\nwhich was feeding near the cottage.  The young men's hearts rejoiced as\nthey thought that at last they would be able to rest their weary limbs,\nand they entered the hut, but were amazed to see an ugly old woman\ninside, wrapped in a cloak of gold which lighted up the whole house.\nThey looked at each other uneasily as she came forward with her\ndaughter, as they knew by the cloak that this was a famous witch.\n\n'What do you want?' asked she, at the same time signing to her daughter\nto stir the large pot on the fire.\n\n'We are tired and hungry, and would fain have shelter for the night,'\nanswered the eldest brother.\n\n'You cannot get it here,' said the witch, 'but you will find both food\nand shelter in the palace on the other side of the lake.  Take your\nboat and go; but leave this boy with me--I can find work for him,\nthough something tells me he is quick and cunning, and will do me ill.'\n\n'What harm can a poor boy like me do a great Troll like you?' answered\nPinkel.  'Let me go, I pray you, with my brothers.  I will promise\nnever to hurt you.'  And at last the witch let him go, and he followed\nhis brothers to the boat.\n\nThe way was further than they thought, and it was morning before they\nreached the palace.\n\nNow, at last, their luck seemed to have turned, for while the two\neldest were given places in the king's stables, Pinkel was taken as\npage to the little prince.  He was a clever and amusing boy, who saw\neverything that passed under his eyes, and the king noticed this, and\noften employed him in his own service, which made his brothers very\njealous.\n\nThings went on this way for some time, and Pinkel every day rose in the\nroyal favour.  At length the envy of his brothers became so great that\nthey could bear it no longer, and consulted together how best they\nmight ruin his credit with the king.  They did not wish to kill\nhim--though, perhaps, they would not have been sorry if they had heard\nhe was dead--but merely wished to remind him that he was after all only\na child, not half so old and wise as they.\n\nTheir opportunity soon came.  It happened to be the king's custom to\nvisit his stables once a week, so that he might see that his horses\nwere being properly cared for.  The next time he entered the stables\nthe two brothers managed to be in the way, and when the king praised\nthe beautiful satin skins of the horses under their charge, and\nremarked how different was their condition when his grooms had first\ncome across the lake, the young men at once began to speak of the\nwonderful light which sprang from the lantern over the hut.  The king,\nwho had a passion for collection all the rarest things he could find,\nfell into the trap directly, and inquired where he could get this\nmarvellous lantern.\n\n'Send Pinkel for it, Sire,' said they.  'It belongs to an old witch,\nwho no doubt came by it in some evil way.  But Pinkel has a smooth\ntongue, and he can get the better of any woman, old or young.'\n\n'Then bid him go this very night,' cried the king; 'and if he brings me\nthe lantern I will make him one of the chief men about my person.'\n\nPinkel was much pleased at the thought of his adventure, and without\nmore ado he borrowed a little boat which lay moored to the shore, and\nrowed over to the island at once.  It was late by the time he arrived,\nand almost dark, but he knew by the savoury smell that reached him that\nthe witch was cooking her supper.  So he climbed softly on to the roof,\nand, peering, watched till the old woman's back was turned, when he\nquickly drew a handful of salt from his pocket and threw it into the\npot.  Scarcely had he done this when the witch called her daughter and\nbade her lift the pot off the fire and put the stew into a dish, as it\nhad been cooking quite long enough and she was hungry.  But no sooner\nhad she tasted it than she put her spoon down, and declared that her\ndaughter must have been meddling with it, for it was impossible to eat\nanything that was all made of salt.\n\n'Go down to the spring in the valley, and get some fresh water, that I\nmay prepare a fresh supper,' cried she, 'for I feel half- starved.'\n\n'But, mother,' answered the girl, 'how can I find the well in this\ndarkness?  For you know that the lantern's rays shed no light down\nthere.'\n\n'Well, then, take the lantern with you,' answered the witch, 'for\nsupper I must have, and there is no water that is nearer.'\n\nSo the girl took her pail in one hand and the golden lantern in the\nother, and hastened away to the well, followed by Pinkel, who took care\nto keep out of the way of the rays.  When at last she stooped to fill\nher pail at the well Pinkel pushed her into it, and snatching up the\nlantern hurried back to his boat and rowed off from the shore.\n\nHe was already a long distance from the island when the witch, who\nwondered what had become of her daughter, went to the door to look for\nher.  Close around the hut was thick darkness, but what was that\nbobbing light that streamed across the water?  The witch's heart sank\nas all at once it flashed upon her what had happened.\n\n'Is that you, Pinkel?' cried she; and the youth answered:\n\n'Yes, dear mother, it is I!'\n\n'And are you not a knave for robbing me?' said she.\n\n'Truly, dear mother, I am,' replied Pinkel, rowing faster than ever,\nfor he was half afraid that the witch might come after him.  But she\nhad no power on the water, and turned angrily into the hut, muttering\nto herself all the while:\n\n'Take care! take care!  A second time you will not escape so easily!'\n\nThe sun had not yet risen when Pinkel returned to the palace, and,\nentering the king's chamber, he held up the lantern so that its rays\nmight fall upon the bed.  In an instant the king awoke, and seeing the\ngolden lantern shedding its light upon him, he sprang up, and embraced\nPinkel with joy.\n\n'O cunning one,' cried he, 'what treasure hast thou brought me!' And\ncalling for his attendants he ordered that rooms next his own should be\nprepared for Pinkel, and that the youth might enter his presence at any\nhour.  And besides this, he was to have a seat on the council.\n\nIt may easily be guessed that all this made the brothers more envious\nthan they were before; and they cast about in their minds afresh how\nbest they might destroy him.  At length they remembered the goat with\ngolden horns and the bells, and they rejoiced; 'For,' said they, 'THIS\ntime the old woman will be on the watch, and let him be as clever as he\nlikes, the bells on the horns are sure to warn her.'  So when, as\nbefore, the king came down to the stables and praised the cleverness of\ntheir brother, the young men told him of that other marvel possessed by\nthe witch, the goat with the golden horns.\n\nFrom this moment the king never closed his eyes at night for longing\nafter this wonderful creature.  He understood something of the danger\nthat there might be in trying to steal it, now that the witch's\nsuspicions were aroused, and he spent hours in making plans for\noutwitting her.  But somehow he never could think of anything that\nwould do, and at last, as the brothers had foreseen, he sent for Pinkel.\n\n'I hear,' he said, 'that the old witch on the island has a goat with\ngolden horns from which hang bells that tinkle the sweetest music.\nThat goat I must have!  But, tell me, how am I to get it?  I would give\nthe third part of my kingdom to anyone who would bring it to me.'\n\n'I will fetch it myself,' answered Pinkel.\n\nThis time it was easier for Pinkel to approach the island unseen, as\nthere was no golden lantern to thrown its beams over the water.  But,\non the other hand, the goat slept inside the hut, and would therefore\nhave to be taken from under the very eyes of the old woman.  How was he\nto do it?  All the way across the lake he thought and thought, till at\nlength a plan came into his head which seemed as if it might do, though\nhe knew it would be very difficult to carry out.\n\nThe first thing he did when he reached the shore was to look about for\na piece of wood, and when he had found it he hid himself close to the\nhut, till it grew quite dark and near the hour when the witch and her\ndaughter went to bed.  Then he crept up and fixed the wood under the\ndoor, which opened outwards, in such a manner that the more you tried\nto shut it the more firmly it stuck.  And this was what happened when\nthe girl went as usual to bolt the door and make all fast for the night.\n\n'What are you doing?' asked the witch, as her daughter kept tugging at\nthe handle.\n\n'There is something the matter with the door; it won't shut,' answered\nshe.\n\n'Well, leave it alone; there is nobody to hurt us,' said the witch, who\nwas very sleepy; and the girl did as she was bid, and went to bed.\nVery soon they both might have been heard snoring, and Pinkel knew that\nhis time was come.  Slipping off his shoes he stole into the hut on\ntiptoe, and taking from his pocket some food of which the goat was\nparticularly fond, he laid it under his nose.  Then, while the animal\nwas eating it, he stuffed each golden bell with wool which he had also\nbrought with him, stopping every minute to listen, lest the witch\nshould awaken, and he should find himself changed into some dreadful\nbird or beast.  But the snoring still continued, and he went on with\nhis work as quickly as he could.  When the last bell was done he drew\nanother handful of food out of his pocket, and held it out to the goat,\nwhich instantly rose to its feet and followed Pinkel, who backed slowly\nto the door, and directly he got outside he seized the goat in his arms\nand ran down to the place where he had moored his boat.\n\nAs soon as he had reached the middle of the lake, Pinkel took the wool\nout of the bells, which began to tinkle loudly.  Their sound awoke the\nwitch, who cried out as before:\n\n'Is that you, Pinkel?'\n\n'Yes, dear mother, it is I,' said Pinkel.\n\n'Have you stolen my golden goat?' asked she.\n\n'Yes, dear mother, I have,' answered Pinkel.\n\n'Are you not a knave, Pinkel?'\n\n'Yes, dear mother, I am,' he replied.  And the old witch shouted in a\nrage:\n\n'Ah! beware how you come hither again, for next time you shall not\nescape me!'\n\nBut Pinkel laughed and rowed on.\n\nThe king was so delighted with the goat that he always kept it by his\nside, night and day; and, as he had promised, Pinkel was made ruler\nover the third part of the kingdom.  As may be supposed, the brothers\nwere more furious than ever, and grew quite thin with rage.\n\n'How can we get rid of him?' said one to the other.  And at length they\nremembered the golden cloak.\n\n'He will need to be clever if he is to steal that!' they cried, with a\nchuckle.  And when next the king came to see his horses they began to\nspeak of Pinkel and his marvellous cunning, and how he had contrived to\nsteal the lantern and the goat, which nobody else would have been able\nto do.\n\n'But as he was there, it is a pity he could not have brought away the\ngolden cloak,' added they.\n\n'The golden cloak! what is that?' asked the king.  And the young men\ndescribed its beauties in such glowing words that the king declared he\nshould never know a day's happiness till he had wrapped the cloak round\nhis own shoulders.\n\n'And,' added he, 'the man who brings it to me shall wed my daughter,\nand shall inherit my throne.'\n\n'None can get it save Pinkel,' said they; for they did not imagine that\nthe witch, after two warnings, could allow their brother to escape a\nthird time.  So Pinkel was sent for, and with a glad heart he set out.\n\nHe passed many hours inventing first one plan and then another, till he\nhad a scheme ready which he thought might prove successful.\n\nThrusting a large bag inside his coat, he pushed off from the shore,\ntaking care this time to reach the island in daylight.  Having made his\nboat fast to a tree, he walked up to the hut, hanging his head, and\nputting on a face that was both sorrowful and ashamed.\n\n'Is that you, Pinkel?' asked the witch when she saw him, her eyes\ngleaming savagely.\n\n'Yes, dear mother, it is I,' answered Pinkel.\n\n'So you have dared, after all you have done, to put yourself in my\npower!' cried she.  'Well, you sha'n't escape me THIS time!' And she\ntook down a large knife and began to sharpen it.'\n\n'Oh! dear mother, spare me!' shrieked Pinkel, falling on his knees, and\nlooking wildly about him.\n\n'Spare you, indeed, you thief!  Where are my lantern and my goat?  No!\nnot! there is only one fate for robbers!' And she brandished the knife\nin the air so that it glittered in the firelight.\n\n'Then, if I must die,' said Pinkel, who, by this time, was getting\nreally rather frightened, 'let me at least choose the manner of my\ndeath.  I am very hungry, for I have had nothing to eat all day.  Put\nsome poison, if you like, into the porridge, but at least let me have a\ngood meal before I die.'\n\n'That is not a bad idea,' answered the woman; 'as long as you do die,\nit is all one to me.'  And ladling out a large bowl of porridge, she\nstirred some poisonous herbs into it, and set about work that had to be\ndone.  Then Pinkel hastily poured all the contents of the bowl into his\nbag, and make a great noise with his spoon, as if he was scraping up\nthe last morsel.\n\n'Poisoned or not, the porridge is excellent.  I have eaten it, every\nscrap; do give me some more,' said Pinkel, turning towards her.\n\n'Well, you have a fine appetite, young man,' answered the witch;\n'however, it is the last time you will ever eat it, so I will give you\nanother bowlful.'  And rubbing in the poisonous herbs, she poured him\nout half of what remained, and then went to the window to call her cat.\n\nIn an instant Pinkel again emptied the porridge into the bag, and the\nnext minute he rolled on the floor, twisting himself about as if in\nagony, uttering loud groans the while.  Suddenly he grew silent and lay\nstill.\n\n'Ah! I thought a second dose of that poison would be too much for you,'\nsaid the witch looking at him.  'I warned you what would happen if you\ncame back.  I wish that all thieves were as dead as you!  But why does\nnot my lazy girl bring the wood I sent her for, it will soon be too\ndark for her to find her way?  I suppose I must go and search for her.\nWhat a trouble girls are!'  And she went to the door to watch if there\nwere any signs of her daughter.  But nothing could be seen of her, and\nheavy rain was falling.\n\n'It is no night for my cloak,' she muttered; 'it would be covered with\nmud by the time I got back.'  So she took it off her shoulders and hung\nit carefully up in a cupboard in the room.  After that she put on her\nclogs and started to seek her daughter.  Directly the last sound of the\nclogs had ceased, Pinkel jumped up and took down the cloak, and rowed\noff as fast as he could.\n\nHe had not gone far when a puff of wind unfolded the cloak, and its\nbrightness shed gleams across the water.  The witch, who was just\nentering the forest, turned round at that moment and saw the golden\nrays.  She forgot all about her daughter, and ran down to the shore,\nscreaming with rage at being outwitted a third time.\n\n'Is that you, Pinkel?' cried she.\n\n'Yes, dear mother, it is I.'\n\n'Have you taken my gold cloak?'\n\n'Yes, dear mother, I have.'\n\n'Are you not a great knave?'\n\n'Yes, truly dear mother, I am.'\n\nAnd so indeed he was!\n\nBut, all the same, he carried the cloak to the king's palace, and in\nreturn he received the hand of the king's daughter in marriage.  People\nsaid that it was the bride who ought to have worn the cloak at her\nwedding feast; but the king was so pleased with it that he would not\npart from it; and to the end of his life was never seen without it.\nAfter his death, Pinkel became king; and let up hope that he gave up\nhis bad and thievish ways, and ruled his subjects well.  As for his\nbrothers, he did not punish them, but left them in the stables, where\nthey grumbled all day long.\n\n[Thorpe's Yule-Tide Stories.]\n\n\n\n          The Adventures of a Jackal\n\n\n\nIn a country which is full of wild beasts of all sorts there once lived\na jackal and a hedgehog, and, unlike though they were, the two animals\nmade great friends, and were often seen in each other's company.\n\nOne afternoon they were walking along a road together, when the jackal,\nwho was the taller of the two, exclaimed:\n\n'Oh! there is a barn full of corn; let us go and eat some.'\n\n'Yes, do let us!' answered the hedgehog.  So they went to the barn, and\nate till they could eat no more.  Then the jackal put on his shoes,\nwhich he had taken off so as to make no noise, and they returned to the\nhigh road.\n\nAfter they had gone some way they met a panther, who stopped, and\nbowing politely, said:\n\n'Excuse my speaking to you, but I cannot help admiring those shoes of\nyours.  Do you mind telling me who made them?'\n\n'Yes, I think they are rather nice,' answered the jackal; 'I made them\nmyself, though.'\n\n'Could you make me a pair like them?' asked the panther eagerly.\n\n'I would do my best, of course,' replied the jackal; 'but you must kill\nme a cow, and when we have eaten the flesh I will take the skin and\nmake your shoes out of it.'\n\nSo the panther prowled about until he saw a fine cow grazing apart from\nthe rest of the herd.  He killed it instantly, and then gave a cry to\nthe jackal and hedgehog to come to the place where he was.  They soon\nskinned the dead beasts, and spread its skin out to dry, after which\nthey had a grand feast before they curled themselves up for the night,\nand slept soundly.\n\nNext morning the jackal got up early and set to work upon the shoes,\nwhile the panther sat by and looked on with delight.  At last they were\nfinished, and the jackal arose and stretched himself.\n\n'Now go and lay them in the sun out there,' said he; 'in a couple of\nhours they will be ready to put on; but do not attempt to wear them\nbefore, or you will feel them most uncomfortable.  But I see the sun is\nhigh in the heavens, and we must be continuing our journey.'\n\nThe panther, who always believed what everybody told him, did exactly\nas he was bid, and in two hours' time began to fasten on the shoes.\nThey certainly set off his paws wonderfully, and he stretched out his\nforepaws and looked at them with pride.  But when he tried to walk--ah!\nthat was another story!  They were so stiff and hard that he nearly\nshrieked every step he took, and at last he sank down where he was, and\nactually began to cry.\n\nAfter some time some little partridges who were hopping about heard the\npoor panther's groans, and went up to see what was the matter.  He had\nnever tried to make his dinner off them, and they had always been quite\nfriendly.\n\n'You seem in pain,' said one of them, fluttering close to him, 'can we\nhelp you?'\n\n'Oh, it is the jackal!  He made me these shoes; they are so hard and\ntight that they hurt my feet, and I cannot manage to kick them off.'\n\n'Lie still, and we will soften them,' answered the kind little\npartridge.  And calling to his brothers, they all flew to the nearest\nspring, and carried water in their beaks, which they poured over the\nshoes.  This they did till the hard leather grew soft, and the panther\nwas able to slip his feet out of them.\n\n'Oh, thank you, thank you,' he cried, skipping round with joy.  'I feel\na different creature.  Now I will go after the jackal and pay him my\ndebts.'  And he bounded away into the forest.\n\nBut the jackal had been very cunning, and had trotted backwards and\nforwards and in and out, so that it was very difficult to know which\ntrack he had really followed.  At length, however, the panther caught\nsight of his enemy, at the same moment that the jackal had caught sight\nof him.  The panther gave a loud roar, and sprang forward, but the\njackal was too quick for him and plunged into a dense thicket, where\nthe panther could not follow.\n\nDisgusted with his failure, but more angry than ever, the panther lay\ndown for a while to consider what he should do next, and as he was\nthinking, an old man came by.\n\n'Oh! father, tell me how I can repay the jackal for the way he has\nserved me!' And without more ado he told his story.\n\n'If you take my advice,' answered the old man, 'you will kill a cow,\nand invite all the jackals in the forest to the feast.  Watch them\ncarefully while they are eating, and you will see that most of them\nkeep their eyes on their food.  But if one of them glances at you, you\nwill know that is the traitor.'\n\nThe panther, whose manners were always good, thanked the old man, and\nfollowed his counsel.  The cow was killed, and the partridges flew\nabout with invitations to the jackals, who gathered in large numbers to\nthe feast.  The wicked jackal came amongst them; but as the panther had\nonly seen him once he could not distinguish him from the rest.\nHowever, they all took their places on wooden seats placed round the\ndead cow, which was laid across the boughs of a fallen tree, and began\ntheir dinner, each jackal fixing his eyes greedily on the piece of meat\nbefore him.  Only one of them seemed uneasy, and every now and then\nglanced in the direction of his host.  This the panther noticed, and\nsuddenly made a bound at the culprit and seized his tail; but again the\njackal was too quick for him, and catching up a knife he cut off his\ntail and darted into the forest, followed by all the rest of the party.\n And before the panther had recovered from his surprise he found\nhimself alone.\n\n'What am I to do now?' he asked the old man, who soon came back to see\nhow things had turned out.\n\n'It is very unfortunate, certainly,' answered he; 'but I think I know\nwhere you can find him.  There is a melon garden about two miles from\nhere, and as jackals are very fond of melons they are nearly sure to\nhave gone there to feed.  If you see a tailless jackal you will know\nthat he is the one you want.'  So the panther thanked him and went his\nway.\n\nNow the jackal had guessed what advice the old man would give his\nenemy, and so, while his friends were greedily eating the ripest melons\nin the sunniest corner of the garden, he stole behind them and tied\ntheir tails together.  He had only just finished when his ears caught\nthe sound of breaking branches; and he cried: 'Quick! quick! here comes\nthe master of the garden!' And the jackals sprang up and ran away in\nall directions, leaving their tails behind them.  And how was the\npanther to know which was his enemy?\n\n'They none of them had any tails,' he said sadly to the old man, 'and I\nam tired of hunting them.  I shall leave them alone and go and catch\nsomething for supper.'\n\nOf course the hedgehog had not been able to take part in any of these\nadventures; but as soon as all danger was over, the jackal went to look\nfor his friend, whom he was lucky enough to find at home.\n\n'Ah, there you are,' he said gaily.  'I have lost my tail since I saw\nyou last.  And other people have lost theirs too; but that is no\nmatter!  I am hungry, so come with me to the shepherd who is sitting\nover there, and we will ask him to sell us one of his sheep.'\n\n'Yes, that is a good plan,' answered the hedgehog.  And he walked as\nfast as his little legs would go to keep up with the jackal.  When they\nreached the shepherd the jackal pulled out his purse from under his\nforeleg, and made his bargain.\n\n'Only wait till to-morrow,' said the shepherd, 'and I will give you the\nbiggest sheep you ever saw.  But he always feeds at some distance from\nthe rest of the flock, and it would take me a long time to catch him.'\n\n'Well, it is very tiresome, but I suppose I must wait,' replied the\njackal.  And he and the hedgehog looked about for a nice dry cave in\nwhich to make themselves comfortable for the night.  But, after they\nhad gone, the shepherd killed one of his sheep, and stripped off his\nskin, which he sewed tightly round a greyhound he had with him, and put\na cord round its neck.  Then he lay down and went to sleep.\n\nVery, very early, before the sun was properly up, the jackal and the\nhedgehog were pulling at the shepherd's cloak.\n\n'Wake up,' they said, 'and give us that sheep.  We have had nothing to\neat all night, and are very hungry.'\n\nThe shepherd yawned and rubbed his eyes.  'He is tied up to that tree;\ngo and take him.'  So they went to the tree and unfastened the cord,\nand turned to go back to the cave where they had slept, dragging the\ngreyhound after them.  When they reached the cave the jackal said to\nthe hedgehog.\n\n'Before I kill him let me see whether he is fat or thin.'  And he stood\na little way back, so that he might the better examine the animal.\nAfter looking at him, with his head on one side, for a minute or two,\nhe nodded gravely.\n\n'He is quite fat enough; he is a good sheep.'\n\nBut the hedgehog, who sometimes showed more cunning than anyone would\nhave guessed, answered:\n\n'My friend, you are talking nonsense.  The wool is indeed a sheep's\nwool, but the paws of my uncle the greyhound peep out from underneath.'\n\n'He is a sheep,' repeated the jackal, who did not like to think anyone\ncleverer than himself.\n\n'Hold the cord while I look at him,' answered the hedgehog.\n\nVery unwillingly the jackal held the rope, while the hedgehog walked\nslowly round the greyhound till he reached the jackal again.  He knew\nquite well by the paws and tail that it was a greyhound and not a\nsheep, that the shepherd had sold them; and as he could not tell what\nturn affairs might take, he resolved to get out of the way.\n\n'Oh! yes, you are right,' he said to the jackal; 'but I never can eat\ntill I have first drunk.  I will just go and quench my thirst from that\nspring at the edge of the wood, and then I shall be ready for\nbreakfast.'\n\n'Don't be long, then,' called the jackal, as the hedgehog hurried off\nat his best pace.  And he lay down under a rock to wait for him.\n\nMore than an hour passed by and the hedgehog had had plenty of time to\ngo to the spring and back, and still there was no sign of him.  And\nthis was very natural, as he had hidden himself in some long grass\nunder a tree!\n\nAt length the jackal guessed that for some reason his friend had run\naway, and determined to wait for his breakfast no longer.  So he went\nup to the place where the greyhound had been tethered and untied the\nrope.  But just as he was about to spring on his back and give him a\ndeadly bite, the jackal heard a low growl, which never proceeded from\nthe throat of any sheep.  Like a flash of lightning the jackal threw\ndown the cord and was flying across the plain; but though his legs were\nlong, the greyhound's legs were longer still, and he soon came up with\nhis prey.  The jackal turned to fight, but he was no match for the\ngreyhound, and in a few minutes he was lying dead on the ground, while\nthe greyhound was trotting peacefully back to the shepherd.\n\n[Nouveaux Contes Berberes, par Rene Basset.]\n\n\n\n    The Adventures of the Jackal's Eldest                     Son\n\n\n\nNow, though the jackal was dead, he had left two sons behind him, every\nwhit as cunning and tricky as their father.  The elder of the two was a\nfine handsome creature, who had a pleasant manner and made many\nfriends.  The animal he saw most of was a hyena; and one day, when they\nwere taking a walk together, they picked up a beautiful green cloak,\nwhich had evidently been dropped by some one riding across the plain on\na camel.  Of course each wanted to have it, and they almost quarrelled\nover the matter; but at length it was settled that the hyena should\nwear the cloak by day and the jackal by night.  After a little while,\nhowever, the jackal became discontented with this arrangement,\ndeclaring that none of his friends, who were quite different from those\nof the hyena, could see the splendour of the mantle, and that it was\nonly fair that he should sometimes be allowed to wear it by day.  To\nthis the hyena would by no means consent, and they were on the eve of a\nquarrel when the hyena proposed that they should ask the lion to judge\nbetween them.  The jackal agreed to this, and the hyena wrapped the\ncloak about him, and they both trotted off to the lion's den.\n\nThe jackal, who was fond of talking, at once told the story; and when\nit was finished the lion turned to the hyena and asked if it was true.\n\n'Quite true, your majesty,' answered the hyena.\n\n'Then lay the cloak on the ground at my feet,' said the lion, 'and I\nwill give my judgment.'  So the mantle was spread upon the red earth,\nthe hyena and the jackal standing on each side of it.\n\nThere was silence for a few moments, and then the lion sat up, looking\nvery great and wise.\n\n'My judgment is that the garment shall belong wholly to whoever first\nrings the bell of the nearest mosque at dawn to-morrow.  Now go; for\nmuch business awaits me!'\n\nAll that night the hyena sat up, fearing lest the jackal should reach\nthe bell before him, for the mosque was close at hand.  With the first\nstreak of dawn he bounded away to the bell, just as the jackal, who had\nslept soundly all night, was rising to his feet.\n\n'Good luck to you,' cried the jackal.  And throwing the cloak over his\nback he darted away across the plain, and was seen no more by his\nfriend the hyena.\n\nAfter running several miles the jackal thought he was safe from\npursuit, and seeing a lion and another hyena talking together, he\nstrolled up to join them.\n\n'Good morning,' he said; 'may I ask what is the matter?  You seem very\nserious about something.'\n\n'Pray sit down,' answered the lion.  'We were wondering in which\ndirection we should go to find the best dinner.  The hyena wishes to go\nto the forest, and I to the mountains.  What do you say?'\n\n'Well, as I was sauntering over the plain, just now, I noticed a flock\nof sheep grazing, and some of them had wandered into a little valley\nquite out of sight of the shepherd.  If you keep among the rocks you\nwill never be observed.  But perhaps you will allow me to go with you\nand show you the way?'\n\n'You are really very kind,' answered the lion.  And they crept steadily\nalong till at length they reached the mouth of the valley where a ram,\na sheep and a lamb were feeding on the rich grass, unconscious of their\ndanger.\n\n'How shall we divide them?' asked the lion in a whisper to the hyena.\n\n'Oh, it is easily done,' replied the hyena.  'The lamb for me, the\nsheep for the jackal, and the ram for the lion.'\n\n'So I am to have that lean creature, which is nothing but horns, am I?'\ncried the lion in a rage.  'I will teach you to divide things in that\nmanner!' And he gave the hyena two great blows, which stretched him\ndead in a moment.  Then he turned to the jackal and said: 'How would\nyou divide them?'\n\n'Quite differently from the hyena,' replied the jackal.  'You will\nbreakfast off the lamb, you will dine off the sheep, and you will sup\noff the ram.'\n\n'Dear me, how clever you are!  Who taught you such wisdom?' exclaimed\nthe lion, looking at him admiringly.\n\n'The fate of the hyena,' answered the jackal, laughing, and running off\nat his best speed; for he saw two men armed with spears coming close\nbehind the lion!\n\n The jackal continued to run till at last he could run no longer.  He\nflung himself under a tree panting for breath, when he heard a rustle\namongst the grass, and his father's old friend the hedgehog appeared\nbefore him.\n\n'Oh, is it you?' asked the little creature; 'how strange that we should\nmeet so far from home!'\n\n'I have just had a narrow escape of my life,' gasped the jackal, 'and I\nneed some sleep.  After that we must think of something to do to amuse\nourselves.'  And he lay down again and slept soundly for a couple of\nhours.\n\n'Now I am ready,' said he; 'have you anything to propose?'\n\n'In a valley beyond those trees,' answered the hedgehog, 'there is a\nsmall farmhouse where the best butter in the world is made.  I know\ntheir ways, and in an hour's time the farmer's wife will be off to milk\nthe cows, which she keeps at some distance.  We could easily get in at\nthe window of the shed where she keeps the butter, and I will watch,\nlest some one should come unexpectedly, while you have a good meal.\nThen you shall watch, and I will eat.'\n\n'That sounds a good plan,' replied the jackal; and they set off\ntogether.\n\nBut when they reached the farmhouse the jackal said to the hedgehog:\n'Go in and fetch the pots of butter and I will hide them in a safe\nplace.'\n\n'Oh no,' cried the hedgehog, 'I really couldn't.  They would find out\ndirectly!  And, besides, it is so different just eating a little now\nand then.'\n\n'Do as I bid you at once,' said the jackal, looking at the hedgehog so\nsternly that the little fellow dared say no more, and soon rolled the\njars to the window where the jackal lifted them out one by one.\n\nWhen they were all in a row before him he gave a sudden start.\n\n'Run for your life,' he whispered to his companion; 'I see the woman\ncoming over the hill!' And the hedgehog, his heart beating, set off as\nfast as he could.  The jackal remained where he was, shaking with\nlaughter, for the woman was not in sight at all, and he had only sent\nthe hedgehog away because he did not want him to know where the jars of\nbutter were buried.  But every day he stole out to their hiding-place\nand had a delicious feast.\n\nAt length, one morning, the hedgehog suddenly said:\n\n'You never told me what you did with those jars?'\n\n'Oh, I hid them safely till the farm people should have forgotten all\nabout them,' replied the jackal.  'But as they are still searching for\nthem we must wait a little longer, and then I'll bring them home, and\nwe will share them between us.'\n\nSo the hedgehog waited and waited; but every time he asked if there was\nno chance of getting jars of butter the jackal put him off with some\nexcuse.  After a while the hedgehog became suspicious, and said:\n\n'I should like to know where you have hidden them.  To-night, when it\nis quite dark, you shall show me the place.'\n\n'I really can't tell you,' answered the jackal.  'You talk so much that\nyou would be sure to confide the secret to somebody, and then we should\nhave had our trouble for nothing, besides running the risk of our necks\nbeing broken by the farmer.  I can see that he is getting disheartened,\nand very soon he will give up the search.  Have patience just a little\nlonger.'\n\nThe hedgehop said no more, and pretended to be satisfied; but when some\ndays had gone by he woke the jackal, who was sleeping soundly after a\nhunt which had lasted several hours.\n\n'I have just had notice,' remarked the hedgehog, shaking him, 'that my\nfamily wish to have a banquet to-morrow, and they have invited you to\nit.  Will you come?'\n\n'Certainly,' answered the jackal, 'with pleasure.  But as I have to go\nout in the morning you can meet me on the road.'\n\n'That will do very well,' replied the hedgehog.  And the jackal went to\nsleep again, for he was obliged to be up early.\n\nPunctual to the moment the hedgehog arrived at the place appointed for\ntheir meeting, and as the jackal was not there he sat down and waited\nfor him.\n\n'Ah, there you are!' he cried, when the dusky yellow form at last\nturned the corner.  'I had nearly given you up!  Indeed, I almost wish\nyou had not come, for I hardly know where I shall hide you.'\n\n'Why should you hide me anywhere?' asked the jackal.  'What is the\nmatter with you?'\n\n'Well, so many of the guests have brought their dogs and mules with\nthem, that I fear it may hardly be safe for you to go amongst them.\nNo; don't run off that way,' he added quickly, 'because there is\nanother troop that are coming over the hill.  Lie down here, and I will\nthrow these sacks over you; and keep still for your life, whatever\nhappens.'\n\nAnd what did happen was, that when the jackal was lying covered up,\nunder a little hill, the hedgehog set a great stone rolling, which\ncrushed him to death.\n\n[Contes Berberes.]\n\n\n\n     The Adventures of the Younger Son of                  the Jackal\n\n\n\nNow that the father and elder brother were both dead, all that was left\nof the jackal family was one son, who was no less cunning than the\nothers had been.  He did not like staying in the same place any better\nthan they, and nobody ever knew in what part of the country he might be\nfound next.\n\nOne day, when we was wandering about he beheld a nice fat sheep, which\nwas cropping the grass and seemed quite contented with her lot.\n\n'Good morning,' said the jackal, 'I am so glad to see you.  I have been\nlooking for you everywhere.'\n\n'For ME?' answered the sheep, in an astonished voice; 'but we have\nnever met before!'\n\n'No; but I have heard of you.  Oh!  You don't know what fine things I\nhave heard!  Ah, well, some people have all the luck!'\n\n'You are very kind, I am sure,' answered the sheep, not knowing which\nway to look.  'Is there any way in which I can help you?'\n\n'There is something that I had set my heart on, though I hardly like to\npropose it on so short an acquaintance; but from what people have told\nme, I thought that you and I might keep house together comfortably, if\nyou would only agree to try.  I have several fields belonging to me,\nand if they are kept well watered they bear wonderful crops.'\n\n'Perhaps I might come for a short time,' said the sheep, with a little\nhesitation; 'and if we do not get on, we can part company.'\n\n'Oh, thank you, thank you,' cried the jackal; 'do not let us lose a\nmoment.'  And he held out his paw in such an inviting manner that the\nsheep got up and trotted beside him till they reached home.\n\n'Now,' said the jackal, 'you go to the well and fetch the water, and I\nwill pour it into the trenches that run between the patches of corn.'\nAnd as he did so he sang lustily.  The work was very hard, but the\nsheep did not grumble, and by-and-by was rewarded at seeing the little\ngreen heads poking themselves through earth.  After that the hot sun\nripened them quickly, and soon harvest time was come.  Then the grain\nwas cut and ground and ready for sale.\n\nWhen everything was complete, the jackal said to the sheep:\n\n'Now let us divide it, so that we can each do what we like with his\nshare.'\n\n'You do it,' answered the sheep; 'here are the scales.  You must weigh\nit carefully.'\n\nSo the jackal began to weigh it, and when he had finished, he counted\nout loud:\n\n'One, two, three, four, five, six, seven parts for the jackal, and one\npart for the sheep.  If she likes it she can take it, if not, she can\nleave it.'\n\nThe sheep looked at the two heaps in silence- -one so large, the other\nso small; and then she answered:\n\n'Wait for a minute, while I fetch some sacks to carry away my share.'\n\nBut it was not sacks that the sheep wanted; for as soon as the jackal\ncould no longer see her she set forth at her best pace to the home of\nthe greyhound, where she arrived panting with the haste she had made.\n\n'Oh, good uncle, help me, I pray you!' she cried, as soon as she could\nspeak.\n\n'Why, what is the matter?' asked the greyhound, looking up with\nastonishment.\n\n'I beg you to return with me, and frighten the jackal into paying me\nwhat he owes me,' answered the sheep.  'For months we have lived\ntogether, and I have twice every day drawn the water, while he only\npoured it into the trenches.  Together we have reaped our harvest; and\nnow, when the moment to divide our crop has come, he has taken seven\nparts for himself, and only left one for me.'\n\nShe finished, and giving herself a twist, passed her woolly tail across\nher eyes; while the greyhound watched her, but held his peace.  Then he\nsaid:\n\n'Bring me a sack.'  And the sheep hastened away to fetch one.  Very\nsoon she returned, and laid the sack down before him.\n\n'Open it wide, that I may get in,' cried he; and when he was\ncomfortably rolled up inside he bade the sheep take him on her back,\nand hasten to the place where she had left the jackal.\n\nShe found him waiting for her, and pretending to be asleep, though she\nclearly saw him wink one of his eyes.  However, she took no notice, but\nthrowing the sack roughly on the ground, she exclaimed:\n\n'Now measure!'\n\nAt this the jackal got up, and going to the heap of grain which lay\nclose by, he divided it as before into eight portions--seven for\nhimself and one for the sheep.\n\n'What are you doing that for?' asked she indignantly.  'You know quite\nwell that it was I who drew the water, and you who only poured it into\nthe trenches.'\n\n'You are mistaken,' answered the jackal.  'It was I who drew the water,\nand you who poured it into the trenches.  Anybody will tell you that!\nIf you like, I will ask those people who are digging there!'\n\n'Very well,' replied the sheep.  And the jackal called out:\n\n'Ho!  You diggers, tell me: Who was it you heard singing over the work?'\n\n'Why, it was you, of course, jackal!  You sang so loud that the whole\nworld might have heard you!'\n\n'And who it is that sings--he who draws the water, or he who empties\nit?'\n\n'Why, certainly he who draws the water!'\n\n'You hear?' said the jackal, turning to the sheep.  'Now come and carry\naway your own portion, or else I shall take it for myself.'\n\n'You have got the better of me,' answered the sheep; 'and I suppose I\nmust confess myself beaten!  But as I bear no malice, go and eat some\nof the dates that I have brought in that sack.'  And the jackal, who\nloved dates, ran instantly back, and tore open the mouth of the sack.\nBut just as he was about to plunge his nose in he saw two brown eyes\ncalmly looking at him.  In an instant he had let fall the flap of the\nsack and bounded back to where the sheep was standing.\n\n'I was only in fun; and you have brought my uncle the greyhound.  Take\naway the sack, we will make the division over again.'  And he began\nrearranging the heaps.\n\n'One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, for my mother the sheep, and\none for the jackal,' counted he; casting timid glances all the while at\nthe sack.\n\n'Now you can take your share and go,' said the sheep.  And the jackal\ndid not need twice telling!  Whenever the sheep looked up, she still\nsaw him flying, flying across the plain; and, for all I know, he may be\nflying across it still.\n\n[Contes Berberes, par Rene Basset.]\n\n\n\n      The Three Treasures of the Giants\n\n\n\nLong, long ago, there lived an old man and his wife who had three sons;\nthe eldest was called Martin, the second Michael, while the third was\nnamed Jack.\n\nOne evening they were all seated round the table, eating their supper\nof bread and milk.\n\n'Martin,' said the old man suddenly, 'I feel that I cannot live much\nlonger.  You, as the eldest, will inherit this hut; but, if you value\nmy blessing, be good to your mother and brothers.'\n\n'Certainly, father; how can you suppose I should do them wrong?'\nreplied Martin indignantly, helping himself to all the best bits in the\ndish as he spoke.  The old man saw nothing, but Michael looked on in\nsurprise, and Jack was so astonished that he quite forgot to eat his\nown supper.\n\nA little while after, the father fell ill, and sent for his sons, who\nwere out hunting, to bid him farewell.  After giving good advice to the\ntwo eldest, he turned to Jack.\n\n'My boy,' he said, 'you have not got quite as much sense as other\npeople, but if Heaven has deprived you of some of your wits, it was\ngiven you a kind heart.  Always listen to what it says, and take heed\nto the words of your mother and brothers, as well as you are able!'  So\nsaying the old man sank back on his pillows and died.\n\nThe cries of grief uttered by Martin and Michael sounded through the\nhouse, but Jack remained by the bedside of his father, still and\nsilent, as if he were dead also.  At length he got up, and going into\nthe garden, hid himself in some trees, and wept like a child, while his\ntwo brothers made ready for the funeral.\n\nNo sooner was the old man buried than Martin and Michael agreed that\nthey would go into the world together to seek their fortunes, while\nJack stayed at home with their mother.  Jack would have liked nothing\nbetter than to sit and dream by the fire, but the mother, who was very\nold herself, declared that there was no work for him to do, and that he\nmust seek it with his brothers.\n\nSo, one fine morning, all three set out; Martin and Michael carried two\ngreat bags full of food, but Jack carried nothing.  This made his\nbrothers very angry, for the day was hot and the bags were heavy, and\nabout noon they sat down under a tree and began to eat.  Jack was as\nhungry as they were, but he knew that it was no use asking for\nanything; and he threw himself under another tree, and wept bitterly.\n\n'Another time perhaps you won't be so lazy, and will bring food for\nyourself,' said Martin, but to his surprise Jack answered:\n\n'You are a nice pair!  You talk of seeking your fortunes so as not to\nbe a burden on our mother, and you begin by carrying off all the food\nshe has in the house!'\n\nThis reply was so unexpected that for some moments neither of the\nbrothers made any answer.  Then they offered their brother some of\ntheir food, and when he had finished eating they went their way once\nmore.\n\nTowards evening they reached a small hut, and knocking at the door,\nasked if they might spend the night there.  The man, who was a\nwood-cutter, invited them him, and begged them to sit down to supper.\nMartin thanked him, but being very proud, explained that it was only\nshelter they wanted, as they had plenty of food with them; and he and\nMichael at once opened their bags and began to eat, while Jack hid\nhimself in a corner.  The wife, on seeing this, took pity on him, and\ncalled him to come and share their supper, which he gladly did, and\nvery good he found it.  At this, Martin regretted deeply that he had\nbeen so foolish as to refuse, for his bits of bread and cheese seemed\nvery hard when he smelt the savoury soup his brother was enjoying.\n\n'He shan't have such a chance again,' thought he; and the next morning\nhe insisted on plunging into a thick forest where they were likely to\nmeet nobody.\n\nFor a long time they wandered hither and thither, for they had no path\nto guide them; but at last they came upon a wide clearing, in the midst\nof which stood a castle.  Jack shouted with delight, but Martin, who\nwas in a bad temper, said sharply:\n\n'We must have taken a wrong turning!  Let us go back.'\n\n'Idiot!' replied Michael, who was hungry too, and, like many people\nwhen they are hungry, very cross also.  'We set out to travel through\nthe world, and what does it matter if we go to the right or to the\nleft?' And, without another word, took the path to the castle, closely\nfollowed by Jack, and after a moment by Martin likewise.\n\nThe door of the castle stood open, and they entered a great hall, and\nlooked about them.  Not a creature was to be seen, and suddenly\nMartin--he did not know why--felt a little frightened.  He would have\nleft the castle at once, but stopped when Jack boldly walked up to a\ndoor in the wall and opened it.  He could not for very shame be outdone\nby his younger brother, and passed behind him into another splendid\nhall, which was filled from floor to ceiling with great pieces of\ncopper money.\n\nThe sight quite dazzled Martin and Michael, who emptied all the\nprovisions that remained out of their bags, and heaped them up instead\nwith handfuls of copper.\n\nScarcely had they done this when Jack threw open another door, and this\ntime it led to a hall filled with silver.  In an instant his brothers\nhad turned their bags upside down, so that the copper money tumbled out\non to the floor, and were shovelling in handfuls of the silver instead.\n They had hardly finished, when Jack opened yet a third door, and all\nthree fell back in amazement, for this room as a mass of gold, so\nbright that their eyes grew sore as they looked at it.  However, they\nsoon recovered from their surprise, and quickly emptied their bags of\nsilver, and filled them with gold instead.  When they would hold no\nmore, Martin said:\n\n'We had better hurry off now lest somebody else should come, and we\nmight not know what to do'; and, followed by Michael, he hastily left\nthe castle.  Jack lingered behind for a few minutes to put pieces of\ngold, silver, and copper into his pocket, and to eat the food that his\nbrothers had thrown down in the first room.  Then he went after them,\nand found them lying down to rest in the midst of a forest.  It was\nnear sunset, and Martin began to feel hungry, so, when Jack arrived, he\nbade him return to the castle and bring the bread and cheese that they\nhad left there.\n\n'It is hardly worth doing that,' answered Jack; 'for I picked up the\npieces and ate them myself.'\n\nAt this reply both brothers were beside themselves with anger, and fell\nupon the boy, beating him, and calling him names, till they were quite\ntired.\n\n'Go where you like,' cried Martin with a final kick; 'but never come\nnear us again.'  And poor Jack ran weeping into the woods.\n\nThe next morning his brothers went home, and bought a beautiful house,\nwhere they lived with their mother like great lords.\n\n Jack remained for some hours in hiding, thankful to be safe from his\ntormentors; but when no one came to trouble him, and his back did not\nache so much, he began to think what he had better do.  At length he\nmade up his mind to go to the caste and take away as much money with\nhim as would enable him to live in comfort for the rest of his life.\nThis being decided, he sprang up, and set out along the path which led\nto the castle.  As before, the door stood open, and he went on till he\nhad reached the hall of gold, and there he took off his jacket and tied\nthe sleeves together so that it might make a kind of bag.  He then\nbegan to pour in the gold by handfuls, when, all at once, a noise like\nthunder shook the castle.  This was followed by a voice, hoarse as that\nof a bull, which cried:\n\n'I smell the smell of a man.'  And two giants entered.\n\n'So, little worm! it is you who steal our treasures!' exclaimed the\nbiggest.  'Well, we have got you now, and we will cook you for supper!'\n But here the other giant drew him aside, and for a moment or two they\nwhispered together.  At length the first giant spoke:\n\n'To please my friend I will spare your life on condition that, for the\nfuture, you shall guard our treasures.  If you are hungry take this\nlittle table and rap on it, saying, as you do so: \"The dinner of an\nemperor!\" and you will get as much food as you want.'\n\nWith a light heart Jack promised all that was asked of him, and for\nsome days enjoyed himself mightily.  He had everything he could wish\nfor, and did nothing from morning till night; but by-and-by he began to\nget very tired of it all.\n\n'Let the giants guard their treasures themselves,' he said to himself\nat last; 'I am going away.  But I will leave all the gold and silver\nbehind me, and will take nought but you, my good little table.'\n\nSo, tucking the table under his arm, he started off for the forest, but\nhe did not linger there long, and soon found himself in the fields on\nthe other side.  There he saw an old man, who begged Jack to give him\nsomething to eat.\n\n'You could not have asked a better person,' answered Jack cheerfully.\nAnd signing to him to sit down with him under a tree, he set the table\nin front of them, and struck it three times, crying:\n\n'The dinner of an emperor!' He had hardly uttered the words when fish\nand meat of all kinds appeared on it!\n\n'That is a clever trick of yours,' said the old man, when he had eaten\nas much as he wanted.  'Give it to me in exchange for a treasure I have\nwhich is still better.  Do you see this cornet?  Well, you have only to\ntell it that you wish for an army, and you will have as many soldiers\nas you require.'\n\nNow, since he had been left to himself, Jack had grown ambitious, so,\nafter a moment's hesitation, he took the cornet and gave the table in\nexchange.  The old man bade him farewell, and set off down one path,\nwhile Jack chose another, and for a long time he was quite pleased with\nhis new possession.  Then, as he felt hungry, he wished for his table\nback again, as no house was in sight, and he wanted some supper badly.\nAll at once he remembered his cornet, and a wicked thought entered his\nmind.\n\n'Two hundred hussars, forward!' cried he.  And the neighing of horses\nand the clanking of swords were heard close at hand.  The officer who\nrode at their head approached Jack, and politely inquired what he\nwished them to do.\n\n'A mile or two along that road,' answered Jack, 'you will find an old\nman carrying a table.  Take the table from him and bring it to me.'\n\nThe officer saluted and went back to his men, who started at a gallop\nto do Jack's bidding.\n\nIn ten minutes they had returned, bearing the table with them.\n\n'That is all, thank you,' said Jack; and the soldiers disappeared\ninside the cornet.\n\nOh, what a good supper Jack had that night, quite forgetting that he\nowed it to a mean trick.  The next day he breakfasted early, and then\nwalked on towards the nearest town.  On the way thither he met another\nold man, who begged for something to eat.\n\n'Certainly, you shall have something to eat,' replied Jack.  And,\nplacing the table on the ground he cried:\n\n'The dinner of an emperor!' when all sorts of food dishes appeared.  At\nfirst the old man ate quite greedily, and said nothing; but, after his\nhunger was satisfied, he turned to Jack and said:\n\n'That is a very clever trick of yours.  Give the table to me and you\nshall have something still better.'\n\n'I don't believe that there is anything better,' answered Jack.\n\n'Yes, there is.  Here is my bag; it will give you as many castles as\nyou can possibly want.'\n\nJack thought for a moment; then he replied: 'Very well, I will exchange\nwith you.'  And passing the table to the old man, he hung the bag over\nhis arm.\n\nFive minutes later he summoned five hundred lancers out of the cornet\nand bade them go after the old man and fetch back the table.\n\nNow that by his cunning he had obtained possession of the three magic\nobjects, he resolved to return to his native place.  Smearing his face\nwith dirt, and tearing his clothes so as to look like a beggar, he\nstopped the passers by and, on pretence of seeking money or food, he\nquestioned them about the village gossip.  In this manner he learned\nthat his brothers had become great men, much respected in all the\ncountry round.  When he heard that, he lost no time in going to the\ndoor of their fine house and imploring them to give him food and\nshelter; but the only thing he got was hard words, and a command to beg\nelsewhere.  At length, however, at their mother's entreaty, he was told\nthat he might pass the night in the stable.  Here he waited until\neverybody in the house was sound asleep, when he drew his bag from\nunder his cloak, and desired that a castle might appear in that place;\nand the cornet gave him soldiers to guard the castle, while the table\nfurnished him with a good supper.  In the morning, he caused it all to\nvanish, and when his brothers entered the stable they found him lying\non the straw.\n\nJack remained here for many days, doing nothing, and--as far as anybody\nknew--eating nothing.  This conduct puzzled his brothers greatly, and\nthey put such constant questions to him, that at length he told them\nthe secret of the table, and even gave a dinner to them, which far\noutdid any they had ever seen or heard of.  But though they had\nsolemnly promised to reveal nothing, somehow or other the tale leaked\nout, and before long reached the ears of the king himself.  That very\nevening his chamberlain arrived at Jack's dwelling, with a request from\nthe king that he might borrow the table for three days.\n\n'Very well,' answered Jack, 'you can take it back with you.  But tell\nhis majesty that if he does not return it at the end of the three days\nI will make war upon him.'\n\nSo the chamberlain carried away the table and took it straight to the\nking, telling him at the same time of Jack's threat, at which they both\nlaughed till their sides ached.\n\nNow the king was so delighted with the table, and the dinners it gave\nhim, that when the three days were over he could not make up his mind\nto part with it.  Instead, he sent for his carpenter, and bade him copy\nit exactly, and when it was done he told his chamberlain to return it\nto Jack with his best thanks.  It happened to be dinner time, and Jack\ninvited the chamberlain, who knew nothing of the trick, to stay and\ndine with him.  The good man, who had eaten several excellent meals\nprovided by the table in the last three days, accepted the invitation\nwith pleasure, even though he was to dine in a stable, and sat down on\nthe straw beside Jack.\n\n'The dinner of an emperor!' cried Jack.  But not even a morsel of\ncheese made its appearance.\n\n'The dinner of an emperor!' shouted Jack in a voice of thunder.  Then\nthe truth dawned on him; and, crushing the table between his hands, he\nturned to the chamberlain, who, bewildered and half-frightened, was\nwondering how to get away.\n\n'Tell your false king that to-morrow I will destroy his castle as\neasily as I have broken this table.'\n\nThe chamberlain hastened back to the palace, and gave the king Jack's\nmessage, at which he laughed more than before, and called all his\ncourtiers to hear the story.  But they were not quite so merry when\nthey woke next morning and beheld ten thousand horsemen, and as many\narchers, surrounding the palace.  The king saw it was useless to hold\nout, and he took the white flag of truce in one hand, and the real\ntable in the other, and set out to look for Jack.\n\n'I committed a crime,' said he; 'but I will do my best to make up for\nit.  Here is your table, which I own with shame that I tried to steal,\nand you shall have besides, my daughter as your wife!'\n\n There was no need to delay the marriage when the table was able to\nfurnish the most splendid banquet that ever was seen, and after\neveryone had eaten and drunk as much as they wanted, Jack took his bag\nand commanded a castle filled with all sorts of treasures to arise in\nthe park for himself and his bride.\n\nAt this proof of his power the king's heart died within him.\n\n'Your magic is greater than mine,' he said; 'and you are young and\nstrong, while I am old and tired.  Take, therefore, the sceptre from my\nhand, and my crown from my head, and rule my people better than I have\ndone.'\n\nSo at last Jack's ambition was satisfied.  He could not hope to be more\nthan king, and as long as he had his cornet to provide him with\nsoldiers he was secure against his enemies.  He never forgave his\nbrothers for the way they had treated him, though he presented his\nmother with a beautiful castle, and everything she could possibly wish\nfor.  In the centre of his own palace was a treasure chamber, and in\nthis chamber the table, the cornet, and the bag were kept as the most\nprized of all his possessions, and not a week passed without a visit\nfrom king John to make sure they were safe.  He reigned long and well,\nand died a very old man, beloved by his people.  But his good example\nwas not followed by his sons and his grandsons.  They grew so proud\nthat they were ashamed to think that the founder of their race had once\nbeen a poor boy; and as they and all the world could not fail to\nremember it, as long as the table, the cornet, and the bag were shown\nin the treasure chamber, one king, more foolish than the rest, thrust\nthem into a dark and damp cellar.\n\nFor some time the kingdom remained, though it became weaker and weaker\nevery year that passed.  Then, one day, a rumour reached the king that\na large army was marching against him.  Vaguely he recollected some\ntales he had heard about a magic cornet which could provide as many\nsoldiers as would serve to conquer the earth, and which had been\nremoved by his grandfather to a cellar.  Thither he hastened that he\nmight renew his power once more, and in that black and slimy spot he\nfound the treasures indeed.  But the table fell to pieces as he touched\nit, in the cornet there remained only a few fragments of leathern belts\nwhich the rats had gnawed, and in the bag nothing but broken bits of\nstone.\n\nAnd the king bowed his head to the doom that awaited him, and in his\nheart cursed the ruin wrought by the pride and foolishness of himself\nand his forefathers.\n\n[From Contes Populaires Slaves, par Louis Leger.]\n\n\n\n            The Rover of the Plain\n\n\n\nA long way off, near the sea coast of the east of Africa, there dwelt,\nonce upon a time, a man and his wife.  They had two children, a son and\na daughter, whom they loved very much, and, like parents in other\ncountries, they often talked of the fine marriages the young people\nwould make some day.  Out there both boys and girls marry early, and\nvery soon, it seemed to the mother, a message was sent by a rich man on\nthe other side of the great hills offering a fat herd of oxen in\nexchange for the girl.  Everyone in the house and in the village\nrejoiced, and the maiden was despatched to her new home.  When all was\nquiet again the father said to his son:\n\n'Now that we own such a splendid troop of oxen you had better hasten\nand get yourself a wife, lest some illness should overtake them.\nAlready we have seen in the villages round about one or two damsels\nwhose parents would gladly part with them for less than half the herd.\nTherefore tell us which you like best, and we will buy her for you.'\n\nBut the son answered:\n\n'Not so; the maidens I have seen do not please me.  If, indeed, I must\nmarry, let me travel and find a wife for myself.'\n\n'It shall be as you wish,' said the parents; 'but if by-and-by trouble\nshould come of it, it will be your fault and not ours.'\n\nThe youth, however, would not listen; and bidding his father and mother\nfarewell, set out on his search.  Far, far away he wandered, over\nmountains and across rivers, till he reached a village where the people\nwere quite different from those of his own race.  He glanced about him\nand noticed that the girls were fair to look upon, as they pounded\nmaize or stewed something that smelt very nice in earthen\npots--especially if you were hot and tired; and when one of the maidens\nturned round and offered the stranger some dinner, he made up his mind\nthat he would wed her and nobody else.\n\nSo he sent a message to her parents asking their leave to take her for\nhis wife, and they came next day to bring their answer.\n\n'We will give you our daughter,' said they, 'if you can pay a good\nprice for her.  Never was there so hardworking a girl; and how we shall\ndo without her we cannot tell!  Still-- no doubt your father and mother\nwill come themselves and bring the price?'\n\n'No; I have the price with me,' replied the young man; laying down a\nhandful of gold pieces.  'Here it is--take it.'\n\nThe old couple's eyes glittered greedily; but custom forbade them to\ntouch the price before all was arranged.\n\n'At least,' said they, after a moment's pause, 'we may expect them to\nfetch your wife to her new home?'\n\n'No; they are not used to travelling,' answered the bridegroom.  'Let\nthe ceremony be performed without delay, and we will set forth at once.\n It is a long journey.'\n\nThen the parents called in the girl, who was lying in the sun outside\nthe hut, and, in the presence of all the village, a goat was killed,\nthe sacred dance took place, and a blessing was said over the heads of\nthe young people.  After that the bride was led aside by her father,\nwhose duty it was to bestow on her some parting advice as to her\nconduct in her married life.\n\n'Be good to your husband's parents,' added he, 'and always do the will\nof your husband.'  And the girl nodded her head obediently.  Next it\nwas the mother's turn; and, as was the custom of the tribe, she spoke\nto her daughter:\n\n'Will you choose which of your sisters shall go with you to cut your\nwood and carry your water?'\n\n'I do not want any of them,' answered she; 'they are no use.  They will\ndrop the wood and spill the water.'\n\n'Then will you have any of the other children?  There are enough to\nspare,' asked the mother again.  But the bride said quickly:\n\n'I will have none of them!  You must give me our buffalo, the Rover of\nthe Plain; he alone shall serve me.'\n\n'What folly you talk!' cried the parents.  'Give you our buffalo, the\nRover of the Plain?  Why, you know that our life depends on him.  Here\nhe is well fed and lies on soft grass; but how can you tell what will\nbefall him in another country?  The food may be bad, he will die of\nhunger; and, if he dies we die also.'\n\n'No, no,' said the bride; 'I can look after him as well as you.  Get\nhim ready, for the sun is sinking and it is time we set forth.'\n\nSo she went away and put together a small pot filled with healing\nherms, a horn that she used in tending sick people, a little knife, and\na calabash containing deer fat; and, hiding these about her, she took\nleave of her father and mother and started across the mountains by the\nside of her husband.\n\nBut the young man did not see the buffalo that followed them, which had\nleft his home to be the servant of his wife.\n\nNo one ever knew how the news spread to the kraal that the young man\nwas coming back, bringing a wife with him; but, somehow or other, when\nthe two entered the village, every man and woman was standing in the\nroad uttering shouts of welcome.\n\n'Ah, you are not dead after all,' cried they; 'and have found a wife to\nyour liking, though you would have none of our girls.  Well, well, you\nhave chosen your own path; and if ill comes of it beware lest you\ngrumble.'\n\nNext day the husband took his wife to the fields and showed her which\nwere his, and which belonged to his mother.  The girl listened\ncarefully to all he told her, and walked with him back to the hut; but\nclose to the door she stopped, and said:\n\n'I have dropped my necklace of beads in the field, and I must go and\nlook for it.'  But in truth she had done nothing of the sort, and it\nwas only an excuse to go and seek the buffalo.\n\nThe beast was crouching under a tree when she came up, and snorted with\npleasure at the sight of her.\n\n'You can roam about this field, and this, and this,' she said, 'for\nthey belong to my husband; and that is his wood, where you may hide\nyourself.  But the other fields are his mother's, so beware lest you\ntouch them.'\n\n'I will beware,' answered the buffalo; and, patting his head, the girl\nleft him.\n\nOh, how much better a servant he was than any of the little girls the\nbride had refused to bring with her!  If she wanted water, she had only\nto cross the patch of maize behind the hut and seek out the place where\nthe buffalo lay hidden, and put down her pail beside him.  Then she\nwould sit at her ease while he went to the lake and brought the bucket\nback brimming over.  If she wanted wood, he would break the branches\noff the trees and lay them at her feet.  And the villagers watched her\nreturn laden, and said to each other:\n\n'Surely the girls of her country are stronger than our girls, for none\nof them could cut so quickly or carry so much!'  But then, nobody knew\nthat she had a buffalo for a servant.\n\nOnly, all this time she never gave the poor buffalo anything to eat,\nbecause she had just one dish, out of which she and her husband ate;\nwhile in her old home there was a dish put aside expressly for the\nRover of the Plain.  The buffalo bore it as long as he could; but, one\nday, when his mistress bade him go to the lake and fetch water, his\nknees almost gave way from hunger.  He kept silence, however, till the\nevening, when he said to his mistress:\n\n'I am nearly starved; I have not touched food since I came here.  I can\nwork no more.'\n\n'Alas!' answered she, 'what can I do?  I have only one dish in the\nhouse.  You will have to steal some beans from the fields.  Take a few\nhere and a few there; but be sure not to take too many from one place,\nor the owner may notice it.'\n\nNow the buffalo had always lived an honest life, but if his mistress\ndid not feed him, he must get food for himself.  So that night, when\nall the village was asleep, he came out from the wood and ate a few\nbeans here and a few there, as his mistress had bidden him.  And when\nat last his hunger was satisfied, he crept back to his lair.  But a\nbuffalo is not a fairy, and the next morning, when the women arrived to\nwork in the fields, they stood still with astonishment, and said to\neach other:\n\n'Just look at this; a savage beast has been destroying our crops, and\nwe can see the traces of his feet!'  And they hurried to their homes to\ntell their tale.\n\nIn the evening the girl crept out to the buffalo's hiding-place, and\nsaid to him:\n\n'They perceived what happened, of course; so to-night you had better\nseek your supper further off.'  And the buffalo nodded his head and\nfollowed her counsel; but in the morning, when these women also went\nout to work, the races of hoofs were plainly to be seen, and they\nhastened to tell their husbands, and begged them to bring their guns,\nand to watch for the robber.\n\nIt happened that the stranger girl's husband was the best marksman in\nall the village, and he hid himself behind the trunk of a tree and\nwaited.\n\nThe buffalo, thinking that they would probably make a search for him in\nthe fields he had laid waste the evening before, returned to the bean\npatch belonging to his mistress.\n\nThe young man saw him coming with amazement.\n\n'Why, it is a buffalo!' cried he; 'I never have beheld one in this\ncountry before!'  And raising his gun, he aimed just behind the ear.\n\nThe buffalo gave a leap into the air, and then fell dead.\n\n'It was a good shot,' said the young man.  And he ran to the village to\ntell them that the thief was punished.\n\nWhen he entered his hut he found his wife, who had somehow heard the\nnews, twisting herself to and fro and shedding tears.\n\n'Are you ill?' asked he.  And she answered: 'Yes; I have pains all over\nmy body.'  But she was not ill at all, only very unhappy at the death\nof the buffalo which had served her so well.  Her husband felt anxious,\nand sent for the medicine man; but though she pretended to listen to\nhim, she threw all his medicine out of the door directly he had gone\naway.\n\nWith the first rays of light the whole village was awake, and the women\nset forth armed with baskets and the men with knives in order to cut up\nthe buffalo.  Only the girl remained in her hut; and after a while she\ntoo went to join them, groaning and weeping as she walked along.\n\n'What are you doing here?' asked her husband when he saw her.  'If you\nare ill you are better at home.'\n\n'Oh!  I could not stay alone in the village,' said she.  And her\nmother-in-law left off her work to come and scold her, and to tell her\nthat she would kill herself if she did such foolish things.  But the\ngirl would not listen and sat down and looked on.\n\nWhen they had divided the buffalo's flesh, and each woman had the\nfamily portion in her basket, the stranger wife got up and said:\n\n'Let me have the head.'\n\n'You could never carry anything so heavy,' answered the men, 'and now\nyou are ill besides.'\n\n'You do not know how strong I am,' answered she.  And at last they gave\nit her.\n\nShe did not walk to the village with the others, but lingered behind,\nand, instead of entering her hut, she slipped into the little shed\nwhere the pots for cooking and storing maize were kept.  Then she laid\ndown the buffalo's head and sat beside it.  Her husband came to seek\nher, and begged her to leave the shed and go to bed, as she must be\ntired out; but the girl would not stir, neither would she attend to the\nwords of her mother-in-law.\n\n'I wish you would leave me alone!' she answered crossly.  'It is\nimpossible to sleep if somebody is always coming in.'  And she turned\nher back on them, and would not even eat the food they had brought.  So\nthey went away, and the young man soon stretched himself out on his\nmat; but his wife's odd conduct made him anxious, and he lay wake all\nnight, listening.\n\nWhen all was still the girl made a fire and boiled some water in a pot.\n As soon as it was quite hot she shook in the medicine that she had\nbrought from home, and then, taking the buffalo's head, she made\nincisions with her little knife behind the ear, and close to the temple\nwhere the shot had struck him.  Next she applied the horn to the spot\nand blew with all her force till, at length, the blood began to move.\nAfter that she spread some of the deer fat out of the calabash over the\nwound, which she held in the steam of the hot water.  Last of all, she\nsang in a low voice a dirge over the Rover of the Plain.\n\nAs she chanted the final words the head moved, and the limbs came back.\n The buffalo began to feel alive again and shook his horns, and stood\nup and stretched himself.  Unluckily it was just at this moment that\nthe husband said to himself:\n\n'I wonder if she is crying still, and what is the matter with her!\nPerhaps I had better go and see.'  And he got up and, calling her by\nname, went out to the shed.\n\n'Go away!  I don't want you!' she cried angrily.  But it was too late.\nThe buffalo had fallen to the ground, dead, and with the wound in his\nhead as before.\n\nThe young man who, unlike most of his tribe, was afraid of his wife,\nreturned to his bed without having seen anything, but wondering very\nmuch what she could be doing all this time.  After waiting a few\nminutes, she began her task over again, and at the end the buffalo\nstood on his feet as before.  But just as the girl was rejoicing that\nher work was completed, in came the husband once more to see what his\nwife was doing; and this time he sat himself down in the hut, and said\nthat he wished to watch whatever was going on.  Then the girl took up\nthe pitcher and all her other things and left the shed, trying for the\nthird time to bring the buffalo back to life.\n\nShe was too late; the dawn was already breaking, and the head fell to\nthe ground, dead and corrupt as it was before.\n\nThe girl entered the hut, where her husband and his mother were getting\nready to go out.\n\n'I want to go down to the lake, and bathe,' said she.\n\n'But you could never walk so far,' answered they.  'You are so tired,\nas it is, that you can hardly stand!'\n\nHowever, in spite of their warnings, the girl left the hut in the\ndirection of the lake.  Very soon she came back weeping, and sobbed out:\n\n'I met some one in the village who lives in my country, and he told me\nthat my mother is very, very ill, and if I do not go to her at once she\nwill be dead before I arrive.  I will return as soon as I can, and now\nfarewell.'  And she set forth in the direction of the mountains.  But\nthis story was not true; she knew nothing about her mother, only she\nwanted an excuse to go home and tell her family that their prophecies\nhad come true, and that the buffalo was dead.\n\n Balancing her basket on her head, she walked along, and directly she\nhad left the village behind her she broke out into the song of the\nRover of the Plain, and at last, at the end of the day, she came to the\ngroup of huts where her parents lived.  Her friends all ran to meet\nher, and, weeping, she told them that the buffalo was dead.\n\nThis sad news spread like lightning through the country, and the people\nflocked from far and near to bewail the loss of the beast who had been\ntheir pride.\n\n'If you had only listened to us,' they cried, 'he would be alive now.\nBut you refused all the little girls we offered you, and would have\nnothing but the buffalo.  And remember what the medicine-man said: \"If\nthe buffalo dies you die also!\"'\n\nSo they bewailed their fate, one to the other, and for a while they did\nnot perceive that the girl's husband was sitting in their midst,\nleaning his gun against a tree.  Then one man, turning, beheld him, and\nbowed mockingly.\n\n'Hail, murderer! hail! you have slain us all!'\n\nThe young man stared, not knowing what he meant, and answered,\nwonderingly:\n\n'I shot a buffalo; is that why you call me a murderer?'\n\n'A buffalo--yes; but the servant of your wife!  It was he who carried\nthe wood and drew the water.  Did you not know it?'\n\n'No; I did not know it,' replied the husband in surprise.  'Why did no\none tell me?  Of course I should not have shot him!'\n\n'Well, he is dead,' answered they, 'and we must die too.'\n\nAt this the girl took a cup in which some poisonous herbs had been\ncrushed, and holding it in her hands, she wailed: 'O my father, Rover\nof the Plain!'  Then drinking a deep draught from it, fell back dead.\nOne by one her parents, her brothers and her sisters, drank also and\ndied, singing a dirge to the memory of the buffalo.\n\nThe girl's husband looked on with horror; and returned sadly home\nacross the mountains, and, entering his hut, threw himself on the\nground.  At first he was too tired to speak; but at length he raised\nhis head and told all the story to his father and mother, who sat\nwatching him.  When he had finished they shook their heads and said:\n\n'Now you see that we spoke no idle words when we told you that ill\nwould come of your marriage!  We offered you a good and hard- working\nwife, and you would have none of her.  And it is not only your wife you\nhave lost, but your fortune also.  For who will give you back your\nmoney if they are all dead?'\n\n'It is true, O my father,' answered the young man.  But in his heart he\nthought more of the loss of his wife than of the money he had given for\nher.\n\n[From L'Etude Ethnographique sur les Baronga, par Henri Junod.]\n\n\n\n                The White Doe\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a king and queen who loved each other\ndearly, and would have been perfectly happy if they had only had a\nlittle son or daughter to play with.  They never talked about it, and\nalways pretended that there was nothing in the world to wish for; but,\nsometimes when they looked at other people's children, their faces grew\nsad, and their courtiers and attendants knew the reason why.\n\nOne day the queen was sitting alone by the side of a waterfall which\nsprung from some rocks in the large park adjoining the castle.  She was\nfeeling more than usually miserable, and had sent away her ladies so\nthat no one might witness her grief.  Suddenly she heard a rustling\nmovement in the pool below the waterfall, and, on glancing up, she saw\na large crab climbing on to a stone beside her.\n\n'Great queen,' said the crab, 'I am here to tell you that the desire of\nyour heart will soon be granted.  But first you must permit me to lead\nyou to the palace of the fairies, which, though hard by, has never been\nseen by mortal eyes because of the thick clouds that surround it.  When\nthere you will know more; that is, if you will trust yourself to me.'\n\nThe queen had never before heard an animal speak, and was struck dumb\nwith surprise.  However, she was so enchanted at the words of the crab\nthat she smiled sweetly and held out her hand; it was taken, not by the\ncrab, which had stood there only a moment before, but by a little old\nwoman smartly dressed in white and crimson with green ribbons in her\ngrey hair.  And, wonderful to say, not a drop of water fell from her\nclothes.\n\nThe old woman ran lightly down a path along which the queen had been a\nhundred times before, but it seemed so different she could hardly\nbelieve it was the same.  Instead of having to push her way through\nnettles and brambles, roses and jasmine hung about her head, while\nunder her feet the ground was sweet with violets.  The orange trees\nwere so tall and thick that, even at mid-day, the sun was never too\nhot, and at the end of the path was a glimmer of something so dazzling\nthat the queen had to shade her eyes, and peep at it only between her\nfingers.\n\n'What can it be?' she asked, turning to her guide; who answered:\n\n'Oh, that is the fairies' palace, and here are some of them coming to\nmeet us.'\n\nAs she spoke the gates swung back and six fairies approached, each\nbearing in her hand a flower made of precious stones, but so like a\nreal one that it was only by touching you could tell the difference.\n\n'Madam,' they said, 'we know not how to thank you for this mark of your\nconfidence, but have the happiness to tell you that in a short time you\nwill have a little daughter.'\n\nThe queen was so enchanted at this news that she nearly fainted with\njoy; but when she was able to speak, she poured out all her gratitude\nto the fairies for their promised gift.\n\n'And now,' she said, 'I ought not to stay any longer, for my husband\nwill think that I have run away, or that some evil beast has devoured\nme.'\n\nIn a little while it happened just as the fairies had foretold, and a\nbaby girl was born in the palace.  Of course both the king and queen\nwere delighted, and the child was called Desiree, which means\n'desired,' for she had been 'desired' for five years before her birth.\n\nAt first the queen could think of nothing but her new plaything, but\nthen she remembered the fairies who had sent it to her.  Bidding her\nladies bring her the posy of jewelled flowers which had been given her\nat the palace, she took each flower in her hand and called it by name,\nand, in turn, each fairy appeared before her.  But, as unluckily often\nhappens, the one to whom she owed the most, the crab-fairy, was\nforgotten, and by this, as in the case of other babies you have read\nabout, much mischief was wrought.\n\nHowever, for the moment all was gaiety in the palace, and everybody\ninside ran to the windows to watch the fairies' carriages, for no two\nwere alike.  One had a car of ebony, drawn by white pigeons, another\nwas lying back in her ivory chariot, driving ten black crows, while the\nrest had chosen rare woods or many-coloured sea-shells, with scarlet\nand blue macaws, long-tailed peacocks, or green love-birds for horses.\nThese carriages were only used on occasions of state, for when they\nwent to war flying dragons, fiery serpents, lions or leopards, took the\nplace of the beautiful birds.\n\nThe fairies entered the queen's chamber followed by little dwarfs who\ncarried their presents and looked much prouder than their mistresses.\nOne by one their burdens were spread upon the ground, and no one had\never seen such lovely things.  Everything that a baby could possibly\nwear or play with was there, and besides, they had other and more\nprecious gifts to give her, which only children who have fairies for\ngodmothers can ever hope to possess.\n\nThey were all gathered round the heap of pink cushions on which the\nbaby lay asleep, when a shadow seemed to fall between them and the sun,\nwhile a cold wind blew through the room.  Everybody looked up, and\nthere was the crab- fairy, who had grown as tall as the ceiling in her\nanger.\n\n'So I am forgotten!' cried she, in a voice so loud that the queen\ntrembled as she heard it.  'Who was it soothed you in your trouble?\nWho was it led you to the fairies?  Who was it brought you back in\nsafety to your home again?  Yet I--I--am overlooked, while these who\nhave done nothing in comparison, are petted and thanked.'\n\nThe queen, almost dumb with terror, in vain tried to think of some\nexplanation or apology; but there was none, and she could only confess\nher fault and implore forgiveness.  The fairies also did their best to\nsoften the wrath of their sister, and knowing that, like many plain\npeople who are not fairies, she was very vain, they entreated her to\ndrop her crab's disguise, and to become once more the charming person\nthey were accustomed to see.\n\nFor some time the enraged fairy would listen to nothing; but at length\nthe flatteries began to take effect.  The crab's shell fell from her,\nshe shrank into her usual size, and lost some of her fierce expression.\n\n'Well,' she said, 'I will not cause the princess's death, as I had\nmeant to do, but at the same time she will have to bear the punishment\nof her mother's fault, as many other children have done before her.\nThe sentence I pass upon her is, that if she is allowed to see one ray\nof daylight before her fifteenth birthday she will rue it bitterly, and\nit may perhaps cost her her life.'  And with these words she vanished\nby the window through which she came, while the fairies comforted the\nweeping queen and took counsel how best the princess might be kept safe\nduring her childhood.\n\nAt the end of half an hour they had made up their minds what to do, and\nat the command of the fairies, a beautiful palace sprang up, close to\nthat of the king and queen, but different from every palace in the\nworld in having no windows, and only a door right under the earth.\nHowever, once within, daylight was hardly missed, so brilliant were the\nmultitudes of tapers that were burning on the walls.\n\nNow up to this time the princess's history has been like the history of\nmany a princess that you have read about; but, when the period of her\nimprisonment was nearly over, her fortunes took another turn.  For\nalmost fifteen years the fairies had taken care of her, and amused her\nand taught her, so that when she came into the world she might be no\nwhit behind the daughters of other kings in all that makes a princess\ncharming and accomplished.  They all loved her dearly, but the fairy\nTulip loved her most of all; and as the princess's fifteenth birthday\ndrew near, the fairy began to tremble lest something terrible should\nhappen--some accident which had not been foreseen.  'Do not let her out\nof your sight,' said Tulip to the queen, 'and meanwhile, let her\nportrait be painted and carried to the neighbouring Courts, as is the\ncustom in order that the kings may see how far her beauty exceeds that\nof every other princess, and that they may demand her in marriage for\ntheir sons.'\n\nAnd so it was done; and as the fairy had prophesied, all the young\nprinces fell in love with the picture; but the last one to whom it was\nshown could think of nothing else, and refused to let it be removed\nfrom his chamber, where he spent whole days gazing at it.\n\nThe king his father was much surprised at the change which had come\nover his son, who generally passed all his time in hunting or hawking,\nand his anxiety was increased by a conversation he overheard between\ntwo of his courtiers that they feared the prince must be going out of\nhis mind, so moody had he become.  Without losing a moment the king\nwent to visit his son, and no sooner had he entered the room than the\nyoung man flung himself at his father's feet.\n\n'You have betrothed me already to a bride I can never love!' cried he;\n'but if you will not consent to break off the match, and ask for the\nhand of the princess Desiree, I shall die of misery, thankful to be\nalive no longer.'\n\nThese words much displeased the king, who felt that, in breaking off\nthe marriage already arranged he would almost certainly be bringing on\nhis subjects a long and bloody war; so, without answering, he turned\naway, hoping that a few days might bring his son to reason.  But the\nprince's condition grew rapidly so much worse that the king, in\ndespair, promised to send an embassy at once to Desiree's father.\n\nThis news cured the young man in an instant of all his ills; and he\nbegan to plan out every detail of dress and of horses and carriages\nwhich were necessary to make the train of the envoy, whose name was\nBecasigue, as splendid as possible.  He longed to form part of the\nembassy himself, if only in the disguise of a page; but this the king\nwould not allow, and so the prince had to content himself with\nsearching the kingdom for everything that was rare and beautiful to\nsend to the princess.  Indeed, he arrived, just as the embassy was\nstarting, with his portrait, which had been painted in secret by the\ncourt painter.\n\nThe king and queen wished for nothing better than that their daughter\nmarry into such a great and powerful family, and received the\nambassador with every sign of welcome.  They even wished him to see the\nprincess Desiree, but this was prevented by the fairy Tulip, who feared\nsome ill might come of it.\n\n'And be sure you tell him,' added she, 'that the marriage cannot be\ncelebrated till she is fifteen years old, or else some terrible\nmisfortune will happen to the child.'\n\nSo when Becasigue, surround by his train, made a formal request that\nthe princess Desiree might be given in marriage to his master's son,\nthe king replied that he was much honoured, and would gladly give his\nconsent; but that no one could even see the princess till her fifteenth\nbirthday, as the spell laid upon her in her cradle by a spiteful fairy,\nwould not cease to work till that was past.  The ambassador was greatly\nsurprised and disappointed, but he knew too much about fairies to\nventure to disobey them, therefore he had to content himself with\npresenting the prince's portrait to the queen, who lost no time in\ncarrying it to the princess.  As the girl took it in her hands it\nsuddenly spoke, as it had been taught to do, and uttered a compliment\nof the most delicate and charming sort, which made the princess flush\nwith pleasure.\n\n'How would you like to have a husband like that?' asked the queen,\nlaughing.\n\n'As if I knew anything about husbands!' replied Desiree, who had long\nago guessed the business of the ambassador.\n\n'Well, he will be your husband in three months,' answered the queen,\nordering the prince's presents to be brought in.  The princess was very\npleased with them, and admired them greatly, but the queen noticed that\nall the while her eyes constantly strayed from the softest silks and\nmost brilliant jewels to the portrait of the prince.\n\nThe ambassador, finding that there was no hope of his being allowed to\nsee the princess, took his leave, and returned to his own court; but\nhere a new difficulty appeared.  The prince, though transported with\njoy at the thought that Desiree was indeed to be his bride, was\nbitterly disappointed that she had not been allowed to return with\nBecasigue, as he had foolishly expected; and never having been taught\nto deny himself anything or to control his feelings, he fell as ill as\nhe had done before.  He would eat nothing nor take pleasure in\nanything, but lay all day on a heap of cushions, gazing at the picture\nof the princess.\n\n'If I have to wait three months before I can marry the princess I shall\ndie!' was all this spoilt boy would say; and at length the king, in\ndespair, resolved to send a fresh embassy to Desiree's father to\nimplore him to permit the marriage to be celebrated at once.  'I would\nhave presented my prayer in person, he added in his letter, 'but my\ngreat age and infirmities do not suffer me to travel; however my envoy\nhas orders to agree to any arrangement that you may propose.'\n\nOn his arrival at the palace Becasigue pleaded his young master's cause\nas fervently as the king his father could have done, and entreated that\nthe princess might be consulted in the matter.  The queen hastened to\nthe marble tower, and told her daughter of the sad state of the prince.\n Desiree sank down fainting at the news, but soon came to herself\nagain, and set about inventing a plan which would enable her to go to\nthe prince without risking the doom pronounced over her by the wicked\nfairy.\n\n'I see!' she exclaimed joyfully at last.  'Let a carriage be built\nthrough which no light can come, and let it be brought into my room.  I\nwill then get into it, and we can travel swiftly during the night and\narrive before dawn at the palace of the prince.  Once there, I can\nremain in some underground chamber, where no light can come.'\n\n'Ah, how clever you are,' cried the queen, clasping her in her arms.\nAnd she hurried away to tell the king.\n\n'What a wife our prince will have!' said Becasigue bowing low; 'but I\nmust hasten back with the tidings, and to prepare the underground\nchamber for the princess.'  And so he took his leave.\n\nIn a few days the carriage commanded by the princess was ready.  It was\nof green velvet, scattered over with large golden thistles, and lined\ninside with silver brocade embroidered with pink roses.  It had no\nwindows, of course; but the fairy Tulip, whose counsel had been asked,\nhad managed to light it up with a soft glow that came no one knew\nwhither.\n\nIt was carried straight up into the great hall of the tower, and the\nprincess stepped into it, followed by her faithful maid of honour,\nEglantine, and by her lady in waiting Cerisette, who also had fallen in\nlove with the prince's portrait and was bitterly jealous of her\nmistress.  The fourth place in the carriage was filled by Cerisette's\nmother, who had been sent by the queen to look after the three young\npeople.\n\nNow the Fairy of the Fountain was the godmother of the princess Nera,\nto whom the prince had been betrothed before the picture of Desiree had\nmade him faithless.  She was very angry at the slight put upon her\ngodchild, and from that moment kept careful watch on the princess.  In\nthis journey she saw her chance, and it was she who, invisible, sat by\nCerisette, and put bad thoughts into the minds of both her and her\nmother.\n\nThe way to the city where the prince lived ran for the most part\nthrough a thick forest, and every night when there was no moon, and not\na single star could be seen through the trees, the guards who travelled\nwith the princess opened the carriage to give it an airing.  This went\non for several days, till only twelve hours journey lay between them\nand the palace.  The Cerisette persuaded her mother to cut a great hole\nin the side of the carriage with a sharp knife which she herself had\nbrought for the purpose.  In the forest the darkness was so intense\nthat no one perceived what she had done, but when they left the last\ntrees behind them, and emerged into the open country, the sun was up,\nand for the first time since her babyhood, Desiree found herself in the\nlight of day.\n\nShe looked up in surprise at the dazzling brilliance that streamed\nthrough the hole; then gave a sigh which seemed to come from her heart.\n The carriage door swung back, as if by magic, and a white doe sprang\nout, and in a moment was lost to sight in the forest.  But, quick as\nshe was, Eglantine, her maid of honour, had time to see where she went,\nand jumped from the carriage in pursuit of her, followed at a distance\nby the guards.\n\nCerisette and her mother looked at each other in surprise and joy.\nThey could hardly believe in their good fortune, for everything had\nhappened exactly as they wished.  The first thing to be done was to\nconceal the hole which had been cut, and when this was managed (with\nthe help of the angry fairy, though they did not know it), Cerisette\nhastened to take off her own clothes, and put on those of the princess,\nplacing the crown of diamonds on her head.  She found this heavier than\nshe expected; but then, she had never been accustomed to wear crowns,\nwhich makes all the difference.\n\nAt the gates of the city the carriage was stopped by a guard of honour\nsent by the king as an escort to his son's bride.  Though Cerisette and\nher mother could of course see nothing of what was going on outside,\nthey heard plainly the shouts of welcome from the crowds along the\nstreets.\n\nThe carriage stopped at length in the vast hall which Becasigue had\nprepared for the reception of the princess.  The grand chamberlain and\nthe lord high steward were awaiting her, and when the false bride\nstepped into the brilliantly lighted room, they bowed low, and said\nthey had orders to inform his highness the moment she arrived.  The\nprince, whom the strict etiquette of the court had prevented from being\npresent in the underground hall, was burning with impatience in his own\napartments.\n\n'So she had come!' cried he, throwing down the bow he had been\npretending to mend.  'Well, was I not right?  Is she not a miracle of\nbeauty and grace?  And has she her equal in the whole world?' The\nministers looked at each other, and made no reply; till at length the\nchamberlain, who was the bolder of the two, observed:\n\n'My lord, as to her beauty, you can judge of that for yourself.  No\ndoubt it is as great as you say; but at present it seems to have\nsuffered, as is natural, from the fatigues of the journey.'\n\nThis was certainly not what the prince had expected to hear.  Could the\nportrait have flattered her?  He had known of such things before, and a\ncold shiver ran through him; but with an effort he kept silent from\nfurther questioning, and only said:\n\n'Has the king been told that the princess is in the palace?'\n\n'Yes, highness; and he has probably already joined her.'\n\n'Then I will go too,' said the prince.\n\nWeak as he was from his long illness, the prince descended the\nstaircase, supported by the ministers, and entered the room just in\ntime to hear his father's loud cry of astonishment and disgust at the\nsight of Cerisette.\n\n'There was been treachery at work,' he exclaimed, while the prince\nleant, dumb with horror, against the doorpost.  But the lady in\nwaiting, who had been prepared for something of the sort, advanced,\nholding in her hand the letters which the king and queen had entrusted\nto her.\n\n'This is the princess Desiree,' said she, pretending to have heard\nnothing, 'and I have the honour to present to you these letters from my\nliege lord and lady, together with the casket containing the princess'\njewels.'\n\nThe king did not move or answer her; so the prince, leaning on the arm\nof Becasigue, approached a little closer to the false princess, hoping\nagainst hope that his eyes had deceived him.  But the longer he looked\nthe more he agreed with his father that there was treason somewhere,\nfor in no single respect did the portrait resemble the woman before\nhim.  Cerisette was so tall that the dress of the princess did not\nreach her ankles, and so thin that her bones showed through the stuff.\nBesides that her nose was hooked, and her teeth black and ugly.\n\nIn his turn, the prince stood rooted to the spot.  At last he spoke,\nand his words were addressed to his father, and not to the bride who\nhad come so far to marry him.\n\n'We have been deceived,' he said, 'and it will cost me my life.'  And\nhe leaned so heavily on the envoy that Becasigue feared he was going to\nfaint, and hastily laid him on the floor.  For some minutes no one\ncould attend to anybody but the prince; but as soon as he revived the\nlady in waiting made herself heard.\n\n'Oh, my lovely princess, why did we ever leave home?' cried she.  'But\nthe king your father will avenge the insults that have been heaped on\nyou when we tell him how you have been treated.'\n\n'I will tell him myself,' replied the king in wrath; 'he promised me a\nwonder of beauty, he has sent me a skeleton!  I am not surprised that\nhe has kept her for fifteen years hidden away from the eyes of the\nworld.  Take them both away,' he continued, turning to his guards, 'and\nlodge them in the state prison.  There is something more I have to\nlearn of this matter.'\n\nHis orders were obeyed, and the prince, loudly bewailing his sad fate,\nwas led back to bed, where for many days he lay in a high fever.  At\nlength he slowly began to gain strength, but his sorrow was still so\ngreat that he could not bear the sight of a strange face, and shuddered\nat the notion of taking his proper part in the court ceremonies.\nUnknown to the king, or to anybody but Becasigue, he planned that, as\nsoon as he was able, he would make his escape and pass the rest of his\nlife alone in some solitary place.  It was some weeks before he had\nregained his health sufficiently to carry out his design; but finally,\none beautiful starlight night, the two friends stole away, and when the\nking woke next morning he found a letter lying by his bed, saying that\nhis son had gone, he knew not whither.  He wept bitter tears at the\nnews, for he loved the prince dearly; but he felt that perhaps the\nyoung man had done wisely, and he trusted to time and Becasigue's\ninfluence to bring the wanderer home.\n\nAnd while these things were happening, what had become of the white\ndoe?  Though when she sprang from the carriage she was aware that some\nunkind fate had changed her into an animal, yet, till she saw herself\nin a stream, she had no idea what it was.\n\n'Is it really, I, Desiree?' she said to herself, weeping.  'What wicked\nfairy can have treated me so; and shall I never, never take my own\nshape again?  My only comfort that, in this great forest, full of lions\nand serpents, my life will be a short one.'\n\nNow the fairy Tulip was as much grieved at the sad fate of the princess\nas Desiree's own mother could have been if she had known of it.  Still,\nshe could not help feeling that if the king and queen had listened to\nher advice the girl would by this time be safely in the walls of her\nnew home.  However, she loved Desiree too much to let her suffer more\nthan could be helped, and it was she who guided Eglantine to the place\nwhere the white doe was standing, cropping the grass which was her\ndinner.\n\nAt the sound of footsteps the pretty creature lifted her head, and when\nshe saw her faithful companion approaching she bounded towards her, and\nrubbed her head on Eglantine's shoulder.  The maid of honour was\nsurprised; but she was fond of animals, and stroked the white doe\ntenderly, speaking gently to her all the while.  Suddenly the beautiful\ncreature lifted her head, and looked up into Eglantine's face, with\ntears streaming from her eyes.  A thought flashed through her mind, and\nquick as lightning the girl flung herself on her knees, and lifting the\nanimal's feet kissed them one by one.  'My princess!  O my dear\nprincess!' cried she; and again the white doe rubbed her head against\nher, for thought the spiteful fairy had taken away her power of speech,\nshe had not deprived her of her reason!\n\nAll day long the two remained together, and when Eglantine grew hungry\nshe was led by the white doe to a part of the forest where pears and\npeaches grew in abundance; but, as night came on, the maid of honour\nwas filled with the terrors of wild beasts which had beset the princess\nduring her first night in the forest.\n\n'Is there no hut or cave we could go into?' asked she.  But the doe\nonly shook her head; and the two sat down and wept with fright.\n\nThe fairy Tulip, who, in spite of her anger, was very soft-hearted, was\ntouched at their distress, and flew quickly to their help.\n\n'I cannot take away the spell altogether,' she said, 'for the Fairy of\nthe Fountain is stronger than I; but I can shorten the time of your\npunishment, and am able to make it less hard, for as soon as darkness\nfall you shall resume your own shape.'\n\nTo think that by-and-by she would cease to be a white doe--indeed, that\nshe would at once cease to be one during the night--was for the present\njoy enough for Desiree, and she skipped about on the grass in the\nprettiest manner.\n\n'Go straight down the path in front of you,' continued the fairy,\nsmiling as she watched her; 'go straight down the path and you will\nsoon reach a little hut where you will find shelter.'  And with these\nwords she vanished, leaving her hearers happier than they ever thought\nthey could be again.\n\nAn old woman was standing at the door of the hut when Eglantine drew\nnear, with the white doe trotting by her side.\n\n'Good evening!' she said; 'could you give me a night's lodging for\nmyself and my doe?'\n\n'Certainly I can,' replied the old woman.  And she led them into a room\nwith two little white beds, so clean and comfortable that it made you\nsleepy even to look at them.\n\nThe door had hardly closed behind the old woman when the sun sank below\nthe horizon, and Desiree became a girl again.\n\n'Oh, Eglantine! what should I have done if you had not followed me,'\nshe cried.  And she flung herself into her friend's arms in a transport\nof delight.\n\nEarly in the morning Eglantine was awakened by the sound of someone\nscratching at the door, and on opening her eyes she saw the white doe\nstruggling to get out.  The little creature looked up and into her\nface, and nodded her head as the maid of honour unfastened the latch,\nbut bounded away into the woods, and was lost to sight in a moment.\n\n Meanwhile, the prince and Becasigue were wandering through the wood,\ntill at last the prince grew so tired, that he lay down under a tree,\nand told Becasigue that he had better go in search of food, and of some\nplace where they could sleep.  Becasigue had not gone very far, when a\nturn of the path brought him face to face with the old woman who was\nfeeding her doves before her cottage.\n\n'Could you give me some milk and fruit?' asked he.  'I am very hungry\nmyself, and, besides, I have left a friend behind me who is still weak\nfrom illness.'\n\n'Certainly I can,' answered the old woman.  'But come and sit down in\nmy kitchen while I catch the goat and milk it.'\n\nBecasigue was glad enough to do as he was bid, and in a few minutes the\nold woman returned with a basket brimming over with oranges and grapes.\n\n'If your friend has been ill he should not pass the night in the\nforest,' said she.  'I have room in my hut--tiny enough, it is true;\nbut better than nothing, and to that you are both heartily welcome.'\n\nBecasigue thanked her warmly, and as by this time it was almost sunset,\nhe set out to fetch the prince.  It was while he was absent that\nEglantine and the white doe entered the hut, and having, of course, no\nidea that in the very next room was the man whose childish impatience\nhad been the cause of all their troubles.\n\nIn spite of his fatigue, the prince slept badly, and directly it was\nlight he rose, and bidding Becasigue remain where he was, as he wished\nto be alone, he strolled out into the forest.  He walked on slowly,\njust as his fancy led him, till, suddenly, he came to a wide open\nspace, and in the middle was the white doe quietly eating her\nbreakfast.  She bounded off at the sight of a man, but not before the\nprince, who had fastened on his bow without thinking, had let fly\nseveral arrows, which the fairy Tulip took care should do her no harm.\nBut, quickly as she ran, she soon felt her strength failing her, for\nfifteen years of life in a tower had not taught her how to exercise her\nlimbs.\n\nLuckily, the prince was too weak to follow her far, and a turn of a\npath brought her close to the hut, where Eglantine was awaiting her.\nPanting for breath, she entered their room, and flung herself down on\nthe floor.\n\nWhen it was dark again, and she was once more the princess Desiree, she\ntold Eglantine what had befallen her.\n\n'I feared the Fairy of the Fountain, and the cruel beasts,' said she;\n'but somehow I never thought of the dangers that I ran from men.  I do\nnot know now what saved me.'\n\n'You must stay quietly here till the time of your punishment is over,'\nanswered Eglantine.  But when the morning dawned, and the girl turned\ninto a doe, the longing for the forest came over her, and she sprang\naway as before.\n\nAs soon as the prince was awake he hastened to the place where, only\nthe day before, he had found the white doe feeding; but of course she\nhad taken care to go in the opposite direction.  Much disappointed, he\ntried first one green path and then another, and at last, wearied with\nwalking, he threw himself down and went fast asleep.\n\nJust at this moment the white doe sprang out of a thicket near by, and\nstarted back trembling when she beheld her enemy lying there.  Yet,\ninstead of turning to fly, something bade her go and look at him\nunseen.  As she gazed a thrill ran through her, for she felt that, worn\nand wasted though he was by illness, it was the face of her destined\nhusband.  Gently stooping over him she kissed his forehead, and at her\ntouch he awoke.\n\nFor a minute they looked at each other, and to his amazement he\nrecognized the white doe which had escaped him the previous day.  But\nin an instant the animal was aroused to a sense of her danger, and she\nfled with all her strength into the thickest part of the forest.  Quick\nas lightning the prince was on her track, but this time it was with no\nwish to kill or even wound the beautiful creature.\n\n'Pretty doe! pretty doe! stop!  I won't hurt you,' cried he, but his\nwords were carried away by the wind.\n\nAt length the doe could run no more, and when the prince reached her,\nshe was lying stretched out on the grass, waiting for her death blow.\nBut instead the prince knelt at her side, and stroked her, and bade her\nfear nothing, as he would take care of her.  So he fetched a little\nwater from the stream in his horn hunting cup, then, cutting some\nbranches from the trees, he twisted them into a litter which he covered\nwith moss, and laid the white doe gently on it.\n\nFor a long time they remained thus, but when Desiree saw by the way\nthat the light struck the trees, that he sun must be near its setting,\nshe was filled with alarm lest the darkness should fall, and the prince\nshould behold her in her human shape.\n\n'No, he must not see me for the first time here,' she thought, and\ninstantly began to plan how to get rid of him.  Then she opened her\nmouth and let her tongue hang out, as if she were dying of thirst, and\nthe prince, as she expected, hastened to the stream to get her some\nmore water.\n\nWhen he returned, the white doe was gone.\n\nThat night Desiree confessed to Eglantine that her pursuer was no other\nthan the prince, and that far from flattering him, the portrait had\nnever done him justice.\n\n'Is it not hard to meet him in this shape,' wept she, 'when we both\nlove each other so much?' But Eglantine comforted her, and reminded her\nthat in a short time all would be well.\n\nThe prince was very angry at the flight of the white doe, for whom he\nhad taken so much trouble, and returning to the cottage he poured out\nhis adventures and his wrath to Becasigue, who could not help smiling.\n\n'She shall not escape me again,' cried the prince.  'If I hunt her\nevery day for a year, I will have her at last.'  And in this frame of\nmind he went to bed.\n\n When the white doe entered the forest next morning, she had not made\nup her mind whether she would go and meet the prince, or whether she\nwould shun him, and hide in thickets of which he knew nothing.  She\ndecided that the last plan was the best; and so it would have been if\nthe prince had not taken the very same direction in search of her.\n\nQuite by accident he caught sight of her white skin shining through the\nbushes, and at the same instant she heard a twig snap under his feet.\nIn a moment she was up and away, but the prince, not knowing how else\nto capture her, aimed an arrow at her leg, which brought her to the\nground.\n\nThe young man felt like a murderer as he ran hastily up to where the\nwhite doe lay, and did his best to soothe the pain she felt, which, in\nreality, was the last part of the punishment sent by the Fairy of the\nFountain.  First he brought her some water, and then he fetched some\nhealing herbs, and having crushed them in his hand, laid them on the\nwound.\n\n'Ah! what a wretch I was to have hurt you,' cried he, resting her head\nupon his knees; 'and now you will hate me and fly from me for ever!'\n\nFor some time the doe lay quietly where she was, but, as before, she\nremembered that the hour of her transformation was near.  She struggled\nto her feet, but the prince would not hear of her walking, and thinking\nthe old woman might be able to dress her wound better than he could, he\ntook her in his arms to carry her back to the hut.  But, small as she\nwas, she made herself so heavy that, after staggering a few steps under\nher weight, he laid her down, and tied her fast to a tree with some of\nthe ribbons of his hat.  This done he went away to get help.\n\nMeanwhile Eglantine had grown very uneasy at the long absence of her\nmistress, and had come out to look for her.  Just as the prince passed\nout of sight the fluttering ribbons dance before her eyes, and she\ndescried her beautiful princess bound to a tree.  With all her might\nshe worked at the knots, but not a single one could she undo, though\nall appeared so easy.  She was still busy with them when a voice behind\nher said:\n\n'Pardon me, fair lady, but it is MY doe you are trying to steal!'\n\n'Excuse me, good knight' answered Eglantine, hardly glancing at him,\n'but it is MY doe that is tied up here!  And if you wish for a proof of\nit, you can see if she knows me or not.  Touch my heart, my little\none,' she continued, dropping on her knees.  And the doe lifted up its\nfore-foot and laid it on her side.  'Now put your arms round my neck,\nand sigh.'  And again the doe did as she was bid.\n\n'You are right,' said the prince; 'but it is with sorrow I give her up\nto you, for though I have wounded her yet I love her deeply.'\n\nTo this Eglantine answered nothing; but carefully raising up the doe,\nshe led her slowly to the hut.\n\nNow both the prince and Becasigue were quite unaware that the old woman\nhad any guests besides themselves, and, following afar, were much\nsurprised to behold Eglantine and her charge enter the cottage.  They\nlost no time in questioning the old woman, who replied that she knew\nnothing about the lady and her white doe, who slept next the chamber\noccupied by the prince and his friend, but that they were very quiet,\nand paid her well.  Then she went back to her kitchen.\n\n'Do you know,' said Becasigue, when they were alone, 'I am certain that\nthe lady we saw is the maid of honour to the Princess Desiree, whom I\nmet at the palace.  And, as her room is next to this, it will be easy\nto make a small hole through which I can satisfy myself whether I am\nright or not.'\n\nSo, taking a knife out of his pocket, he began to saw away the\nwoodwork.  The girls heard the grating noise, but fancying it was a\nmouse, paid no attention, and Becasigue was left in peace to pursue his\nwork.  At length the hole was large enough for him to peep through, and\nthe sight was one to strike him dumb with amazement.  He had guessed\ntruly: the tall lady was Eglantine herself; but the other--where had he\nseen her?  Ah! now he knew--it was the lady of the portrait!\n\nDesiree, in a flowing dress of green silk, was lying stretched out upon\ncushions, and as Eglantine bent over her to bathe the wounded leg, she\nbegan to talk:\n\n'Oh! let me die,' cried she, 'rather than go on leading this life.  You\ncannot tell the misery of being a beast all the day, and unable to\nspeak to the man I love, to whose impatience I owe my cruel fate.  Yet,\neven so, I cannot bring myself to hate him.'\n\nThese words, low though they were spoken, reached Becasigue, who could\nhardly believe his ears.  He stood silent for a moment; then, crossing\nto the window out of which the prince was gazing, he took his arm and\nled him across the room.  A single glance was sufficient to show the\nprince that it was indeed Desiree; and how another had come to the\npalace bearing her name, at that instant he neither knew nor cared.\nStealing on tip- toe from the room, he knocked at the next door, which\nwas opened by Eglantine, who thought it was the old woman bearing their\nsupper.\n\nShe started back at the sight of the prince, whom this time she also\nrecognised.  But he thrust her aside, and flung himself at the feet of\nDesiree, to whom he poured out all his heart!\n\nDawn found them still conversing; and the sun was high in the heavens\nbefore the princess perceived that she retained her human form.  Ah!\nhow happy she was when she knew that the days of her punishment were\nover; and with a glad voice she told the prince the tale of her\nenchantment.\n\nSo the story ended well after all; and the fairy Tulip, who turned out\nto be the old woman of the hut, made the young couple such a wedding\nfeast as had never been seen since the world began.  And everybody was\ndelighted, except Cerisette and her mother, who were put in a boat and\ncarried to a small island, where they had to work hard for their living.\n\n[Contes des Fees, par Madame d'Aulnoy.]\n\n\n\n                The Girl-Fish\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived, on the bank of a stream, a man and a\nwoman who had a daughter.  As she was an only child, and very pretty\nbesides, they never could make up their minds to punish her for her\nfaults or to teach her nice manners; and as for work-- she laughed in\nher mother's face if she asked her to help cook the dinner or to wash\nthe plates.  All the girl would do was to spend her days in dancing and\nplaying with her friends; and for any use she was to her parents they\nmight as well have no daughter at all.\n\nHowever, one morning her mother looked so tired that even the selfish\ngirl could not help seeing it, and asked if there was anything she was\nable to do, so that her mother might rest a little.\n\nThe good woman looked so surprised and grateful for this offer that the\ngirl felt rather ashamed, and at that moment would have scrubbed down\nthe house if she had been requested; but her mother only begged her to\ntake the fishing-net out to the bank of the river and mend some holes\nin it, as her father intended to go fishing that night.\n\nThe girl took the net and worked so hard that soon there was not a hole\nto be found.  She felt quite pleased with herself, though she had had\nplenty to amuse her, as everybody who passed by had stopped and had a\nchat with her.  But by this time the sun was high overhead, and she was\njust folding her net to carry it home again, when she heard a splash\nbehind her, and looking round she saw a big fish jump into the air.\nSeizing the net with both hands, she flung it into the water where the\ncircles were spreading one behind the other, and, more by luck than\nskill, drew out the fish.\n\n'Well, you are a beauty!' she cried to herself; but the fish looked up\nto her and said:\n\n'You had better not kill me, for, if you do, I will turn you into a\nfish yourself!'\n\nThe girl laughed contemptuously, and ran straight in to her mother.\n\n'Look what I have caught,' she said gaily; 'but it is almost a pity to\neat it, for it can talk, and it declares that, if I kill it, it will\nturn me into a fish too.'\n\n'Oh, put it back, put it back!' implored the mother.  'Perhaps it is\nskilled in magic.  And I should die, and so would your father, if\nanything should happen to you.'\n\n'Oh, nonsense, mother; what power could a creature like that have over\nme?  Besides, I am hungry, and if I don't have my dinner soon, I shall\nbe cross.'  And off she went to gather some flowers to stick in her\nhair.\n\nAbout an hour later the blowing of a horn told her that dinner was\nready.\n\n'Didn't I say that fish would be delicious?' she cried; and plunging\nher spoon into the dish the girl helped herself to a large piece.  But\nthe instant it touched her mouth a cold shiver ran through her.  Her\nhead seemed to flatten, and her eyes to look oddly round the corners;\nher legs and her arms were stuck to her sides, and she gasped wildly\nfor breath.  With a mighty bound she sprang through the window and fell\ninto the river, where she soon felt better, and was able to swim to the\nsea, which was close by.\n\nNo sooner had she arrived there than the sight of her sad face\nattracted the notice of some of the other fishes, and they pressed\nround her, begging her to tell them her story.\n\n'I am not a fish at all,' said the new-comer, swallowing a great deal\nof salt water as she spoke; for you cannot learn how to be a proper\nfish all in a moment.  'I am not a fish at all, but a girl; at least I\nwas a girl a few minutes ago, only--' And she ducked her head under the\nwaves so that they should not see her crying.\n\n'Only you did not believe that the fish you caught had power to carry\nout its threat,' said an old tunny.  'Well, never mind, that has\nhappened to all of us, and it really is not a bad life.  Cheer up and\ncome with us and see our queen, who lives in a palace that is much more\nbeautiful than any your queens can boast of.'\n\nThe new fish felt a little afraid of taking such a journey; but as she\nwas still more afraid of being left alone, she waved her tail in token\nof consent, and off they all set, hundreds of them together.  The\npeople on the rocks and in the ships that saw them pass said to each\nother:\n\n'Look what a splendid shoal!' and had no idea that they were hastening\nto the queen's palace; but, then, dwellers on land have so little\nnotion of what goes on in the bottom of the sea!  Certainly the little\nnew fish had none.  She had watched jelly-fish and nautilus swimming a\nlittle way below the surface, and beautiful coloured sea-weeds floating\nabout; but that was all.  Now, when she plunged deeper her eyes fell\nupon strange things.\n\nWedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, inestimable stones,\nunvalued jewels-- all scattered in the bottom of the sea!  Dead men's\nbones were there also, and long white creatures who had never seen the\nlight, for they mostly dwelt in the clefts of rocks where the sun's\nrays could not come.  At first our little fish felt as if she were\nblind also, but by-and-by she began to make out one object after\nanother in the green dimness, and by the time she had swum for a few\nhours all became clear.\n\n'Here we are at last,' cried a big fish, going down into a deep valley,\nfor the sea has its mountains and valleys just as much as the land.\n'That is the palace of the queen of the fishes, and I think you must\nconfess that the emperor himself has nothing so fine.'\n\n'It is beautiful indeed,' gasped the little fish, who was very tired\nwith trying to swim as fast as the rest, and beautiful beyond words the\npalace was.  The walls were made of pale pink coral, worn smooth by the\nwaters, and round the windows were rows of pearls; the great doors were\nstanding open, and the whole troop floated into the chamber of\naudience, where the queen, who was half a woman after all, was seated\non a throne made of a green and blue shell.\n\n'Who are you, and where do you come from?' said she to the little fish,\nwhom the others had pushed in front.  And in a low, trembling voice,\nthe visitor told her story.\n\n'I was once a girl too,' answered the queen, when the fish had ended;\n'and my father was the king of a great country.  A husband was found\nfor me, and on my wedding-day my mother placed her crown on my head and\ntold me that as long as I wore it I should likewise be queen.  For many\nmonths I was as happy as a girl could be, especially when I had a\nlittle son to play with.  But, one morning, when I was walking in my\ngardens, there came a giant and snatched the crown from my head.\nHolding me fast, he told me that he intended to give the crown to his\ndaughter, and to enchant my husband the prince, so that he should not\nknow the difference between us.  Since then she has filled my place and\nbeen queen in my stead.  As for me, I was so miserable that I threw\nmyself into the sea, and my ladies, who loved me, declared that they\nwould die too; but, instead of dying, some wizard, who pitied my fate,\nturned us all into fishes, though he allowed me to keep the face and\nbody of a woman.  And fished we must remain till someone brings me back\nmy crown again!'\n\n'I will bring it back if you tell me what to do!' cried the little\nfish, who would have promised anything that was likely to carry her up\nto earth again.  And the queen answered:\n\n'Yes, I will tell you what to do.'\n\nShe sat silent for a moment, and then went on:\n\n'There is no danger if you will only follow my counsel; and first you\nmust return to earth, and go up to the top of a high mountain, where\nthe giant has built his castle.  You will find him sitting on the steps\nweeping for his daughter, who has just died while the prince was away\nhunting.  At the last she sent her father my crown by a faithful\nservant.  But I warn you to be careful, for if he sees you he may kill\nyou.  Therefore I will give you the power to change yourself into any\ncreature that may help you best.  You have only to strike your\nforehead, and call out its name.'\n\nThis time the journey to land seemed much shorter than before, and when\nonce the fish reached the shore she struck her forehead sharply with\nher tail, and cried:\n\n'Deer, come to me!'\n\nIn a moment the small, slimy body disappeared, and in its place stood a\nbeautiful beast with branching horns and slender legs, quivering with\nlonging to be gone.  Throwing back her head and snuffing the air, she\nbroke into a run, leaping easily over the rivers and walls that stood\nin her way.\n\nIt happened that the king's son had been hunting since daybreak, but\nhad killed nothing, and when the deer crossed his path as he was\nresting under a tree he determined to have her.  He flung himself on\nhis horse, which went like the wind, and as the prince had often hunted\nthe forest before, and knew all the short cuts, he at last came up with\nthe panting beast.\n\n'By your favour let me go, and do not kill me,' said the deer, turning\nto the prince with tears in her eyes, 'for I have far to run and much\nto do.'  And as the prince, struck dumb with surprise, only looked at\nher, the deer cleared the next wall and was soon out of sight.\n\n'That can't really be a deer,' thought the prince to himself, reining\nin his horse and not attempting to follow her.  'No deer ever had eyes\nlike that.  It must be an enchanted maiden, and I will marry her and no\nother.'  So, turning his horse's head, he rode slowly back to his\npalace.\n\n The deer reached the giant's castle quite out of breath, and her heart\nsank as she gazed at the tall, smooth walls which surrounded it.  Then\nshe plucked up courage and cried:\n\n'Ant, come to me!' And in a moment the branching horns and beautiful\nshape had vanished, and a tiny brown ant, invisible to all who did not\nlook closely, was climbing up the walls.\n\nIt was wonderful how fast she went, that little creature!  The wall\nmust have appeared miles high in comparison with her own body; yet, in\nless time than would have seemed possible, she was over the top and\ndown in the courtyard on the other side.  Here she paused to consider\nwhat had best be done next, and looking about her she saw that one of\nthe walls had a tall tree growing by it, and in the corner was a window\nvery nearly on a level with the highest branches of the tree.\n\n'Monkey, come to me!' cried the ant; and before you could turn round a\nmonkey was swinging herself from the topmost branches into the room\nwhere the giant lay snoring.\n\n'Perhaps he will be so frightened at the sight of me that he may die of\nfear, and I shall never get the crown,' thought the monkey.  'I had\nbetter become something else.'  And she called softly: 'Parrot, come to\nme!'\n\nThen a pink and grey parrot hopped up to the giant, who by this time\nwas stretching himself and giving yawns which shook the castle.  The\nparrot waited a little, until he was really awake, and then she said\nboldly that she had been sent to take away the crown, which was not his\nany longer, now his daughter the queen was dead.\n\nOn hearing these words the giant leapt out of bed with an angry roar,\nand sprang at the parrot in order to wring her neck with his great\nhands.  But the bird was too quick for him, and, flying behind his\nback, begged the giant to have patience, as her death would be of no\nuse to him.\n\n'That is true,' answered the giant; 'but I am not so foolish as to give\nyou that crown for nothing.  Let me think what I will have in\nexchange!'  And he scratched his huge head for several minutes, for\ngiants' minds always move slowly.\n\n'Ah, yes, that will do!' exclaimed the giant at last, his face\nbrightening.  'You shall have the crown if you will bring me a collar\nof blue stones from the Arch of St.  Martin, in the Great City.'\n\nNow when the parrot had been a girl she had often heard of this\nwonderful arch and the precious stones and marbles that had been let\ninto it.  It sounded as if it would be a very hard thing to get them\naway from the building of which they formed a part, but all had gone\nwell with her so far, and at any rate she could but try.  So she bowed\nto the giant, and made her way back to the window where the giant could\nnot see her.  Then she called quickly:\n\n'Eagle, come to me!'\n\nBefore she had even reached the tree she felt herself borne up on\nstrong wings ready to carry her to the clouds if she wished to go\nthere, and seeming a mere speck in the sky, she was swept along till\nshe beheld the Arch of St.  Martin far below, with the rays of the sun\nshining on it.  Then she swooped down, and, hiding herself behind a\nbuttress so that she could not be detected from below, she set herself\nto dig out the nearest blue stones with her beak.  It was even harder\nwork than she had expected; but at last it was done, and hope arose in\nher heart.  She next drew out a piece of string that she had found\nhanging from a tree, and sitting down to rest strung the stones\ntogether.  When the necklace was finished she hung it round her neck,\nand called: 'Parrot, come to me!'  And a little later the pink and grey\nparrot stood before the giant.\n\n'Here is the necklace you asked for,' said the parrot.  And the eyes of\nthe giant glistened as he took the heap of blue stones in his hand.\nBut for all that he was not minded to give up the crown.\n\n'They are hardly as blue as I expected,' he grumbled, though the parrot\nknew as well as he did that he was not speaking the truth; 'so you must\nbring me something else in exchange for the crown you covet so much.\nIf you fail it will cost you not only the crown but you life also.'\n\n'What is it you want now?' asked the parrot; and the giant answered:\n\n'If I give you my crown I must have another still more beautiful; and\nthis time you shall bring me a crown of stars.'\n\nThe parrot turned away, and as soon as she was outside she murmured:\n\n'Toad, come to me!'  And sure enough a toad she was, and off she set in\nsearch of the starry crown.\n\nShe had not gone far before she came to a clear pool, in which the\nstars were reflected so brightly that they looked quite real to touch\nand handle.  Stooping down she filled a bag she was carrying with the\nshining water and, returning to the castle, wove a crown out of the\nreflected stars.  Then she cried as before:\n\n'Parrot, come to me!'  And in the shape of a parrot she entered the\npresence of the giant.\n\n'Here is the crown you asked for,' she said; and this time the giant\ncould not help crying out with admiration.  He knew he was beaten, and\nstill holding the chaplet of stars, he turned to the girl.\n\n'Your power is greater than mine: take the crown; you have won it\nfairly!'\n\nThe parrot did not need to be told twice.  Seizing the crown, she\nsprang on to the window, crying: 'Monkey, come to me!'  And to a\nmonkey, the climb down the tree into the courtyard did not take half a\nminute.  When she had reached the ground she said again: 'Ant, come to\nme!'  And a little ant at once began to crawl over the high wall.  How\nglad the ant was to be out of the giant's castle, holding fast the\ncrown which had shrunk into almost nothing, as she herself had done,\nbut grew quite big again when the ant exclaimed:\n\n'Deer, come to me!'\n\nSurely no deer ever ran so swiftly as that one!  On and on she went,\nbounding over rivers and crashing through tangles till she reached the\nsea.  Here she cried for the last time:\n\n'Fish, come to me!'  And, plunging in, she swam along the bottom as far\nas the palace, where the queen and all the fishes gathered together\nawaiting her.\n\nThe hours since she had left had gone very slowly--as they always do to\npeople that are waiting--and many of them had quite given up hope.\n\n'I am tired of staying here,' grumbled a beautiful little creature,\nwhose colours changed with every movement of her body, 'I want to see\nwhat is going on in the upper world.  It must be months since that fish\nwent away.'\n\n'It was a very difficult task, and the giant must certainly have killed\nher or she would have been back long ago,' remarked another.\n\n'The young flies will be coming out now,' murmured a third, 'and they\nwill all be eaten up by the river fish!  It is really too bad!'  When,\nsuddenly, a voice was heard from behind: 'Look! look! what is that\nbright thing that is moving so swiftly towards us?' And the queen\nstarted up, and stood on her tail, so excited was she.\n\nA silence fell on all the crowd, and even the grumblers held their\npeace and gazed like the rest.  On and on came the fish, holding the\ncrown tightly in her mouth, and the others moved back to let her pass.\nOn she went right up to the queen, who bent and, taking the crown,\nplaced it on her own head.  Then a wonderful thing happened.  Her tail\ndropped away or, rather, it divided and grew into two legs and a pair\nof the prettiest feet in the world, while her maidens, who were grouped\naround her, shed their scales and became girls again.  They all turned\nand looked at each other first, and next at the little fish who had\nregained her own shape and was more beautiful than any of them.\n\n'It is you who have given us back our life; you, you!' they cried; and\nfell to weeping from very joy.\n\nSo they all went back to earth and the queen's palace, and quite forgot\nthe one that lay under the sea.  But they had been so long away that\nthey found many changes.  The prince, the queen's husband, had died\nsome years since, and in his place was her son, who had grown up and\nwas king!  Even in his joy at seeing his mother again an air of sadness\nclung to him, and at last the queen could bear it no longer, and begged\nhim to walk with her in the garden.  Seated together in a bower of\njessamine--where she had passed long hours as a bride--she took her\nson's hand and entreated him to tell her the cause of his sorrow.\n'For,' said she, 'if I can give you happiness you shall have it.'\n\n'It is no use,' answered the prince; 'nobody can help me.  I must bear\nit alone.'\n\n'But at least let me share your grief,' urged the queen.\n\n'No one can do that,' said he.  'I have fallen in love with what I can\nnever marry, and I must get on as best I can.'\n\n'It may not be as impossible as you think,' answered the queen.  'At\nany rate, tell me.'\n\nThere was silence between them for a moment, then, turning away his\nhead, the prince answered gently:\n\n'I have fallen in love with a beautiful deer!'\n\n'Ah, if that is all,' exclaimed the queen joyfully.  And she told him\nin broken words that, as he had guessed, it was no deer but an\nenchanted maiden who had won back the crown and brought her home to her\nown people.\n\n'She is here, in my palace,' added the queen.  'I will take you to her.'\n\nBut when the prince stood before the girl, who was so much more\nbeautiful than anything he had ever dreamed of, he lost all his\ncourage, and stood with bent head before her.\n\nThen the maiden drew near, and her eyes, as she looked at him, were the\neyes of the deer that day in the forest.  She whispered softly:\n\n'By your favour let me go, and do not kill me.'\n\nAnd the prince remembered her words, and his heart was filled with\nhappiness.  And the queen, his mother, watched them and smiled.\n\n[From Cuentos Populars Catalans, por lo Dr.  D.  Francisco de S.\nMaspons y Labros.]\n\n\n\n            The Owl and the Eagle\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time, in a savage country where the snow lies deep for many\nmonths in the year, there lived an owl and an eagle.  Though they were\nso different in many ways they became great friends, and at length set\nup house together, one passing the day in hunting and the other the\nnight.  In this manner they did not see very much of each other--and\nperhaps agreed all the better for that; but at any rate they were\nperfectly happy, and only wanted one thing, or, rather, two things, and\nthat was a wife for each.\n\n'I really am too tired when I come home in the evening to clean up the\nhouse,' said the eagle.\n\n'And I am much too sleepy at dawn after a long night's hunting to begin\nto sweep and dust,' answered the owl.  And they both made up their\nminds that wives they must have.\n\nThey flew about in their spare moments to the young ladies of their\nacquaintance, but the girls all declared they preferred one husband to\ntwo.  The poor birds began to despair, when, one evening, after they\nhad been for a wonder hunting together, they found two sisters fast\nasleep on their two beds.  The eagle looked at the owl and the owl\nlooked at the eagle.\n\n'They will make capital wives if they will only stay with us,' said\nthey.  And they flew off to give themselves a wash, and to make\nthemselves smart before the girls awoke.\n\nFor many hours the sisters slept on, for they had come a long way, from\na town where there was scarcely anything to eat, and felt weak and\ntired.  But by-and-by they opened their eyes and saw the two birds\nwatching them.\n\n'I hope you are rested?' asked the owl politely.\n\n'Oh, yes, thank you,' answered the girls.  'Only we are so very hungry.\n Do you think we could have something to eat?'\n\n'Certainly!' replied the eagle.  And he flew away to a farmhouse a mile\nor two off, and brought back a nest of eggs in his strong beak; while\nthe owl, catching up a tin pot, went to a cottage where lived an old\nwoman and her cow, and entering the shed by the window dipped the pot\ninto the pail of new milk that stood there.\n\nThe girls were so much delighted with the kindness and cleverness of\ntheir hosts that, when the birds inquired if they would marry them and\nstay there for ever, they accepted without so much as giving it a\nsecond thought.  So the eagle took the younger sister to wife, and the\nowl the elder, and never was a home more peaceful than theirs!\n\nAll went well for several months, and then the eagle's wife had a son,\nwhile, on the same day, the owl's wife gave birth to a frog, which she\nplaced directly on the banks of a stream near by, as he did not seem to\nlike the house.  The children both grew quickly, and were never tired\nof playing together, or wanted any other companions.\n\nOne night in the spring, when the ice had melted, and the snow was\ngone, the sisters sat spinning in the house, awaiting their husbands'\nreturn.  But long though they watched, neither the owl nor the eagle\never came; neither that day nor the next, nor the next, nor the next.\nAt last the wives gave up all hope of their return; but, being sensible\nwomen, they did not sit down and cry, but called their children, and\nset out, determined to seek the whole world over till the missing\nhusbands were found.\n\nNow the women had no idea in which direction the lost birds had gone,\nbut they knew that some distance off was a thick forest, where good\nhunting was to be found.  It seemed a likely place to find them, or, at\nany rate, they might hear something of them, and they walked quickly\non, cheered by the thought that they were doing something.  Suddenly\nthe younger sister, who was a little in front, gave a cry of surprise.\n\n'Oh! look at that lake!' she said, 'we shall never get across it.'\n\n'Yes we shall,' answered the elder; 'I know what to do.'  And taking a\nlong piece of string from her pocket, fastened it into the frog's\nmouth, like a bit.\n\n'You must swim across the lake,' she said, stooping to put him in, 'and\nwe will walk across on the line behind you.'  And so they did, till\nthey got to about the middle of the lake, when the frog boy stopped.\n\n'I don't like it, and I won't go any further,' cried he sulkily.  And\nhis mother had to promise him all sorts of nice things before he would\ngo on again.\n\nWhen at last they reached the other side, the owl's wife untied the\nline from the frog's mouth and told him he might rest and play by the\nlake till they got back from the forest.  Then she and her sister and\nthe boy walked on, with the great forest looming before them.  But they\nhad by this time come far and were very tired, and felt glad enough to\nsee some smoke curling up from a little hut in front of them.\n\n'Let us go in and ask for some water,' said the eagle's wife; and in\nthey went.\n\nThe inside of the hut was so dark that at first they could see nothing\nat all; but presently they heard a feeble croak from one corner.  But\nsisters turned to look, and there, tied by wings and feet, and their\neyes sunken, were the husbands that they sought.  Quick as lightning\nthe wives cut the deer- thongs which bound them; but the poor birds\nwere too weak from pain and starvation to do more than utter soft\nsounds of joy.  Hardly, however, were they set free, than a voice of\nthunder made the two sisters jump, while the little boy clung tightly\nround his mother's neck.\n\n'What are you doing in my house?' cried she.  And the wives answered\nboldly that now they had found their husbands they meant to save them\nfrom such a wicked witch.\n\n'Well, I will give you your chance,' answered the ogress, with a\nhideous grin; 'we will see if you can slide down this mountain.  If you\ncan reach the bottom of the cavern, you shall have your husbands back\nagain.'  And as she spoke she pushed them before her out of the door to\nthe edge of a precipice, which went straight down several hundreds of\nfeet.  Unseen by the witch, the frog's mother fastened one end of the\nmagic line about her, and whispered to the little boy to hold fast the\nother.  She had scarcely done so when the witch turned round.\n\n'You don't seem to like your bargain,' said she; but the girl answered:\n\n'Oh, yes, I am quite ready.  I was only waiting for you!'  And sitting\ndown she began her slide.  On, on, she went, down to such a depth that\neven the witch's eyes could not follow her; but she took for granted\nthat the woman was dead, and told the sister to take her place.  At\nthat instant, however, the head of the elder appeared above the rock,\nbrought upwards by the magic line.  The witch gave a howl of disgust,\nand hid her face in her hands; thus giving the younger sister time to\nfasten the cord to her waist before the ogress looked up.\n\n'You can't expect such luck twice,' she said; and the girl sat down and\nslid over the edge.  But in a few minutes she too was back again, and\nthe witch saw that she had failed, and feared lest her power was going.\n Trembling with rage though she was, she dared not show it, and only\nlaughed hideously.\n\n'I sha'n't let my prisoners go as easily as all that!' she said.  'Make\nmy hair grow as thick and as black as yours, or else your husbands\nshall never see daylight again.'\n\n'That is quite simple,' replied the elder sister; 'only you must do as\nwe did--and perhaps you won't like the treatment.'\n\n'If you can bear it, of course I can,' answered the witch.  And so the\ngirls told her they had first smeared their heads with pitch and then\nlaid hot stones upon them.\n\n'It is very painful,' said they, 'but there is no other way that we\nknow of.  And in order to make sure that all will go right, one of us\nwill hold you down while the other pours on the pitch.'\n\nAnd so they did; and the elder sister let down her hair till it hung\nover the witch's eyes, so that she might believe it was her own hair\ngrowing.  Then the other brought a huge stone, and, in short, there was\nan end of the witch.  The sisters were savages who had never seen a\nmissionary.\n\nSo when the sisters saw that she was dead they went to the hut, and\nnursed their husbands till they grew strong.  Then they picked up the\nfrog, and all went to make another home on the other side of the great\nlake.\n\n[From the Journal of the Anthropological Institute.]\n\n\n\n         The Frog and the Lion Fairy\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a king who was always at war with his\nneighbours, which was very strange, as he was a good and kind man,\nquite content with his own country, and not wanting to seize land\nbelonging to other people.  Perhaps he may have tried too much to\nplease everybody, and that often ends in pleasing nobody; but, at any\nrate, he found himself, at the end of a hard struggle, defeated in\nbattle, and obliged to fall back behind the walls of his capital city.\nOnce there, he began to make preparations for a long siege, and the\nfirst thing he did was to plan how best to send his wife to a place of\nsecurity.\n\nThe queen, who loved her husband dearly, would gladly have remained\nwith him to share his dangers, but he would not allow it.  So they\nparted, with many tears, and the queen set out with a strong guard to a\nfortified castle on the outskirts of a great forest, some two hundred\nmiles distant.  She cried nearly all the way, and when she arrived she\ncried still more, for everything in the castle was dusty and old, and\noutside there was only a gravelled courtyard, and the king had\nforbidden her to go beyond the walls without at least two soldiers to\ntake care of her.\n\nNow the queen had only been married a few months, and in her own home\nshe had been used to walk and ride all over the hills without any\nattendants at all; so she felt very dull at her being shut up in this\nway.  However, she bore it for a long while because it was the king's\nwish, but when time passed and there were no signs of the war drifting\nin the direction of the castle, she grew bolder, and sometimes strayed\noutside the walls, in the direction of the forest.\n\nThen came a dreadful period, when news from the king ceased entirely.\n\n'He must surely be ill or dead,' thought the poor girl, who even now\nwas only sixteen.  'I can bear it no longer, and if I do not get a\nletter from him soon I shall leave this horrible place and go back to\nsee what is the matter.  Oh!  I do wish I had never come away!'\n\nSo, without telling anyone what she intended to do, she ordered a\nlittle low carriage to be built, something like a sledge, only it was\non two wheels--just big enough to hold one person.\n\n'I am tired of being always in the castle,' she said to her attendants;\n'and I mean to hunt a little.  Quite close by, of course,' she added,\nseeing the anxious look on their faces.  'And there is no reason that\nyou should not hunt too.'\n\nAll the faces brightened at that, for, to tell the truth, they were\nnearly as dull as their mistress; so the queen had her way, and two\nbeautiful horses were brought from the stable to draw the little\nchariot.  At first the queen took care to keep near the rest of the\nhunt, but gradually she stayed away longer and longer, and at last, one\nmorning, she took advantage of the appearance of a wild boar, after\nwhich her whole court instantly galloped, to turn into a path in the\nopposite direction.\n\nUnluckily, it did not happen to lead towards the king's palace, where\nshe intended to go, but she was so afraid her flight would be noticed\nthat she whipped up her horses till they ran away.\n\nWhen she understood what was happening the poor young queen was\nterribly frightened, and, dropping the reins, clung to the side of the\nchariot.  The horses, thus left without any control, dashed blindly\nagainst a tree, and the queen was flung out on the ground, where she\nlay for some minutes unconscious.\n\nA rustling sound near her at length caused her to open her eyes; before\nher stood a huge woman, almost a giantess, without any clothes save a\nlion's skin, which was thrown over her shoulders, while a dried snake's\nskin was plaited into her hair.  In one hand she held a club on which\nshe leaned, and in the other a quiver full of arrows.\n\nAt the sight of this strange figure the queen thought she must be dead,\nand gazing on an inhabitant of another world.  So she murmured softly\nto herself:\n\n'I am not surprised that people are so loth to die when they know that\nthey will see such horrible creatures.'  But, low as she spoke, the\ngiantess caught the words, and began to laugh.\n\n'Oh, don't be afraid; you are still alive, and perhaps, after all, you\nmay be sorry for it.  I am the Lion Fairy, and you are going to spend\nthe rest of your days with me in my palace, which is quite near this.\nSo come along.'  But the queen shrank back in horror.\n\n'Oh, Madam Lion, take me back, I pray you, to my castle; and fix what\nransom you like, for my husband will pay it, whatever it is.  But the\ngiantess shook her head.\n\n'I am rich enough already,' she answered, 'but I am often dull, and I\nthink you may amuse me a little.'  And, so saying, she changed her\nshape into that of a lion, and throwing the queen across her back, she\nwent down the ten thousand steps that led to her palace.  The lion had\nreached the centre of the earth before she stopped in front of a house,\nlighted with lamps, and built on the edge of a lake of quicksilver.  In\nthis lake various huge monsters might be seen playing or fighting--the\nqueen did not know which-- and around flew rooks and ravens, uttering\ndismal croaks.  In the distance was a mountain down whose sides waters\nslowly coursed--these were the tears of unhappy lovers--and nearer the\ngate were trees without either fruit of flowers, while nettles and\nbrambles covered the ground.  If the castle had been gloomy, what did\nthe queen feel about this?\n\nFor some days the queen was so much shaken by all she had gone through\nthat she lay with her eyes closed, unable either to move or speak.\nWhen she got better, the Lion Fairy told her that if she liked she\ncould build herself a cabin, as she would have to spend her life in\nthat place.  At these words the queen burst into tears, and implored\nher gaoler to put her to death rather than condemn her to such a life;\nbut the Lion Fairy only laughed, and counselled her to try to make\nherself pleasant, as many worse things might befall her.\n\n'Is there no way in which I can touch your heart?' asked the poor girl\nin despair.\n\n'Well, if you really wish to please me you will make me a pasty out of\nthe stings of bees, and be sure it is good.'\n\n'But I don't see any bees,' answered the queen, looking round.\n\n'Oh, no, there aren't any,' replied her tormentor; 'but you will have\nto find them all the same.'  And, so saying, she went away.\n\n'After all, what does it matter?' thought the queen to herself, 'I have\nonly one life, and I can but lose it.'  And not caring what she did,\nshe left the palace and seating herself under a yew tree, poured out\nall her grief.\n\n'Oh, my dear husband,' wept she, 'what will you think when you come to\nthe castle to fetch me and find me gone?  Rather a thousand times that\nyou should fancy me dead than imagine that I had forgotten you!  Ah,\nhow fortunate that the broken chariot should be lying in the wood, for\nthen you may grieve for me as one devoured by wild beasts.  And if\nanother should take my place in your heart--Well, at least I shall\nnever know it.'\n\nShe might have continued for long in this fashion had not the voice of\na crow directly overhead attracted her attention.  Looking up to see\nwhat was the matter she beheld, in the dim light, a crow holding a fat\nfrog in his claws, which he evidently intended for his supper.  The\nqueen rose hastily from the seat, and striking the bird sharply on the\nclaws with the fan which hung from her side, she forced him to drop the\nfrog, which fell to the round more dead than alive.  The crow, furious\nat his disappointment, flew angrily away.\n\nAs soon as the frog had recovered her senses she hopped up to the\nqueen, who was still sitting under the yew.  Standing on her hind legs,\nand bowing low before her, she said gently:\n\n'Beautiful lady, by what mischance do you come here?  You are the only\ncreature that I have seen do a kind deed since a fatal curiosity lured\nme to this place.'\n\n'What sort of a frog can you be that knows the language of mortals?'\nasked the queen in her turn.  'But if you do, tell me, I pray, if I\nalone am a captive, for hitherto I have beheld no one but the monsters\nof the lake.'\n\n'Once upon a time they were men and women like yourself,' answered the\nfrog, 'but having power in their hands, they used it for their own\npleasure.  Therefore fate has sent them here for a while to bear the\npunishment of their misdoings.'\n\n'But you, friend frog, you are not one of these wicked people, I am\nsure?' asked the queen.\n\n'I am half a fairy,' replied the frog; 'but, although I have certain\nmagic gifts, I am not able to do all I wish.  And if the Lion Fairy\nwere to know of my presence in her kingdom she would hasten to kill me.'\n\n'But if you are a fairy, how was it that you were so nearly slain by\nthe crow?' said the queen, wrinkling her forehead.\n\n'Because the secret of my power lies in my little cap that is made of\nrose leaves; but I had laid it aside for the moment, when that horrible\ncrow pounced upon me.  Once it is on my head I fear nothing.  But let\nme repeat; had it not been for you I could not have escaped death, and\nif I can do anything to help you, or soften your hard fate, you have\nonly to tell me.'\n\n'Alas,' sighed the queen, 'I have been commanded by the Lion Fairy to\nmake her a pasty out of the stings of bees, and, as far as I can\ndiscover, there are none here; as how should there be, seeing there are\nno flowers for them to feed on?  And, even if there were, how could I\ncatch them?'\n\n'Leave it to me,' said the frog, 'I will manage it for you.'  And,\nuttering a strange noise, she struck the ground thrice with her foot.\nIn an instant six thousand frogs appeared before her, one of them\nbearing a little cap.\n\n'Cover yourselves with honey, and hop round by the beehives,' commanded\nthe frog, putting on the cap which her friend was holding in her mouth.\n And turning to the queen, he added:\n\n'The Lion Fairy keeps a store of bees in a secret place near to the\nbottom of the ten thousand steps leading into the upper world.  Not\nthat she wants them for herself, but they are sometimes useful to her\nin punishing her victims.  However, this time we will get the better of\nher.'\n\nJust as she had finished speaking the six thousand frogs returned,\nlooking so strange with bees sticking to every part of them that, sad\nas she felt, the poor queen could not help laughing.  The bees were all\nso stupefied with what they had eaten that it was possible to draw\ntheir stings without hunting them.  So, with the help of her friend,\nthe queen soon made ready her pasty and carried it to the Lion Fairy.\n\n'Not enough pepper,' said the giantess, gulping down large morsels, in\norder the hide the surprise she felt.  'Well, you have escaped this\ntime, and I am glad to find I have got a companion a little more\nintelligent than the others I have tried.  Now, you had better go and\nbuild yourself a house.'\n\nSo the queen wandered away, and picking up a small axe which lay near\nthe door she began with the help of her friend the frog to cut down\nsome cypress trees for the purpose.  And not content with that the six\nthousand froggy servants were told to help also, and it was not long\nbefore they had built the prettiest little cabin in the world, and made\na bed in one corner of dried ferns which they fetched from the top of\nthe ten thousand steps.  It looked soft and comfortable, and the queen\nwas very glad to lie down upon it, so tired was she with all that had\nhappened since the morning.  Scarcely, however, had she fallen asleep\nwhen the lake monsters began to make the most horrible noises just\noutside, while a small dragon crept in and terrified her so that she\nran away, which was just what the dragon wanted!\n\nThe poor queen crouched under a rock for the rest of the night, and the\nnext morning, when she woke from her troubled dreams, she was cheered\nat seeing the frog watching by her.\n\n'I hear we shall have to build you another palace,' said she.  'Well,\nthis time we won't go so near the lake.'  And she smiled with her funny\nwide mouth, till the queen took heart, and they went together to find\nwood for the new cabin.\n\nThe tiny palace was soon ready, and a fresh bed made of wild thyme,\nwhich smelt delicious.  Neither the queen nor the frog said anything\nabout it, but somehow, as always happens, the story came to the ears of\nthe Lion Fairy, and she sent a raven to fetch the culprit.\n\n'What gods or men are protecting you?' she asked, with a frown.  'This\nearth, dried up by a constant rain of sulphur and fire, produces\nnothing, yet I hear that YOUR bed is made of sweet smelling herbs.\nHowever, as you can get flowers for yourself, of course you can get\nthem for me, and in an hour's time I must have in my room a nosegay of\nthe rarest flowers.  If not--! Now you can go.'\n\nThe poor queen returned to her house looking so sad that the frog, who\nwas waiting for her, noticed it directly.\n\n'What is the matter?' said she, smiling.\n\n'Oh, how can you laugh!' replied the queen.  'This time I have to bring\nher in an hour a posy of the rarest flowers, and where am I to find\nthem?  If I fail I know she will kill me.'\n\n'Well, I must see if I can't help you,' answered the frog.  'The only\nperson I have made friends with here is a bat.  She is a good creature,\nand always does what I tell her, so I will just lend her my cap, and if\nshe puts it on, and flies into the world, she will bring back all we\nwant.  I would go myself, only she will be quicker.'\n\nThen the queen dried her eyes, and waited patiently, and long before\nthe hour had gone by the bat flew in with all the most beautiful and\nsweetest flowers that grew on the earth.  The girl sprang up overjoyed\nat the sight, and hurried with them to the Lion Fairy, who was so\nastonished that for once she had nothing to say.\n\nNow the smell and touch of the flowers had made the queen sick with\nlonging for her home, and she told the frog that she would certainly\ndie if she did not manage to escape somehow.\n\n'Let me consult my cap,' said the frog; and taking it off she laid it\nin a box, and threw in after it a few sprigs of juniper, some capers,\nand two peas, which she carried under her right leg; she then shut down\nthe lid of the box, and murmured some words which the queen did not\ncatch.\n\nIn a few moments a voice was heard speaking from the box.\n\n'Fate, who rules us all,' said the voice, 'forbids your leaving this\nplace till the time shall come when certain things are fulfilled.  But,\ninstead, a gift shall be given you, which will comfort you in all your\ntroubles.'\n\nAnd the voice spoke truly, for, a few days after, when the frog peeped\nin at the door she found the most beautiful baby in the world lying by\nthe side of the queen.\n\n'So the cap has kept its word,' cried the frog with delight.  'How soft\nits cheeks are, and what tiny feet it has got!  What shall we call it?'\n\nThis was a very important point, and needed much discussion.  A\nthousand names were proposed and rejected for a thousand silly reasons.\n One was too long, and one was too short.  One was too harsh, and\nanother reminded the queen of somebody she did not like; but at length\nan idea flashed into the queen's head, and she called out:\n\n'I know!  We will call her Muffette.'\n\n'That is the very thing,' shouted the frog, jumping high into the air;\nand so it was settled.\n\nThe princess Muffette was about six months old when the frog noticed\nthat the queen had begun to grow sad again.\n\n'Why do you have that look in your eyes?' she asked one day, when she\nhad come in to play with the baby, who could now crawl.\n\nThe way they played their game was to let Muffette creep close to the\nfrog, and then for the frog to bound high into the air and alight on\nthe child's head, or back, or legs, when she always sent up a shout of\npleasure.  There is no play fellow like a frog; but then it must be a\nfairy frog, or else you might hurt it, and if you did something\ndreadful might happen to you.  Well, as I have said, our frog was\nstruck with the queen's sad face, and lost no time in asking her what\nwas the reason.\n\n'I don't see what you have to complain of now; Muffette is quite well\nand quite happy, and even the Lion Fairy is kind to her when she sees\nher.  What is it?'\n\n'Oh! if her father could only see her!' broke forth the queen, clasping\nher hands.  'Or if I could only tell him all that has happened since we\nparted.  But they will have brought him tidings of the broken carriage,\nand he will have thought me dead, or devoured by wild beasts.  And\nthough he will mourn for me long--I know that well--yet in time they\nwill persuade him to take a wife, and she will be young and fair, and\nhe will forget me.'\n\nAnd in all this the queen guessed truly, save that nine long years were\nto pass before he would consent to put another in her place.\n\nThe frog answered nothing at the time, but stopped her game and hopped\naway among the cypress trees.  Here she sat and thought and thought,\nand the next morning she went back to the queen and said:\n\n'I have come, madam, to make you an offer.  Shall I go to the king\ninstead of you, and tell him of your sufferings, and that he has the\nmost charming baby in the world for his daughter?  The way is long, and\nI travel slowly; but, sooner or later, I shall be sure to arrive.\nOnly, are you not afraid to be left without my protection?  Ponder the\nmatter carefully; it is for you to decide.'\n\n'Oh, it needs no pondering,' cried the queen joyfully, holding up her\nclasped hands, and making Muffette do likewise, in token of gratitude.\nBut in order that he may know that you have come from me I will send\nhim a letter.'  And pricking her arm, she wrote a few words with her\nblood on the corner of her handkerchief.  Then tearing it off, she gave\nit to the frog, and they bade each other farewell.\n\nIt took the frog a year and four days to mount the ten thousand steps\nthat led to the upper world, but that was because she was still under\nthe spell of a wicked fairy.  By the time she reached the top, she was\nso tired that she had to remain for another year on the banks of a\nstream to rest, and also to arrange the procession with which she was\nto present herself before the king.  For she knew far too well what was\ndue to herself and her relations, to appear at Court as if she was a\nmere nobody.  At length, after many consultations with her cap, the\naffair was settled, and at the end of the second year after her parting\nwith the queen they all set out.\n\nFirst walked her bodyguard of grasshoppers, followed by her maids of\nhonour, who were those tiny green frogs you see in the fields, each one\nmounted on a snail, and seated on a velvet saddle.  Next came the\nwater-rats, dressed as pages, and lastly the frog herself, in a litter\nborne by eight toads, and made of tortoiseshell.  Here she could lie at\nher ease, with her cap on her head, for it was quite large and roomy,\nand could easily have held two eggs when the frog was not in it.\n\nThe journey lasted seven years, and all this time the queen suffered\ntortures of hope, though Muffette did her best to comfort her.  Indeed,\nshe would most likely have died had not the Lion Fairy taken a fancy\nthat the child and her mother should go hunting with her in the upper\nworld, and, in spite of her sorrows, it was always a joy to the queen\nto see the sun again.  As for little Muffette, by the time she was\nseven her arrows seldom missed their mark.  So, after all, the years of\nwaiting passed more quickly than the queen had dared to hope.\n\nThe frog was always careful to maintain her dignity, and nothing would\nhave persuaded her to show her face in public places, or even along the\nhigh road, where there was a chance of meeting anyone.  But sometimes,\nwhen the procession had to cross a little stream, or go over a piece of\nmarshy ground, orders would be given for a halt; fine clothes were\nthrown off, bridles were flung aside, and grasshoppers, water-rats,\neven the frog herself, spent a delightful hour or two playing in the\nmud.\n\nBut at length the end was in sight, and the hardships were forgotten in\nthe vision of the towers of the king's palace; and, one bright morning,\nthe cavalcade entered the gates with all the pomp and circumstance of a\nroyal embassy.  And surely no ambassador had ever created such a\nsensation!  Door and windows, even the roofs of houses, were filled\nwith people, whose cheers reached the ears of the king.  However, he\nhad no time to attend to such matters just then, as, after nine years,\nhe had at last consented to the entreaties of his courtiers, and was on\nthe eve of celebrating his second marriage.\n\nThe frog's heart beat high when her litter drew up before the steps of\nthe palace, and leaning forward she beckoned to her side one of the\nguards who were standing in his doorway.\n\n'I wish to see his Majesty,' said he.\n\n'His Majesty is engaged, and can see no one,' answered the soldier.\n\n'His Majesty will see ME,' returned the frog, fixing her eye upon him;\nand somehow the man found himself leading the procession along the\ngallery into the Hall of Audience, where the king sat surrounded by his\nnobles arranging the dresses which everyone was to wear at his marriage\nceremony.\n\nAll stared in surprise as the procession advanced, and still more when\nthe frog gave one bound from the litter on to the floor, and with\nanother landed on the arm of the chair of state.\n\n'I am only just in time, sire,' began the frog; 'had I been a day later\nyou would have broken your faith which you swore to the queen nine\nyears ago.'\n\n'Her remembrance will always be dear to me,' answered the king gently,\nthough all present expected him to rebuke the frog severely for her\nimpertinence.  But know, Lady Frog, that a king can seldom do as he\nwishes, but must be bound by the desires of his subjects.  For nine\nyears I have resisted them; now I can do so no longer, and have made\nchoice of the fair young maiden playing at ball yonder.'\n\n'You cannot wed her, however fair she may be, for the queen your wife\nis still alive, and sends you this letter written in her own blood,'\nsaid the frog, holding out the square of handkerchief as she spoke.\n'And, what is more, you have a daughter who is nearly nine years old,\nand more beautiful than all the other children in the world put\ntogether.'\n\nThe king turned pale when he heard these words, and his hand trembled\nso that he could hardly read what the queen had written.  Then he\nkissed the handkerchief twice or thrice, and burst into tears, and it\nwas some minutes before he could speak.  When at length he found his\nvoice he told his councillors that the writing was indeed that of the\nqueen, and now that he had the joy of knowing she was alive he could,\nof course, proceed no further with his second marriage.  This naturally\ndispleased the ambassadors who had conducted the bride to court, and\none of them inquired indignantly if he meant to put such an insult on\nthe princess on the word of a mere frog.\n\n'I am not a \"mere frog,\" and I will give you proof of it,' retorted the\nangry little creature.  And putting on her cap, she cried: Fairies that\nare my friends, come hither!'  And in a moment a crowd of beautiful\ncreatures, each one with a crown on her head, stood before her.\nCertainly none could have guessed that they were the snails, water-\nrats, and grasshoppers from which she had chosen her retinue.\n\nAt a sign from the frog the fairies danced a ballet, with which\neveryone was so delighted that they begged to have to repeated; but now\nit was not youths and maidens who were dancing, but flowers.  Then\nthese again melted into fountains, whose waters interlaced and, rushing\ndown the sides of the hall, poured out in a cascade down the steps, and\nformed a river found the castle, with the most beautiful little boats\nupon it, all painted and gilded.\n\n'Oh, let us go in them for a sail!' cried the princess, who had long\nago left her game of ball for a sight of these marvels, and, as she was\nbent upon it, the ambassadors, who had been charged never to lose sight\nof her, were obliged to go also, though they never entered a boat if\nthey could help it.\n\nBut the moment they and the princess had seated themselves on the soft\ncushions, river and boats vanished, and the princess and the\nambassadors vanished too.  Instead the snails and grasshoppers and\nwater-rats stood round the frog in their natural shapes.\n\n'Perhaps,' said she, 'your Majesty may now be convinced that I am a\nfairy and speak the truth.  Therefore lose no time in setting in order\nthe affairs of your kingdom and go in search of your wife.  Here is a\nring that will admit you into the presence of the queen, and will\nlikewise allow you to address unharmed the Lion Fairy, though she is\nthe most terrible creature that ever existed.'\n\nBy this time the king had forgotten all about the princess, whom he had\nonly chosen to please his people, and was as eager to depart on his\njourney as the frog was for him to go.  He made one of his ministers\nregent of the kingdom, and gave the frog everything her heart could\ndesire; and with her ring on his finger he rode away to the outskirts\nof the forest.  Here he dismounted, and bidding his horse go home, he\npushed forward on foot.\n\nHaving nothing to guide him as to where he was likely to find the\nentrance of the under- world, the king wandered hither and thither for\na long while, till, one day, while he was resting under a tree, a voice\nspoke to him.\n\n'Why do you give yourself so much trouble for nought, when you might\nknow what you want to know for the asking?  Alone you will never\ndiscover the path that leads to your wife.'\n\nMuch startled, the king looked about him.  He could see nothing, and\nsomehow, when he thought about it, the voice seemed as if it were part\nof himself.  Suddenly his eyes fell on the ring, and he understood.\n\n'Fool that I was!' cried he; 'and how much precious time have I wasted?\n Dear ring, I beseech you, grant me a vision of my wife and my\ndaughter!'  And even as he spoke there flashed past him a huge lioness,\nfollowed by a lady and a beautiful young maid mounted on fairy horses.\n\nAlmost fainting with joy he gazed after them, and then sank back\ntrembling on the ground.\n\n'Oh, lead me to them, lead me to them!' he exclaimed.  And the ring,\nbidding him take courage, conducted him safely to the dismal place\nwhere his wife had lived for ten years.\n\nNow the Lion Fairy knew beforehand of his expected presence in her\ndominions, and she ordered a palace of crystal to be built in the\nmiddle of the lake of quicksilver; and in order to make it more\ndifficult of approach she let it float whither it would.  Immediately\nafter their return from the chase, where the king had seen them, she\nconveyed the queen and Muffette into the palace, and put them under the\nguard of the monsters of the lake, who one and all had fallen in love\nwith the princess.  They were horribly jealous, and ready to eat each\nother up for her sake, so they readily accepted the charge.  Some\nstationed themselves round the floating palace, some sat by the door,\nwhile the smallest and lightest perched themselves on the roof.\n\nOf course the king was quite ignorant of these arrangements, and boldly\nentered the palace of the Lion Fairy, who was waiting for him, with her\ntail lashing furiously, for she still kept her lion's shape.  With a\nroar that shook the walls she flung herself upon him; but he was on the\nwatch, and a blow from his sword cut off the paw she had put forth to\nstrike him dead.  She fell back, and with his helmet still on and his\nshield up, he set his foot on her throat.\n\n'Give me back the wife and the child you have stolen from me,' he said,\n'or you shall not live another second!'\n\nBut the fairy answered:\n\n'Look through the window at that lake and see if it is in my power to\ngive them to you.'  And the king looked, and through the crystal walls\nhe beheld his wife and daughter floating on the quicksilver.  At that\nsight the Lion Fairy and all her wickedness was forgotten.  Flinging\noff his helmet, he shouted to them with all his might.  The queen knew\nhis voice, and she and Muffette ran to the window and held out their\nhands.  Then the king swore a solemn oath that he would never leave the\nspot without taking them if it should cost him his life; and he meant\nit, though at the moment he did not know what he was undertaking.\n\nThree years passed by, and the king was no nearer to obtaining his\nheart's desire.  He had suffered every hardship that could be\nimagined--nettles had been his bed, wild fruits more bitter than gall\nhis food, while his days had been spent in fighting the hideous\nmonsters which kept him from the palace.  He had not advanced one\nsingle step, nor gained one solitary advantage.  Now he was almost in\ndespair, and ready to defy everything and throw himself into the lake.\n\nIt was at this moment of his blackest misery that, one night, a dragon\nwho had long watched him from the roof crept to his side.\n\n'You thought that love would conquer all obstacles,' said he; 'well,\nyou have found it hasn't!  But if you will swear to me by your crown\nand sceptre that you will give me a dinner of the food that I never\ngrow tired of, whenever I choose to ask for it, I will enable you to\nreach your wife and daughter.'\n\nAh, how glad the king was to hear that!  What oath would he not have\ntaken so as to clasp his wife and child in is arms?  Joyfully he swore\nwhatever the dragon asked of him; then he jumped on his back, and in\nanother instant would have been carried by the strong wings into the\ncastle if the nearest monsters had not happened to awake and hear the\nnoise of talking and swum to the shore to give battle.  The fight was\nlong and hard, and when the king at last beat back his foes another\nstruggle awaited him.  At the entrance gigantic bats, owls, and crows\nset upon him from all sides; but the dragon had teeth and claws, while\nthe queen broke off sharp bits of glass and stabbed and cut in her\nanxiety to help her husband.  At length the horrible creatures flew\naway; a sound like thunder was heard, the palace and the monsters\nvanished, while, at the same moment--no one knew how-- the king found\nhimself standing with his wife and daughter in the hall of his own home.\n\nThe dragon had disappeared with all the rest, and for some years no\nmore was heard or thought of him.  Muffette grew every day more\nbeautiful, and when she was fourteen the kings and emperors of the\nneighbouring countries sent to ask her in marriage for themselves or\ntheir sons.  For a long time the girl turned a deaf ear to all their\nprayers; but at length a young prince of rare gifts touched her heart,\nand though the king had left her free to choose what husband she would,\nhe had secretly hoped that out of all the wooers this one might be his\nson-in-law.  So they were betrothed that some day with great pomp, and\nthen with many tears, the prince set out for his father's court,\nbearing with him a portrait of Muffette.\n\nThe days passed slowly to Muffette, in spite of her brave efforts to\noccupy herself and not to sadden other people by her complaints.  One\nmorning she was playing on her harp in the queen's chamber when the\nking burst into the room and clasped his daughter in his arms with an\nenergy that almost frightened her.\n\n'Oh, my child! my dear child! why were you ever born?' cried he, as\nsoon as he could speak.\n\n'Is the prince dead?' faltered Muffette, growing white and cold.\n\n'No, no; but--oh, how can I tell you!'  And he sank down on a pile of\ncushions while his wife and daughter knelt beside him.\n\nAt length he was able to tell his tale, and a terrible one it was!\nThere had just arrived at court a huge giant, as ambassador from the\ndragon by whose help the king had rescued the queen and Muffette from\nthe crystal palace.  The dragon had been very busy for many years past,\nand had quite forgotten the princess till the news of her betrothal\nreached his ears.  Then he remembered the bargain he had made with her\nfather; and the more he heard of Muffette the more he felt sure she\nwould make a delicious dish.  So he had ordered the giant who was his\nservant to fetch her at once.\n\nNo words would paint the horror of both the queen and the princess as\nthey listened to this dreadful doom.  They rushed instantly to the\nhall, where the giant was awaiting them, and flinging themselves at his\nfeet implored him to take the kingdom if he would, but to have pity on\nthe princess.  The giant looked at them kindly, for he was not at all\nhard- hearted, but said that he had no power to do anything, and that\nif the princess did not go with him quietly the dragon would come\nhimself.\n\nSeveral days went by, and the king and queen hardly ceased from\nentreating the aid of the giant, who by this time was getting weary of\nwaiting.\n\n'There is only one way of helping you,' he said at last, 'and that is\nto marry the princess to my nephew, who, besides being young and\nhandsome, has been trained in magic, and will know how to keep her safe\nfrom the dragon.'\n\n'Oh, thank you, thank you!' cried the parents, clasping his great hands\nto their breasts.  'You have indeed lifted a load from us.  She shall\nhave half the kingdom for her dowry.'  But Muffette stood up and thrust\nthem aside.\n\n'I will not buy my life with faithlessness,' she said proudly; 'and I\nwill go with you this moment to the dragon's abode.'  And all her\nfather's and mother's tears and prayers availed nothing to move her.\n\nThe next morning Muffette was put into a litter, and, guarded by the\ngiant and followed by the king and queen and the weeping maids of\nhonour, they started for the foot of the mountain where the dragon had\nhis castle.  The way, though rough and stony, seemed all too short, and\nwhen they reached the spot appointed by the dragon the giant ordered\nthe men who bore the litter to stand still.\n\n'It is time for you to bid farewell to your daughter,' said he; 'for I\nsee the dragon coming to us.'\n\nIt was true; a cloud appeared to pass over the sun, for between them\nand it they could all discern dimly a huge body half a mile long\napproaching nearer and nearer.  At first the king could not believe\nthat this was the small beast who had seemed so friendly on the shore\nof the lake of quicksilver but then he knew very little of necromancy,\nand had never studied the art of expanding and contracting his body.\nBut it was the dragon and nothing else, whose six wings were carrying\nhim forward as fast as might be, considering his great weight and the\nlength of his tail, which had fifty twists and a half.\n\nHe came quickly, yes; but the frog, mounted on a greyhound, and wearing\nher cap on her head, went quicker still.  Entering a room where the\nprince was sitting gazing at the portrait of his betrothed, she cried\nto him:\n\n'What are you doing lingering here, when the life of the princess is\nnearing its last moment?  In the courtyard you will find a green horse\nwith three heads and twelve feet, and by its side a sword eighteen\nyards long.  Hasten, lest you should be too late!'\n\nThe fight lasted all day, and the prince's strength was well-nigh\nspent, when the dragon, thinking that the victory was won, opened his\njaws to give a roar of triumph.  The prince saw his chance, and before\nhis foe could shut his mouth again had plunged his sword far down his\nadversary's throat.  There was a desperate clutching of the claws to\nthe earth, a slow flagging of the great wings, then the monster rolled\nover on his side and moved no more.  Muffette was delivered.\n\nAfter this they all went back to the palace.  The marriage took place\nthe following day, and Muffette and her husband lived happy for ever\nafter.\n\n[From Les Contes des Fees, par Madame d'Aulnoy.]\n\n\n\n      The Adventures of Covan the Brown-                    Haired\n\n\n\nOn the shores of the west, where the great hills stand with their feet\nin the sea, dwelt a goatherd and his wife, together with their three\nsons and one daughter.  All day long the young men fished and hunted,\nwhile their sister took out the kids to pasture on the mountain, or\nstayed at home helping her mother and mending the nets.\n\nFor several years they all lived happily together, when one day, as the\ngirl was out on the hill with the kids, the sun grew dark and an air\ncold as a thick white mist came creeping, creeping up from the sea.\nShe rose with a shiver, and tried to call to her kids, but the voice\ndied away in her throat, and strong arms seemed to hold her.\n\nLoud were the wails in the hut by the sea when the hours passed on and\nthe maiden came not.  Many times the father and brothers jumped up,\nthinking they heard her steps, but in the thick darkness they could\nscarcely see their own hands, nor could they tell where the river lay,\nnor where the mountain.  One by one the kids came home, and at every\nbleat someone hurried to open the door, but no sound broke the\nstillness.  Through the night no one slept, and when morning broke and\nthe mist rolled back, they sought the maiden by sea and by land, but\nnever a trace of her could be found anywhere.\n\nThus a year and a day slipped by, and at the end of it Gorla of the\nFlocks and his wife seemed suddenly to have grown old.  Their sons too\nwere sadder than before, for they loved their sister well, and had\nnever ceased to mourn for her.  At length Ardan the eldest spoke and\nsaid:\n\n'It is now a year and a day since our sister was taken from us, and we\nhave waited in grief and patience for her to return.  Surely some evil\nhas befallen her, or she would have sent us a token to put our hearts\nat rest; and I have vowed to myself that my eyes shall not know sleep\ntill, living or dead, I have found her.'\n\n'If you have vowed, then must you keep your vow,' answered Gorla.  'But\nbetter had it been if you had first asked your father's leave before\nyou made it.  Yet, since it is so, your mother will bake you a cake for\nyou to carry with you on your journey.  Who can tell how long it may\nbe?'\n\nSo the mother arose and baked not one cake but two, a big one and a\nlittle one.\n\n'Choose, my son,' said she.  'Will you have the little cake with your\nmother's blessing, or the big one without it, in that you have set\naside your father and taken on yourself to make a vow?'\n\n'I will have the large cake,' answered the youth; 'for what good would\nmy mother's blessing do for me if I was dying of hunger?'  And taking\nthe big cake he went his way.\n\nStraight on he strode, letting neither hill nor river hinder him.\nSwiftly he walked-- swiftly as the wind that blew down the mountain.\nThe eagles and the gulls looked on from their nests as he passed,\nleaving the deer behind him; but at length he stopped, for hunger had\nseized on him, and he could walk no more.  Trembling with fatigue he\nsat himself on a rock and broke a piece off his cake.\n\n'Spare me a morsel, Ardan son of Gorla,' asked a raven, fluttering down\ntowards him.\n\n'Seek food elsewhere, O bearer of ill-news,' answered Ardan son of\nGorla; 'it is but little I have for myself.'  And he stretched himself\nout for a few moments, then rose to his feet again.  On and on went he\ntill the little birds flew to their nests, and the brightness died out\nof the sky, and a darkness fell over the earth.  On and on, and on,\ntill at last he saw a beam of light streaming from a house and hastened\ntowards it.\n\nThe door was opened and he entered, but paused when he beheld an old\nman lying on a bench by the fire, while seated opposite him was a\nmaiden combing out the locks of her golden hair with a comb of silver.\n\n'Welcome, fair youth,' said the old man, turning his head.  'Sit down\nand warm yourself, and tell me how fares the outer world.  It is long\nsince I have seen it.'\n\n'All my news is that I am seeking service,' answered Ardan son of\nGorla; 'I have come from far since sunrise, and glad was I to see the\nrays of your lamp stream into the darkness.'\n\n'I need someone to herd my three dun cows, which are hornless,' said\nthe old man.  'If, for the space of a year, you can bring them back to\nme each evening before the sun sets, I will make you payment that will\nsatisfy your soul.'\n\nBut here the girl looked up and answered quickly:\n\n'Ill will come of it if he listens to your offer.'\n\n'Counsel unsought is worth nothing,' replied, rudely, Ardan son of\nGorla.  'It would be little indeed that I am fit for if I cannot drive\nthree cows out to pasture and keep them safe from the wolves that may\ncome down from the mountains.  Therefore, good father, I will take\nservice with you at daybreak, and ask no payment till the new year\ndawns.'\n\nNext morning the bell of the deer was not heard amongst the fern before\nthe maiden with the hair of gold had milked the cows, and led them in\nfront of the cottage where the old man and Ardan son of Gorla awaited\nthem.\n\n'Let them wander where they will,' he said to his servant, 'and never\nseek to turn them from their way, for well they know the fields of good\npasture.  But take heed to follow always behind them, and suffer\nnothing that you see, and nought that you hear, to draw you into\nleaving them.  Now go, and may wisdom go with you.'\n\nAs he ceased speaking he touched one of the cows on her forehead, and\nshe stepped along the path, with the two others one on each side.  As\nhe had been bidden, behind them came Ardan son of Gorla, rejoicing in\nhis heart that work so easy had fallen to his lot.  At the year's end,\nthought he, enough money would lie in his pocket to carry him into far\ncountries where his sister might be, and, in the meanwhile, someone\nmight come past who could give him tidings of her.\n\nThus he spoke to himself, when his eyes fell on a golden cock and a\nsilver hen running swiftly along the grass in front of him.  In a\nmoment the words that the old man had uttered vanished from his mind\nand he gave chase.  They were so near that he could almost seize their\ntails, yet each time he felt sure he could catch them his fingers\nclosed on the empty air.  At length he could run no more, and stopped\nto breathe, while the cock and hen went on as before.  Then he\nremembered the cows, and, somewhat frightened, turned back to seek\nthem.  Luckily they had not strayed far, and were quietly feeding on\nthe thick green grass.\n\nArdan son of Gorla was sitting under a tree, when he beheld a staff of\ngold and a staff of silver doubling themselves in strange ways on the\nmeadow in front of him, and starting up he hastened towards them.  He\nfollowed them till he was tired, but he could not catch them, though\nthey seemed ever within his reach.  When at last he gave up the quest\nhis knees trembled beneath him for very weariness, and glad was he to\nsee a tree growing close by lade with fruits of different sorts, of\nwhich he ate greedily.\n\nThe sun was by now low in the heavens, and the cows left off feeding,\nand turned their faces home again, followed by Ardan son of Gorla.  At\nthe door of their stable the maiden stood awaiting them, and saying\nnought to their herd, she sat down and began to milk.  But it was not\nmilk that flowed into her pail; instead it was filled with a thin\nstream of water, and as she rose up from the last cow the old man\nappeared outside.\n\n'Faithless one, you have betrayed your trust!' he said to Ardan son of\nGorla.  'Not even for one day could you keep true!  Well, you shall\nhave your reward at once, that others may take warning from you.'  And\nwaving his wand he touched with it the chest of the youth, who became a\npillar of stone.\n\nNow Gorla of the Flocks and his wife were full of grief that they had\nlost a son as well as a daughter, for no tidings had come to them of\nArdan their eldest born.  At length, when two years and two days had\npassed since the maiden had led her kids to feed on the mountain and\nhad been seen no more, Ruais, second son of Gorla, rose up one morning,\nand said:\n\n'Time is long without my sister and Ardan my brother.  So I have vowed\nto seek them wherever they may be.'\n\nAnd his father answered:\n\n'Better it had been if you had first asked my consent and that of your\nmother; but as you have vowed so must you do.'  Then he bade his wife\nmake a cake, but instead she made two, and offered Ruais his choice, as\nshe had done to Ardan.  Like Ardan, Ruais chose the large, unblessed\ncake, and set forth on his way, doing always, though he knew it not,\nthat which Ardan had done; so, needless is it to tell what befell him\ntill he too stood, a pillar of stone, on the hill behind the cottage,\nso that all men might see the fate that awaited those who broke their\nfaith.\n\nAnother year and a day passed by, when Covan the Brown-haired, youngest\nson of Gorla of the Flocks, one morning spake to his parents, saying:\n\n'It is more than three years since my sister left us.  My brothers have\nalso gone, no one know whither, and of us four none remains but I.  No,\ntherefore, I long to seek them, and I pray you and my mother to place\nno hindrance in my way.'\n\nAnd his father answered:\n\n'Go, then, and take our blessing with you.'\n\nSo the wife of Gorla of the Flocks baked two cakes, one large and one\nsmall; and Covan took the small one, and started on his quest.  In the\nwood he felt hungry, for he had walked far, and he sat down to eat.\nSuddenly a voice behind him cried:\n\n'A bit for me! a bit for me!'  And looking round he beheld the black\nraven of the wilderness.\n\n'Yes, you shall have a bit,' said Covan the Brown-haired; and breaking\noff a piece he stretched it upwards to the raven, who ate it greedily.\nThen Covan arose and went forward, till he saw the light from the\ncottage streaming before him, and glad was he, for night was at hand.\n\n'Maybe I shall find some work there,' he thought, 'and at least I shall\ngain money to help me in my search; for who knows how far my sister and\nmy brothers may have wandered?'\n\nThe door stood open and he entered, and the old man gave him welcome,\nand the golden- haired maiden likewise.  As happened before, he was\noffered by the old man to herd his cows; and, as she had done to his\nbrothers, the maiden counselled him to leave such work alone.  But,\ninstead of answering rudely, like both Ardan and Ruais, he thanked her,\nwith courtesy, though he had no mind to heed her; and he listened to\nthe warnings and words of his new master.\n\nNext day he set forth at dawn with the dun cows in front of him, and\nfollowed patiently wherever they might lead him.  On the way he saw the\ngold cock and silver hen, which ran even closer to him than they had\ndone to his brothers.  Sorely tempted, he longed to give them chase;\nbut, remembering in time that he had been bidden to look neither to the\nright nor to the left, with a mighty effort he turned his eyes away.\nThen the gold and silver staffs seemed to spring from the earth before\nhim, but this time also he overcame; and though the fruit from the\nmagic tree almost touched his mouth, he brushed it aside and went\nsteadily on.\n\nThat day the cows wandered father than ever they had done before, and\nnever stopped till they had reached a moor where the heather was\nburning.  The fire was fierce, but the cows took no heed, and walked\nsteadily through it, Covan the Brown-haired following them.  Next they\nplunged into a foaming river, and Covan plunged in after them, though\nthe water came high above his waist.  On the other side of the river\nlay a wide plain, and here the cows lay down, while Covan looked about\nhim.  Near him was a house built of yellow stone, and from it came\nsweet songs, and Covan listened, and his heart grew light within him.\n\nWhile he was thus waiting there ran up to him a youth, scarcely able to\nspeak so swiftly had he sped; and he cried aloud:\n\n'Hasten, hasten, Covan the Brown-haired, for your cows are in the corn,\nand you must drive them out!'\n\n'Nay,' said Covan smiling, 'it had been easier for you to have driven\nthem out than to come here to tell me.'  And he went on listening to\nthe music.\n\nVery soon the same youth returned and cried with panting breath:\n\n'Out upon you, Covan son of Gorla, that you stand there agape.  For our\ndogs are chasing your cows, and you must drive them off!'\n\n'Nay, then,' answered Covan as before, 'it had been easier for you to\ncall off your dogs than to come here to tell me.'  And he stayed where\nhe was till the music ceased.\n\nThen he turned to look for the cows, and found them all lying in the\nplace where he had left them; but when they saw Covan they rose up and\nwalked homewards, taking a different path to that they had trod in the\nmorning.  This time they passed over a plain so bare that a pin could\nnot have lain there unnoticed, yet Covan beheld with surprise a foal\nand its mother feeding there, both as fat as if they had pastured on\nthe richest grass.  Further on they crossed another plain, where the\ngrass was thick and green, but on it were feeding a foal and its\nmother, so lean that you could have counted their ribs.  And further\nagain the path led them by the shores of a lake whereon were floating\ntwo boats; one full of gay and happy youths, journeying to the land of\nthe Sun, and another with grim shapes clothed in black, travelling to\nthe land of Night.\n\n'What can these things mean?' said Covan to himself, as he followed his\ncows.\n\nDarkness now fell, the wind howled, and torrents of rain poured upon\nthem.  Covan knew not how far they might yet have to go, or indeed if\nthey were on the right road.  He could not even see his cows, and his\nheart sank lest, after all, he should have failed to bring them safely\nback.  What was he to do?\n\nHe waited thus, for he could go neither forwards nor backwards, till he\nfelt a great friendly paw laid on his shoulder.\n\n'My cave is just here,' said the Dog of Maol- mor, of whom Covan son of\nGorla had heard much.  'Spend the night here, and you shall be fed on\nthe flesh of lamb, and shall lay aside three-thirds of thy weariness.'\n\nAnd Covan entered, and supped, and slept, and in the morning rose up a\nnew man.\n\n'Farewell, Covan,' said the Dog of Maol-mor.  'May success go with you,\nfor you took what I had to give and did not mock me.  So, when danger\nis your companion, wish for me, and I will not fail you.'\n\nAt these words the Dog of Maol-mor disappeared into the forest, and\nCovan went to seek his cows, which were standing in the hollow where\nthe darkness had come upon them.\n\nAt the sight of Covan the Brown-haired they walked onwards, Covan\nfollowing ever behind them, and looking neither to the right nor to the\nleft.  All that day they walked, and when night fell they were in a\nbarren plain, with only rocks for shelter.\n\n'We must rest here as best we can,' spoke Covan to the cows.  And they\nbowed their heads and lay down in the place where they stood.  Then\ncame the black raven of Corri- nan-creag, whose eyes never closed, and\nwhose wings never tired; and he fluttered before the face of Covan and\ntold him that he knew of a cranny in the rock where there was food in\nplenty, and soft moss for a bed.\n\n'Go with me thither,' he said to Covan, 'and you shall lay aside\nthree-thirds of your weariness, and depart in the morning refreshed,'\nand Covan listened thankfully to his words, and at dawn he rose up to\nseek his cows.\n\n'Farewell!' cried the black raven.  'You trusted me, and took all I had\nto offer in return for the food you once gave me.  So if in time to\ncome you need a friend, wish for me, and I will not fail you.'\n\nAs before, the cows were standing in the spot where he had left them,\nready to set out.  All that day they walked, on and on, and on, Covan\nson of Gorla walking behind them, till night fell while they were on\nthe banks of a river.\n\n'We can go no further,' spake Covan to the cows.  And they began to eat\nthe grass by the side of the stream, while Covan listened to them and\nlonged for some supper also, for they had travelled far, and his limbs\nwere weak under him.  Then there was a swish of water at his feet, and\nout peeped the head of the famous otter Doran-donn of the stream.\n\n'Trust to me and I will find you warmth and shelter,' said Doran-donn;\n'and for food fish in plenty.'  And Covan went with him thankfully, and\nate and rested, and laid aside three-thirds of his weariness.  At\nsunrise he left his bed of dried sea-weed, which had floated up with\nthe tide, and with a grateful heart bade farewell to Doran-donn.\n\n'Because you trusted me and took what I had to offer, you have made me\nyour friend, Covan,' said Doran-donn.  'And if you should be in danger,\nand need help from one who can swim a river or dive beneath a wave,\ncall to me and I will come to you.'  Then he plunged into the stream,\nand was seen no more.\n\nThe cows were standing ready in the place where Covan had left them,\nand they journeyed on all that day, till, when night fell, they reached\nthe cottage.  Joyful indeed was the old man as the cows went into their\nstables, and he beheld the rich milk that flowed into the pail of the\ngolden-haired maiden with the silver comb.\n\n'You have done well indeed,' he said to Covan son of Gorla.  'And now,\nwhat would you have as a reward?'\n\n'I want nothing for myself,' answered Covan the Brown-haired; 'but I\nask you to give me back my brothers and my sister who have been lost to\nus for three years past.  You are wise and know the lore of fairies and\nof witches; tell me where I can find them, and what I must do to bring\nthem to life again.'\n\nThe old man looked grave at the words of Covan.\n\n'Yes, truly I know where they are,' answered he, 'and I say not that\nthey may not be brought to life again.  But the perils are great--too\ngreat for you to overcome.'\n\n'Tell me what they are,' said Covan again, 'and I shall know better if\nI may overcome them.'\n\n'Listen, then, and judge.  In the mountain yonder there dwells a roe,\nwhite of foot, with horns that branch like the antlers of a deer.  On\nthe lake that leads to the land of the Sun floats a duck whose body is\ngreen and whose neck is of gold.  In the pool of Corri- Bui swims a\nsalmon with a skin that shines like silver, and whose gills are\nred--bring them all to me, and then you shall know where dwell your\nbrothers and your sister!'\n\n'To-morrow at cock-crow I will begone!' answered Covan.\n\nThe way to the mountain lay straight before him, and when he had\nclimbed high he caught sight of the roe with the white feet and the\nspotted sides, on the peak in front.\n\nFull of hope he set out in pursuit of her, but by the time he had\nreached that peak she had left it and was to be seen on another.  And\nso it always happened, and Covan's courage had well-nigh failed him,\nwhen the thought of the Dog of Maol-mor darted into his mind.\n\n'Oh, that he was here!' he cried.  And looking up he saw him.\n\n'Why did you summon me?' asked the Dog of Maol-mor.  And when Covan had\ntold him of his trouble, and how the roe always led him further and\nfurther, the Dog only answered:\n\n'Fear nothing; I will soon catch her for you.'  And in a short while he\nlaid the roe unhurt at Covan's feet.\n\n'What will you wish me to do with her?' said the Dog.  And Covan\nanswered:\n\n'The old man bade me bring her, and the duck with the golden neck, and\nthe salmon with the silver sides, to his cottage; if I shall catch\nthem, I know not.  But carry you the roe to the back of the cottage,\nand tether her so that she cannot escape.'\n\n'It shall be done,' said the Dog of Maol-mor.\n\nThen Covan sped to the lake which led to the land of the Sun, where the\nduck with the green body and the golden neck was swimming among the\nwater-lilies.\n\n'Surely I can catch him, good swimmer as I am,' to himself.  But, if he\ncould swim well, the duck could swim better, and at length his strength\nfailed him, and he was forced to seek the land.\n\n'Oh that the black raven were here to help me!' he thought to himself.\nAnd in a moment the black raven was perched on his shoulder.\n\n'How can I help you?' asked the raven.  And Covan answered:\n\n'Catch me the green duck that floats on the water.'  And the raven flew\nwith his strong wings and picked him up in his strong beak, and in\nanother moment the bird was laid at the feet of Covan.\n\nThis time it was easy for the young man to carry his prize, and after\ngiving thanks to the raven for his aid, he went on to the river.\n\nIn the deep dark pool of which the old man had spoken the silver-sided\nsalmon was lying under a rock.\n\n'Surely I, good fisher as I am, can catch him,' said Covan son of\nGorla.  And cutting a slender pole from a bush, he fastened a line to\nthe end of it.  But cast with what skill he might, it availed nothing,\nfor the salmon would not even look at the bait.\n\n'I am beaten at last, unless the Doran-donn can deliver me,' he cried.\nAnd as he spoke there was a swish of the water, and the face of the\nDoran-donn looked up at him.\n\n'O catch me, I pray you, that salmon under the rock!' said Covan son of\nGorla.  And the Doran-donn dived, and laying hold of the salmon by his\ntail, bore it back to the place where Covan was standing.\n\n'The roe, and the duck, and the salmon are here,' said Covan to the old\nman, when he reached the cottage.  And the old man smiled on him and\nbade him eat and drink, and after he hungered no more, he would speak\nwith him.\n\nAnd this was what the old man said: 'You began well, my son, so things\nhave gone well with you.  You set store by your mother's blessing,\ntherefore you have been blest.  You gave food to the raven when it\nhungered, you were true to the promise you had made to me, and did not\nsuffer yourself to be turned aside by vain shows.  You were skilled to\nperceive that the boy who tempted you to leave the temple was a teller\nof false tales, and took with a grateful heart what the poor had to\noffer you.  Last of all, difficulties gave you courage, instead of\nlending you despair.\n\nAnd now, as to your reward, you shall in truth take your sister home\nwith you, and your brothers I will restore to life; but idle and\nunfaithful as they are their lot is to wander for ever.  And so\nfarewell, and may wisdom be with you.'\n\n'First tell me your name?' asked Covan softly.\n\n'I am the Spirit of Age,' said the old man.\n\n[Taken from a Celtic Story.  Translated by Doctor Macleod Clarke.]\n\n\n\n           The Princess Bella-Flor\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a man who had two sons.  When they grew up\nthe elder went to seek his fortune in a far country, and for many years\nno one heard anything about him.  Meanwhile the younger son stayed at\nhome with his father, who died at last in a good old age, leaving great\nriches behind him.\n\nFor some time the son who stayed at home spent his father's wealth\nfreely, believing that he alone remained to enjoy it.  But, one day, as\nhe was coming down stairs, he was surprised to see a stranger enter the\nhall, looking about as if the house belonged to him.\n\n'Have you forgotten me?' asked the man.\n\n'I can't forget a person I have never known,' was the rude answer.\n\n'I am your brother,' replied the stranger, 'and I have returned home\nwithout the money I hoped to have made.  And, what is worse, they tell\nme in the village that my father is dead.  I would have counted my lost\ngold as nothing if I could have seen him once more.'\n\n'He died six months ago,' said the rich brother, 'and he left you, as\nyour portion, the old wooden chest that stands in the loft.  You had\nbetter go there and look for it; I have no more time to waste.'  And he\nwent his way.\n\nSo the wanderer turned his steps to the loft, which was at the top of\nthe storehouse, and there he found the wooden chest, so old that it\nlooked as if it were dropping to pieces.\n\n'What use is this old thing to me?' he said to himself.  'Oh, well, it\nwill serve to light a fire at which I can warm myself; so things might\nbe worse after all.'\n\nPlacing the chest on his back, the man, whose name was Jose, set out\nfor his inn, and, borrowing a hatchet, began to chop up the box.  In\ndoing so he discovered a secret drawer, and in it lay a paper.  He\nopened the paper, not knowing what it might contain, and was astonished\nto find that it was the acknowledgment of a large debt that was owing\nto his father.  Putting the precious writing in his pocket, he hastily\ninquired of the landlord where he could find the man whose name was\nwritten inside, and he ran out at once in search of him.\n\nThe debtor proved to be an old miser, who lived at the other end of the\nvillage.  He had hoped for many months that the paper he had written\nhad been lost or destroyed, and, indeed, when he saw it, was very\nunwilling to pay what he owed.  However, the stranger threatened to\ndrag him before the king, and when the miser saw that there was no help\nfor it he counted out the coins one by one.  The stranger picked them\nup and put them in his pocket, and went back to his inn feeling that he\nwas now a rich man.\n\nA few weeks after this he was walking through the streets of the\nnearest town, when he met a poor woman crying bitterly.  He stopped and\nasked her what was the matter, and she answered between her sobs that\nher husband was dying, and, to make matters worse, a creditor whom he\ncould not pay was anxious to have him taken to prison.\n\n'Comfort yourself,' said the stranger kindly; 'they shall neither send\nyour husband to prison nor sell your goods.  I will not only pay his\ndebts but, if he dies, the cost of his burial also.  And now go home,\nand nurse him as well as you can.'\n\nAnd so she did; but, in spite of her care, the husband died, and was\nburied by the stranger.  But everything cost more than he expected, and\nwhen all was paid he found that only three gold pieces were left.\n\n'What am I to do now?' said he to himself.  'I think I had better go to\ncourt, and enter into the service of the king.'\n\nAt first he was only a servant, who carried the king the water for his\nbath, and saw that his bed was made in a particular fashion.  But he\ndid his duties so well that his master soon took notice of him, and in\na short time he rose to be a gentleman of the bedchamber.\n\nNow, when this happened the younger brother had spent all the money he\nhad inherited, and did not know how to make any for himself.  He then\nbethought him of the king's favourite, and went whining to the palace\nto beg that his brother, whom he had so ill-used, would give him his\nprotection, and find him a place.  The elder, who was always ready to\nhelp everyone spoke to the king on his behalf, and the next day the\nyoung man took up is work at court.\n\nUnfortunately, the new-comer was by nature spiteful and envious, and\ncould not bear anyone to have better luck than himself.  By dint of\nspying through keyholes and listening at doors, he learned that the\nking, old and ugly though he was, had fallen in love with the Princess\nBella-Flor, who would have nothing to say to him, and had hidden\nherself in some mountain castle, no one knew where.\n\n'That will do nicely,' thought the scoundrel, rubbing his hands.  'It\nwill be quite easy to get the king to send my brother in search of her,\nand if he returns without finding her, his head will be the forfeit.\nEither way, he will be out of MY path.'\n\nSo he went at once to the Lord High Chamberlain and craved an audience\nof the king, to whom he declared he wished to tell some news of the\nhighest importance.  The king admitted him into the presence chamber\nwithout delay, and bade him state what he had to say, and to be quick\nabout it.\n\n'Oh, sire! the Princess Bella-Flor--' answered the man, and then\nstopped as if afraid.\n\n'What of the Princess Bella-Flor?' asked the king impatiently.\n\n'I have heard--it is whispered at court--that your majesty desires to\nknow where she lies in hiding.'\n\n'I would give half my kingdom to the man who will bring her to me,'\ncried the king, eagerly.  'Speak on, knave; has a bird of the air\nrevealed to you the secret?'\n\n'It is not I, but my brother, who knows,' replied the traitor; 'if your\nmajesty would ask him--' But before the words were out of his mouth the\nking had struck a blow with his sceptre on a golden plate that hung on\nthe wall.\n\n'Order Jose to appear before me instantly,' he shouted to the servant\nwho ran to obey his orders, so great was the noise his majesty had\nmade; and when Jose entered the hall, wondering what in the world could\nbe the matter, the king was nearly dumb from rage and excitement.\n\n'Bring me the Princess Bella-Flor this moment,' stammered he, 'for if\nyou return without her I will have you drowned!'  And without another\nword he left the hall, leaving Jose staring with surprise and horror.\n\n'How can I find the Princess Bella-Flor when I have never even seen\nher?' thought he.  'But it is no use staying here, for I shall only be\nput to death.'  And he walked slowly to the stables to choose himself a\nhorse.\n\nThere were rows upon rows of fine beasts with their names written in\ngold above their stalls, and Jose was looking uncertainly from one to\nthe other, wondering which he should choose, when an old white horse\nturned its head and signed to him to approach.\n\n'Take me,' it said in a gentle whisper, 'and all will go well.'\n\nJose still felt so bewildered with the mission that the king had given\nhim that he forgot to be astonished at hearing a horse talk.\nMechanically he laid his hand on the bridle and led the white horse out\nof the stable.  He was about to mount on his back, when the animal\nspoke again:\n\n'Pick up those three loaves of bread which you see there, and put them\nin your pocket.'\n\nJose did as he was told, and being in a great hurry to get away, asked\nno questions, but swung himself into the saddle.\n\nThey rode far without meeting any adventures, but at length they came\nto an ant-hill, and the horse stopped.\n\n'Crumble those three loaves for the ants,' he said.  But Jose hesitated.\n\n'Why, we may want them ourselves!' answered he.\n\n'Never mind that; give them to the ants all the same.  Do not lose a\nchance of helping others.'  And when the loaves lay in crumbs on the\nroad, the horse galloped on.\n\nBy-and-by they entered a rocky pass between two mountains, and here\nthey saw an eagle which had been caught in a hunter's net.\n\n'Get down and cut the meshes of the net, and set the poor bird free,'\nsaid the horse.\n\n'But it will take so long,' objected Jose, 'and we may miss the\nprincess.'\n\n'Never mind that; do not lose a chance of helping others,' answered the\nhorse.  And when the meshes were cut, and the eagle was free, the horse\ngalloped on.\n\nThe had ridden many miles, and at last they came to a river, where they\nbeheld a little fish lying gasping on the sand, and the horse said:\n\n'Do you see that little fish?  It will die if you do not put it back in\nthe water.'\n\n'But, really, we shall never find the Princess Bella-Flor if we waste\nour time like this!' cried Jose.\n\n'We never waste time when we are helping others,' answered the horse.\nAnd soon the little fish was swimming happily away.\n\nA little while after they reached a castle, which was built in the\nmiddle of a very thick wood, and right in front was the Princess\nBella-Flor feeding her hens.\n\n'Now listen,' said the horse.  'I am going to give all sorts of little\nhops and skips, which will amuse the Princess Bella-Flor.  Then she\nwill tell you that she would like to ride a little way, and you must\nhelp her to mount.  When she is seated I shall begin to neigh and kick,\nand you must say that I have never carried a woman before, and that you\nhad better get up behind so as to be able to manage me.  Once on my\nback we will go like the wind to the king's palace.'\n\nJose did exactly as the horse told him, and everything fell out as the\nanimal prophesied; so that it was not until they were galloping\nbreathlessly towards the palace that the princess knew that she was\ntaken captive.  She said nothing, however, but quietly opened her apron\nwhich contained the bran for the chickens, and in a moment it lay\nscattered on the ground.\n\n'Oh, I have let fall my bran!' cried she; 'please get down and pick it\nup for me.'  But Jose only answered:\n\n'We shall find plenty of bran where we are going.'  And the horse\ngalloped on.\n\nThey were now passing through a forest, and the princess took out her\nhandkerchief and threw it upwards, so that it stuck in one of the\ntopmost branches of a tree.\n\n'Dear me; how stupid!  I have let my handkerchief blow away,' said she.\n 'Will you climb up and get it for me?'  But Jose answered:\n\n'We shall find plenty of handkerchiefs where we are going.'  And the\nhorse galloped on.\n\nAfter the wood they reached a river, and the princess slipped a ring\noff her finger and let it roll into the water.\n\n'How careless of me,' gasped she, beginning to sob.  'I have lost my\nfavourite ring; DO stop for a moment and look if you can see it.'  But\nJose answered:\n\n'You will find plenty of rings where you are going.'  And the horse\ngalloped on.\n\nAt last they entered the palace gates, and the king's heart bounded\nwith joy at beholding his beloved Princess Bella-Flor.  But the\nprincess brushed him aside as if he had been a fly, and locked herself\ninto the nearest room, which she would not open for all his entreaties.\n\n'Bring me the three things I lost on the way, and perhaps I may think\nabout it,' was all she would say.  And, in despair, the king was driven\nto take counsel of Jose.\n\n'There is no remedy that I can see,' said his majesty, 'but that you,\nwho know where they are, should go and bring them back.  And if you\nreturn without them I will have you drowned.'\n\nPoor Jose was much troubled at these words.  He thought that he had\ndone all that was required of him, and that his life was safe.\nHowever, he bowed low, and went out to consult his friend the horse.\n\n'Do not vex yourself,' said the horse, when he had heard the story;\n'jump up, and we will go and look for the things.'  And Jose mounted at\nonce.\n\nThey rode on till they came to the ant-hill, and then the horse asked:\n\n'Would you like to have the bran?'\n\n'What is the use of liking?' answered Jose.\n\n'Well, call the ants, and tell them to fetch it for you; and, if some\nof it has been scattered by the wind, to bring in its stead the grains\nthat were in the cakes you gave them.'  Jose listened in surprise.  He\ndid not much believe in the horse's plan; but he could not think of\nanything better, so he called to the ants, and bade them collect the\nbran as fast as they could.\n\nThen he saw under a tree and waited, while his horse cropped the green\nturf.\n\n'Look there!' said the animal, suddenly raising its head; and Jose\nlooked behind him and saw a little mountain of bran, which he put into\na bag that was hung over his saddle.\n\n'Good deeds bear fruit sooner or later,' observed the horse; 'but mount\nagain, as we have far to go.'\n\nWhen they arrived at the tree, they saw the handkerchief fluttering\nlike a flag from the topmost branch, and Jose's spirits sank again.\n\n'How am I to get that handkerchief?' cried he; 'why I should need\nJacob's ladder!'  But the horse answered:\n\n'Do not be frightened; call to the eagle you set free from the net, he\nwill bring it to you.'\n\nSo Jose called to the eagle, and the eagle flew to the top of the tree\nand brought back the handkerchief in its beak.  Jose thanked him, and\nvaulting on his horse they rode on to the river.\n\nA great deal of rain had fallen in the night, and the river, instead of\nbeing clear as it was before, was dark and troubled.\n\n'How am I to fetch the ring from the bottom of this river when I do not\nknow exactly where it was dropped, and cannot even see it?' asked Jose.\n But the horse answered: 'Do not be frightened; call the little fish\nwhose life you saved, and she will bring it to you.'\n\nSo he called to the fish, and the fish dived to the bottom and slipped\nbehind big stones, and moved little ones with its tail till it found\nthe ring, and brought it to Jose in its mouth.\n\nWell pleased with all he had done, Jose returned to the palace; but\nwhen the king took the precious objects to Bella-Flor, she declared\nthat she would never open her door till the bandit who had carried her\noff had been fried in oil.\n\n'I am very sorry,' said the king to Jose, 'I really would rather not;\nbut you see I have no choice.'\n\n While the oil was being heated in the great caldron, Jose went to the\nstables to inquire of his friend the horse if there was no way for him\nto escape.\n\n'Do not be frightened,' said the horse.  'Get on my back, and I will\ngallop till my whole body is wet with perspiration, then rub it all\nover your skin, and no matter how hot the oil may be you will never\nfeel it.'\n\nJose did not ask any more questions, but did as the horse bade him; and\nmen wondered at his cheerful face as they lowered him into the caldron\nof boiling oil.  He was left there till Bella-Flor cried that he must\nbe cooked enough.  Then out came a youth so young and handsome, that\neveryone fell in love with him, and Bella-Flor most of all.\n\nAs for the old king, he saw that he had lost the game; and in despair\nhe flung himself into the caldron, and was fried instead of Jose.  Then\nJose was proclaimed king, on condition that he married Bella-Flor which\nhe promised to do the next day.  But first he went to the stables and\nsought out the horse, and said to him: 'It is to you that I owe my life\nand my crown.  Why have you done all this for me?'\n\nAnd the horse answered: 'I am the soul of that unhappy man for whom you\nspent all your fortune.  And when I saw you in danger of death I begged\nthat I might help you, as you had helped me.  For, as I told you, Good\ndeeds bear their own fruit!'\n\n[From Cuentos, Oraciones, y Adivinas, por Fernan Caballero.]\n\n\n\n              The Bird of Truth\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a poor fisher who built a hut on the banks\nof a stream which, shunning the glare of the sun and the noise of the\ntowns, flowed quietly past trees and under bushes, listening to the\nsongs of the birds overhead.\n\nOne day, when the fisherman had gone out as usual to cast his nets, he\nsaw borne towards him on the current a cradle of crystal.  Slipping his\nnet quickly beneath it he drew it out and lifted the silk coverlet.\nInside, lying on a soft bed of cotton, were two babies, a boy and a\ngirl, who opened their eyes and smiled at him.  The man was filled with\npity at the sight, and throwing down his lines he took the cradle and\nthe babies home to his wife.\n\nThe good woman flung up her hands in despair when she beheld the\ncontents of the cradle.\n\n'Are not eight children enough,' she cried, 'without bringing us two\nmore?  How do you think we can feed them?'\n\n'You would not have had me leave them to die of hunger,' answered he,\n'or be swallowed up by the waves of the sea?  What is enough for eight\nis also enough for ten.'\n\nThe wife said no more; and in truth her heart yearned over the little\ncreatures.  Somehow or other food was never lacking in the hut, and the\nchildren grew up and were so good and gentle that, in time, their\nfoster-parents loved them as well or better than their own, who were\nquarrelsome and envious.  It did not take the orphans long to notice\nthat the boys did not like them, and were always playing tricks on\nthem, so they used to go away by themselves and spend whole hours by\nthe banks of the river.  Here they would take out the bits of bread\nthey had saved from their breakfasts and crumble them for the birds.\nIn return, the birds taught them many things: how to get up early in\nthe morning, how to sing, and how to talk their language, which very\nfew people know.\n\nBut though the little orphans did their best to avoid quarrelling with\ntheir foster- brothers, it was very difficult always to keep the peace.\n Matters got worse and worse till, one morning, the eldest boy said to\nthe twins:\n\n'It is all very well for you to pretend that you have such good\nmanners, and are so much better than we, but we have at least a father\nand mother, while you have only got the river, like the toads and the\nfrogs.'\n\nThe poor children did not answer the insult; but it made them very\nunhappy.  And they told each other in whispers that they could not stay\nthere any longer, but must go into the world and seek their fortunes.\n\nSo next day they arose as early as the birds and stole downstairs\nwithout anybody hearing them.  One window was open, and they crept\nsoftly out and ran to the side of the river.  Then, feeling as if they\nhad found a friend, they walked along its banks, hoping that by- and-by\nthey should meet some one to take care of them.\n\nThe whole of that day they went steadily on without seeing a living\ncreature, till, in the evening, weary and footsore, they saw before\nthem a small hut.  This raised their spirits for a moment; but the door\nwas shut, and the hut seemed empty, and so great was their\ndisappointment that they almost cried.  However, the boy fought down\nhis tears, and said cheerfully:\n\n'Well, at any rate here is a bench where we can sit down, and when we\nare rested we will think what is best to do next.'\n\nThen they sat down, and for some time they were too tired even to\nnotice anything; but by-and-by they saw that under the tiles of the\nroof a number of swallows were sitting, chattering merrily to each\nother.  Of course the swallows had no idea that the children understood\ntheir language, or they would not have talked so freely; but, as it\nwas, they said whatever came into their heads.\n\n'Good evening, my fine city madam,' remarked a swallow, whose manners\nwere rather rough and countryfied to another who looked particularly\ndistinguished.  'Happy, indeed, are the eyes that behold you!  Only\nthink of your having returned to your long-forgotten country friends,\nafter you have lived for years in a palace!'\n\n'I have inherited this nest from my parents,' replied the other, 'and\nas they left it to me I certainly shall make it my home.  But,' she\nadded politely, 'I hope that you and all your family are well?'\n\n'Very well indeed, I am glad to say.  But my poor daughter had, a short\ntime ago, such bad inflammation in her eyes that she would have gone\nblind had I not been able to find the magic herb, which cured her at\nonce.'\n\n'And how is the nightingale singing?  Does the lark soar as high as\never?  And does the linnet dress herself as smartly?'  But here the\ncountry swallow drew herself up.\n\n'I never talk gossip,' she said severely.  'Our people, who were once\nso innocent and well-behaved, have been corrupted by the bad examples\nof men.  It is a thousand pities.'\n\n'What! innocence and good behaviour are not to be met with among birds,\nnor in the country!  My dear friend, what are you saying?'\n\n'The truth and nothing more.  Imagine, when we returned here, we met\nsome linnets who, just as the spring and the flowers and the long days\nhad come, were setting out for the north and the cold?  Out of pure\ncompassion we tried to persuade them to give up this folly; but they\nonly replied with the utmost insolence.'\n\n'How shocking!' exclaimed the city swallow.\n\n'Yes, it was.  And worse than that, the crested lark, that was formerly\nso timid and shy, is now no better than a thief, and steals maize and\ncorn whenever she can find them.'\n\n'I am astonished at what you say.'\n\n'You will be more astonished when I tell you that on my arrival here\nfor the summer I found my nest occupied by a shameless sparrow!  \"This\nis my nest,\" I said.  \"Yours?\" he answered, with a rude laugh.  \"Yes,\nmine; my ancestors were born here, and my sons will be born here also.\"\nAnd at that my husband set upon him and threw him out of the nest.  I\nam sure nothing of this sort ever happens in a town.'\n\n'Not exactly, perhaps.  But I have seen a great deal--if you only knew!'\n\n'Oh! do tell us! do tell us!' cried they all.  And when they had\nsettled themselves comfortably, the city swallow began:\n\n'You must know, then that our king fell in love with the youngest\ndaughter of a tailor, who was as good and gentle as she was beautiful.\nHis nobles hoped that he would have chosen a queen from one of their\ndaughters, and tried to prevent the marriage; but the king would not\nlisten to them, and it took place.  Not many months later a war broke\nout, and the king rode away at the head of his army, while the queen\nremained behind, very unhappy at the separation.  When peace was made,\nand the king returned, he was told that his wife had had two babies in\nhis absence, but that both were dead; that she herself had gone out of\nher mind and was obliged to be shut up in a tower in the mountains,\nwhere, in time, the fresh air might cure her.'\n\n'And was this not true?' asked the swallows eagerly.\n\n'Of course not,' answered the city lady, with some contempt for their\nstupidity.  'The children were alive at that very moment in the\ngardener's cottage; but at night the chamberlain came down and put them\nin a cradle of crystal, which he carried to the river.\n\n'For a whole day they floated safely, for though the stream was deep it\nwas very still, and the children took no harm.  In the morning--so I am\ntold by my friend the kingfisher--they were rescued by a fisherman who\nlived near the river bank.'\n\n The children had been lying on the bench, listening lazily to the\nchatter up to this point; but when they heard the story of the crystal\ncradle which their foster-mother had always been fond of telling them,\nthey sat upright and looked at each other.\n\n'Oh, how glad I am I learnt the birds' language!' said the eyes of one\nto the eyes of the other.\n\nMeanwhile the swallows had spoken again.\n\n'That was indeed good fortune!' cried they.\n\n'And when the children are grown up they can return to their father and\nset their mother free.'\n\n'It will not be so easy as you think,' answered the city swallow,\nshaking her head; 'for they will have to prove that they are the king's\nchildren, and also that their mother never went mad at all.  In fact,\nit is so difficult that there is only one way of proving it to the\nking.'\n\n'And what is that?' cried all the swallows at once.  'And how do you\nknow it?'\n\n'I know it,' answered the city swallow, 'because, one day, when I was\npassing through the palace garden, I met a cuckoo, who, as I need not\ntell you, always pretends to be able to see into the future.  We began\nto talk about certain things which were happening in the palace, and of\nthe events of past years.  \"Ah,\" said he, \"the only person who can\nexpose the wickedness of the ministers and show the king how wrong he\nhas been, is the Bird of Truth, who can speak the language of men.\"\n\n'\"And where can this bird be found?\" I asked.\n\n'\"It is shut up in a castle guarded by a fierce giant, who only sleeps\none quarter of an hour out of the whole twenty-four,\" replied the\ncuckoo.\n\n'And where is this castle?' inquired the country swallow, who, like all\nthe rest, and the children most of all, had been listening with deep\nattention.\n\n'That is just what I don't know,' answered her friend.  'All I can tell\nyou is that not far from here is a tower, where dwells an old witch,\nand it is she who knows the way, and she will only teach it to the\nperson who promises to bring her the water from the fountain of many\ncolours, which she uses for her enchantments.  But never will she\nbetray the place where the Bird of Truth is hidden, for she hates him,\nand would kill him if she could; knowing well, however, that this bird\ncannot die, as he is immortal, she keeps him closely shut up, and\nguarded night and day by the Birds of Bad Faith, who seek to gag him so\nthat his voice should not be heard.'\n\n'And is there no one else who can tell the poor boy where to find the\nbird, if he should ever manage to reach the tower?' asked the country\nswallow.\n\n'No one,' replied the city swallow, 'except an owl, who lives a\nhermit's life in that desert, and he knows only one word of man's\nspeech, and that is \"cross.\" So that even if the prince did succeed in\ngetting there, he could never understand what the owl said.  But, look,\nthe sun is sinking to his nest in the depths of the sea, and I must go\nto mine.  Good-night, friends, good-night!'\n\nThen the swallow flew away, and the children, who had forgotten both\nhunger and weariness in the joy of this strange news, rose up and\nfollowed in the direction of her flight.  After two hours' walking,\nthey arrived at a large city, which they felt sure must be the capital\nof their father's kingdom.  Seeing a good-natured looking woman\nstanding at the door of a house, they asked her if she would give them\na night's lodging, and she was so pleased with their pretty faces and\nnice manners that she welcomed them warmly.\n\nIt was scarcely light the next morning before the girl was sweeping out\nthe rooms, and the boy watering the garden, so that by the time the\ngood woman came downstairs there was nothing left for her to do.  This\nso delighted her that she begged the children to stay with her\naltogether, and the boy answered that he would leave his sisters with\nher gladly, but that he himself had serious business on hand and must\nnot linger in pursuit of it.  So he bade them farewell and set out.\n\n For three days he wandered by the most out- of-the-way paths, but no\nsigns of a tower were to be seen anywhere.  On the fourth morning it\nwas just the same, and, filled with despair, he flung himself on the\nground under a tree and hid his face in his hands.  In a little while\nhe heard a rustling over his head, and looking up, he saw a turtle dove\nwatching him with her bright eyes.\n\n'Oh dove!' cried the boy, addressing the bird in her own language, 'Oh\ndove! tell me, I pray you, where is the castle of Come-and- never-go?'\n\n'Poor child,' answered the dove, 'who has sent you on such a useless\nquest?'\n\n'My good or evil fortune,' replied the boy, 'I know not which.'\n\n'To get there,' said the dove, 'you must follow the wind, which to-day\nis blowing towards the castle.'\n\nThe boy thanked her, and followed the wind, fearing all the time that\nit might change its direction and lead him astray.  But the wind seemed\nto feel pity for him and blew steadily on.\n\nWith each step the country became more and more dreary, but at\nnightfall the child could see behind the dark and bare rocks something\ndarker still.  This was the tower in which dwelt the witch; and seizing\nthe knocker he gave three loud knocks, which were echoed in the hollows\nof the rocks around.\n\nThe door opened slowly, and there appeared on the threshold an old\nwoman holding up a candle to her face, which was so hideous that the\nboy involuntarily stepped backwards, almost as frightened by the troop\nof lizards, beetles and such creatures that surrounded her, as by the\nwoman herself.\n\n'Who are you who dare to knock at my door and wake me?' cried she.  'Be\nquick and tell me what you want, or it will be the worse for you.'\n\n'Madam,' answered the child, 'I believe that you alone know the way to\nthe castle of Come- and-never-go, and I pray you to show it to me.'\n\n'Very good,' replied the witch, with something that she meant for a\nsmile, 'but to-day it is late.  To-morrow you shall go.  Now enter, and\nyou shall sleep with my lizards.'\n\n'I cannot stay,' said he.  'I must go back at once, so as to reach the\nroad from which I started before day dawns.'\n\n'If I tell you, will you promise me that you will bring me this jar\nfull of the many- coloured water from the spring in the court- yard of\nthe castle?' asked she.  'If you fail to keep your word I will change\nyou into a lizard for ever.'\n\n'I promise,' answered the boy.\n\nThen the old woman called to a very thin dog, and said to him:\n\n'Conduct this pig of a child to the castle of Come-and-never-go, and\ntake care that you warn my friend of his arrival.'  And the dog arose\nand shook itself, and set out.\n\nAt the end of two hours they stopped in front of a large castle, big\nand black and gloomy, whose doors stood wide open, although neither\nsound nor light gave sign of any presence within.  The dog, however,\nseemed to know what to expect, and, after a wild howl, went on; but the\nboy, who was uncertain whether this was the quarter of an hour when the\ngiant was asleep, hesitated to follow him, and paused for a moment\nunder a wild olive that grew near by, the only tree which he had beheld\nsince he had parted from the dove.  'Oh, heaven, help me!' cried he.\n\n'Cross! cross!' answered a voice.\n\nThe boy leapt for joy as he recognised the note of the owl of which the\nswallow had spoken, and he said softly in the bird's language:\n\n'Oh, wise owl, I pray you to protect and guide me, for I have come in\nsearch of the Bird of Truth.  And first I must fill this far with the\nmany-coloured water in the courtyard of the castle.'\n\n'Do not do that,' answered the owl, 'but fill the jar from the spring\nwhich bubbles close by the fountain with the many-coloured water.\nAfterwards, go into the aviary opposite the great door, but be careful\nnot to touch any of the bright-plumaged birds contained in it, which\nwill cry to you, each one, that he is the Bird of Truth.  Choose only a\nsmall white bird that is hidden in a corner, which the others try\nincessantly to kill, not knowing that it cannot die.  And, be\nquick!--for at this very moment the giant has fallen asleep, and you\nhave only a quarter of an hour to do everything.'\n\nThe boy ran as fast as he could and entered the courtyard, where he saw\nthe two spring close together.  He passed by the many- coloured water\nwithout casting a glance at it, and filled the jar from the fountain\nwhose water was clear and pure.  He next hastened to the aviary, and\nwas almost deafened by the clamour that rose as he shut the door behind\nhim.  Voices of peacocks, voices of ravens, voices of magpies, each\nclaiming to be the Bird of Truth.  With steadfast face the boy walked\nby them all, to the corner, where, hemmed in by a hand of fierce crows,\nwas the small white bird he sought.  Putting her safely in his breast,\nhe passed out, followed by the screams of the birds of Bad Faith which\nhe left behind him.\n\nOnce outside, he ran without stopping to the witch's tower, and handed\nto the old woman the jar she had given him.\n\n'Become a parrot!' cried she, flinging the water over him.  But instead\nof losing his shape, as so many had done before, he only grew ten times\nhandsomer; for the water was enchanted for good and not ill.  Then the\ncreeping multitude around the witch hastened to roll themselves in the\nwater, and stood up, human beings again.\n\nWhen the witch saw what was happening, she took a broomstick and flew\naway.\n\nWho can guess the delight of the sister at the sight of her brother,\nbearing the Bird of Truth?  But although the boy had accomplished much,\nsomething very difficult yet remained, and that was how to carry the\nBird of Truth to the king without her being seized by the wicked\ncourtiers, who would be ruined by the discovery of their plot.\n\nSoon--no one knew how--the news spread abroad that the Bird of Truth\nwas hovering round the palace, and the courtiers made all sorts of\npreparations to hinder her reaching the king.\n\nThey got ready weapons that were sharpened, and weapons that were\npoisoned; they sent for eagles and falcons to hunt her down, and\nconstructed cages and boxes in which to shut her up if they were not\nable to kill her.  They declared that her white plumage was really put\non to hide her black feathers--in fact there was nothing they did not\ndo in order to prevent the king from seeing the bird or from paying\nattention to her words if he did.\n\nAs often happens in these cases, the courtiers brought about that which\nthey feared.  They talked so much about the Bird of Truth that at last\nthe king heard of it, and expressed a wish to see her.  The more\ndifficulties that were put in his way the stronger grew his desire, and\nin the end the king published a proclamation that whoever found the\nBird of Truth should bring her to him without delay.\n\nAs soon as he saw this proclamation the boy called his sister, and they\nhastened to the palace.  The bird was buttoned inside his tunic, but,\nas might have been expected, the courtiers barred the way, and told the\nchild that he could not enter.  It was in vain that the boy declared\nthat he was only obeying the king's commands; the courtiers only\nreplied that his majesty was not yet out of bed, and it was forbidden\nto wake him.\n\nThey were still talking, when, suddenly, the bird settled the question\nby flying upwards through an open window into the king's own room.\nAlighting on the pillow, close to the king's head, she bowed\nrespectfully, and said:\n\n'My lord, I am the Bird of Truth whom you wished to see, and I have\nbeen obliged to approach you in the manner because the boy who brought\nme is kept out of the palace by your courtiers.'\n\n'They shall pay for their insolence,' said the king.  And he instantly\nordered one of his attendants to conduct the boy at once to his\napartments; and in a moment more the prince entered, holding his sister\nby the hand.\n\n'Who are you?' asked the king; 'and what has the Bird of Truth to do\nwith you?'\n\n'If it please your majesty, the Bird of Truth will explain that\nherself,' answered the boy.\n\nAnd the bird did explain; and the king heard for the first time of the\nwicked plot that had been successful for so many years.  He took his\nchildren in his arms, with tears in his eyes, and hurried off with them\nto the tower in the mountains where the queen was shut up.  The poor\nwoman was as white as marble, for she had been living almost in\ndarkness; but when she saw her husband and children, the colour came\nback to her face, and she was as beautiful as ever.\n\nThey all returned in state to the city, where great rejoicings were\nheld.  The wicked courtiers had their heads cut off, and all their\nproperty was taken away.  As for the good old couple, they were given\nriches and honour, and were loved and cherished to the end of their\nlives.\n\n[From Cuentos, Oraciones y Adivinas, por Fernan Caballero.]\n\n\n\n            The Mink and the Wolf\n\n\n\nIn a big forest in the north of America lived a quantity of wild\nanimals of all sorts.  They were always very polite when they met; but,\nin spite of that, they kept a close watch one upon the other, as each\nwas afraid of being killed and eaten by somebody else.  But their\nmanners were so good that no one would ever had guessed that.\n\nOne day a smart young wolf went out to hunt, promising his grandfather\nand grandmother that he would be sure to be back before bedtime.  He\ntrotted along quite happily through the forest till he came to a\nfavourite place of his, just where the river runs into the sea.  There,\njust as he had hoped, he saw the chief mink fishing in a canoe.\n\n'I want to fish too,' cried the wolf.  But the mink said nothing and\npretended not to hear.\n\n'I wish you would take me into your boat!' shouted the wolf, louder\nthan before, and he continued to beseech the mink so long that at last\nhe grew tired of it, and paddled to the shore close enough for the wolf\nto jump in.\n\n'Sit down quietly at that end or we shall be upset,' said the mink;\n'and if you care about sea-urchins' eggs, you will find plenty in that\nbasket.  But be sure you eat only the white ones, for the red ones\nwould kill you.'\n\nSo the wolf, who was always hungry, began to eat the eggs greedily; and\nwhen he had finished he told the mink he thought he would have a nap.\n\n'Well, then, stretch yourself out, and rest your head on that piece of\nwood,' said the mink.  And the wolf did as he was bid, and was soon\nfast asleep.  Then the mink crept up to him and stabbed him to the\nheart with his knife, and he died without moving.  After that he landed\non the beach, skinned the wolf, and taking the skin to his cottage, he\nhung it up before the fire to dry.\n\nNot many days later the wolf's grandmother, who, with the help of her\nrelations, had been searching for him everywhere, entered the cottage\nto buy some sea-urchins' eggs, and saw the skin, which she at once\nguessed to be that of her grandson.\n\n'I knew he was dead--I knew it!  I knew it!' she cried, weeping\nbitterly, till the mink told her rudely that if she wanted to make so\nmuch noise she had better do it outside as he liked to be quiet.  So,\nhalf-blinded by her tears, the old woman went home the way she had\ncome, and running in at the door, she flung herself down in front of\nthe fire.\n\n'What are you crying for?' asked the old wolf and some friends who had\nbeen spending the afternoon with him.\n\n'I shall never see my grandson any more!' answered she.  'Mink has\nkilled him, oh! oh!'  And putting her head down, she began to weep as\nloudly as ever.\n\n'There! there!' said her husband, laying his paw on her shoulder.  'Be\ncomforted; if he IS dead, we will avenge him.'  And calling to the\nothers they proceeded to talk over the best plan.  It took them a long\ntime to make up their minds, as one wolf proposed one thing and one\nanother; but at last it was agreed that the old wolf should give a\ngreat feast in his house, and that the mink should be invited to the\nparty.  And in order that no time should be lost it was further agreed\nthat each wolf should bear the invitations to the guests that lived\nnearest to him.\n\nNow the wolves thought they were very cunning, but the mink was more\ncunning still; and though he sent a message by a white hare, that was\ngoing that way, saying he should be delighted to be present, he\ndetermined that he would take his precautions.  So he went to a mouse\nwho had often done him a good turn, and greeted her with his best bow.\n\n'I have a favour to ask of you, friend mouse,' said he, 'and if you\nwill grant it I will carry you on my back every night for a week to the\npatch of maize right up the hill.'\n\n'The favour is mine,' answered the mouse.  'Tell me what it is that I\ncan have the honour of doing for you.'\n\n'Oh, something quite easy,' replied the mink.  'I only want\nyou--between to-day and the next full moon--to gnaw through the bows\nand paddles of the wolf people, so that directly they use them they\nwill break.  But of course you must manage it so that they notice\nnothing.'\n\n'Of course,' answered the mouse, 'nothing is easier; but as the full\nmoon is to-morrow night, and there is not much time, I had better begin\nat once.'  Then the mink thanked her, and went his way; but before he\nhad gone far he came back again.\n\n'Perhaps, while you are about the wolf's house seeing after the bows,\nit would do no harm if you were to make that knot-hole in the wall a\nlittle bigger,' said he.  'Not large enough to draw attention, of\ncourse; but it might come in handy.'  And with another nod he left her.\n\nThe next evening the mink washed and brushed himself carefully and set\nout for the feast.  He smiled to himself as he looked at the dusty\ntrack, and perceived that though the marks of wolves' feet were many,\nnot a single guest was to be seen anywhere.  He knew very well what\nthat meant; but he had taken his precautions and was not afraid.\n\nThe house door stood open, but through a crack the mink could see the\nwolves crowding in the corner behind it.  However, he entered boldly,\nand as soon as he was fairly inside the door was shut with a bang, and\nthe whole herd sprang at him, with their red tongues hanging out of\ntheir mouths.  Quick as they were they were too late, for the mink was\nalready through the knot-hole and racing for his canoe.\n\nThe knot-hole was too small for the wolves, and there were so many of\nthem in the hut that it was some time before they could get the door\nopen.  Then they seized the bows and arrows which were hanging on the\nwalls and, once outside, aimed at the flying mink; but as they pulled\nthe bows broke in their paws, so they threw them away, and bounded to\nthe shore, with all their speed, to the place where their canoes were\ndrawn up on the beach.\n\nNow, although the mink could not run as fast as the wolves, he had a\ngood start, and was already afloat when the swiftest among them threw\nthemselves into the nearest canoe.  They pushed off, but as they dipped\nthe paddles into the water, they snapped as the bows had done, and were\nquite useless.\n\n'I know where there are some new ones,' cried a young fellow, leaping\non shore and rushing to a little cave at the back of the beach.  And\nthe mink's heart smote him when he heard, for he had not known of this\nsecret store.\n\nAfter a long chase the wolves managed to surround their prey, and the\nmink, seeing it was no good resisting any more, gave himself up.  Some\nof the elder wolves brought out some cedar bands, which they always\ncarried wound round their bodies, but the mink laughed scornfully at\nthe sight of them.\n\n'Why I could snap those in a moment,' said he; 'if you want to make\nsure that I cannot escape, better take a line of kelp and bind me with\nthat.'\n\n'You are right,' answered the grandfather; 'your wisdom is greater than\nours.'  And he bade his servants gather enough kelp from the rocks to\nmake a line, as they had brought none with them.\n\n'While the line is being made you might as well let me have one last\ndance,' remarked the mink.  And the wolves replied: 'Very good, you may\nhave your dance; perhaps it may amuse us as well as you.'  So they\nbrought two canoes and placed them one beside the other.  The mink\nstood up on his hind legs and began to dance, first in one canoe and\nthen in the other; and so graceful was he, that the wolves forgot they\nwere going to put him to death, and howled with pleasure.\n\n'Pull the canoes a little apart; they are too close for this new\ndance,' he said, pausing for a moment.  And the wolves separated them\nwhile he gave a series of little springs, sometime pirouetting while he\nstood with one foot on the prow of both.  'Now nearer, now further\napart,' he would cry as the dance went on.  'No! further still.'  And\nspringing into the air, amidst howls of applause, he came down\nhead-foremost, and dived to the bottom.  And through the wolves, whose\nhowls had now changed into those of rage, sought him everywhere, they\nnever found him, for he hid behind a rock till they were out of sight,\nand then made his home in another forest.\n\n[From the Journal of the Anthropological Institute.]\n\n\n\n        Adventures of an Indian Brave\n\n\n\nA long, long way off, right away in the west of America, there once\nlived an old man who had one son.  The country round was covered with\nforests, in which dwelt all kinds of wild beasts, and the young man and\nhis companions used to spend whole days in hunting them, and he was the\nfinest hunter of all the tribe.\n\nOne morning, when winter was coming on, the youth and his companions\nset off as usual to bring back some of the mountain goats and deer to\nbe salted down, as he was afraid of a snow-storm; and if the wind blew\nand the snow drifted the forest might be impassable for some weeks.\nThe old man and the wife, however, would not go out, but remained in\nthe wigwam making bows and arrows.\n\nIt soon grew so cold in the forest that at last one of the men declared\nthey could walk no more, unless they could manage to warm themselves.\n\n'That is easily done,' said the leader, giving a kick to a large tree.\nFlames broke out in the trunk, and before it had burnt up they were as\nhot as if it had been summer.  Then they started off to the place where\nthe goats and deer were to be found in the greatest numbers, and soon\nhad killed as many as they wanted.  But the leader killed most, as he\nwas the best shot.\n\n'Now we must cut up the game and divide it,' said he; and so they did,\neach one taking his own share; and, walking one behind the other, set\nout for the village.  But when they reached a great river the young man\ndid not want the trouble of carrying his pack any further, and left it\non the bank.\n\n'I am going home another way,' he told his companions.  And taking\nanother road he reached the village long before they did.\n\n'Have you returned with empty hands?' asked the old man, as his son\nopened the door.\n\n'Have I ever done that, that you put me such a question?' asked the\nyouth.  'No; I have slain enough to feast us for many moons, but it was\nheavy, and I left the pack on the bank of the great river.  Give me the\narrows, I will finish making them, and you can go to the river and\nbring home the pack!'\n\nSo the old man rose and went, and strapped the meat on his shoulder;\nbut as he was crossing the ford the strap broke and the pack fell into\nthe river.  He stooped to catch it, but it swirled past him.  He\nclutched again; but in doing so he over- balanced himself and was\nhurried into some rapids, where he was knocked against some rocks, and\nhe sank and was drowned, and his body was carried down the stream into\nsmoother water when it rose to the surface again.  But by this time it\nhad lost all likeness to a man, and was changed into a piece of wood.\n\nThe wood floated on, and the river got bigger and bigger and entered a\nnew country.  There it was borne by the current close to the shore, and\na woman who was down there washing her clothes caught it as it passed,\nand drew it out, saying to herself: 'What a nice smooth plank!  I will\nuse it as a table to put my food upon.'  And gathering up her clothes\nshe took the plank with her into her hut.\n\nWhen her supper time came she stretched the board across two strings\nwhich hung from the roof, and set upon it the pot containing a stew\nthat smelt very good.  The woman had been working hard all day and was\nvery hungry, so she took her biggest spoon and plunged it into the pot.\n But what was her astonishment and disgust when both pot and food\nvanished instantly before her!\n\n'Oh, you horrid plank, you have brought me ill-luck!' she cried.  And\ntaking it up she flung it away from her.\n\n The woman had been surprised before at the disappearance of her food,\nbut she was more astonished still when, instead of the plank, she\nbeheld a baby.  However, she was fond of children and had none of her\nown, so she made up her mind that she would keep it and take care of\nit.  The baby grew and throve as no baby in that country had ever done,\nand in four days he was a man, and as tall and strong as any brave of\nthe tribe.\n\n'You have treated me well,' he said, 'and meat shall never fail to your\nhouse.  But now I must go, for I have much work to do.'\n\nThen he set out for his home.\n\nIt took him many days to get there, and when he saw his son sitting in\nhis place his anger was kindled, and his heart was stirred to take\nvengeance upon him.  So he went out quickly into the forest and shed\ntears, and each tear became a bird.  'Stay there till I want you,' said\nhe; and he returned to the hut.\n\n'I saw some pretty new birds, high up in a tree yonder,' he remarked.\nAnd the son answered: 'Show me the way and I will get them for dinner.'\n\nThe two went out together, and after walking for about half an hour\nthey old man stopped.  'That is the tree,' he said.  And the son began\nto climb it.\n\nNow a strange thing happened.  The higher the young man climbed the\nhigher the birds seemed to be, and when he looked down the earth below\nappeared no bigger than a star.  Sill he tried to go back, but he could\nnot, and though he could not see the birds any longer he felt as if\nsomething were dragging him up and up.\n\nHe thought that he had been climbing that tree for days, and perhaps he\nhad, for suddenly a beautiful country, yellow with fields of maize,\nstretched before him, and he gladly left the top of the tree and\nentered it.  He walked through the maize without knowing where he was\ngoing, when he heard a sound of knocking, and saw two old blind women\ncrushing their food between two stones.  He crept up to them on tiptoe,\nand when one old woman passed her dinner to the other he held out his\nhand and took it and ate if for himself.\n\n'How slow you are kneading that cake,' cried the other old woman at\nlast.\n\n'Why, I have given you your dinner, and what more do you want?' replied\nthe second.\n\n'You didn't; at least I never got it,' said the other.\n\n'I certainly thought you took it from me; but here is some more.'  And\nagain the young man stretched out his hand; and the two old women fell\nto quarrelling afresh.  But when it happened for the third time the old\nwomen suspected some trick, and one of them exclaimed:\n\n'I am sure there is a man here; tell me, are you not my grandson?'\n\n'Yes,' answered the young man, who wished to please her, 'and in return\nfor your good dinner I will see if I cannot restore your sight; for I\nwas taught in the art of healing by the best medicine man in the\ntribe.'  And with that he left them, and wandered about till he found\nthe herb which he wanted.  Then he hastened back to the old women, and\nbegging them to boil him some water, he threw the herb in.  As soon as\nthe pot began to sing he took off the lid, and sprinkled the eyes of\nthe women, and sight came back to them once more.\n\nThere was no night in that country, so, instead of going to bed very\nearly, as he would have done in his own hut, the young man took another\nwalk.  A splashing noise near by drew him down to a valley through\nwhich ran a large river, and up a waterfall some salmon were leaping.\nHow their silver sides glistened in the light, and how he longed to\ncatch some of the great fellows!  But how could he do it?  He had\nbeheld no one except the old women, and it was not very likely that\nthey would be able to help him.  So with a sigh he turned away and went\nback to them, but, as he walked, a thought struck him.  He pulled out\none of his hairs which hung nearly to his waist, and it instantly\nbecame a strong line, nearly a mile in length.\n\n'Weave me a net that I may catch some salmon,' said he.  And they wove\nhim the net he asked for, and for many weeks he watched by the river,\nonly going back to the old women when he wanted a fish cooked.\n\nAt last, one day, when he was eating his dinner, the old woman who\nalways spoke first, said to him:\n\n'We have been very glad to see you, grandson, but now it is time that\nyou went home.'  And pushing aside a rock, he saw a deep hole, so deep\nthat he could not see to the bottom.  Then they dragged a basket out of\nthe house, and tied a rope to it.  'Get in, and wrap this blanket round\nyour head,' said they; 'and, whatever happens, don't uncover it till\nyou get to the bottom.'  Then they bade him farewell, and he curled\nhimself up in the basket.\n\nDown, down, down he went; would he ever stop going?  But when the\nbasket did stop, the young man forgot what he had been told, and put\nhis head out to see what was the matter.  In an instant the basket\nmoved, but, to his horror, instead of going down, he felt himself being\ndrawn upwards, and shortly after he beheld the faces of the old women.\n\n'You will never see your wife and son if you will not do as you are\nbid,' said they.  'Now get in, and do not stir till you hear a crow\ncalling.'\n\nThis time the young man was wiser, and though the basket often stopped,\nand strange creatures seemed to rest on him and to pluck at his\nblanket, he held it tight till he heard the crow calling.  Then he\nflung off the blanket and sprang out, while the basket vanished in the\nsky.\n\nHe walked on quickly down the track that led to the hut, when, before\nhim, he saw his wife with his little son on her back.\n\n'Oh! there is father at last,' cried the boy; but the mother bade him\ncease from idle talking.\n\n'But, mother, it is true; father is coming!' repeated the child.  And,\nto satisfy him, the woman turned round and perceived her husband.\n\nOh, how glad they all were to be together again!  And when the wind\nwhistled through the forest, and the snow stood in great banks round\nthe door, the father used to take the little boy on his knee and tell\nhim how he caught salmon in the Land of the Sun.\n\n[From the Journal of the Anthropological Institute.]\n\n\n\n         How the Stalos Were Tricked\n\n\n\n'Mother, I have seen such a wonderful man,' said a little boy one day,\nas he entered a hut in Lapland, bearing in his arms the bundle of\nsticks he had been sent out to gather.\n\n'Have you, my son; and what was he like?' asked the mother, as she took\noff the child's sheepskin coat and shook it on the doorstep.\n\n'Well, I was tired of stooping for the sticks, and was leaning against\na tree to rest, when I heard a noise of 'sh-'sh, among the dead leaves.\n I thought perhaps it was a wolf, so I stood very still.  But soon\nthere came past a tall man--oh! twice as tall as father--with a long\nred beard and a red tunic fastened with a silver girdle, from which\nhung a silver-handled knife.  Behind him followed a great dog, which\nlooked stronger than any wolf, or even a bear.  But why are you so\npale, mother?'\n\n'It was the Stalo,' replied she, her voice trembling; 'Stalo the\nman-eater!  You did well to hide, or you might never had come back.\nBut, remember that, though he is so tall and strong, he is very stupid,\nand many a Lapp has escaped from his clutches by playing him some\nclever trick.'\n\nNot long after the mother and son had held this talk, it began to be\nwhispered in the forest that the children of an old man called Patto\nhad vanished one by one, no one knew whither.  The unhappy father\nsearched the country for miles round without being able to find as much\nas a shoe or a handkerchief, to show him where they had passed, but at\nlength a little boy came with news that he had seen the Stalo hiding\nbehind a well, near which the children used to play.  The boy had\nwaited behind a clump of bushes to see what would happen, and by-and-by\nhe noticed that the Stalo had laid a cunning trap in the path to the\nwell, and that anybody who fell over it would roll into the water and\ndrown there.\n\nAnd, as he watched, Patto's youngest daughter ran gaily down the path,\ntill her foot caught in the strings that were stretched across the\nsteepest place.  She slipped and fell, and in another instant had\nrolled into the water within reach of the Stalo.\n\nAs soon as Patto heard this tale his heart was filled with rage, and he\nvowed to have his revenge.  So he straightway took an old fur coat from\nthe hook where it hung, and putting it on went out into the forest.\nWhen he reached the path that led to the well he looked hastily round\nto be sure that no one was watching him, then laid himself down as if\nhe had been caught in the snare and had rolled into the well, though he\ntook care to keep his head out of the water.\n\nVery soon he heard a 'sh-'sh of the leaves, and there was the Stalo\npushing his way through the undergrowth to see what chance he had of a\ndinner.  At the first glimpse of Patto's head in the well he laughed\nloudly, crying:\n\n'Ha! ha! This time it is the old ass!  I wonder how he will taste?' And\ndrawing Patto out of the well, he flung him across his shoulders and\ncarried him home.  Then he tied a cord round him and hung him over the\nfire to roast, while he finished a box that he was making before the\ndoor of the hut, which he meant to hold Patto's flesh when it was\ncooked.  In a very short time the box was so nearly done that it only\nwanted a little more chipping out with an axe; but this part of the\nwork was easier accomplished indoors, and he called to one of his sons\nwho were lounging inside to bring him the tool.\n\nThe young man looked everywhere, but he could not find the axe, for the\nvery good reason that Patto had managed to pick it up and hide it in\nhis clothes.\n\n'Stupid fellow! what is the use of you?' grumbled his father angrily;\nand he bade first one and then another of his sons to fetch him the\ntool, but they had no better success than their brother.\n\n'I must come myself, I suppose!' said Stalo, putting aside the box.\nBut, meanwhile, Patto had slipped from the hook and concealed himself\nbehind the door, so that, as Stalo stepped in, his prisoner raised the\naxe, and with one blow the ogre's head was rolling on the ground.  His\nsons were so frightened at the sight that they all ran away.\n\nAnd in this manner Patto avenged his dead children.\n\nBut though Stalo was dead, his three sons were still living, and not\nvery far off either.  They had gone to their mother, who was tending\nsome reindeer on the pastures, and told her that by some magic, they\nknew not what, their father's head had rolled from his body, and they\nhad been so afraid that something dreadful would happen to them that\nthey had come to take refuge with her.  The ogress said nothing.  Long\nago she had found out how stupid her sons were, so she just sent them\nout to milk the reindeer, while she returned to the other house to bury\nher husband's body.\n\nNow, three days' journey from the hut on the pastures two brothers\nSodno dwelt in a small cottage with their sister Lyma, who tended a\nlarge herd of reindeer while they were out hunting.  Of late it had\nbeen whispered from one to another that the three young Stalos were to\nbe seen on the pastures, but the Sodno brothers did not disturb\nthemselves, the danger seemed too far away.\n\nUnluckily, however, one day, when Lyma was left by herself in the hut,\nthe three Stalos came down and carried her and the reindeer off to\ntheir own cottage.  The country was very lonely, and perhaps no one\nwould have known in which direction she had gone had not the girl\nmanaged to tie a ball of thread to the handle of a door at the back of\nthe cottage and let it trail behind her.  Of course the ball was not\nlong enough to go all the way, but it lay on the edge of a snowy track\nwhich led straight to the Stalos' house.\n\nWhen the brothers returned from their hunting they found both the hut\nand the sheds empty.  Loudly they cried: 'Lyma! Lyma!'  But no voice\nanswered them; and they fell to searching all about, lest perchance\ntheir sister might have dropped some clue to guide them.  At length\ntheir eyes dropped on the thread which lay on the snow, and they set\nout to follow it.\n\nOn and on they went, and when at length the thread stopped the brothers\nknew that another day's journey would bring them to the Stalos'\ndwelling.  Of course they did not dare to approach it openly, for the\nStalos had the strength of giants, and besides, there were three of\nthem; so the two Sodnos climbed into a big bushy tree which overhung a\nwell.\n\n'Perhaps our sister may be sent to draw water here,' they said to each\nother.\n\nBut it was not till the moon had risen that the sister came, and as she\nlet down her bucket into the well, the leaves seemed to whisper 'Lyma!\nLyma!'\n\nThe girl started and looked up, but could see nothing, and in a moment\nthe voice came again.\n\n'Be careful--take no notice, fill your buckets, but listen carefully\nall the while, and we will tell you what to do so that you may escape\nyourself and set free the reindeer also.'\n\nSo Lyman bent over the well lower than before, and seemed busier than\never.\n\n'You know,' said her brother, 'that when a Stalo finds that anything\nhas been dropped into his food he will not eat a morsel, but throws it\nto his dogs.  Now, after the pot has been hanging some time over the\nfire, and the broth is nearly cooked, just rake up the log of wood so\nthat some of the ashes fly into the pot.  The Stalo will soon notice\nthis, and will call you to give all the food to the dogs; but, instead,\nyou must bring it straight to us, as it is three days since we have\neaten or drunk.  That is all you need do for the present.'\n\nThen Lyma took up her buckets and carried them into the house, and did\nas her brothers had told her.  They were so hungry that they ate the\nfood up greedily without speaking, but when there was nothing left in\nthe pot, the eldest one said:\n\n'Listen carefully to what I have to tell you.  After the eldest Stalo\nhas cooked and eaten a fresh supper, he will go to bed and sleep so\nsoundly that not even a witch could wake him.  You can hear him snoring\na mile off, and then you must go into his room and pull off the iron\nmantle that covers him, and put it on the fire till it is almost red\nhot.  When that is done, come to us and we will give you further\ndirections.'\n\n'I will obey you in everything, dear brothers,' answered Lyman; and so\nshe did.\n\nIt had happened that on this very evening the Stalos had driven in some\nof the reindeer from the pasture, and had tied them up to the wall of\nthe house so that they might be handy to kill for next day's dinner.\nThe two Sodnos had seen what they were doing, and where the beasts were\nsecured; so, at midnight, when all was still, they crept down from\ntheir tree and seized the reindeer by the horns which were locked\ntogether.  The animals were frightened, and began to neigh and kick, as\nif they were fighting together, and the noise became so great that even\nthe eldest Stalo was awakened by it, and that was a thing which had\nnever occurred before.  Raising himself in his bed, he called to his\nyoungest brother to go out and separate the reindeer or they would\ncertainly kill themselves.\n\nThe young Stalo did as he was bid, and left the house; but no sooner\nwas he out of the door than he was stabbed to the heart by one of the\nSodnos, and fell without a groan.  Then they went back to worry the\nreindeer, and the noise became as great as ever, and a second time the\nStalo awoke.\n\n'The boy does not seem to be able to part the beasts,' he cried to his\nsecond brother; 'go and help him, or I shall never get to sleep.'  So\nthe brother went, and in an instant was struck dead as he left the\nhouse by the sword of the eldest Sodno.  The Stalo waited in bed a\nlittle longer for things to get quiet, but as the clatter of the\nreindeer's horns was as bad as ever, he rose angrily from his bed\nmuttering to himself:\n\n'It is extraordinary that they cannot unlock themselves; but as no one\nelse seems able to help them I suppose I must go and do it.'\n\nRubbing his eyes, he stood up on the floor and stretched his great arms\nand gave a yawn which shook the walls.  The Sodnos heard it below, and\nposted themselves, one at the big door and one at the little door at\nthe back, for they did not know what their enemy would come out at.\n\nThe Stalo put out his hand to take his iron mantle from the bed, where\nit always lay, but the mantle was no there.  He wondered where it could\nbe, and who could have moved it, and after searching through all the\nrooms, he found it hanging over the kitchen fire.  But the first touch\nburnt him so badly that he let it alone, and went with nothing, except\na stick in his hand, through the back door.\n\nThe young Sodno was standing ready for him, and as the Stalo passed the\nthreshold struck him such a blow on the head that he rolled over with a\ncrash and never stirred again.  The two Sodnos did not trouble about\nhim, but quickly stripped the younger Stalos of their clothes, in which\nthey dressed themselves.  Then they sat still till the dawn should\nbreak and they could find out from the Stalos' mother where the\ntreasure was hidden.\n\nWith the first rays of the sun the young Sodno went upstairs and\nentered the old woman's room.  She was already up and dressed, and\nsitting by the window knitting, and the young man crept in softly and\ncrouched down on the floor, laying his head on her lap.  For a while he\nkept silence, then he whispered gently:\n\n'Tell me, dear mother, where did my eldest brother conceal his riches?'\n\n'What a strange question!  Surely you must know,' answered she.\n\n'No, I have forgotten; my memory is so bad.'\n\n'He dug a hole under the doorstep and placed it there,' said she.  And\nthere was another pause.\n\nBy-and-by the Sodno asked again:\n\n'And where may my second brother's money be?'\n\n'Don't you know that either?' cried the mother in surprise.\n\n'Oh, yes; I did once.  But since I fell upon my head I can remember\nnothing.'\n\n'It is behind the oven,' answered she.  And again was silence.\n\n'Mother, dear mother,' said the young man at last, 'I am almost afraid\nto ask you; but I really have grown so stupid of late.  Where did I\nhide my own money?'\n\nBut at this question the old woman flew into a passion, and vowed that\nif she could find a rod she would bring his memory back to him.\nLuckily, no rod was within her reach, and the Sodno managed, after a\nlittle, to coax her back into good humour, and at length she told him\nthat the youngest Stalo had buried his treasure under the very place\nwhere she was sitting.\n\n'Dear mother,' said Lyman, who had come in unseen, and was kneeling in\nfront of the fire.  'Dear mother, do you know who it is you have been\ntalking with?'\n\nThe old woman started, but answered quietly:\n\n'It is a Sodno, I suppose?'\n\n'You have guessed right,' replied Lyma.\n\nThe mother of the Stalos looked round for her iron cane, which she\nalways used to kill her victims, but it was not there, for Lyma had put\nit in the fire.\n\n'Where is my iron cane?' asked the old woman.\n\n'There!' answered Lyma, pointing to the flames.\n\nThe old woman sprang forwards and seized it, but her clothes caught\nfire, and in a few minutes she was burned to ashes.\n\nSo the Sodno brothers found the treasure, and they carried it, and\ntheir sister and the reindeer, to their own home, and were the richest\nmen in all Lapland.\n\n[From Lapplandische Marchen, J.  C.  Poestion.]\n\n\n\n                 Andras Baive\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived in Lapland a man who was so very strong\nand swift of foot that nobody in his native town of Vadso could come\nnear him if they were running races in the summer evenings.  The people\nof Vadso were very proud of their champion, and thought that there was\nno one like him in the world, till, by-and-by, it came to their ears\nthat there dwelt among the mountains a Lapp, Andras Baive by name, who\nwas said by his friends to be even stronger and swifter than the\nbailiff.  Of course not a creature in Vadso believed that, and declared\nthat if it made the mountaineers happier to talk such nonsense, why,\nlet them!\n\nThe winter was long and cold, and the thoughts of the villagers were\nmuch busier with wolves than with Andras Baive, when suddenly, on a\nfrosty day, he made his appearance in the little town of Vadso.  The\nbailiff was delighted at this chance of trying his strength, and at\nonce went out to seek Andras and to coax him into giving proof of his\nvigour.  As he walked along his eyes fell upon a big eight-oared boat\nthat lay upon the shore, and his face shone with pleasure.  'That is\nthe very thing,' laughed he, 'I will make him jump over that boat.'\nAndras was quite ready to accept the challenge, and they soon settled\nthe terms of the wager.  He who could jump over the boat without so\nmuch as touching it with his heel was to be the winner, and would get a\nlarge sum of money as the prize.  So, followed by many of the\nvillagers, the two men walked down to the sea.\n\nAn old fisherman was chosen to stand near the boat to watch fair play,\nand to hold the stakes, and Andras, as the stranger was told to jump\nfirst.  Going back to the flag which had been stuck into the sand to\nmark the starting place, he ran forward, with his head well thrown\nback, and cleared the boat with a mighty bound.  The lookers- on\ncheered him, and indeed he well deserve it; but they waited anxiously\nall the same to see what the bailiff would do.  On he came, taller than\nAndras by several inches, but heavier of build.  He too sprang high and\nwell, but as he came down his heel just grazed the edge of the boat.\nDead silence reigned amidst the townsfolk, but Andras only laughed and\nsaid carelessly:\n\n'Just a little too short, bailiff; next time you must do better than\nthat.'\n\nThe bailiff turned red with anger at his rival's scornful words, and\nanswered quickly: 'Next time you will have something harder to do.'\nAnd turning his back on his friends, he went sulkily home.  Andras,\nputting the money he had earned in his pocket, went home also.\n\nThe following spring Andras happened to be driving his reindeer along a\ngreat fiord to the west of Vadso.  A boy who had met him hastened to\ntell the bailiff that his enemy was only a few miles off; and the\nbailiff, disguising himself as a Stalo, or ogre, called his son and his\ndog and rowed away across the fiord to the place where the boy had met\nAndras.\n\nNow the mountaineer was lazily walking along the sands, thinking of the\nnew hut that he was building with the money that he had won on the day\nof his lucky jump.  He wandered on, his eyes fixed on the sands, so\nthat he did not see the bailiff drive his boat behind a rock, while he\nchanged himself into a heap of wreckage which floated in on the waves.\nA stumble over a stone recalled Andras to himself, and looking up he\nbeheld the mass of wreckage.  'Dear me!  I may find some use for that,'\nhe said; and hastened down to the sea, waiting till he could lay hold\nof some stray rope which might float towards him.  Suddenly--he could\nnot have told why--a nameless fear seized upon him, and he fled away\nfrom the shore as if for his life.  As he ran he heard the sound of a\npipe, such as only ogres of the Stalo kind were wont to use; and there\nflashed into his mind what the bailiff had said when they jumped the\nboat: 'Next time you will have something harder to do.'  So it was no\nwreckage after all that he had seen, but the bailiff himself.\n\nIt happened that in the long summer nights up in the mountain, where\nthe sun never set, and it was very difficult to get to sleep, Andras\nhad spent many hours in the study of magic, and this stood him in good\nstead now.  The instant he heard the Stalo music he wished himself to\nbecome the feet of a reindeer, and in this guise he galloped like the\nwind for several miles.  Then he stopped to take breath and find out\nwhat his enemy was doing.  Nothing he could see, but to his ears the\nnotes of a pipe floated over the plain, and ever, as he listened, it\ndrew nearer.\n\nA cold shiver shook Andras, and this time he wished himself the feet of\na reindeer calf.  For when a reindeer calf has reached the age at which\nhe begins first to lose his hair he is so swift that neither beast nor\nbird can come near him.  A reindeer calf is the swiftest of all things\nliving.  Yes; but not so swift as a Stalo, as Andras found out when he\nstopped to rest, and heard the pipe playing!\n\nFor a moment his heart sank, and he gave himself up for dead, till he\nremembered that, not far off, were two little lakes joined together by\na short though very broad river.  In the middle of the river lay a\nstone that was always covered by water, except in dry seasons, and as\nthe winter rains had been very heavy, he felt quite sure that not even\nthe top of it could be seen.  The next minute, if anyone had been\nlooking that way, he would have beheld a small reindeer calf speeding\nnorthwards, and by-and-by giving a great spring, which landed him in\nthe midst of the stream.  But, instead of sinking to the bottom, he\npaused a second to steady himself, then gave a second spring which\nlanded him on the further shore.  He next ran on to a little hill where\nhe saw down and began to neigh loudly, so that the Stalo might know\nexactly where he was.\n\n'Ah!  There you are,' cried the Stalo, appearing on the opposite bank;\n'for a moment I really thought I had lost you.'\n\n'No such luck,' answered Andras, shaking his head sorrowfully.  By this\ntime he had taken his own shape again.\n\n'Well, but I don't see how I am to get to you1' said the Stalo, looking\nup and down.\n\n'Jump over, as I did,' answered Andras; 'it is quite easy.'\n\n'But I could not jump this river; and I don't know how you did,'\nreplied the Stalo.\n\n'I should be ashamed to say such things,' exclaimed Andras.  'Do you\nmean to tell me that a jump, which the weakest Lapp boy would make\nnothing of, is beyond your strength?'\n\nThe Stalo grew red and angry when he heard these words, just as Andras\nmeant him to do.  He bounded into the air and fell straight into the\nriver.  Not that that would have mattered, for he was a good swimmer;\nbut Andras drew out the bow and arrows which every Lapp carries, and\ntook aim at him.  His aim was good, but the Stalo sprang so high into\nthe air that the arrow flew between his feet.  A second shot, directed\nat his forehead, fared no better, for this time the Stalo jumped so\nhigh to the other side that the arrow passed between his finger and\nthumb.  Then Andras aimed his third arrow a little over the Stalo's\nhead, and when he sprang up, just an instant too soon, it hit him\nbetween the ribs.\n\nMortally wounded as he was, the Stalo was not yet dead, and managed to\nswim to the shore.  Stretching himself on the sand, he said slowly to\nAndras:\n\n'Promise that you will give me an honourable burial, and when my body\nis laid in the grave go in my boat across the fiord, and take whatever\nyou find in my house which belongs to me.  My dog you must kill, but\nspare my son, Andras.'\n\nThen he died; and Andras sailed in his boat away across the fiord and\nfound the dog and boy.  The dog, a fierce, wicked-looking creature, he\nslew with one blow from his fist, for it is well known that if a\nStalo's dog licks the blood that flows from his dead master's wounds\nthe Stalo comes to life again.  That is why no REAL Stalo is ever seen\nwithout his dog; but the bailiff, being only half a Stalo, had\nforgotten him, when he went to the little lakes in search of Andras.\nNext, Andras put all the gold and jewels which he found in the boat\ninto his pockets, and bidding the boy get in, pushed it off from the\nshore, leaving the little craft to drift as it would, while he himself\nran home.  With the treasure he possessed he was able to buy a great\nherd of reindeer; and he soon married a rich wife, whose parents would\nnot have him as a son-in-law when he was poor, and the two lived happy\nfor ever after.\n\n[From Lapplandische Mahrchen, J. C. Poestion.]\n\n\n\n              The White Slipper\n\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a king who had a daughter just fifteen\nyears old.  And what a daughter!\n\nEven the mothers who had daughters of their own could not help allowing\nthat the princess was much more beautiful and graceful than any of\nthem; and, as for the fathers, if one of them ever beheld her by\naccident he could talk of nothing else for a whole day afterwards.\n\nOf course the king, whose name was Balancin, was the complete slave of\nhis little girl from the moment he lifted her from the arms of her dead\nmother; indeed, he did not seem to know that there was anyone else in\nthe world to love.\n\nNow Diamantina, for that was her name, did not reach her fifteenth\nbirthday without proposals for marriage from every country under\nheaven; but be the suitor who he might, the king always said him nay.\n\nBehind the palace a large garden stretched away to the foot of some\nhills, and more than one river flowed through.  Hither the princess\nwould come each evening towards sunset, attended by her ladies, and\ngather herself the flowers that were to adorn her rooms.  She also\nbrought with her a pair of scissors to cut off the dead blooms, and a\nbasket to put them in, so that when the sun rose next morning he might\nsee nothing unsightly.  When she had finished this task she would take\na walk through the town, so that the poor people might have a chance of\nspeaking with her, and telling her of their troubles; and then she\nwould seek out her father, and together they would consult over the\nbest means of giving help to those who needed it.\n\nBut what has all this to do with the White Slipper? my readers will ask.\n\nHave patience, and you will see.\n\nNext to his daughter, Balancin loved hunting, and it was his custom to\nspend several mornings every week chasing the boars which abounded in\nthe mountains a few miles from the city.  One day, rushing downhill as\nfast as he could go, he put his foot into a hole and fell, rolling into\na rocky pit of brambles.  The king's wounds were not very severe, but\nhis face and hands were cut and torn, while his feet were in a worse\nplight still, for, instead of proper hunting boots, he only wore\nsandals, to enable him to run more swiftly.\n\nIn a few days the king was as well as ever, and the signs of the\nscratches were almost gone; but one foot still remained very sore,\nwhere a thorn had pierced deeply and had festered.  The best doctors in\nthe kingdom treated it with all their skill; they bathed, and\npoulticed, and bandaged, but it was in vain.  The foot only grew worse\nand worse, and became daily more swollen and painful.\n\nAfter everyone had tried his own particular cure, and found it fail,\nthere came news of a wonderful doctor in some distant land who had\nhealed the most astonishing diseases.  On inquiring, it was found that\nhe never left the walls of his own city, and expected his patients to\ncome to see him; but, by dint of offering a large sum of money, the\nking persuaded the famous physician to undertake the journey to his own\ncourt.\n\nOn his arrival the doctor was led at once into the king's presence, and\nmade a careful examination of his foot.\n\n'Alas! your majesty,' he said, when he had finished, 'the wound is\nbeyond the power of man to heal; but though I cannot cure it, I can at\nleast deaden the pain, and enable you to walk without so much\nsuffering.'\n\n'Oh, if you can only do that,' cried the king, 'I shall be grateful to\nyou for life!  Give your own orders; they shall be obeyed.'\n\n'Then let your majesty bid the royal shoemaker make you a shoe of\ngoat-skin very loose and comfortable, while I prepare a varnish to\npaint over it of which I alone have the secret!'  So saying, the doctor\nbowed himself out, leaving the king more cheerful and hopeful than he\nhad been for long.\n\nThe days passed very slowly with him during the making of the shoe and\nthe preparation of the varnish, but on the eighth morning the physician\nappeared, bringing with him the shoe in a case.  He drew it out to slip\non the king's foot, and over the goat-skin he had rubbed a polish so\nwhite that the snow itself was not more dazzling.\n\n'While you wear this shoe you will not feel the slightest pain,' said\nthe doctor.  'For the balsam with which I have rubbed it inside and out\nhas, besides its healing balm, the quality of strengthening the\nmaterial it touches, so that, even were your majesty to live a thousand\nyears, you would find the slipper just as fresh at the end of that time\nas it is now.'\n\nThe king was so eager to put it on that he hardly gave the physician\ntime to finish.  He snatched it from the case and thrust his foot into\nit, nearly weeping for joy when he found he could walk and run as\neasily as any beggar boy.\n\n'What can I give you?' he cried, holding out both hands to the man who\nhad worked this wonder.  'Stay with me, and I will heap on you riches\ngreater than ever you dreamed of.'  But the doctor said he would accept\nnothing more than had been agreed on, and must return at once to his\nown country, where many sick people were awaiting him.  So king\nBalancin had to content himself with ordering the physician to be\ntreated with royal honours, and desiring that an escort should attend\nhim on his journey home.\n\nFor two years everything went smoothly at court, and to king Balancin\nand his daughter the sun no sooner rose than it seemed time for it to\nset.  Now, the king's birthday fell in the month of June, and as the\nweather happened to be unusually fine, he told the princess to\ncelebrate it in any way that pleased her.  Diamantina was very fond of\nbeing on the river, and she was delighted at this chance of delighting\nher tastes.  She would have a merry-making such as never had been seen\nbefore, and in the evening, when they were tired of sailing and rowing,\nthere should be music and dancing, plays and fireworks.  At the very\nend, before the people went home, every poor person should be given a\nloaf of bread and every girl who was to be married within the year a\nnew dress.\n\nThe great day appeared to Diamantina to be long in coming, but, like\nother days, it came at last.  Before the sun was fairly up in the\nheavens the princess, too full of excitement to stay in the palace, was\nwalking about the streets so covered with precious stones that you had\nto shade your eyes before you could look at her.  By-and-by a trumpet\nsounded, and she hurried home, only to appear again in a few moments\nwalking by the side of her father down to the river.  Here a splendid\nbarge was waiting for them, and from it they watched all sorts of races\nand feats of swimming and diving.  When these were over the barge\nproceeded up the river to the field where the dancing and concerts were\nto take place, and after the prizes had been given away to the winners,\nand the loaves and the dresses had been distributed by the princess,\nthey bade farewell to their guests, and turned to step into the barge\nwhich was to carry them back to the palace.\n\nThen a dreadful thing happened.  As the king stepped on board the boat\none of the sandals of the white slipper, which had got loose, caught in\na nail that was sticking out, and caused the king to stumble.  The pain\nwas great, and unconsciously he turned and shook his foot, so that the\nsandals gave way, and in a moment the precious shoe was in the river.\n\nIt had all occurred so quickly that nobody had noticed the loss of the\nslipper, not even the princess, whom the king's cries speedily brought\nto his side.\n\n'What is the matter, dear father?' asked she.  But the king could not\ntell her; and only managed to gasp out: 'My shoe! my shoe!'  While the\nsailors stood round staring, thinking that his majesty had suddenly\ngone mad.\n\nSeeing her father's eyes fixed on the stream, Diamantina looked hastily\nin that direction.  There, dancing on the current, was the point of\nsomething white, which became more and more distant the longer they\nwatched it.  The king could bear the sight no more, and, besides, now\nthat the healing ointment in the shoe had been removed the pain in his\nfoot was as bad as ever; he gave a sudden cry, staggered, and fell over\nthe bulwarks into the water.\n\nIn an instant the river was covered with bobbing heads all swimming\ntheir fastest towards the king, who had been carried far down by the\nswift current.  At length one swimmer, stronger than the rest, seized\nhold of his tunic, and drew him to the bank, where a thousand eager\nhands were ready to haul him out.  He was carried, unconscious, to the\nside of his daughter, who had fainted with terror on seeing her father\ndisappear below the surface, and together they were place in a coach\nand driven to the palace, where the best doctors in the city were\nawaiting their arrival.\n\nIn a few hours the princess was as well as ever; but the pain, the\nwetting, and the shock of the accident, all told severely on the king,\nand for three days he lay in a high fever.  Meanwhile, his daughter,\nherself nearly mad with grief, gave orders that the white slipper\nshould be sought for far and wide; and so it was, but even the\ncleverest divers could find no trace of it at the bottom of the river.\n\nWhen it became clear that the slipper must have been carried out to sea\nby the current, Diamantina turned her thoughts elsewhere, and sent\nmessengers in search of the doctor who had brought relief to her\nfather, begging him to make another slipper as fast as possible, to\nsupply the place of the one which was lost.  But the messengers\nreturned with the sad news that the doctor had died some weeks before,\nand, what was worse, his secret had died with him.\n\nIn his weakness this intelligence had such an effect on the king that\nthe physicians feared he would become as ill as before.  He could\nhardly be persuaded to touch food, and all night long he lay moaning,\npartly with pain, and partly over his own folly in not having begged\nthe doctor to make him several dozens of white slippers, so that in\ncase of accidents he might always have one to put on.  However,\nby-and-by he saw that it was no use weeping and wailing, and commanded\nthat they should search for his lost treasure more diligently than ever.\n\nWhat a sight the river banks presented in those days!  It seemed as if\nall the people in the country were gathered on them.  But this second\nsearch was no more fortunate than the first, and at last the king\nissued a proclamation that whoever found the missing slipper should be\nmade heir to the crown, and should marry the princess.\n\nNow many daughters would have rebelled at being disposed of in the\nmanner; and it must be admitted that Diamantina's heart sank when she\nheard what the king had done.  Still, she loved her father so much that\nshe desired his comfort more than anything else in the world, so she\nsaid nothing, and only bowed her head.\n\nOf course the result of the proclamation was that the river banks\nbecame more crowded than before; for all the princess's suitors from\ndistant lands flocked to the spot, each hoping that he might be the\nlucky finder.  Many times a shining stone at the bottom of the stream\nwas taken for the slipper itself, and every evening saw a band of\ndripping downcast men returning homewards.  But one youth always\nlingered longer than the rest, and night would still see him engaged in\nthe search, though his clothes stuck to his skin and his teeth\nchattered.\n\nOne day, when the king was lying on his bed racked with pain, he heard\nthe noise of a scuffle going on in his antechamber, and rang a golden\nbell that stood by his side to summon one of his servants.\n\n'Sire,' answered the attendant, when the king inquired what was the\nmatter, 'the noise you heard was caused by a young man from the town,\nwho has had the impudence to come here to ask if he may measure your\nmajesty's foot, so as to make you another slipper in place of the lost\none.'\n\n'And what have you done to the youth?' said the king.\n\n'The servants pushed him out of the palace, and, added a few blows to\nteach him not to be insolent,' replied the man.\n\n'Then they did very ill,' answered the king, with a frown.  'He came\nhere from kindness, and there was no reason to maltreat him.'\n\n'Oh, my lord, he had the audacity to wish to touch your majesty's\nsacred person--he, a good-for-nothing boy, a mere shoemaker's\napprentice, perhaps!  And even if he could make shoes to perfection\nthey would be no use without the soothing balsam.'\n\nThe king remained silent for a few moments, then he said:\n\n'Never mind.  Go and fetch the youth and bring him to me.  I would\ngladly try any remedy that may relieve my pain.'\n\nSo, soon afterwards, the youth, who had not gone far from the palace,\nwas caught and ushered into the king's presence.\n\nHe was tall and handsome and, though he professed to make shoes, his\nmanners were good and modest, and he bowed low as he begged the king\nnot only to allow him to take the measure of his foot, but also to\nsuffer him to place a healing plaster over the wound.\n\nBalancin was pleased with the young man's voice and appearance, and\nthought that he looked as if he knew what he was doing.  So he\nstretched out his bad foot which the youth examined with great\nattention, and then gently laid on the plaster.\n\nVery shortly the ointment began to soothe the sharp pain, and the king,\nwhose confidence increased every moment, begged the young man to tell\nhim his name.\n\n'I have no parents; they died when I was six, sire,' replied the youth,\nmodestly.  'Everyone in the town calls me Gilguerillo[FN#1], because,\nwhen I was little, I went singing through the world in spite of my\nmisfortunes.  Luckily for me I was born to be happy.'\n\n'And you really think you can cure me?' asked the king.\n\n'Completely, my lord,' answered Gilguerillo.\n\n'And how long do you think it will take?'\n\n'It is not an easy task; but I will try to finish it in a fortnight,'\nreplied the youth.\n\nA fortnight seemed to the king a long time to make one slipper.  But he\nonly said:\n\n'Do you need anything to help you?'\n\n'Only a good horse, if your majesty will be kind enough to give me\none,' answered Gilguerillo.  And the reply was so unexpected that the\ncourtiers could hardly restrain their smiles, while the king stared\nsilently.\n\n'You shall have the horse,' he said at last, 'and I shall expect you\nback in a fortnight.  If you fulfil your promise you know your reward;\nif not, I will have you flogged for your impudence.'\n\nGilguerillo bowed, and turned to leave the palace, followed by the\njeers and scoffs of everyone he met.  But he paid no heed, for he had\ngot what he wanted.\n\nHe waited in front of the gates till a magnificent horse was led up to\nhim, and vaulting into the saddle with an ease which rather surprised\nthe attendant, rode quickly out of the town amidst the jests of the\nassembled crowd, who had heard of his audacious proposal.  And while he\nis on his way let us pause for a moment and tell who he is.\n\nBoth father and mother had died before the boy was six years old; and\nhe had lived for many years with his uncle, whose life had been passed\nin the study of chemistry.  He could leave no money to his nephew, as\nhe had a son of his own; but he taught him all he knew, and at his dead\nGilguerillo entered an office, where he worked for many hours daily.\nIn his spare time, instead of playing with the other boys, he passed\nhours poring over books, and because he was timid and liked to be alone\nhe was held by everyone to be a little mad.  Therefore, when it became\nknown that he had promised to cure the king's foot, and had ridden\naway--no one knew where--a roar of laughter and mockery rang through\nthe town, and jeers and scoffing words were sent after him.\n\nBut if they had only known what were Gilguerillo's thoughts they would\nhave thought him madder than ever.\n\nThe real truth was that, on the morning when the princess had walked\nthrough the streets before making holiday on the river Gilguerillo had\nseen her from his window, and had straightway fallen in love with her.\nOf course he felt quite hopeless.  It was absurd to imagine that the\napothecary's nephew could ever marry the king's daughter; so he did his\nbest to forget her, and study harder than before, till the royal\nproclamation suddenly filled him with hope.  When he was free he no\nlonger spent the precious moments poring over books, but, like the\nrest, he might have been seen wandering along the banks of the river,\nor diving into the stream after something that lay glistening in the\nclear water, but which turned out to be a white pebble or a bit of\nglass.\n\nAnd at the end he understood that it was not by the river that he would\nwin the princess; and, turning to his books for comfort, he studied\nharder than ever.\n\nThere is an old proverb which says: 'Everything comes to him who knows\nhow to wait.'  It is not all men who know hot to wait, any more than it\nis all men who can learn by experience; but Gilguerillo was one of the\nfew and instead of thinking his life wasted because he could not have\nthe thing he wanted most, he tried to busy himself in other directions.\n So, one day, when he expected it least, his reward came to him.\n\nHe happened to be reading a book many hundreds of years old, which told\nof remedies for all kinds of diseases.  Most of them, he knew, were\nmerely invented by old women, who sought to prove themselves wiser than\nother people; but at length he came to something which caused him to\nsit up straight in his chair, and made his eyes brighten.  This was the\ndescription of a balsam-- which would cure every kind of sore or\nwound--distilled from a plant only to be found in a country so distant\nthat it would take a man on foot two months to go and come back again.\n\nWhen I say that the book declared that the balsam could heal every sort\nof sore or wound, there were a few against which it was powerless, and\nit gave certain signs by which these might be known.  This was the\nreason why Gilguerillo demanded to see the king's foot before he would\nundertake to cure it; and to obtain admittance he gave out that he was\na shoemaker.  However, the dreaded signs were absent, and his heart\nbounded at the thought that the princess was within his reach.\n\nPerhaps she was; but a great deal had to be accomplished yet, and he\nhad allowed himself a very short time in which to do it.\n\nHe spared his horse only so much as was needful, yet it took him six\ndays to reach the spot where the plant grew.  A thick wood lay in front\nof him, and, fastening the bridle tightly to a tree, he flung himself\non his hands and knees and began to hunt for the treasure.  Many time\nhe fancied it was close to him, and many times it turned out to be\nsomething else; but, at last, when light was fading, and he had almost\ngiven up hope, he came upon a large bed of the plant, right under his\nfeet!  Trembling with joy, he picked every scrap he could see, and\nplaced it in his wallet.  Then, mounting his horse, he galloped quickly\nback towards the city.\n\nIt was night when he entered the gates, and the fifteen days allotted\nwere not up till the next day.  His eyes were heavy with sleep, and his\nbody ached with the long strain, but, without pausing to rest, he\nkindled a fire on is hearth, and quickly filling a pot with water,\nthrew in the herbs and left them to boil.  After that he lay down and\nslept soundly.\n\nThe sun was shining when he awoke, and he jumped up and ran to the pot.\n The plant had disappeared and in its stead was a thick syrup, just as\nthe book had said there would be.  He lifted the syrup out with a\nspoon, and after spreading it in the sun till it was partly dry, poured\nit into a small flask of crystal.  He next washed himself thoroughly,\nand dressed himself, in his best clothes, and putting the flask in his\npocket, set out for the palace, and begged to see the king without\ndelay.\n\nNow Balancin, whose foot had been much less painful since Gilguerillo\nhad wrapped it in the plaster, was counting the days to the young man's\nreturn; and when he was told Gilguerillo was there, ordered him to be\nadmitted at once.  As he entered, the king raised himself eagerly on\nhis pillows, but his face fell when he saw no signs of a slipper.\n\n'You have failed, then?' he said, throwing up his hands in despair.\n\n'I hope not, your majesty; I think not,' answered the youth.  And\ndrawing the flask from his pocket, he poured two or three drops on the\nwound.\n\n'Repeat this for three nights, and you will find yourself cured,' said\nhe.  And before the king had time to thank him he had bowed himself out.\n\nOf course the news soon spread through the city, and men and women\nnever tired of calling Gilguerillo an impostor, and prophesying that\nthe end of the three days would see him in prison, if not on the\nscaffold.  But Gilguerillo paid no heed to their hard words, and no\nmore did the king, who took care that no hand but his own should put on\nthe healing balsam.\n\nOn the fourth morning the king awoke and instantly stretched out his\nwounded foot that he might prove the truth or falsehood of\nGilguerillo's remedy.  The wound was certainly cured on that side, but\nhow about the other?  Yes, that was cured also; and not even a scar was\nleft to show where it had been!\n\nWas ever any king so happy as Balancin when he satisfied himself of\nthis?\n\nLightly as a deer he jumped from his bed, and began to turn head over\nheels and to perform all sorts of antics, so as to make sure that his\nfoot was in truth as well as it looked.  And when he was quite tired he\nsent for his daughter, and bade the courtiers bring the lucky young man\nto his room.\n\n'He is really young and handsome,' said the princess to herself,\nheaving a sigh of relief that it was not some dreadful old man who had\nhealed her father; and while the king was announcing to his courtiers\nthe wonderful cure that had been made, Diamantina was thinking that if\nGilguerillo looked so well in his common dress, how much improved by\nthe splendid garments of a king' son.  However, she held her peace, and\nonly watched with amusement when the courtiers, knowing there was no\nhelp for it, did homage and obeisance to the chemist's boy.\n\nThen they brought to Gilguerillo a magnificent tunic of green velvet\nbordered with gold, and a cap with three white plumes stuck in it; and\nat the sight of him so arrayed, the princess fell in love with him in a\nmoment.  The wedding was fixed to take place in eight days, and at the\nball afterwards nobody danced so long or so lightly as king Balancin.\n\n[From Capullos de Rosa, por D.  Enrique Ceballos Quintana.]\n\n[FN#1] Linnet.\n\n\n\n                The Magic Book\n\n\n\nThere was once an old couple named Peder and Kirsten who had an only\nson called Hans.  From the time he was a little boy he had been told\nthat on his sixteenth birthday he must go out into the world and serve\nhis apprenticeship.  So, one fine summer morning, he started off to\nseek his fortune with nothing but the clothes he wore on his back.\n\nFor many hours he trudged on merrily, now and then stopping to drink\nfrom some clear spring or to pick some ripe fruit from a tree.  The\nlittle wild creatures peeped at him from beneath the bushes, and he\nnodded and smiled, and wished them 'Good-morning.'  After he had been\nwalking for some time he met an old white-bearded man who was coming\nalong the footpath.  The boy would not step aside, and the man was\ndetermined not to do so either, so they ran against one another with a\nbump.\n\n'It seems to me,' said the old fellow, 'that a boy should give way to\nan old man.'\n\n'The path is for me as well as for you,' answered young Hans saucily,\nfor he had never been taught politeness.\n\n'Well, that's true enough,' answered the other mildly.  'And where are\nyou going?'\n\n'I am going into service,' said Hans.\n\n'Then you can come and serve me,' replied the man.\n\nWell, Hans could do that; but what would his wages be?\n\n'Two pounds a year, and nothing to do but keep some rooms clean,' said\nthe new-comer.\n\nThis seemed to Hans to be easy enough; so he agreed to enter the old\nman's service, and they set out together.  On their way they crossed a\ndeep valley and came to a mountain, where the man opened a trapdoor,\nand bidding Hans follow him, he crept in and began to go down a long\nflight of steps.  When they got to the bottom Hans saw a large number\nof rooms lit by many lamps and full of beautiful things.  While he was\nlooking round the old man said to him:\n\n'Now you know what you have to do.  You must keep these rooms clean,\nand strew sand on the floor every day.  Here is a table where you will\nalways find food and drink, and there is your bed.  You see there are a\ngreat many suits of clothes hanging on the wall, and you may wear any\nyou please; but remember that you are never to open this locked door.\nIf you do ill will befall you.  Farewell, for I am going away again and\ncannot tell when I may return.\n\nNo sooner had the old man disappeared than Hans sat down to a good\nmeal, and after that went to bed and slept until the morning.  At first\nhe could not remember what had happened to him, but by-and-by he jumped\nup and went into all the rooms, which he examined carefully.\n\n'How foolish to bid me to put sand on the floors,' he thought, 'when\nthere is nobody here by myself!  I shall do nothing of the sort.'  And\nso he shut the doors quickly, and only cleaned and set in order his own\nroom.  And after the first few days he felt that that was unnecessary\ntoo, because no one came there to see if the rooms where clean or not.\nAt last he did no work at all, but just sat and wondered what was\nbehind the locked door, till he determined to go and look for himself.\n\nThe key turned easily in the lock.  Hans entered, half frightened at\nwhat he was doing, and the first thing he beheld was a heap of bones.\nThat was not very cheerful; and he was just going out again when his\neye fell on a shelf of books.  Here was a good way of passing the time,\nhe thought, for he was fond of reading, and he took one of the books\nfrom the shelf.  It was all about magic, and told you how you could\nchange yourself into anything in the world you liked.  Could anything\nbe more exciting or more useful?  So he put it in his pocket, and ran\nquickly away out of the mountain by a little door which had been left\nopen.\n\nWhen he got home his parents asked him what he had been doing and where\nhe had got the fine clothes he wore.\n\n'Oh, I earned them myself,' answered he.\n\n'You never earned them in this short time,' said his father.  'Be off\nwith you; I won't keep you here.  I will have no thieves in my house!'\n\n'Well I only came to help you,' replied the boy sulkily.  'Now I'll be\noff, as you wish; but to-morrow morning when you rise you will see a\ngreat dog at the door.  Do not drive it away, but take it to the castle\nand sell it to the duke, and they will give you ten dollars for it;\nonly you must bring the strap you lead it with, back to the house.'\n\nSure enough the next day the dog was standing at the door waiting to be\nlet in.  The old man was rather afraid of getting into trouble, but his\nwife urged him to sell the dog as the boy had bidden him, so he took it\nup to the castle and sold it to the duke for ten dollars.  But he did\nnot forget to take off the strap with which he had led the animal, and\nto carry it home.  When he got there old Kirsten met him at the door.\n\n'Well, Peder, and have you sold the dog?' asked she.\n\n'Yes, Kirsten; and I have brought back ten dollars, as the boy told\nus,' answered Peder.\n\n'Ay! but that's fine!' said his wife.  'Now you see what one gets by\ndoing as one is bid; if it had not been for me you would have driven\nthe dog away again, and we should have lost the money.  After all, I\nalways know what is best.'\n\n'Nonsense!' said her husband; 'women always think they know best.  I\nshould have sold the dog just the same whatever you had told me.  Put\nthe money away in a safe place, and don't talk so much.'\n\nThe next day Hans came again; but though everything had turned out as\nhe had foretold, he found that his father was still not quite satisfied.\n\n'Be off with you!' said he, 'you'll get us into trouble.'\n\n'I haven't helped you enough yet,' replied the boy.  'To-morrow there\nwill come a great fat cow, as big as the house.  Take it to the king's\npalace and you'll get as much as a thousand dollars for it.  Only you\nmust unfasten the halter you lead it with and bring it back, and don't\nreturn by the high road, but through the forest.'\n\nThe next day, when the couple rose, they saw an enormous head looking\nin at their bedroom window, and behind it was a cow which was nearly as\nbig as their hut.  Kirsten was wild with joy to think of the money the\ncow would bring them.\n\n'But how are you going to put the rope over her head?' asked she.\n\n'Wait and you'll see, mother,' answered her husband.  Then Peder took\nthe ladder that led up to the hayloft and set it against the cow's\nneck, and he climbed up and slipped the rope over her head.  When he\nhad made sure that the noose was fast they started for the palace, and\nmet the king himself walking in his grounds.\n\n'I heard that the princess was going to be married,' said Peder, 'so\nI've brought your majesty a cow which is bigger than any cow that was\never seen.  Will your majesty deign to buy it?'\n\nThe king had, in truth, never seen so large a beast, and he willingly\npaid the thousand dollars, which was the price demanded; but Peder\nremembered to take off the halter before he left.  After he was gone\nthe king sent for the butcher and told him to kill the animal for the\nwedding feast.  The butcher got ready his pole-axe; but just as he was\ngoing to strike, the cow changed itself into a dove and flew away, and\nthe butcher stood staring after it as if he were turned to stone.\nHowever, as the dove could not be found, he was obliged to tell the\nking what had happened, and the king in his turn despatched messengers\nto capture the old man and bring him back.  But Peder was safe in the\nwoods, and could not be found.  When at last he felt the danger was\nover, and he might go home, Kirsten nearly fainted with joy at the\nsight of all the money he brought with him.\n\n'Now that we are rich people we must build a bigger house,' cried she;\nand was vexed to find that Peder only shook his head and said: 'No; if\nthey did that people would talk, and say they had got their wealth by\nill-doing.'\n\nA few mornings later Hans came again.\n\n'Be off before you get us into trouble,' said his father.  'So far the\nmoney has come right enough, but I don't trust it.'\n\n'Don't worry over that, father,' said Hans.  'To-morrow you will find a\nhorse outside by the gate.  Ride it to market and you will get a\nthousand dollars for it.  Only don't forget to loosen the bridle when\nyou sell it.'\n\nWell, in the morning there was the horse; Kirsten had never seen so\nfind an animal.  'Take care it doesn't hurt you, Peder,' said she.\n\n'Nonsense, wife,' answered he crossly.  'When I was a lad I lived with\nhorses, and could ride anything for twenty miles round.'  But that was\nnot quite the truth, for he had never mounted a horse in his life.\n\nStill, the animal was quiet enough, so Peder got safely to market on\nits back.  There he met a man who offered nine hundred and ninety-nine\ndollars for it, but Peder would take nothing less than a thousand.  At\nlast there came an old, grey-bearded man who looked at the horse and\nagreed to buy it; but the moment he touched it the horse began to kick\nand plunge.  'I must take the bridle off,' said Peder.  'It is not to\nbe sold with the animal as is usually the case.'\n\n'I'll give you a hundred dollars for the bridle,' said the old man,\ntaking out his purse.\n\n'No, I can't sell it,' replied Hans's father.\n\n'Five hundred dollars!'\n\n'No.'\n\n'A thousand!'\n\nAt this splendid offer Peder's prudence gave way; it was a shame to let\nso much money go.  So he agreed to accept it.  But he could hardly hold\nthe horse, it became so unmanageable.  So he gave the animal in charge\nto the old man, and went home with his two thousand dollars.\n\nKirsten, of course, was delighted at this new piece of good fortune,\nand insisted that the new house should be built and land bought.  This\ntime Peder consented, and soon they had quite a fine farm.\n\nMeanwhile the old man rode off on his new purchase, and when he came to\na smithy he asked the smith to forge shoes for the horse.  The smith\nproposed that they should first have a drink together, and the horse\nwas tied up by the spring whilst they went indoors.  The day was hot,\nand both men were thirsty, and, besides, they had much to say; and so\nthe hours slipped by and found them still talking.  Then the servant\ngirl came out to fetch a pail of water, and, being a kind- hearted\nlass, she gave some to the horse to drink.  What was her surprise when\nthe animal said to her: 'Take off my bridle and you will save my life.'\n\n'I dare not,' said she; 'your master will be so angry.'\n\n'He cannot hurt you,' answered the horse, 'and you will save my life.'\n\nAt that she took off the bridle; but nearly fainted with astonishment\nwhen the horse turned into a dove and flew away just as the old man\ncame out of the house.  Directly he saw what had happened he changed\nhimself into a hawk and flew after the dove.  Over the woods and fields\nthey went, and at length they reached a king's palace surrounded by\nbeautiful gardens.  The princess was walking with her attendants in the\nrose garden when the dove turned itself into a gold ring and fell at\nher feet.\n\n'Why, here is a ring!' she cried, 'where could it have come from?'  And\npicking it up she put it on her finger.  As she did so the hill-man\nlost his power over Hans--for of course you understand that it was he\nwho had been the dog, the cow, the horse and the dove.\n\n'Well, that is really strange,' said the princess.  'It fits me as\nthough it had been made for me!'\n\nJust at that moment up came the king.\n\n'Look at what I have found!' cried his daughter.\n\n'Well, that is not worth much, my dear,' said he.  'Besides, you have\nrings enough, I should think.'\n\n'Never mind, I like it,' replied the princess.\n\nBut as soon as she was alone, to her amazement, the ring suddenly left\nher finger and became a man.  You can imagine how frightened she was,\nas, indeed, anybody would have been; but in an instant the man became a\nring again, and then turned back to a man, and so it went on for some\ntime until she began to get used to these sudden changes.\n\n'I am sorry I frightened you,' said Hans, when he thought he could\nsafely speak to the princess without making her scream.  'I took refuge\nwith you because the old hill-man, whom I have offended, was trying to\nkill me, and here I am safe.'\n\n'You had better stay here then,' said the princess.  So Hans stayed,\nand he and she became good friends; though, of course, he only became a\nman when no one else was present.\n\nThis was all very well; but, one day, as they were talking together,\nthe king happened to enter the room, and although Hans quickly changed\nhimself into a ring again it was too late.\n\nThe king was terribly angry.\n\n'So this is why you have refused to marry all the kings and princes who\nhave sought your hand?' he cried.\n\nAnd, without waiting for her to speak, he commanded that his daughter\nshould be walled up in the summer-house and starved to death with her\nlover.\n\nThat evening the poor princess, still wearing her ring, was put into\nthe summer-house with enough food to last for three days, and the door\nwas bricked up.  But at the end of a week or two the king thought it\nwas time to give her a grand funeral, in spite of her bad behaviour,\nand he had the summer-house opened.  He could hardly believe his eyes\nwhen he found that the princess was not there, nor Hans either.\nInstead, there lay at his feet a large hole, big enough for two people\nto pass through.\n\nNow what had happened was this.\n\nWhen the princess and Hans had given up hope, and cast themselves down\non the ground to die, they fell down this hole, and right through the\nearth as well, and at last they tumbled into a castle built of pure\ngold at the other side of the world, and there they lived happily.  But\nof this, of course, the king knew nothing.\n\n'Will anyone go down and see where the passage leads to?' he asked,\nturning to his guards and courtiers.  'I will reward splendidly the man\nwho is brave enough to explore it.'\n\nFor a long time nobody answered.  The hole was dark and deep, and if it\nhad a bottom no one could see it.  At length a soldier, who was a\ncareless sort of fellow, offered himself for the service, and\ncautiously lowered himself into the darkness.  But in a moment he, too,\nfell down, down, down.  Was he going to fall for ever, he wondered!\nOh, how thankful he was in the end to reach the castle, and to meet the\nprincess and Hans, looking quite well and not at all as if they had\nbeen starved.  They began to talk, and the soldier told them that the\nking was very sorry for the way he had treated his daughter, and wished\nday and night that he could have her back again.\n\nThen they all took ship and sailed home, and when they came to the\nprincess's country, Hans disguised himself as the sovereign of a\nneighbouring kingdom, and went up to the palace alone.  He was given a\nhearty welcome by the king, who prided himself on his hospitality, and\na banquet was commanded in his honour.  That evening, whilst they sat\ndrinking their wine, Hans said to the king:\n\n'I have heard the fame of your majesty's wisdom, and I have travelled\nfrom far to ask your counsel.  A man in my country has buried his\ndaughter alive because she loved a youth who was born a peasant.  How\nshall I punish this unnatural father, for it is left to me to give\njudgment?'\n\nThe king, who was still truly grieved for his daughter's loss, answered\nquickly:\n\n'Burn him alive, and strew his ashes all over the kingdom.'\n\nHans looked at him steadily for a moment, and then threw off his\ndisguise.\n\n'You are the man,' said he; 'and I am he who loved your daughter, and\nbecame a gold ring on her finger.  She is safe, and waiting not far\nfrom here; but you have pronounced judgment on yourself.'\n\nThen the king fell on his knees and begged for mercy; and as he had in\nother respects been a good father, they forgave him.  The wedding of\nHans and the princess was celebrated with great festivities which\nlasted a month.  As for the hill-man he intended to be present; but\nwhilst he was walking along a street which led to the palace a loose\nstone fell on his head and killed him.  So Hans and the princess lived\nin peace and happiness all their days, and when the old king died they\nreigned instead of him.\n\n[From AEventyr fra Zylland samlede og optegnede af Tang Kristensen.\nTranslated from the Danish by Mrs. Skavgaard-Pedersen.]","title":"The Orange Fairy Book","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":99028}