{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_37532/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_37532","id":"gutenberg_37532","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37532","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Fairy tales -- Scotland","Folklore -- Scotland"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by David Edwards, Jane Robins and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCOTTISH FAIRY BOOK BOOKS IN THE \"FAIRY SERIES\"\n\n    _The English Fairy Book_\n    _The Welsh Fairy Book_\n    _The Irish Fairy Book_\n    _The Scottish Fairy Book_\n    _The Italian Fairy Book_\n    _The Hungarian Fairy Book_\n    _The Indian Fairy Book_\n    _The Spanish Fairy Book_\n    _The Danish Fairy Book_\n    _The Norwegian Fairy Book_\n    _The Jewish Fairy Book_\n    _The Swedish Fairy Book_\n    _The Chinese Fairy Book_\n\n    THE SCOTTISH FAIRY\n    BOOK . BY ELIZABETH W.\n    GRIERSON . WITH ILLUSTRATIONS\n    BY MORRIS\n    MEREDITH WILLIAMS\n\n    [Illustration]\n\n    J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY\n    PHILADELPHIA         NEW YORK\n\n    Printed in U.S.A.\n\n    \"Of _Brownys and of Bogillis Full this Buke_.\"\n\n    --GAVIN DOUGLAS\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThere are, roughly speaking, two distinct types of Scottish Fairy Tales.\n\nThere are what may be called \"Celtic Stories,\" which were handed down\nfor centuries by word of mouth by professional story-tellers, who went\nabout from clachan to clachan in the \"Highlands and Islands,\" earning a\nnight's shelter by giving a night's entertainment, and which have now\nbeen collected and classified for us by Campbell of Isla and others.\n\nThese stories, which are also common to the North of Ireland, are wild\nand fantastic, and very often somewhat monotonous, and their themes are\nstrangely alike. They almost always tell of some hero or heroine who\nsets out on some dangerous quest, and who is met by giants, generally\nthree in number, who appear one after the other; with whom they hold\nquaint dialogues, and whom eventually they slay. Most of them are fairly\nlong, and although they have a peculiar fascination of their own, they\nare quite distinct from the ordinary Fairy Tale.\n\nThese latter, in Scotland, have also a character of their own, for there\nis no country where the existence of Spirits and Goblins has been so\nimplicitly believed in up to a comparatively recent date.\n\nAs a proof of this we can go to Hogg's tale of \"The Wool-gatherer,\" and\nsee how the countryman, Barnaby, voices the belief of his day. \"Ye had\nneed to tak care how ye dispute the existence of fairies, brownies, and\napparitions! Ye may as weel dispute the Gospel of Saint Matthew.\"\n\nPerhaps it was the bleak and stern character of their climate, and the\nausterity of their religious beliefs which made our Scottish forefathers\nthink of the spirits in whom they so firmly believed, as being, for the\nmost part, mischievous and malevolent.\n\nTheir Bogies, their Witches, their Kelpies, even their Fairy Queen\nherself, were supposed to be in league with the Evil One, and to be\ncompelled, as Thomas of Ercildoune was near finding out to his cost, to\npay a \"Tiend to Hell\" every seven years; so it was not to be wondered\nat, that these uncanny beings were dreaded and feared.\n\nBut along with this dark and gloomy view, we find touches of delicate\nplayfulness and brightness. The Fairy Queen might be in league with\nSatan, but her subjects were not all bound by the same law, and many\ncharming tales are told of the \"sith\" or silent folk, who were always\nspoken of with respect, in case they might be within earshot, who made\ntheir dwellings under some rocky knowe, and who came out and danced on\nthe dewy sward at midnight.\n\nAkin to them are the tales which are told about a mysterious region\nunder the sea, \"far below the abode of fishes,\" where a strange race of\nbeings lived, who, in their own land closely resembled human beings, and\nwere of such surpassing beauty that they charmed the hearts of all who\nlooked on them. They were spoken of as Mermaids and Mermen, and as\ntheir lungs were not adapted for breathing under water, they had the\nextraordinary power of entering into the skin of some fish or sea\nanimal, and in this way passing from their own abode to our upper world,\nwhere they held converse with mortal men, and, as often as not, tried to\nlure them to destruction.\n\nThe popular idea always represents Mer-folk as wearing the tails of\nfishes; in Scottish Folklore they are quite as often found in the form\nof seals.\n\nThen we frequently come across the Brownie, that strange, kindly,\nlovable creature, with its shaggy, unkempt appearance, half man, half\nbeast, who was said to be the ordained helper of man in the drudgery\nentailed by sin, and was therefore forbidden to receive wages; who\nalways worked when no one was looking, and who disappeared if any notice\nwere taken of him.\n\nThere are also, as in all other countries, animal tales, where the\nanimals are endowed with the power of speech; and weird tales of\nenchantment; and last, but not least, there are the legendary stories,\nmany of them half real, half mythical, which are to be found in the\npages of Hogg, and Leyden, and above all, in Sir Walter Scott's \"Border\nMinstrelsy.\"\n\nIn preparing this book I have tried to make a representative collection\nfrom these different classes of Scottish Folklore, taking, when\npossible, the stories which are least well known, in the hope that some\nof them, at least, may be new to the children of this generation.\n\nIt may interest some of these children to know that when James IV was a\nlittle boy, nearly four hundred years ago, he used to sit on his tutor,\nSir David Lindsay's, knee, and listen to some of the same stories that\nare written here:--to the story of Thomas the Rhymer, of the Red-Etin,\nand of The Black Bull of Norroway.\n\nAlthough in every case I have told the tale in my own words, I am\nindebted for the originals to Campbell's \"Popular Tales of the Western\nHighlands,\" Leyden's Poems, Hogg's Poems, Scott's \"Border Minstrelsy,\"\nChambers' \"Popular Rhymes of Scotland,\" \"The Folklore Journal,\" etc.\n\n    ELIZABETH W. GRIERSON.\n\n    _Whitchesters, Hawick, N.B.,\n    12th April, 1910._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                               PAGE\n\n  Thomas the Rhymer                                               1\n\n  Gold-Tree and Silver-Tree                                      17\n\n  Whippety-Stourie                                               33\n\n  The Red-Etin                                                   42\n\n  The Seal Catcher and the Merman                                58\n\n  The Page-boy and the Silver Goblet                             67\n\n  The Black Bull of Norroway                                     74\n\n  The Wee Bannock                                                93\n\n  The Elfin Knight                                              101\n\n  What to say to the New Mune                                   114\n\n  Habetrot the Spinstress                                       115\n\n  Nippit Fit and Clippit Fit                                    130\n\n  The Fairies of Merlin's Crag                                  136\n\n  The Wedding of Robin Redbreast and Jenny Wren                 144\n\n  The Dwarfie Stone                                             150\n\n  Canonbie Dick and Thomas of Ercildoune                        169\n\n  The Laird o' Co'                                              179\n\n  Poussie Baudrons                                              186\n\n  The Milk-white Doo                                            188\n\n  The Draiglin' Hogney                                          196\n\n  The Brownie o' Ferne-Den                                      204\n\n  The Witch of Fife                                             211\n\n  Assipattle and the Mester Stoorworm                           221\n\n  The Fox and the Wolf                                          245\n\n  Katherine Crackernuts                                         253\n\n  Times to Sneeze                                               268\n\n  The Well o' the World's End                                   272\n\n  Farquhar MacNeill                                             277\n\n  Peerifool                                                     284\n\n  Birthdays                                                     298\n\n\n\n\nTHOMAS THE RHYMER\n\n\nOf all the young gallants in Scotland in the thirteenth century, there\nwas none more gracious and debonair than Thomas Learmont, Laird of the\nCastle of Ercildoune, in Berwickshire.\n\nHe loved books, poetry, and music, which were uncommon tastes in those\ndays; and, above all, he loved to study nature, and to watch the habits\nof the beasts and birds that made their abode in the fields and woods\nround about his home.\n\nNow it chanced that, one sunny May morning, Thomas left his Tower of\nErcildoune, and went wandering into the woods that lay about the Huntly\nBurn, a little stream that came rushing down from the slopes of the\nEildon Hills. It was a lovely morning--fresh, and bright, and warm, and\neverything was so beautiful that it looked as Paradise might look.\n\nThe tender leaves were bursting out of their sheaths, and covering all\nthe trees with a fresh soft mantle of green; and amongst the carpet of\nmoss under the young man's feet, yellow primroses and starry anemones\nwere turning up their faces to the morning sky.\n\nThe little birds were singing like to burst their throats, and hundreds\nof insects were flying backwards and forwards in the sunshine; while\ndown by the burnside the bright-eyed water-rats were poking their noses\nout of their holes, as if they knew that summer had come, and wanted to\nhave a share in all that was going on.\n\nThomas felt so happy with the gladness of it all, that he threw himself\ndown at the root of a tree, to watch the living things around him.\n\nAs he was lying there, he heard the trampling of a horse's hooves, as it\nforced its way through the bushes; and, looking up, he saw the most\nbeautiful lady that he had ever seen coming riding towards him on a grey\npalfrey.\n\nShe wore a hunting dress of glistening silk, the colour of the fresh\nspring grass; and from her shoulders hung a velvet mantle, which matched\nthe riding-skirt exactly. Her yellow hair, like rippling gold, hung\nloosely round her shoulders, and on her head sparkled a diadem of\nprecious stones, which flashed like fire in the sunlight.\n\nHer saddle was of pure ivory, and her saddle-cloth of blood-red satin,\nwhile her saddle girths were of corded silk and her stirrups of cut\ncrystal. Her horse's reins were of beaten gold, all hung with little\nsilver bells, so that, as she rode along, she made a sound like fairy\nmusic.\n\nApparently she was bent on the chase, for she carried a hunting-horn and\na sheaf of arrows; and she led seven greyhounds along in a leash, while\nas many scenting hounds ran loose at her horse's side.\n\nAs she rode down the glen, she lilted a bit of an old Scotch song; and\nshe carried herself with such a queenly air, and her dress was so\nmagnificent, that Thomas was like to kneel by the side of the path and\nworship her, for he thought that it must be the Blessed Virgin herself.\n\nBut when the rider came to where he was, and understood his thoughts,\nshe shook her head sadly.\n\n\"I am not that Blessed Lady, as thou thinkest,\" she said. \"Men call me\nQueen, but it is of a far other country; for I am the Queen of\nFairy-land, and not the Queen of Heaven.\"\n\nAnd certainly it seemed as if what she said were true; for, from that\nmoment, it was as if a spell were cast over Thomas, making him forget\nprudence, and caution, and common-sense itself.\n\nFor he knew that it was dangerous for mortals to meddle with Fairies,\nyet he was so entranced with the Lady's beauty that he begged her to\ngive him a kiss. This was just what she wanted, for she knew that if she\nonce kissed him she had him in her power.\n\nAnd, to the young man's horror, as soon as their lips had met, an awful\nchange came over her. For her beautiful mantle and riding-skirt of silk\nseemed to fade away, leaving her clad in a long grey garment, which was\njust the colour of ashes. Her beauty seemed to fade away also, and she\ngrew old and wan; and, worst of all, half of her abundant yellow hair\nwent grey before his very eyes. She saw the poor man's astonishment and\nterror, and she burst into a mocking laugh.\n\n\"I am not so fair to look on now as I was at first,\" she said, \"but that\nmatters little, for thou hast sold thyself, Thomas, to be my servant for\nseven long years. For whoso kisseth the Fairy Queen must e'en go with\nher to Fairy-land, and serve her there till that time is past.\"\n\nWhen he heard these words poor Thomas fell on his knees and begged for\nmercy. But mercy he could not obtain. The Elfin Queen only laughed in\nhis face, and brought her dapple-grey palfrey close up to where he was\nstanding.\n\n\"No, no,\" she said, in answer to his entreaties. \"Thou didst ask the\nkiss, and now thou must pay the price. So dally no longer, but mount\nbehind me, for it is full time that I was gone.\"\n\nSo Thomas, with many a sigh and groan of terror, mounted behind her; and\nas soon as he had done so, she shook her bridle rein, and the grey steed\ngalloped off.\n\nOn and on they went, going swifter than the wind; till they left the\nland of the living behind, and came to the edge of a great desert, which\nstretched before them, dry, and bare, and desolate, to the edge of the\nfar horizon.\n\nAt least, so it seemed to the weary eyes of Thomas of Ercildoune, and\nhe wondered if he and his strange companion had to cross this desert;\nand, if so, if there were any chance of reaching the other side of it\nalive.\n\nBut the Fairy Queen suddenly tightened her rein, and the grey palfrey\nstopped short in its wild career.\n\n\"Now must thou descend to earth, Thomas,\" said the Lady, glancing over\nher shoulder at her unhappy captive, \"and lout down, and lay thy head on\nmy knee, and I will show thee hidden things, which cannot be seen by\nmortal eyes.\"\n\nSo Thomas dismounted, and louted down, and rested his head on the Fairy\nQueen's knee; and lo, as he looked once more over the desert, everything\nseemed changed. For he saw three roads leading across it now, which he\nhad not noticed before, and each of these three roads was different.\n\nOne of them was broad, and level, and even, and it ran straight on\nacross the sand, so that no one who was travelling by it could possibly\nlose his way.\n\nAnd the second road was as different from the first as it well could be.\nIt was narrow, and winding, and long; and there was a thorn hedge on one\nside of it, and a briar hedge on the other; and those hedges grew so\nhigh, and their branches were so wild and tangled, that those who were\ntravelling along that road would have some difficulty in persevering on\ntheir journey at all.\n\nAnd the third road was unlike any of the others. It was a bonnie,\nbonnie road, winding up a hillside among brackens, and heather, and\ngolden-yellow whins, and it looked as if it would be pleasant\ntravelling, to pass that way.\n\n\"Now,\" said the Fairy Queen, \"an' thou wilt, I shall tell thee where\nthese three roads lead to. The first road, as thou seest, is broad, and\neven, and easy, and there be many that choose it to travel on. But\nthough it be a good road, it leadeth to a bad end, and the folk that\nchoose it repent their choice for ever.\n\n\"And as for the narrow road, all hampered and hindered by the thorns and\nthe briars, there be few that be troubled to ask where that leadeth to.\nBut did they ask, perchance more of them might be stirred up to set out\nalong it. For that is the Road of Righteousness; and, although it be\nhard and irksome, yet it endeth in a glorious City, which is called the\nCity of the Great King.\n\n\"And the third road--the bonnie road--that runs up the brae among the\nferns, and leadeth no mortal kens whither, but I ken where it leadeth,\nThomas--for it leadeth unto fair Elf-land; and that road take we.\n\n\"And, mark 'ee, Thomas, if ever thou hopest to see thine own Tower of\nErcildoune again, take care of thy tongue when we reach our journey's\nend, and speak no single word to anyone save me--for the mortal who\nopeneth his lips rashly in Fairy-land must bide there for ever.\"\n\nThen she bade him mount her palfrey again, and they rode on. The ferny\nroad was not so bonnie all the way as it had been at first, however. For\nthey had not ridden along it very far before it led them into a narrow\nravine, which seemed to go right down under the earth, where there was\nno ray of light to guide them, and where the air was dank and heavy.\nThere was a sound of rushing water everywhere, and at last the grey\npalfrey plunged right into it; and it crept up, cold and chill, first\nover Thomas's feet, and then over his knees.\n\nHis courage had been slowly ebbing ever since he had been parted from\nthe daylight, but now he gave himself up for lost; for it seemed to him\ncertain that his strange companion and he would never come safe to their\njourney's end.\n\nHe fell forward in a kind of swoon; and, if it had not been that he had\ntight hold of the Fairy's ash-grey gown, I warrant he had fallen from\nhis seat, and had been drowned.\n\nBut all things, be they good or bad, pass in time, and at last the\ndarkness began to lighten, and the light grew stronger, until they were\nback in broad sunshine.\n\nThen Thomas took courage, and looked up; and lo, they were riding\nthrough a beautiful orchard, where apples and pears, dates and figs and\nwine-berries grew in great abundance. And his tongue was so parched and\ndry, and he felt so faint, that he longed for some of the fruit to\nrestore him.\n\nHe stretched out his hand to pluck some of it; but his companion turned\nin her saddle and forbade him.\n\n\"There is nothing safe for thee to eat here,\" she said, \"save an apple,\nwhich I will give thee presently. If thou touch aught else thou art\nbound to remain in Fairy-land for ever.\"\n\nSo poor Thomas had to restrain himself as best he could; and they rode\nslowly on, until they came to a tiny tree all covered with red apples.\nThe Fairy Queen bent down and plucked one, and handed it to her\ncompanion.\n\n\"This I can give thee,\" she said, \"and I do it gladly, for these apples\nare the Apples of Truth; and whoso eateth them gaineth this reward, that\nhis lips will never more be able to frame a lie.\"\n\nThomas took the apple, and ate it; and for evermore the Grace of Truth\nrested on his lips; and that is why, in after years, men called him\n\"True Thomas.\"\n\nThey had only a little way to go after this, before they came in sight\nof a magnificent Castle standing on a hillside.\n\n\"Yonder is my abode,\" said the Queen, pointing to it proudly. \"There\ndwelleth my Lord and all the Nobles of his court; and, as my Lord hath\nan uncertain temper and shows no liking for any strange gallant whom he\nsees in my company, I pray thee, both for thy sake and mine, to utter no\nword to anyone who speaketh to thee; and, if anyone should ask me who\nand what thou art, I will tell them that thou art dumb. So wilt thou\npass unnoticed in the crowd.\"\n\nWith these words the Lady raised her hunting-horn, and blew a loud and\npiercing blast; and, as she did so, a marvellous change came over her\nagain; for her ugly ash-covered gown dropped off her, and the grey in\nher hair vanished, and she appeared once more in her green riding-skirt\nand mantle, and her face grew young and fair.\n\nAnd a wonderful change passed over Thomas also; for, as he chanced to\nglance downwards, he found that his rough country clothes had been\ntransformed into a suit of fine brown cloth, and that on his feet he\nwore satin shoon.\n\nImmediately the sound of the horn rang out, the doors of the Castle flew\nopen, and the King hurried out to meet the Queen, accompanied by such a\nnumber of Knights and Ladies, Minstrels and Page-boys, that Thomas, who\nhad slid from his palfrey, had no difficulty in obeying her wishes and\npassing into the Castle unobserved.\n\nEveryone seemed very glad to see the Queen back again, and they crowded\ninto the Great Hall in her train, and she spoke to them all graciously,\nand allowed them to kiss her hand. Then she passed, with her husband, to\na dais at the far end of the huge apartment, where two thrones stood, on\nwhich the Royal pair seated themselves to watch the revels which now\nbegan.\n\nPoor Thomas, meanwhile, stood far away at the other end of the Hall,\nfeeling very lonely, yet fascinated by the extraordinary scene on which\nhe was gazing.\n\nFor, although all the fine Ladies, and Courtiers, and Knights were\ndancing in one part of the Hall, there were huntsmen coming and going in\nanother part, carrying in great antlered deer, which apparently they had\nkilled in the chase, and throwing them down in heaps on the floor. And\nthere were rows of cooks standing beside the dead animals, cutting them\nup into joints, and bearing away the joints to be cooked.\n\nAltogether it was such a strange, fantastic scene that Thomas took no\nheed of how the time flew, but stood and gazed, and gazed, never\nspeaking a word to anybody. This went on for three long days, then the\nQueen rose from her throne, and, stepping from the dais, crossed the\nHall to where he was standing.\n\n\"'Tis time to mount and ride, Thomas,\" she said, \"if thou wouldst ever\nsee the fair Castle of Ercildoune again.\"\n\nThomas looked at her in amazement. \"Thou spokest of seven long years,\nLady,\" he exclaimed, \"and I have been here but three days.\"\n\nThe Queen smiled. \"Time passeth quickly in Fairy-land, my friend,\" she\nreplied. \"Thou thinkest that thou hast been here but three days. 'Tis\nseven years since we two met. And now it is time for thee to go. I would\nfain have had thy presence with me longer, but I dare not, for thine\nown sake. For every seventh year an Evil Spirit cometh from the Regions\nof Darkness, and carrieth back with him one of our followers, whomsoever\nhe chanceth to choose. And, as thou art a goodly fellow, I fear that he\nmight choose thee.\n\n\"So, as I would be loth to let harm befall thee, I will take thee back\nto thine own country this very night.\"\n\nOnce more the grey palfrey was brought, and Thomas and the Queen mounted\nit; and, as they had come, so they returned to the Eildon Tree near the\nHuntly Burn.\n\nThen the Queen bade Thomas farewell; and, as a parting gift, he asked\nher to give him something that would let people know that he had really\nbeen to Fairy-land.\n\n\"I have already given thee the Gift of Truth,\" she replied. \"I will now\ngive thee the Gifts of Prophecy and Poesie; so that thou wilt be able to\nforetell the future, and also to write wondrous verses. And, besides\nthese unseen gifts, here is something that mortals can see with their\nown eyes--a Harp that was fashioned in Fairy-land. Fare thee well, my\nfriend. Some day, perchance, I will return for thee again.\"\n\nWith these words the Lady vanished, and Thomas was left alone, feeling a\nlittle sorry, if the truth must be told, at parting with such a radiant\nBeing and coming back to the ordinary haunts of men.\n\nAfter this he lived for many a long year in his Castle of Ercildoune,\nand the fame of his poetry and of his prophecies spread all over the\ncountry, so that people named him True Thomas, and Thomas the Rhymer.\n\nI cannot write down for you all the prophecies which Thomas uttered, and\nwhich most surely came to pass, but I will tell you one or two.\n\nHe foretold the Battle of Bannockburn in these words:\n\n    \"The Burn of Breid\n    Shall rin fou reid,\"\n\nwhich came to pass on that terrible day when the waters of the little\nBannockburn were reddened by the blood of the defeated English.\n\nHe also foretold the Union of the Crowns of England and Scotland, under\na Prince who was the son of a French Queen, and who yet bore the blood\nof Bruce in his veins.\n\n    \"A French Quen shall bearre the Sonne;\n    Shall rule all Britainne to the sea,\n    As neere as is the ninth degree,\"\n\nwhich thing came true in 1603, when King James, son of Mary, Queen of\nScots, became Monarch of both countries.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFourteen long years went by, and people were beginning to forget that\nThomas the Rhymer had ever been in Fairy-land; but at last a day came\nwhen Scotland was at war with England, and the Scottish army was\nresting by the banks of the Tweed, not far from the Tower of\nErcildoune.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAnd the Master of the Tower determined to make a feast, and invite all\nthe Nobles and Barons who were leading the army to sup with him.\n\nThat feast was long remembered.\n\nFor the Laird of Ercildoune took care that everything was as magnificent\nas it could possibly be; and when the meal was ended he rose in his\nplace, and, taking his Elfin Harp, he sang to his assembled guests song\nafter song of the days of long ago.\n\nThe guests listened breathlessly, for they felt that they would never\nhear such wonderful music again. And so it fell out.\n\nFor that very night, after all the Nobles had gone back to their tents,\na soldier on guard saw, in the moonlight, a snow-white Hart and Hind\nmoving slowly down the road that ran past the camp.\n\nThere was something so unusual about the animals that he called to his\nofficer to come and look at them. And the officer called to his brother\nofficers, and soon there was quite a crowd softly following the dumb\ncreatures, who paced solemnly on, as if they were keeping time to music\nunheard by mortal ears.\n\n\"There is something uncanny about this,\" said one soldier at last. \"Let\nus send for Thomas of Ercildoune, perchance he may be able to tell us if\nit be an omen or no.\"\n\n\"Ay, send for Thomas of Ercildoune,\" cried every one at once. So a\nlittle page was sent in haste to the old Tower to rouse the Rhymer from\nhis slumbers.\n\nWhen he heard the boy's message, the Seer's face grew grave and wrapt.\n\n\"'Tis a summons,\" he said softly, \"a summons from the Queen of\nFairy-land. I have waited long for it, and it hath come at last.\"\n\nAnd when he went out, instead of joining the little company of waiting\nmen, he walked straight up to the snow-white Hart and Hind. As soon as\nhe reached them they paused for a moment as if to greet him. Then all\nthree moved slowly down a steep bank that sloped to the little river\nLeader, and disappeared in its foaming waters, for the stream was in\nfull flood.\n\nAnd, although a careful search was made, no trace of Thomas of\nErcildoune was found; and to this day the country folk believe that the\nHart and the Hind were messengers from the Elfin Queen, and that he went\nback to Fairy-land with them.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration: And she set sail for her own Country.]\n\n\n\n\nGOLD-TREE AND SILVER-TREE\n\n\nIn bygone days there lived a little Princess named Gold-Tree, and she\nwas one of the prettiest children in the whole world.\n\nAlthough her mother was dead, she had a very happy life, for her father\nloved her dearly, and thought that nothing was too much trouble so long\nas it gave his little daughter pleasure. But by and by he married again,\nand then the little Princess's sorrows began.\n\nFor his new wife, whose name, curious to say, was Silver-Tree, was very\nbeautiful, but she was also very jealous, and she made herself quite\nmiserable for fear that, some day, she should meet someone who was\nbetter looking than she was herself.\n\nWhen she found that her step-daughter was so very pretty, she took a\ndislike to her at once, and was always looking at her and wondering if\npeople would think her prettier than she was. And because, in her heart\nof hearts, she was afraid that they would do so, she was very unkind\nindeed to the poor girl.\n\nAt last, one day, when Princess Gold-Tree was quite grown up, the two\nladies went for a walk to a little well which lay, all surrounded by\ntrees, in the middle of a deep glen.\n\nNow the water in this well was so clear that everyone who looked into it\nsaw his face reflected on the surface; and the proud Queen loved to come\nand peep into its depths, so that she could see her own picture mirrored\nin the water.\n\nBut to-day, as she was looking in, what should she see but a little\ntrout, which was swimming quietly backwards and forwards not very far\nfrom the surface.\n\n\"Troutie, troutie, answer me this one question,\" said the Queen. \"Am not\nI the most beautiful woman in the world?\"\n\n\"No, indeed, you are not,\" replied the trout promptly, jumping out of\nthe water, as he spoke, in order to swallow a fly.\n\n\"Who is the most beautiful woman, then?\" asked the disappointed Queen,\nfor she had expected a far different answer.\n\n\"Thy step-daughter, the Princess Gold-Tree, without a doubt,\" said the\nlittle fish; then, frightened by the black look that came upon the\njealous Queen's face, he dived to the bottom of the well.\n\nIt was no wonder that he did so, for the Queen's expression was not\npleasant to look at, as she darted an angry glance at her fair young\nstep-daughter, who was busy picking flowers some little distance away.\n\nIndeed, she was so annoyed at the thought that anyone should say that\nthe girl was prettier than she was, that she quite lost her\nself-control; and when she reached home she went up, in a violent\npassion, to her room, and threw herself on the bed, declaring that she\nfelt very ill indeed.\n\nIt was in vain that Princess Gold-Tree asked her what the matter was,\nand if she could do anything for her. She would not let the poor girl\ntouch her, but pushed her away as if she had been some evil thing. So at\nlast the Princess had to leave her alone, and go out of the apartment,\nfeeling very sad indeed.\n\nBy and by the King came home from his hunting, and he at once asked for\nthe Queen. He was told that she had been seized with sudden illness, and\nthat she was lying on her bed in her own room, and that no one, not even\nthe Court Physician, who had been hastily summoned, could make out what\nwas wrong with her.\n\nIn great anxiety--for he really loved her--the King went up to her\nbedside, and asked the Queen how she felt, and if there was anything\nthat he could do to relieve her.\n\n\"Yes, there is one thing that thou couldst do,\" she answered harshly,\n\"but I know full well that, even although it is the only thing that will\ncure me, thou wilt not do it.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the King, \"I deserve better words at thy mouth than these;\nfor thou knowest that I would give thee aught thou carest to ask, even\nif it be the half of my Kingdom.\"\n\n\"Then give me thy daughter's heart to eat,\" cried the Queen, \"for unless\nI can obtain that, I will die, and that speedily.\"\n\nShe spoke so wildly, and looked at him in such a strange fashion, that\nthe poor King really thought that her brain was turned, and he was at\nhis wits' end what to do. He left the room, and paced up and down the\ncorridor in great distress, until at last he remembered that that very\nmorning the son of a great King had arrived from a country far over the\nsea, asking for his daughter's hand in marriage.\n\n\"Here is a way out of the difficulty,\" he said to himself. \"This\nmarriage pleaseth me well, and I will have it celebrated at once. Then,\nwhen my daughter is safe out of the country, I will send a lad up the\nhillside, and he shall kill a he-goat, and I will have its heart\nprepared and dressed, and send it up to my wife. Perhaps the sight of it\nwill cure her of this madness.\"\n\nSo he had the strange Prince summoned before him, and told him how the\nQueen had taken a sudden illness that had wrought on her brain, and had\ncaused her to take a dislike to the Princess, and how it seemed as if it\nwould be a good thing if, with the maiden's consent, the marriage could\ntake place at once, so that the Queen might be left alone to recover\nfrom her strange malady.\n\nNow the Prince was delighted to gain his bride so easily, and the\nPrincess was glad to escape from her step-mother's hatred, so the\nmarriage took place at once, and the newly wedded pair set off across\nthe sea for the Prince's country.\n\nThen the King sent a lad up the hillside to kill a he-goat; and when it\nwas killed he gave orders that its heart should be dressed and cooked,\nand sent to the Queen's apartment on a silver dish. And the wicked woman\ntasted it, believing it to be the heart of her step-daughter; and when\nshe had done so, she rose from her bed and went about the Castle looking\nas well and hearty as ever.\n\nI am glad to be able to tell you that the marriage of Princess\nGold-Tree, which had come about in such a hurry, turned out to be a\ngreat success; for the Prince whom she had wedded was rich, and great,\nand powerful, and he loved her dearly, and she was as happy as the day\nwas long.\n\nSo things went peacefully on for a year. Queen Silver-Tree was satisfied\nand contented, because she thought that her step-daughter was dead;\nwhile all the time the Princess was happy and prosperous in her new\nhome.\n\nBut at the end of the year it chanced that the Queen went once more to\nthe well in the little glen, in order to see her face reflected in the\nwater.\n\nAnd it chanced also that the same little trout was swimming backwards\nand forwards, just as he had done the year before. And the foolish Queen\ndetermined to have a better answer to her question this time than she\nhad last.\n\n\"Troutie, troutie,\" she whispered, leaning over the edge of the well,\n\"am not I the most beautiful woman in the world?\"\n\n\"By my troth, thou art not,\" answered the trout, in his very\nstraightforward way.\n\n\"Who is the most beautiful woman, then?\" asked the Queen, her face\ngrowing pale at the thought that she had yet another rival.\n\n\"Why, your Majesty's step-daughter, the Princess Gold-Tree, to be sure,\"\nanswered the trout.\n\nThe Queen threw back her head with a sigh of relief. \"Well, at any rate,\npeople cannot admire her now,\" she said, \"for it is a year since she\ndied. I ate her heart for my supper.\"\n\n\"Art thou sure of that, your Majesty?\" asked the trout, with a twinkle\nin his eye. \"Methinks it is but a year since she married the gallant\nyoung Prince who came from abroad to seek her hand, and returned with\nhim to his own country.\"\n\nWhen the Queen heard these words she turned quite cold with rage, for\nshe knew that her husband had deceived her; and she rose from her knees\nand went straight home to the Palace, and, hiding her anger as best she\ncould, she asked him if he would give orders to have the Long Ship made\nready, as she wished to go and visit her dear step-daughter, for it was\nsuch a very long time since she had seen her.\n\nThe King was somewhat surprised at her request, but he was only too glad\nto think that she had got over her hatred towards his daughter, and he\ngave orders that the Long Ship should be made ready at once.\n\nSoon it was speeding over the water, its prow turned in the direction of\nthe land where the Princess lived, steered by the Queen herself; for she\nknew the course that the boat ought to take, and she was in such haste\nto be at her journey's end that she would allow no one else to take the\nhelm.\n\nNow it chanced that Princess Gold-Tree was alone that day, for her\nhusband had gone a-hunting. And as she looked out of one of the Castle\nwindows she saw a boat coming sailing over the sea towards the landing\nplace. She recognised it as her father's Long Ship, and she guessed only\ntoo well whom it carried on board.\n\nShe was almost beside herself with terror at the thought, for she knew\nthat it was for no good purpose that Queen Silver-Tree had taken the\ntrouble to set out to visit her, and she felt that she would have given\nalmost anything she possessed if her husband had but been at home. In\nher distress she hurried into the servants' hall.\n\n\"Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?\" she cried, \"for I see my\nfather's Long Ship coming over the sea, and I know that my step-mother\nis on board. And if she hath a chance she will kill me, for she hateth\nme more than anything else upon earth.\"\n\nNow the servants worshipped the ground that their young Mistress trod\non, for she was always kind and considerate to them, and when they saw\nhow frightened she was, and heard her piteous words, they crowded round\nher, as if to shield her from any harm that threatened her.\n\n\"Do not be afraid, your Highness,\" they cried; \"we will defend thee with\nour very lives if need be. But in case thy Lady Step-Mother should have\nthe power to throw any evil spell over thee, we will lock thee in the\ngreat Mullioned Chamber, then she cannot get nigh thee at all.\"\n\nNow the Mullioned Chamber was a strong-room, which was in a part of the\ncastle all by itself, and its door was so thick that no one could\npossibly break through it; and the Princess knew that if she were once\ninside the room, with its stout oaken door between her and her\nstep-mother, she would be perfectly safe from any mischief that that\nwicked woman could devise.\n\nSo she consented to her faithful servants' suggestion, and allowed them\nto lock her in the Mullioned Chamber.\n\nSo it came to pass that when Queen Silver-Tree arrived at the great door\nof the Castle, and commanded the lackey who opened it to take her to his\nRoyal Mistress, he told her, with a low bow, that that was impossible,\nbecause the Princess was locked in the strong-room of the Castle, and\ncould not get out, because no one knew where the key was.\n\n(Which was quite true, for the old butler had tied it round the neck of\nthe Prince's favourite sheep-dog, and had sent him away to the hills to\nseek his master.)\n\n\"Take me to the door of the apartment,\" commanded the Queen. \"At least I\ncan speak to my dear daughter through it.\" And the lackey, who did not\nsee what harm could possibly come from this, did as he was bid.\n\n\"If the key is really lost, and thou canst not come out to welcome me,\ndear Gold-Tree,\" said the deceitful Queen, \"at least put thy little\nfinger through the keyhole that I may kiss it.\"\n\nThe Princess did so, never dreaming that evil could come to her through\nsuch a simple action. But it did. For instead of kissing the tiny\nfinger, her step-mother stabbed it with a poisoned needle, and, so\ndeadly was the poison, that, before she could utter a single cry, the\npoor Princess fell, as one dead, on the floor.\n\nWhen she heard the fall, a smile of satisfaction crept over Queen\nSilver-Tree's face. \"Now I can say that I am the handsomest woman in the\nworld,\" she whispered; and she went back to the lackey who stood waiting\nat the end of the passage, and told him that she had said all that she\nhad to say to her daughter, and that now she must return home.\n\nSo the man attended her to the boat with all due ceremony, and she set\nsail for her own country; and no one in the Castle knew that any harm\nhad befallen their dear Mistress until the Prince came home from his\nhunting with the key of the Mullioned Chamber, which he had taken from\nhis sheep-dog's neck, in his hand.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nHe laughed when he heard the story of Queen Silver-Tree's visit, and\ntold the servants that they had done well; then he ran upstairs to open\nthe door and release his wife.\n\nBut what was his horror and dismay, when he did so, to find her lying\ndead at his feet on the floor.\n\nHe was nearly beside himself with rage and grief; and, because he knew\nthat a deadly poison such as Queen Silver-Tree had used would preserve\nthe Princess's body so that it had no need of burial, he had it laid on\na silken couch and left in the Mullioned Chamber, so that he could go\nand look at it whenever he pleased.\n\nHe was so terribly lonely, however, that in a little time he married\nagain, and his second wife was just as sweet and as good as the first\none had been. This new wife was very happy, there was only one little\nthing that caused her any trouble at all, and she was too sensible to\nlet it make her miserable.\n\nThat one thing was that there was one room in the Castle--a room which\nstood at the end of a passage by itself--which she could never enter, as\nher husband always carried the key. And as, when she asked him the\nreason of this, he always made an excuse of some kind, she made up her\nmind that she would not seem as if she did not trust him, so she asked\nno more questions about the matter.\n\nBut one day the Prince chanced to leave the door unlocked, and as he had\nnever told her not to do so, she went in, and there she saw Princess\nGold-Tree lying on the silken couch, looking as if she were asleep.\n\n\"Is she dead, or is she only sleeping?\" she said to herself, and she\nwent up to the couch and looked closely at the Princess. And there,\nsticking in her little finger, she discovered a curiously shaped needle.\n\n\"There hath been evil work here,\" she thought to herself. \"If that\nneedle be not poisoned, then I know naught of medicine.\" And, being\nskilled in leechcraft, she drew it carefully out.\n\nIn a moment Princess Gold-Tree opened her eyes and sat up, and presently\nshe had recovered sufficiently to tell the Other Princess the whole\nstory.\n\nNow, if her step-mother had been jealous, the Other Princess was not\njealous at all; for, when she heard all that had happened, she clapped\nher little hands, crying, \"Oh, how glad the Prince will be; for although\nhe hath married again, I know that he loves thee best.\"\n\nThat night the Prince came home from hunting looking very tired and sad,\nfor what his second wife had said was quite true. Although he loved her\nvery much, he was always mourning in his heart for his first dear love,\nPrincess Gold-Tree.\n\n\"How sad thou art!\" exclaimed his wife, going out to meet him. \"Is there\nnothing that I can do to bring a smile to thy face?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" answered the Prince wearily, laying down his bow, for he was\ntoo heart-sore even to pretend to be gay.\n\n\"Except to give thee back Gold-Tree,\" said his wife mischievously. \"And\nthat can I do. Thou wilt find her alive and well in the Mullioned\nChamber.\"\n\nWithout a word the Prince ran upstairs, and, sure enough, there was his\ndear Gold-Tree, sitting on the couch ready to welcome him.\n\nHe was so overjoyed to see her that he threw his arms round her neck and\nkissed her over and over again, quite forgetting his poor second wife,\nwho had followed him upstairs, and who now stood watching the meeting\nthat she had brought about.\n\nShe did not seem to be sorry for herself, however. \"I always knew that\nthy heart yearned after Princess Gold-Tree,\" she said. \"And it is but\nright that it should be so. For she was thy first love, and, since she\nhath come to life again, I will go back to mine own people.\"\n\n\"No, indeed thou wilt not,\" answered the Prince, \"for it is thou who\nhast brought me this joy. Thou wilt stay with us, and we shall all three\nlive happily together. And Gold-Tree and thee will become great\nfriends.\"\n\nAnd so it came to pass. For Princess Gold-Tree and the Other Princess\nsoon became like sisters, and loved each other as if they had been\nbrought up together all their lives.\n\nIn this manner another year passed away, and one evening, in the old\ncountry, Queen Silver-Tree went, as she had done before, to look at her\nface in the water of the little well in the glen.\n\nAnd, as had happened twice before, the trout was there. \"Troutie,\ntroutie,\" she whispered, \"am not I the most beautiful woman in the\nworld?\"\n\n\"By my troth, thou art not,\" answered the trout, as he had answered on\nthe two previous occasions.\n\n\"And who dost thou say is the most beautiful woman now?\" asked the\nQueen, her voice trembling with rage and vexation.\n\n\"I have given her name to thee these two years back,\" answered the\ntrout. \"The Princess Gold-Tree, of course.\"\n\n\"But she is dead,\" laughed the Queen. \"I am sure of it this time, for it\nis just a year since I stabbed her little finger with a poisoned needle,\nand I heard her fall down dead on the floor.\"\n\n\"I would not be so sure of that,\" answered the trout, and without saying\nanother word he dived straight down to the bottom of the well.\n\nAfter hearing his mysterious words the Queen could not rest, and at last\nshe asked her husband to have the Long Ship prepared once more, so that\nshe could go and see her step-daughter.\n\nThe King gave the order gladly; and it all happened as it had happened\nbefore.\n\nShe steered the Ship over the sea with her own hands, and when it was\napproaching the land it was seen and recognised by Princess Gold-Tree.\n\nThe Prince was out hunting, and the Princess ran, in great terror, to\nher friend, the Other Princess, who was upstairs in her chamber.\n\n\"Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?\" she cried, \"for I see my\nfather's Long Ship coming, and I know that my cruel step-mother is on\nboard, and she will try to kill me, as she tried to kill me before. Oh!\ncome, let us escape to the hills.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" replied the Other Princess, throwing her arms round the\ntrembling Gold-Tree. \"I am not afraid of thy Lady Step-Mother. Come with\nme, and we will go down to the sea shore to greet her.\"\n\nSo they both went down to the edge of the water, and when Queen\nSilver-Tree saw her step-daughter coming she pretended to be very glad,\nand sprang out of the boat and ran to meet her, and held out a silver\ngoblet full of wine for her to drink.\n\n\"'Tis rare wine from the East,\" she said, \"and therefore very precious.\nI brought a flagon with me, so that we might pledge each other in a\nloving cup.\"\n\nPrincess Gold-Tree, who was ever gentle and courteous, would have\nstretched out her hand for the cup, had not the Other Princess stepped\nbetween her and her step-mother.\n\n\"Nay, Madam,\" she said gravely, looking the Queen straight in the face;\n\"it is the custom in this land for the one who offers a loving cup to\ndrink from it first herself.\"\n\n\"I will follow the custom gladly,\" answered the Queen, and she raised\nthe goblet to her mouth. But the Other Princess, who was watching for\nclosely, noticed that she did not allow the wine that it contained to\ntouch her lips. So she stepped forward and, as if by accident, struck\nthe bottom of the goblet with her shoulder. Part of its contents flew\ninto the Queen's face, and part, before she could shut her mouth, went\ndown her throat.\n\nSo, because of her wickedness, she was, as the Good Book says, caught in\nher own net. For she had made the wine so poisonous that, almost before\nshe had swallowed it, she fell dead at the two Princesses' feet.\n\nNo one was sorry for her, for she really deserved her fate; and they\nburied her hastily in a lonely piece of ground, and very soon everybody\nhad forgotten all about her.\n\nAs for Princess Gold-Tree, she lived happily and peacefully with her\nhusband and her friend for the remainder of her life.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nWHIPPETY-STOURIE\n\n\nI am going to tell you a story about a poor young widow woman, who lived\nin a house called Kittlerumpit, though whereabouts in Scotland the house\nof Kittlerumpit stood nobody knows.\n\nSome folk think that it stood in the neighbourhood of the Debateable\nLand, which, as all the world knows, was on the Borders, where the old\nBorder Reivers were constantly coming and going; the Scotch stealing\nfrom the English, and the English from the Scotch. Be that as it may,\nthe widowed Mistress of Kittlerumpit was sorely to be pitied.\n\nFor she had lost her husband, and no one quite knew what had become of\nhim. He had gone to a fair one day, and had never come back again, and\nalthough everybody believed that he was dead, no one knew how he died.\n\nSome people said that he had been persuaded to enlist, and had been\nkilled in the wars; others, that he had been taken away to serve as a\nsailor by the press-gang, and had been drowned at sea.\n\nAt any rate, his poor young wife was sorely to be pitied, for she was\nleft with a little baby-boy to bring up, and, as times were bad, she had\nnot much to live on.\n\nBut she loved her baby dearly, and worked all day amongst her cows, and\npigs, and hens, in order to earn enough money to buy food and clothes\nfor both herself and him.\n\nNow, on the morning of which I am speaking, she rose very early and went\nout to feed her pigs, for rent-day was coming on, and she intended to\ntake one of them, a great, big, fat creature, to the market that very\nday, as she thought that the price that it would fetch would go a long\nway towards paying her rent.\n\nAnd because she thought so, her heart was light, and she hummed a little\nsong to herself as she crossed the yard with her bucket on one arm and\nher baby-boy on the other.\n\nBut the song was quickly changed into a cry of despair when she reached\nthe pig-stye, for there lay her cherished pig on its back, with its legs\nin the air and its eyes shut, just as if it were going to breathe its\nlast breath.\n\n\"What shall I do? What shall I do?\" cried the poor woman, sitting down\non a big stone and clasping her boy to her breast, heedless of the fact\nthat she had dropped her bucket, and that the pig's-meat was running\nout, and that the hens were eating it.\n\n\"First I lost my husband, and now I am going to lose my finest pig. The\npig that I hoped would fetch a deal of money.\"\n\nNow I must explain to you that the house of Kittlerumpit stood on a\nhillside, with a great fir wood behind it, and the ground sloping down\nsteeply in front.\n\nAnd as the poor young thing, after having a good cry to herself, was\ndrying her eyes, she chanced to look down the hill, and who should she\nsee coming up it but an Old Woman, who looked like a lady born.\n\nShe was dressed all in green, with a white apron, and she wore a black\nvelvet hood on her head, and a steeple-crowned beaver hat over that,\nsomething like those, as I have heard tell, that the women wear in\nWales. She walked very slowly, leaning on a long staff, and she gave a\nbit hirple now and then, as if she were lame.\n\nAs she drew near, the young widow felt it was becoming to rise and\ncurtsey to the Gentlewoman, for such she saw her to be.\n\n\"Madam,\" she said, with a sob in her voice, \"I bid you welcome to the\nhouse of Kittlerumpit, although you find its Mistress one of the most\nunfortunate women in the world.\"\n\n\"Hout-tout,\" answered the old Lady, in such a harsh voice that the young\nwoman started, and grasped her baby tighter in her arms. \"Ye have little\nneed to say that. Ye have lost your husband, I grant ye, but there were\nwaur losses at Shirra-Muir. And now your pig is like to die--I could,\nmaybe, remedy that. But I must first hear how much ye wad gie me if I\ncured him.\"\n\n\"Anything that your Ladyship's Madam likes to ask,\" replied the widow,\ntoo much delighted at having the animal's life saved to think that she\nwas making rather a rash promise.\n\n\"Very good,\" said the old Dame, and without wasting any more words she\nwalked straight into the pig-sty.\n\nShe stood and looked at the dying creature for some minutes, rocking to\nand fro and muttering to herself in words which the widow could not\nunderstand; at least, she could only understand four of them, and they\nsounded something like this:\n\n    \"Pitter-patter,\n    Haly water.\"\n\nThen she put her hand into her pocket and drew out a tiny bottle with a\nliquid that looked like oil in it. She took the cork out, and dropped\none of her long lady-like fingers into it; then she touched the pig on\nthe snout and on his ears, and on the tip of his curly tail.\n\nNo sooner had she done so than up the beast jumped, and, with a grunt of\ncontentment, ran off to its trough to look for its breakfast.\n\nA joyful woman was the Mistress of Kittlerumpit when she saw it do this,\nfor she felt that her rent was safe; and in her relief and gratitude she\nwould have kissed the hem of the strange Lady's green gown, if she\nwould have allowed it, but she would not.\n\n\"No, no,\" said she, and her voice sounded harsher than ever. \"Let us\nhave no fine meanderings, but let us stick to our bargain. I have done\nmy part, and mended the pig; now ye must do yours, and give me what I\nlike to ask--your son.\"\n\nThen the poor widow gave a piteous cry, for she knew now what she had\nnot guessed before--that the Green-clad Lady was a Fairy, and a Wicked\nFairy too, else had she not asked such a terrible thing.\n\nIt was too late now, however, to pray, and beseech, and beg for mercy;\nthe Fairy stood her ground, hard and cruel.\n\n\"Ye promised me what I liked to ask, and I have asked your son; and your\nson I will have,\" she replied, \"so it is useless making such a din about\nit. But one thing I may tell you, for I know well that the knowledge\nwill not help you. By the laws of Fairy-land, I cannot take the bairn\ntill the third day after this, and if by that time you have found out my\nname I cannot take him even then. But ye will not be able to find it\nout, of that I am certain. So I will call back for the boy in three\ndays.\"\n\nAnd with that she disappeared round the back of the pig-sty, and the\npoor mother fell down in a dead faint beside the stone.\n\nAll that day, and all the next, she did nothing but sit in her kitchen\nand cry, and hug her baby tighter in her arms; but on the day before\nthat on which the Fairy said that she was coming back, she felt as if\nshe must get a little breath of fresh air, so she went for a walk in the\nfir wood behind the house.\n\nNow in this fir wood there was an old quarry hole, in the bottom of\nwhich was a bonnie spring well, the water of which was always sweet and\npure. The young widow was walking near this quarry hole, when, to her\nastonishment, she heard the whirr of a spinning-wheel and the sound of a\nvoice lilting a song. At first she could not think where the sound came\nfrom; then, remembering the quarry, she laid down her child at a tree\nroot, and crept noiselessly through the bushes on her hands and knees to\nthe edge of the hole and peeped over.\n\nShe could hardly believe her eyes! For there, far below her, at the\nbottom of the quarry, beside the spring well, sat the cruel Fairy,\ndressed in her green frock and tall felt hat, spinning away as fast as\nshe could at a tiny spinning-wheel.\n\nAnd what should she be singing but--\n\n    \"Little kens our guid dame at hame,\n    Whippety-Stourie is my name.\"\n\nThe widow woman almost cried aloud for joy, for now she had learned the\nFairy's secret, and her child was safe. But she dare not, in case the\nwicked old Dame heard her and threw some other spell over her.\n\nSo she crept softly back to the place where she had left her child;\nthen, catching him up in her arms, she ran through the wood to her\nhouse, laughing, and singing, and tossing him in the air in such a state\nof delight that, if anyone had met her, they would have been in danger\nof thinking that she was mad.\n\nNow this young woman had been a merry-hearted maiden, and would have\nbeen merry-hearted still, if, since her marriage, she had not had so\nmuch trouble that it had made her grow old and sober-minded before her\ntime; and she began to think what fun it would be to tease the Fairy for\na few minutes before she let her know that she had found out her name.\n\nSo next day, at the appointed time, she went out with her boy in her\narms, and seated herself on the big stone where she had sat before; and\nwhen she saw the old Dame coming up the hill, she crumpled up her nice\nclean cap, and screwed up her face, and pretended to be in great\ndistress and to be crying bitterly.\n\nThe Fairy took no notice of this, however, but came close up to her, and\nsaid, in her harsh, merciless voice, \"Good wife of Kittlerumpit, ye ken\nthe reason of my coming; give me the bairn.\"\n\nThen the young mother pretended to be in sorer distress than ever, and\nfell on her knees before the wicked old woman and begged for mercy.\n\n\"Oh, sweet Madam Mistress,\" she cried, \"spare me my bairn, and take, an'\nthou wilt, the pig instead.\"\n\n\"We have no need of bacon where I come from,\" answered the Fairy coldly;\n\"so give me the laddie and let me begone--I have no time to waste in\nthis wise.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear Lady mine,\" pleaded the Goodwife, \"if thou wilt not have the\npig, wilt thou not spare my poor bairn and take me myself?\"\n\nThe Fairy stepped back a little, as if in astonishment. \"Art thou mad,\nwoman,\" she cried contemptuously, \"that thou proposest such a thing? Who\nin all the world would care to take a plain-looking, red-eyed, dowdy\nwife like thee with them?\"\n\nNow the young Mistress of Kittlerumpit knew that she was no beauty, and\nthe knowledge had never vexed her; but something in the Fairy's tone\nmade her feel so angry that she could contain herself no longer.\n\n\"In troth, fair Madam, I might have had the wit to know that the like of\nme is not fit to tie the shoe-string of the High and Mighty Princess,\nWHIPPETY-STOURIE!\"\n\nIf there had been a charge of gunpowder buried in the ground, and if it\nhad suddenly exploded beneath her feet, the Wicked Fairy could not have\njumped higher into air.\n\nAnd when she came down again she simply turned round and ran down the\nbrae, shrieking with rage and disappointment, for all the world, as an\nold book says, \"like an owl chased by witches.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE RED-ETIN\n\n\nThere were once two widows who lived in two cottages which stood not\nvery far from one another. And each of those widows possessed a piece of\nland on which she grazed a cow and a few sheep, and in this way she made\nher living.\n\nOne of these poor widows had two sons, the other had one; and as these\nthree boys were always together, it was natural that they should become\ngreat friends.\n\nAt last the time arrived when the eldest son of the widow who had two\nsons, must leave home and go out into the world to seek his fortune. And\nthe night before he went away his mother told him to take a can and go\nto the well and bring back some water, and she would bake a cake for him\nto carry with him.\n\n\"But remember,\" she added, \"the size of the cake will depend on the\nquantity of water that thou bringest back. If thou bringest much, then\nwill it be large; and, if thou bringest little, then will it be small.\nBut, big or little, it is all that I have to give thee.\"\n\nThe lad took the can and went off to the well, and filled it with\nwater, and came home again. But he never noticed that the can had a hole\nin it, and was running out; so that, by the time that he arrived at\nhome, there was very little water left. So his mother could only bake\nhim a very little cake.\n\nBut, small as it was, she asked him, as she gave it to him, to choose\none of two things. Either to take the half of it with her blessing, or\nthe whole of it with her malison. \"For,\" said she, \"thou canst not have\nboth the whole cake and a blessing along with it.\"\n\nThe lad looked at the cake and hesitated. It would have been pleasant to\nhave left home with his mother's blessing upon him; but he had far to\ngo, and the cake was little; the half of it would be a mere mouthful,\nand he did not know when he would get any more food. So at last he made\nup his mind to take the whole of it, even if he had to bear his mother's\nmalison.\n\nThen he took his younger brother aside, and gave him his hunting-knife,\nsaying, \"Keep this by thee, and look at it every morning. For as long as\nthe blade remains clear and bright, thou wilt know that it is well with\nme; but should it grow dim and rusty, then know thou that some evil hath\nbefallen me.\"\n\nAfter this he embraced them both and set out on his travels. He\njourneyed all that day, and all the next, and on the afternoon of the\nthird day he came to where an old shepherd was sitting beside a flock of\nsheep.\n\n\"I will ask the old man whose sheep they are,\" he said to himself, \"for\nmayhap his master might engage me also as a shepherd.\" So he went up to\nthe old man, and asked him to whom the sheep belonged. And this was all\nthe answer he got:\n\n    \"The Red-Etin of Ireland\n    Ance lived in Ballygan,\n    And stole King Malcolm's daughter,\n    The King of fair Scotland.\n    He beats her, he binds her,\n    He lays her on a band,\n    And every day he dings her\n    With a bright silver wand.\n        Like Julian the Roman,\n        He's one that fears no man.\n\n    \"It's said there's ane predestinate\n    To be his mortal foe,\n    But that man is yet unborn,\n    And lang may it be so.\"\n\n\"That does not tell me much; but somehow I do not fancy this Red-Etin\nfor a master,\" thought the youth, and he went on his way.\n\nHe had not gone very far, however, when he saw another old man, with\nsnow-white hair, herding a flock of swine; and as he wondered to whom\nthe swine belonged, and if there was any chance of him getting a\nsituation as a swineherd, he went up to the countryman, and asked who\nwas the owner of the animals.\n\nHe got the same answer from the swineherd that he had got from the\nshepherd:\n\n    \"The Red-Etin of Ireland\n    Ance lived in Ballygan,\n    And stole King Malcolm's daughter,\n    The King of fair Scotland.\n    He beats her, he binds her,\n    He lays her on a band,\n    And every day he dings her\n    With a bright silver wand.\n        Like Julian the Roman,\n        He's one that fears no man.\n\n    \"It's said there's ane predestinate\n    To be his mortal foe,\n    But that man is yet unborn,\n    And lang may it be so.\"\n\n\"Plague on this old Red-Etin; I wonder when I will get out of his\ndomains,\" he muttered to himself; and he journeyed still further.\n\nPresently he came to a very, very old man--so old, indeed, that he was\nquite bent with age--and he was herding a flock of goats.\n\nOnce more the traveller asked to whom the animals belonged, and once\nmore he got the same answer:\n\n    \"The Red-Etin of Ireland\n    Ance lived in Ballygan,\n    And stole King Malcolm's daughter,\n    The King of fair Scotland.\n    He beats her, he binds her,\n    He lays her on a band,\n    And every day he dings her\n    With a bright silver wand.\n        Like Julian the Roman,\n        He's one that fears no man.\n\n    \"It's said there's ane predestinate\n    To be his mortal foe,\n    But that man is yet unborn,\n    And lang may it be so.\"\n\nBut this ancient goatherd added a piece of advice at the end of his\nrhyme. \"Beware, stranger,\" he said, \"of the next herd of beasts that ye\nshall meet. Sheep, and swine, and goats will harm nobody; but the\ncreatures ye shall now encounter are of a sort that ye have never met\nbefore, and _they_ are not harmless.\"\n\nThe young man thanked him for his counsel, and went on his way, and he\nhad not gone very far before he met a herd of very dreadful creatures,\nunlike anything that he had ever dreamed of in all his life.\n\nFor each of them had three heads, and on each of its three heads it had\nfour horns; and when he saw them he was so frightened that he turned and\nran away from them as fast as he could.\n\nUp hill and down dale he ran, until he was well-nigh exhausted; and,\njust when he was beginning to feel that his legs would not carry him any\nfurther, he saw a great Castle in front of him, the door of which was\nstanding wide open.\n\nHe was so tired that he went straight in, and after wandering through\nsome magnificent halls, which appeared to be quite deserted, he reached\nthe kitchen, where an old woman was sitting by the fire.\n\nHe asked her if he might have a night's lodging, as he had come a long\nand weary journey, and would be glad of somewhere to rest.\n\n\"You can rest here, and welcome, for me,\" said the old Dame, \"but for\nyour own sake I warn you that this is an ill house to bide in; for it is\nthe Castle of the Red-Etin, who is a fierce and terrible Monster with\nthree heads, and he spareth neither man nor woman, if he can get hold of\nthem.\"\n\nTired as he was, the young man would have made an effort to escape from\nsuch a dangerous abode had he not remembered the strange and awful\nbeasts from which he had just been fleeing, and he was afraid that, as\nit was growing dark, if he set out again he might chance to walk right\ninto their midst. So he begged the old woman to hide him in some dark\ncorner, and not to tell the Red-Etin that he was in the Castle.\n\n\"For,\" thought he, \"if I can only get shelter until the morning, I will\nthen be able to avoid these terrible creatures and go on my way in\npeace.\"\n\nSo the old Dame hid him in a press under the back stairs, and, as there\nwas plenty of room in it, he settled down quite comfortably for the\nnight.\n\nBut just as he was going off to sleep he heard an awful roaring and\ntrampling overhead. The Red-Etin had come home, and it was plain that he\nwas searching for something.\n\nAnd the terrified youth soon found out what the \"Something\" was, for\nvery soon the horrible Monster came into the kitchen, crying out in a\nvoice like thunder:\n\n    \"Seek but, and seek ben,\n    I smell the smell of an earthly man!\n    Be he living, or be he dead,\n    His heart this night I shall eat with my bread.\"\n\nAnd it was not very long before he discovered the poor young man's\nhiding-place and pulled him roughly out of it.\n\nOf course, the lad begged that his life might be spared, but the Monster\nonly laughed at him.\n\n\"It will be spared if thou canst answer three questions,\" he said; \"if\nnot, it is forfeited.\"\n\nThe first of these three questions was, \"Whether Ireland or Scotland was\nfirst inhabited?\"\n\nThe second, \"How old was the world when Adam was made?\"\n\nAnd the third, \"Whether men or beasts were created first?\"\n\nThe lad was not skilled in such matters, having had but little\nbook-learning, and he could not answer the questions. So the Monster\nstruck him on the head with a queer little hammer which he carried, and\nturned him into a piece of stone.\n\nNow every morning since he had left home his younger brother had done as\nhe had promised, and had carefully examined his hunting-knife.\n\nOn the first two mornings it was bright and clear, but on the third\nmorning he was very much distressed to find that it was dull and rusty.\nHe looked at it for a few moments in great dismay; then he ran straight\nto his mother, and held it out to her.\n\n\"By this token I know that some mischief hath befallen my brother,\" he\nsaid, \"so I must set out at once to see what evil hath come upon him.\"\n\n\"First must thou go to the well and fetch me some water,\" said his\nmother, \"that I may bake thee a cake to carry with thee, as I baked a\ncake for him who is gone. And I will say to thee what I said to him.\nThat the cake will be large or small according as thou bringest much or\nlittle water back with thee.\"\n\nSo the lad took the can, as his brother had done, and went off to the\nwell, and it seemed as if some evil spirit directed him to follow his\nexample in all things, for he brought home little water, and he chose\nthe whole cake and his mother's malison, instead of the half and her\nblessing, and he set out and met the shepherd, and the swineherd, and\nthe goatherd, and they all gave the same answers to him which they had\ngiven to his brother. And he also encountered the same fierce beasts,\nand ran from them in terror, and took shelter from them in the Castle;\nand the old woman hid him, and the Red-Etin found him, and, because he\ncould not answer the three questions, he, too, was turned into a pillar\nof stone.\n\nAnd no more would ever have been heard of these two youths had not a\nkind Fairy, who had seen all that had happened, appeared to the other\nwidow and her son, as they were sitting at supper one night in the\ngloaming, and told them the whole story, and how their two poor young\nneighbours had been turned into pillars of stone by a cruel enchanter\ncalled Red-Etin.\n\nNow the third young man was both brave and strong, and he determined to\nset out to see if he could in anywise help his two friends. And, from\nthe very first moment that he had made up his mind to do so, things went\ndifferently with him than they had with them. I think, perhaps, that\nthis was because he was much more loving and thoughtful than they were.\n\nFor, when his mother sent him to fetch water from the well so that she\nmight bake a cake for him, just as the other mother had done for her\nsons, a raven, flying above his head, croaked out that his can was\nleaking, and he, wishing to please his mother by bringing her a good\nsupply of water, patched up the hole with clay, and so came home with\nthe can quite full.\n\nThen, when his mother had baked a big bannock for him, and giving him\nhis choice between the whole cake and her malison, or half of it and her\nblessing, he chose the latter, \"for,\" said he, throwing his arms round\nher neck, \"I may light on other cakes to eat, but I will never light on\nanother blessing such as thine.\"\n\nAnd the curious thing was, that, after he had said this, the half cake\nwhich he had chosen seemed to spread itself out, and widen, and broaden,\ntill it was bigger by far than it had been at first.\n\nThen he started on his journey, and, after he had gone a good way he\nbegan to feel hungry. So he pulled it out of his pocket and began to eat\nit.\n\nJust then he met an old woman, who seemed to be very poor, for her\nclothing was thin, and worn, and old, and she stopped and spoke to him.\n\n\"Of thy charity, kind Master,\" she said, stretching out one of her\nwithered hands, \"spare me a bit of the cake that thou art eating.\"\n\nNow the youth was very hungry, and he could have eaten it all himself,\nbut his kind heart was touched by the woman's pinched face, so he broke\nit in two, and gave her half of it.\n\nInstantly she was changed into the Fairy who had appeared to his mother\nand himself as they had sat at supper the night before, and she smiled\ngraciously at the generous lad, and held out a little wand to him.\n\n\"Though thou knowest it not, thy mother's blessing and thy kindness to\nan old and poor woman hath gained thee many blessings, brave boy,\" he\nsaid. \"Keep that as thy reward; thou wilt need it ere thy errand be\ndone.\" Then, bidding him sit down on the grass beside her, she told him\nall the dangers that he would meet on his travels, and the way in which\nhe could overcome them, and then, in a moment, before he could thank\nher, she vanished out of his sight.\n\nBut with the little wand, and all the instructions that she had given\nhim, he felt that he could face fearlessly any danger that he might be\ncalled on to meet, so he rose from the grass and went his way, full of a\ncheerful courage.\n\nAfter he had walked for many miles further, he came, as each of his\nfriends had done, to the old shepherd herding his sheep. And, like them,\nhe asked to whom the sheep belonged. And this time the old man answered:\n\n    \"The Red-Etin of Ireland\n    Ance lived in Ballygan,\n    And stole King Malcolm's daughter,\n    The King of fair Scotland.\n    He beats her, he binds her,\n    He lays her on a band,\n    And every day he dings her\n    With a bright silver wand.\n        Like Julian the Roman,\n        He's one that fears no man.\n\n    \"But now I fear his end is near,\n    And destiny at hand;\n    And you're to be, I plainly see,\n    The heir of all his land.\"\n\nThen the young man went on, and he came to the swineherd, and to the\ngoatherd; and each of them in turn repeated the same words to him.\n\nAnd, when he came to where the droves of monstrous beasts were, he was\nnot afraid of them, and when one came running up to him with its mouth\nwide open to devour him, he just struck it with his wand, and it dropped\ndown dead at his feet.\n\nAt last he arrived at the Red-Etin's Castle, and he knocked boldly at\nthe door. The old woman answered his knock, and, when he had told her\nhis errand, warned him gravely not to enter.\n\n\"Thy two friends came here before thee,\" she said, \"and they are now\nturned into two pillars of stone; what advantage is it to thee to lose\nthy life also?\"\n\nBut the young man only laughed. \"I have knowledge of an art of which\nthey knew nothing,\" he said. \"And methinks I can fight the Red-Etin with\nhis own weapons.\"\n\nSo, much against her will, the old woman let him in, and hid him where\nshe had hid his friends.\n\nIt was not long before the Monster arrived, and, as on former occasions,\nhe came into the kitchen in a furious rage, crying:\n\n    \"Seek but, and seek ben,\n    I smell the smell of an earthly man!\n    Be he living, or be he dead,\n    His heart this night I shall eat with my bread.\"\n\nThen he peered into the young man's hiding-place, and called to him to\ncome out. And after he had come out, he put to him the three questions,\nnever dreaming that he could answer them; but the Fairy had told the\nyouth what to say, and he gave the answers as pat as any book.\n\nThen the Red-Etin's heart sank within him for fear, for he knew that\nsomeone had betrayed him, and that his power was gone.\n\nAnd gone in very truth it was. For when the youth took an axe and began\nto fight with him, he had no strength to resist, and, before he knew\nwhere he was, his heads were cut off. And that was the end of the\nRed-Etin.\n\nAs soon as he saw that his enemy was really dead, the young man asked\nthe old woman if what the shepherd, and the swineherd, and the goatherd\nhad told him were true, and if King Malcolm's daughter were really a\nprisoner in the Castle.\n\nThe old woman nodded. \"Even with the Monster lying dead at my feet, I am\nalmost afraid to speak of it,\" she said. \"But come with me, my gallant\ngentleman, and thou wilt see what dule and misery the Red-Etin hath\ncaused to many a home.\"\n\nShe took a huge bunch of keys, and led him up a long flight of stairs,\nwhich ended in a passage with a great many doors on each side of it. She\nunlocked these doors with her keys, and, as she opened them, she put her\nhead into every room and said, \"Ye have naught to fear now, Madam, the\nPredestinated Deliverer hath come, and the Red-Etin is dead.\"\n\n[Illustration: And that was the end of the Red-Etin]\n\nAnd behold, with a cry of joy, out of every room came a beautiful lady\nwho had been stolen from her home, and shut up there, by the Red-Etin.\n\nAmong them was one who was more beautiful and stately than the rest, and\nall the others bowed down to her and treated her with such great\nreverence that it was clear to see that she was the Royal Princess, King\nMalcolm's daughter.\n\nAnd when the youth stepped forward and did reverence to her also, she\nspoke so sweetly to him, and greeted him so gladly, and called him her\nDeliverer, in such a low, clear voice, that his heart was taken captive\nat once.\n\nBut, for all that, he did not forget his friends. He asked the old woman\nwhere they were, and she took him into a room at the end of the passage,\nwhich was so dark that one could scarcely see in it, and so low that one\ncould scarcely stand upright.\n\nIn this dismal chamber stood two blocks of stone.\n\n\"One can unlock doors, young Master,\" said the old woman, shaking her\nhead forebodingly, \"but 'tis hard work to try to turn cauld stane back\nto flesh and blood.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, I will do it,\" said the youth, and, lifting his little\nwand, he touched each of the stone pillars lightly on the top.\n\nInstantly the hard stone seemed to soften and melt away, and the two\nbrothers started into life and form again. Their gratitude to their\nfriend, who had risked so much to save them, knew no bounds, while he,\non his part, was delighted to think that his efforts had been\nsuccessful.\n\nThe next thing to do was to convey the Princess and the other ladies\n(who were all noblemen's daughters) back to the King's Court, and this\nthey did next day.\n\nKing Malcolm was so overjoyed to see his dearly loved daughter, whom he\nhad given up for dead, safe and sound, and so grateful to her deliverer,\nthat he said that he should become his son-in-law and marry the\nPrincess, and come and live with them at Court. Which all came to pass\nin due time; while as for the two other young men, they married\nnoblemen's daughters, and the two old mothers came to live near their\nsons, and everyone was as happy as they could possibly be.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEAL CATCHER AND THE MERMAN\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a man who lived not very far from John o'\nGroat's house, which, as everyone knows, is in the very north of\nScotland. He lived in a little cottage by the sea-shore, and made his\nliving by catching seals and selling their fur, which is very valuable.\n\nHe earned a good deal of money in this way, for these creatures used to\ncome out of the sea in large numbers, and lie on the rocks near his\nhouse basking in the sunshine, so that it was not difficult to creep up\nbehind them and kill them.\n\nSome of those seals were larger than others, and the country people used\nto call them \"Roane,\" and whisper that they were not seals at all, but\nMermen and Merwomen, who came from a country of their own, far down\nunder the ocean, who assumed this strange disguise in order that they\nmight pass through the water, and come up to breathe the air of this\nearth of ours.\n\nBut the seal catcher only laughed at them, and said that those seals\nwere most worth killing, for their skins were so big that he got an\nextra price for them.\n\nNow it chanced one day, when he was pursuing his calling, that he\nstabbed a seal with his hunting-knife, and whether the stroke had not\nbeen sure enough or not, I cannot say, but with a loud cry of pain the\ncreature slipped off the rock into the sea, and disappeared under the\nwater, carrying the knife along with it.\n\nThe seal catcher, much annoyed at his clumsiness, and also at the loss\nof his knife, went home to dinner in a very downcast frame of mind. On\nhis way he met a horseman, who was so tall and so strange-looking and\nwho rode on such a gigantic horse, that he stopped and looked at him in\nastonishment, wondering who he was, and from what country he came.\n\nThe stranger stopped also, and asked him his trade and on hearing that\nhe was a seal catcher, he immediately ordered a great number of seal\nskins. The seal catcher was delighted, for such an order meant a large\nsum of money to him. But his face fell when the horseman added that it\nwas absolutely necessary that the skins should be delivered that\nevening.\n\n\"I cannot do it,\" he said in a disappointed voice, \"for the seals will\nnot come back to the rocks again until to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"I can take you to a place where there are any number of seals,\"\nanswered the stranger, \"if you will mount behind me on my horse and come\nwith me.\"\n\nThe seal catcher agreed to this, and climbed up behind the rider, who\nshook his bridle rein, and off the great horse galloped at such a pace\nthat he had much ado to keep his seat.\n\nOn and on they went, flying like the wind, until at last they came to\nthe edge of a huge precipice, the face of which went sheer down to the\nsea. Here the mysterious horseman pulled up his steed with a jerk.\n\n\"Get off now,\" he said shortly.\n\nThe seal catcher did as he was bid, and when he found himself safe on\nthe ground, he peeped cautiously over the edge of the cliff, to see if\nthere were any seals lying on the rocks below.\n\nTo his astonishment he saw no rocks, only the blue sea, which came right\nup to the foot of the cliff.\n\n\"Where are the seals that you spoke of?\" he asked anxiously, wishing\nthat he had never set out on such a rash adventure.\n\n\"You will see presently,\" answered the stranger, who was attending to\nhis horse's bridle.\n\nThe seal catcher was now thoroughly frightened, for he felt sure that\nsome evil was about to befall him, and in such a lonely place he knew\nthat it would be useless to cry out for help.\n\nAnd it seemed as if his fears would prove only too true, for the next\nmoment the stranger's hand was laid upon his shoulder, and he felt\nhimself being hurled bodily over the cliff, and then he fell with a\nsplash into the sea.\n\nHe thought that his last hour had come, and he wondered how anyone could\nwork such a deed of wrong upon an innocent man.\n\nBut, to his astonishment, he found that some change must have passed\nover him, for instead of being choked by the water, he could breathe\nquite easily, and he and his companion, who was still close at his side,\nseemed to be sinking as quickly down through the sea as they had flown\nthrough the air.\n\nDown and down they went, nobody knows how far, till at last they came to\na huge arched door, which appeared to be made of pink coral, studded\nover with cockle-shells. It opened, of its own accord, and when they\nentered they found themselves in a huge hall, the walls of which were\nformed of mother-of-pearl, and the floor of which was of sea-sand,\nsmooth, and firm, and yellow.\n\nThe hall was crowded with occupants, but they were seals, not men, and\nwhen the seal catcher turned to his companion to ask him what it all\nmeant, he was aghast to find that he, too, had assumed the form of a\nseal. He was still more aghast when he caught sight of himself in a\nlarge mirror that hung on the wall, and saw that he also no longer bore\nthe likeness of a man, but was transformed into a nice, hairy, brown\nseal.\n\n\"Ah, woe to me,\" he said to himself, \"for no fault of mine own this\nartful stranger hath laid some baneful charm upon me, and in this awful\nguise will I remain for the rest of my natural life.\"\n\nAt first none of the huge creatures spoke to him. For some reason or\nother they seemed to be very sad, and moved gently about the hall,\ntalking quietly and mournfully to one another, or lay sadly upon the\nsandy floor, wiping big tears from their eyes with their soft furry\nfins.\n\nBut presently they began to notice him, and to whisper to one another,\nand presently his guide moved away from him, and disappeared through a\ndoor at the end of the hall. When he returned he held a huge knife in\nhis hand.\n\n\"Didst thou ever see this before?\" he asked, holding it out to the\nunfortunate seal catcher, who, to his horror, recognised his own hunting\nknife with which he had struck the seal in the morning, and which had\nbeen carried off by the wounded animal.\n\nAt the sight of it he fell upon his face and begged for mercy, for he at\nonce came to the conclusion that the inhabitants of the cavern, enraged\nat the harm which had been wrought upon their comrade, had, in some\nmagic way, contrived to capture him, and to bring him down to their\nsubterranean abode, in order to wreak their vengeance upon him by\nkilling him.\n\nBut, instead of doing so, they crowded round him, rubbing their soft\nnoses against his fur to show their sympathy, and implored him not to\nput himself about, for no harm would befall him, and they would love him\nall their lives long if he would only do what they asked him.\n\n\"Tell me what it is,\" said the seal catcher, \"and I will do it, if it\nlies within my power.\"\n\n\"Follow me,\" answered his guide, and he led the way to the door through\nwhich he had disappeared when he went to seek the knife.\n\nThe seal catcher followed him. And there, in a smaller room, he found a\ngreat brown seal lying on a bed of pale pink sea-weed, with a gaping\nwound in his side.\n\n\"That is my father,\" said his guide, \"whom thou wounded this morning,\nthinking that he was one of the common seals who live in the sea,\ninstead of a Merman who hath speech, and understanding, as you mortals\nhave. I brought thee hither to bind up his wounds, for no other hand\nthan thine can heal him.\"\n\n\"I have no skill in the art of healing,\" said the seal catcher,\nastonished at the forbearance of these strange creatures, whom he had so\nunwittingly wronged; \"but I will bind up the wound to the best of my\npower, and I am only sorry that it was my hands that caused it.\"\n\nHe went over to the bed, and, stooping over the wounded Merman, washed\nand dressed the hurt as well as he could; and the touch of his hands\nappeared to work like magic, for no sooner had he finished than the\nwound seemed to deaden and die, leaving only the scar, and the old seal\nsprang up, as well as ever.\n\nThen there was great rejoicing throughout the whole Palace of the Seals.\nThey laughed, and they talked, and they embraced each other in their own\nstrange way, crowding round their comrade, and rubbing their noses\nagainst his, as if to show him how delighted they were at his recovery.\n\nBut all this while the seal catcher stood alone in a corner, with his\nmind filled with dark thoughts, for although he saw now that they had no\nintention of killing him, he did not relish the prospect of spending the\nrest of his life in the guise of a seal, fathoms deep under the ocean.\n\nBut presently, to his great joy, his guide approached him, and said,\n\"Now you are at liberty to return home to your wife and children. I will\ntake you to them, but only on one condition.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\" asked the seal catcher eagerly, overjoyed at the\nprospect of being restored safely to the upper world, and to his family.\n\n\"That you will take a solemn oath never to wound a seal again.\"\n\n\"That will I do right gladly,\" he replied, for although the promise\nmeant giving up his means of livelihood, he felt that if only he\nregained his proper shape he could always turn his hand to something\nelse.\n\nSo he took the required oath with all due solemnity, holding up his fin\nas he swore, and all the other seals crowded round him as witnesses. And\na sigh of relief went through the halls when the words were spoken, for\nhe was the most noted seal catcher in the North.\n\nThen he bade the strange company farewell, and, accompanied by his\nguide, passed once more through the outer doors of coral, and up, and\nup, and up, through the shadowy green water, until it began to grow\nlighter and lighter and at last they emerged into the sunshine of earth.\n\nThen, with one spring, they reached the top of the cliff, where the\ngreat black horse was waiting for them, quietly nibbling the green turf.\n\nWhen they left the water their strange disguise dropped from them, and\nthey were now as they had been before, a plain seal catcher and a tall,\nwell-dressed gentleman in riding clothes.\n\n\"Get up behind me,\" said the latter, as he swung himself into his\nsaddle. The seal catcher did as he was bid, taking tight hold of his\ncompanion's coat, for he remembered how nearly he had fallen off on his\nprevious journey.\n\nThen it all happened as it happened before. The bridle was shaken, and\nthe horse galloped off, and it was not long before the seal catcher\nfound himself standing in safety before his own garden gate.\n\nHe held out his hand to say \"good-bye,\" but as he did so the stranger\npulled out a huge bag of gold and placed it in it.\n\n\"Thou hast done thy part of the bargain--we must do ours,\" he said. \"Men\nshall never say that we took away an honest man's work without making\nreparation for it, and here is what will keep thee in comfort to thy\nlife's end.\"\n\nThen he vanished, and when the astonished seal catcher carried the bag\ninto his cottage, and turned the gold out on the table, he found that\nwhat the stranger had said was true, and that he would be a rich man for\nthe remainder of his days.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PAGE-BOY AND THE SILVER GOBLET\n\n\nThere was once a little page-boy, who was in service in a stately\nCastle. He was a very good-natured little fellow, and did his duties so\nwillingly and well that everybody liked him, from the great Earl whom he\nserved every day on bended knee, to the fat old butler whose errands he\nran.\n\nNow the Castle stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, and\nalthough the walls at that side were very thick, in them there was a\nlittle postern door, which opened on to a narrow flight of steps that\nled down the face of the cliff to the sea shore, so that anyone who\nliked could go down there in the pleasant summer mornings and bathe in\nthe shimmering sea.\n\nOn the other side of the Castle were gardens and pleasure grounds,\nopening on to a long stretch of heather-covered moorland, which, at\nlast, met a distant range of hills.\n\nThe little page-boy was very fond of going out on this moor when his\nwork was done, for then he could run about as much as he liked, chasing\nbumble-bees, and catching butterflies, and looking for birds' nests when\nit was nesting time.\n\nAnd the old butler was very pleased that he should do so, for he knew\nthat it was good for a healthy little lad to have plenty of fun in the\nopen air. But before the boy went out the old man always gave him one\nwarning.\n\n\"Now, mind my words, laddie, and keep far away from the Fairy Knowe, for\nthe Little Folk are not to trust to.\"\n\nThis Knowe of which he spoke was a little green hillock, which stood on\nthe moor not twenty yards from the garden gate, and folk said that it\nwas the abode of Fairies, who would punish any rash mortal who came too\nnear them. And because of this the country people would walk a good\nhalf-mile out of their way, even in broad daylight, rather than run the\nrisk of going too near the Fairy Knowe and bringing down the Little\nFolks' displeasure upon them. And at night they would hardly cross the\nmoor at all, for everyone knows that Fairies come abroad in the\ndarkness, and the door of their dwelling stands open, so that any\nluckless mortal who does not take care may find himself inside.\n\nNow, the little page-boy was an adventurous wight, and instead of being\nfrightened of the Fairies, he was very anxious to see them, and to visit\ntheir abode, just to find out what it was like.\n\nSo one night, when everyone else was asleep, he crept out of the Castle\nby the little postern door, and stole down the stone steps, and along\nthe sea shore, and up on to the moor, and went straight to the Fairy\nKnowe.\n\nTo his delight he found that what everyone said was true. The top of the\nKnowe was tipped up, and from the opening that was thus made, rays of\nlight came streaming out.\n\nHis heart was beating fast with excitement, but, gathering his courage,\nhe stooped down and slipped inside the Knowe.\n\nHe found himself in a large room lit by numberless tiny candles, and\nthere, seated round a polished table, were scores of the Tiny Folk,\nFairies, and Elves, and Gnomes, dressed in green, and yellow, and pink;\nblue, and lilac, and scarlet; in all the colours, in fact, that you can\nthink of.\n\nHe stood in a dark corner watching the busy scene in wonder, thinking\nhow strange it was that there should be such a number of these tiny\nbeings living their own lives all unknown to men, at such a little\ndistance from them, when suddenly someone--he could not tell who it\nwas--gave an order.\n\n\"Fetch the Cup,\" cried the owner of the unknown voice, and instantly two\nlittle Fairy pages, dressed all in scarlet livery, darted from the table\nto a tiny cupboard in the rock, and returned staggering under the weight\nof a most beautiful silver cup, richly embossed and lined inside with\ngold.\n\nHe placed it in the middle of the table, and, amid clapping of hands and\nshouts of joy, all the Fairies began to drink out of it in turn. And\nthe page could see, from where he stood, that no one poured wine into\nit, and yet it was always full, and that the wine that was in it was not\nalways the same kind, but that each Fairy, when he grasped its stem,\nwished for the wine that he loved best, and lo! in a moment the cup was\nfull of it.\n\n\"'Twould be a fine thing if I could take that cup home with me,\" thought\nthe page. \"No one will believe that I have been here except I have\nsomething to show for it.\" So he bided his time, and watched.\n\nPresently the Fairies noticed him, and, instead of being angry at his\nboldness in entering their abode, as he expected that they would be,\nthey seemed very pleased to see him, and invited him to a seat at the\ntable. But by and by they grew rude and insolent, and jeered at him for\nbeing content to serve mere mortals, telling him that they saw\neverything that went on at the Castle, and making fun of the old butler,\nwhom the page loved with all his heart. And they laughed at the food he\nate, saying that it was only fit for animals; and when any fresh dainty\nwas set on the table by the scarlet-clad pages, they would push the dish\nacross to him, saying: \"Taste it, for you will not have the chance of\ntasting such things at the Castle.\"\n\nAt last he could stand their teasing remarks no longer; besides, he knew\nthat if he wanted to secure the cup he must lose no time in doing so.\n\nSo he suddenly stood up, and grasped the stem of it tightly in his hand.\n\"I'll drink to you all in water,\" he cried, and instantly the ruby wine\nwas turned to clear cold water.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nHe raised the cup to his lips, but he did not drink from it. With a\nsudden jerk he threw the water over the candles, and instantly the room\nwas in darkness. Then, clasping the precious cup tightly in his arms, he\nsprang to the opening of the Knowe, through which he could see the stars\nglimmering clearly.\n\nHe was just in time, for it fell to with a crash behind him; and soon he\nwas speeding along the wet, dew-spangled moor, with the whole troop of\nFairies at his heels. They were wild with rage, and from the shrill\nshouts of fury which they uttered, the page knew well that, if they\novertook him, he need expect no mercy at their hands.\n\nAnd his heart began to sink, for, fleet of foot though he was, he was no\nmatch for the Fairy Folk, who gained on him steadily.\n\nAll seemed lost, when a mysterious voice sounded out of the darkness:\n\n    \"If thou wouldst gain the Castle door,\n    Keep to the black stones on the shore.\"\n\nIt was the voice of some poor mortal, who, for some reason or other, had\nbeen taken prisoner by the Fairies--who were really very malicious\nLittle Folk--and who did not want a like fate to befall the adventurous\npage-boy; but the little fellow did not know this.\n\nHe had once heard that if anyone walked on the wet sands, where the\nwaves had come over them, the Fairies could not touch him, and this\nmysterious sentence brought the saying into his mind.\n\nSo he turned, and dashed panting down to the shore. His feet sank in the\ndry sand, his breath came in little gasps, and he felt as if he must\ngive up the struggle; but he persevered, and at last, just as the\nforemost Fairies were about to lay hands on him, he jumped across the\nwater-mark on to the firm, wet sand, from which the waves had just\nreceded, and then he knew that he was safe.\n\nFor the Little Folk could go no step further, but stood on the dry sand\nuttering cries of rage and disappointment, while the triumphant page-boy\nran safely along the shore, his precious cup in his arms, and climbed\nlightly up the steps in the rock and disappeared through the postern.\nAnd for many years after, long after the little page-boy had grown up\nand become a stately butler, who trained other little page-boys to\nfollow in his footsteps, the beautiful cup remained in the Castle as a\nwitness of his adventure.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE BLACK BULL OF NORROWAY\n\n\nIn bygone days, long centuries ago, there lived a widowed Queen who had\nthree daughters. And this widowed Queen was so poor, and had fallen upon\nsuch evil days, that she and her daughters had often much ado to get\nenough to eat.\n\nSo the eldest Princess determined that she would set out into the world\nto seek her fortune. And her mother was quite willing that she should do\nso. \"For,\" said she, \"'tis better to work abroad than to starve at\nhome.\"\n\nBut as there was an old hen-wife living near the Castle who was said to\nbe a witch, and to be able to foretell the future, the Queen sent the\nPrincess to her cottage, before she set out on her travels, to ask her\nin which of the Four Airts she ought to go, in order to find the best\nfortune.\n\n\"Thou needst gang nae farther than my back door, hinnie,\" answered the\nold Dame, who had always felt very sorry for the Queen and her pretty\ndaughters, and was glad to do them a good turn.\n\nSo the Princess ran through the passage to the hen-wife's back door and\npeeped out, and what should she see but a magnificent coach, drawn by\nsix beautiful cream-coloured horses, coming along the road.\n\nGreatly excited at this unusual sight, she hurried back to the kitchen,\nand told the hen-wife what she had seen.\n\n\"Aweel, aweel, ye've seen your fortune,\" said the old woman, in a tone\nof satisfaction, \"for that coach-and-six is coming for thee.\"\n\nSure enough, the coach-and-six stopped at the gate of the Castle, and\nthe second Princess came running down to the cottage to tell her sister\nto make haste, because it was waiting for her. Delighted beyond measure\nat the wonderful luck that had come to her, she hurried home, and,\nsaying farewell to her mother and sisters, took her seat within, and the\nhorses galloped off immediately.\n\nAnd I've heard tell that they drew her to the Palace of a great and\nwealthy Prince, who married her; but that is outside my story.\n\nA few weeks afterwards, the second Princess thought that she would do as\nher sister had done, and go down to the hen-wife's cottage, and tell her\nthat she, too, was going out into the world to seek her fortune. And, of\ncourse, in her heart of hearts she hoped that what had happened to her\nsister would happen to her also.\n\nAnd, curious to say, it did. For the old hen-wife sent her to look out\nat her back door, and she went, and, lo and behold! another\ncoach-and-six was coming along the road. And when she went and told the\nold woman, she smiled upon her kindly, and told her to hurry home, for\nthe coach-and-six was her fortune also, and that it had come for her.\n\nSo she, too, ran home, and got into her grand carriage, and was driven\naway. And, of course, after all these lucky happenings, the youngest\nPrincess was anxious to try what her fortune might be; so the very\nnight, in high good humour, she tripped away down to the old witch's\ncottage.\n\nShe, too, was told to look out at the back door, and she was only too\nglad to do so; for she fully expected to see a third coach-and-six\ncoming rolling along the high road, straight for the Castle door.\n\nBut, alas and alack! no such sight greeted her eager eyes, for the high\nroad was quite deserted, and in great disappointment she ran back to the\nhen-wife to tell her so.\n\n\"Then it is clear that thy fortune is not coming to meet thee this day,\"\nsaid the old Dame, \"so thou must e'en come back to-morrow.\"\n\nSo the little Princess went home again, and next day she turned up\nonce more at the old wife's cottage.\n\nBut once more she was disappointed, for although she looked out long and\neagerly, no glad sight of a coach-and-six, or of any other coach,\ngreeted her eyes. On the third day, however, what should she see but a\ngreat Black Bull coming rushing along the road, bellowing as it came,\nand tossing its head fiercely in the air.\n\nIn great alarm, the little Princess shut the door, and ran to the\nhen-wife to tell her about the furious animal that was approaching.\n\n\"Hech, hinnie,\" cried the old woman, holding up her hands in dismay,\n\"and who would have thocht that the Black Bull of Norroway wad be your\nfate!\"\n\nAt the words, the poor little maiden grew pale. She had come out to seek\nher fortune, but it had never dawned upon her that her fortune could be\nanything so terrible as this.\n\n\"But the Bull cannot be my fortune,\" she cried in terror. \"I cannot go\naway with a bull.\"\n\n\"But ye'll need tae,\" replied the hen-wife calmly. \"For you lookit out\nof my door with the intent of meeting your fortune; and when your\nfortune has come tae ye, you must just thole it.\"\n\nAnd when the poor Princess ran weeping to her mother, to beg to be\nallowed to stay at home, she found her mother of the same mind as the\nWise Woman; and so she had to allow herself to be lifted up on to the\nback of the enormous Black Bull that had come up to the door of the\nCastle, and was now standing there quietly enough. And when she was\nsettled, he set off again on his wild career, while she sobbed and\ntrembled with terror, and clung to his horns with all her might.\n\nOn and on they went, until at last the poor maiden was so faint with\nfear and hunger that she could scarce keep her seat.\n\nJust as she was losing her hold of the great beast's horns, however, and\nfeeling that she must fall to the ground, he turned his massive head\nround a little, and, speaking in a wonderfully soft and gentle voice,\nsaid: \"Eat out of my right ear, and drink out of my left ear, so wilt\nthou be refreshed for thy journey.\"\n\nSo the Princess put a trembling hand into the Bull's right ear, and drew\nout some bread and meat, which, in spite of her terror, she was glad to\nswallow; then she put her hand into his left ear, and found there a tiny\nflagon of wine, and when she had drunk that, her strength returned to\nher in a wonderful way.\n\nLong they went, and sore they rode, till, just as it seemed to the\nPrincess that they must be getting near the World's End, they came in\nsight of a magnificent Castle.\n\n\"That's where we maun bide this night,\" said the Black Bull of Norroway,\n\"for that is the house of one of my brothers.\"\n\nThe Princess was greatly surprised at these words; but by this time she\nwas too tired to wonder very much at anything, so she did not answer,\nbut sat still where she was, until the Bull ran into the courtyard of\nthe Castle and knocked his great head against the door.\n\n[Illustration: They came in sight of a Magnificent Castle]\n\nThe door was opened at once by a very splendid footman, who treated the\nBlack Bull with great respect, and helped the Princess to alight from\nhis back. Then he ushered her into a magnificent hall, where the Lord of\nthe Castle, and his Lady, and a great and noble company were assembled;\nwhile the Black Bull trotted off quite contentedly to the grassy park\nwhich stretched all round the building, to spend the night there.\n\nThe Lord and his Lady were very kind to the Princess, and gave her her\nsupper, and led her to a richly furnished bedroom, all hung round with\ngolden mirrors, and left her to rest there; and in the morning, just as\nthe Black Bull came trotting up to the front door, they handed her a\nbeautiful apple, telling her not to break it, but to put it in her\npocket, and keep it till she was in the greatest strait that mortal\ncould be in. Then she was to break it, and it would bring her out of it.\n\nSo she put the apple in her pocket, and they lifted her once more on to\nthe Black Bull's back, and she and her strange companion continued on\ntheir journey.\n\nAll that day they travelled, far further than I can tell you, and at\nnight they came in sight of another Castle, which was even bigger and\ngrander than the first.\n\n\"That's where we maun bide this night,\" said the Black Bull, \"for that\nis the home of another of my brothers.\"\n\nAnd here the Princess rested for the night in a very fine bedroom\nindeed, all hung with silken curtains; and the Lord and Lady of the\nCastle did everything to please her and make her comfortable.\n\nAnd in the morning, before she left, they presented her with the largest\npear that she had ever seen, and warned her that she must not break it\nuntil she was in the direst strait that she had ever been in, and then,\nif she broke it, it would bring her out of it.\n\nThe third day was the same as the other two had been. The Princess and\nthe Black Bull of Norroway rode many a weary mile, and at sundown they\ncame to another Castle, more splendid by far than the other two.\n\nThis Castle belonged to the Black Bull's youngest brother, and here the\nPrincess abode all night; while the Bull, as usual, lay outside in the\npark. And this time, when they departed, the Princess received a most\nlovely plum, with the warning not to break it till she was in the\ngreatest strait that mortal could be in. Then she was to break it, and\nit would set her free.\n\nOn the fourth day, however, things were changed. For there was no fine\nCastle waiting for them at the end of their journey; on the contrary, as\nthe shadows began to lengthen, they came to a dark, deep glen, which was\nso gloomy and so awesome-looking that the poor Princess felt her courage\nsinking as they approached it.\n\nAt the entrance the Black Bull stopped. \"Light down here, Lady,\" he\nsaid, \"for in this glen a deadly conflict awaits me, which I must face\nunaided and alone. For the dark and gloomy region that lies before us is\nthe abode of a great Spirit of Darkness, who worketh much ill in the\nworld. I would fain fight with him and overcome him; and, by my troth,\nI have good hope that I shall do so. As for thee, thou must seat thyself\non this stone, and stir neither hand, nor foot, nor tongue till I\nreturn. For, if thou but so much as move, then the Evil Spirit of the\nGlen will have thee in his power.\"\n\n\"But how shall I know what is happening to thee?\" asked the Princess\nanxiously, for she was beginning to grow quite fond of the huge black\ncreature that had carried her so gallantly these last four days, \"if I\nhave neither to move hand nor foot, nor yet to speak.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt know by the signs around thee,\" answered the Bull. \"For if\neverything about thee turn blue, then thou wilt know that I have\nvanquished the Evil Spirit; but if everything about thee turn red, then\nthe Evil Spirit hath vanquished me.\"\n\nWith these words he departed, and was soon lost to sight in the dark\nrecesses of the glen, leaving the little Princess sitting motionless on\nher stone, afraid to move so much as her little finger, in case some\nunknown evil fell upon her.\n\nAt last, when she had sat there for well-nigh an hour, a curious change\nbegan to pass over the landscape. First it turned grey, and then it\nturned a deep azure blue, as if the sky had descended on the earth.\n\n\"The Bull hath conquered,\" thought the Princess. \"Oh! what a noble\nanimal he is!\" And in her relief and delight she moved her position and\ncrossed one leg over the other.\n\nOh, woe-a-day! In a moment a mystic spell fell upon her, which caused\nher to become invisible to the eyes of the Prince of Norroway, who,\nhaving vanquished the Evil Spirit, was loosed from the spell which had\nlain over him, and had transformed him into the likeness of a great\nBlack Bull, and who returned in haste down the glen to present himself,\nin his rightful form, to the maiden whom he loved, and whom he hoped to\nwin for his bride.\n\nLong, long he sought, but he could not find her, while all the time she\nwas sitting patiently waiting on the stone; but the spell was on her\neyes also, and hindered her seeing him, as it hindered him seeing her.\n\nSo she sat on and on, till at last she became so wearied, and lonely,\nand frightened, that she burst out crying, and cried herself to sleep;\nand when she woke in the morning she felt that it was no use sitting\nthere any longer, so she rose and took her way, hardly knowing whither\nshe was going.\n\nAnd she went, and she went, till at last she came to a great hill made\nall of glass, which blocked her way and prevented her going any further.\nShe tried time after time to climb it, but it was all of no avail, for\nthe surface of the hill was so slippery that she only managed to climb\nup a few feet, to slide down again the next moment.\n\nSo she began to walk round the bottom of the hill, in the hope of\nfinding some path that would lead her over it, but the hill was so big,\nand she was so tired, that it seemed almost a hopeless quest, and her\nspirit died completely within her. And as she went slowly along, sobbing\nwith despair, she felt that if help did not come soon she must lie down\nand die.\n\nAbout mid-day, however, she came to a little cottage, and beside the\ncottage there was a smithy, where an old smith was working at his anvil.\n\nShe entered, and asked him if he could tell her of any path that would\nlead her over the mountain. The old man laid down his hammer and looked\nat her, slowly shaking his head as he did so.\n\n\"Na, na, lassie,\" he said, \"there is no easy road over the Mountain of\nGlass. Folk maun either walk round it, which is not an easy thing to do,\nfor the foot of it stretches out for hundreds of miles, and the folk who\ntry to do so are almost sure to lose their way; or they maun walk over\nthe top of it, and that can only be done by those who are shod with iron\nshoon.\"\n\n\"And how am I to get these iron shoon?\" cried the Princess eagerly.\n\"Couldst thou fashion me a pair, good man? I would gladly pay thee for\nthem.\" Then she stopped suddenly, for she remembered that she had no\nmoney.\n\n\"These shoon cannot be made for siller,\" said the old man solemnly.\n\"They can only be earned by service. I alone can make them, and I make\nthem for those who are willing to serve me.\"\n\n\"And how long must I serve thee ere thou makest them for me?\" asked the\nPrincess faintly.\n\n\"Seven years,\" replied the old man, \"for they be magic shoon, and that\nis the magic number.\"\n\nSo, as there seemed nothing else for it, the Princess hired herself to\nthe smith for seven long years: to clean his house, and cook his food,\nand make and mend his clothes.\n\nAt the end of that time he fashioned her a pair of iron shoon, with\nwhich she climbed the Mountain of Glass with as much ease as if it had\nbeen covered with fresh green turf.\n\nWhen she had reached the summit, and descended to the other side, the\nfirst house that she came to was the house of an old washerwoman, who\nlived there with her only daughter. And as the Princess was now very\ntired, she went up to the door, and knocked, and asked if she might be\nallowed to rest there for the night.\n\nThe washerwoman, who was old and ugly, with a sly and evil face, said\nthat she might--on one condition--and that was that she should try to\nwash a white mantle that the Black Knight of Norroway had brought to her\nto wash, as he had got it stained in a deadly fight.\n\n\"Yestreen I spent the lee-long day washing it,\" went on the old Dame,\n\"and I might as well have let it lie on the table. For at night, when I\ntook it out of the wash-tub, the stains were there as dark as ever.\nPeradventure, maiden, if thou wouldst try thy hand upon it thou mightest\nbe more successful. For I am loth to disappoint the Black Knight of\nNorroway, who is an exceeding great and powerful Prince.\"\n\n\"Is he in any way connected with the Black Bull of Norroway?\" asked the\nPrincess; for at the name her heart had leaped for joy, for it seemed\nthat mayhap she was going to find once more him whom she had lost.\n\nThe old woman looked at her suspiciously. \"The two are one,\" she\nanswered; \"for the Black Knight chanced to have a spell thrown over him,\nwhich turned him into a Black Bull, and which could not be lifted until\nhe had fought with, and overcome, a mighty Spirit of Evil that lived in\na dark glen. He fought with the Spirit, and overcame it and once more\nregained his true form; but 'tis said that his mind is somewhat clouded\nat times, for he speaketh ever of a maiden whom he would fain have\nwedded, and whom he hath lost. Though who, or what she was, no living\nperson kens. But this story can have no interest to a stranger like\nthee,\" she added slowly, as if she were sorry for having said so much.\n\"I have no more time to waste in talking. But if thou wilt try and wash\nthe mantle, thou art welcome to a night's lodging; and if not, I must\nask thee to go on thy way.\"\n\nNeedless to say, the Princess said that she would try to wash the\nmantle; and it seemed as if her fingers had some magic power in them,\nfor as soon as she put it into water the stains vanished, and it became\nas white and clean as when it was new.\n\nOf course, the old woman was delighted, but she was very suspicious\nalso, for it appeared to her that there must be some mysterious link\nbetween the maiden and the Knight, if his mantle became clean so easily\nwhen she washed it, when it had remained soiled and stained in spite of\nall the labour which she and her daughter had bestowed upon it.\n\nSo, as she knew that the young Gallant intended returning for it that\nvery night, and as she wanted her daughter to get the credit of washing\nit, she advised the Princess to go to bed early, in order to get a good\nnight's rest after all her labours. And the Princess followed her\nadvice, and thus it came about that she was sound asleep, safely hidden\nin the big box-bed in the corner, when the Black Knight of Norroway came\nto the cottage to claim his white mantle.\n\nNow you must know that the young man had carried about this mantle with\nhim for the last seven years--ever since his encounter with the Evil\nSpirit of the Glen--always trying to find someone who could wash it for\nhim, and never succeeding.\n\nFor it had been revealed to him by a wise woman that she who could make\nit white and clean was destined to be his wife--be she bonnie or ugly,\nold or young. And that, moreover, she would prove a loving, a faithful,\nand a true helpmeet.\n\nSo when he came to the washerwoman's cottage, and received back his\nmantle white as the driven snow, and heard that it was the washerwoman's\ndaughter who had wrought this wondrous change, he said at once that he\nwould marry her, and that the very next day.\n\nWhen the Princess awoke in the morning and heard all that had befallen,\nand how the Black Knight had come to the cottage while she was asleep,\nand had received his mantle, and had promised to marry the washerwoman's\ndaughter that very day, her heart was like to break. For now she felt\nthat she never would have the chance of speaking to him and telling him\nwho she really was.\n\nAnd in her sore distress she suddenly remembered the beautiful fruit\nwhich she had received on her journey seven long years before, and which\nshe had carried with her ever since.\n\n\"Surely I will never be in a sorer strait than I am now,\" she said to\nherself; and she drew out the apple and broke it. And, lo and behold! it\nwas filled with the most beautiful precious stones that she had ever\nseen; and at the sight of them a plan came suddenly into her head.\n\nShe took the precious stones out of the apple, and, putting them into a\ncorner of her kerchief, carried them to the washerwoman.\n\n\"See,\" said she, \"I am richer than mayhap thou thoughtest I was. And if\nthou wilt, all these riches may be thine.\"\n\n\"And how could that come about?\" asked the old woman eagerly, for she\nhad never seen so many precious stones in her life before, and she had a\ngreat desire to become the possessor of them.\n\n\"Only put off thy daughter's wedding for one day,\" replied the Princess.\n\"And let me watch beside the Black Knight as he sleeps this night, for I\nhave long had a great desire to see him.\"\n\nTo her astonishment the washerwoman agreed to this request; for the wily\nold woman was very anxious to get the jewels, which would make her rich\nfor life, and it did not seem to her that there was any harm in the\nPrincess's request; for she had made up her mind that she would give the\nBlack Knight a sleeping-draught, which would effectually prevent him as\nmuch as speaking to this strange maiden.\n\nSo she took the jewels and locked them up in her kist, and the wedding\nwas put off, and that night the little Princess slipped into the Black\nKnight's apartment when he was asleep, and watched all through the long\nhours by his bedside, singing this song to him in the hope that he would\nawake and hear it:\n\n    \"Seven lang years I served for thee,\n    The glassy hill I clamb for thee.\n    The mantle white I washed for thee,\n    And wilt thou no waken, and turn to me?\"\n\nBut although she sang it over and over again, as if her heart would\nburst, he neither listened nor stirred, for the old washerwoman's potion\nhad made sure of that.\n\nNext morning, in her great trouble, the little Princess broke open the\npear, hoping that its contents would help her better than the contents\nof the apple had done. But in it she found just what she had found\nbefore--a heap of precious stones; only they were richer and more\nvaluable than the others had been.\n\nSo, as it seemed the only thing to do, she carried them to the old\nwoman, and bribed her to put the wedding off for yet another day, and\nallow her to watch that night also by the Black Prince's bedside.\n\nAnd the washerwoman did so; \"for,\" said she, as she locked away the\nstones, \"I shall soon grow quite rich at this rate.\"\n\nBut, alas! it was all in vain that the Princess spent the long hours\nsinging with all her might:\n\n    \"Seven lang years I served for thee,\n    The glassy hill I clamb for thee,\n    The mantle white I washed for thee,\n    And wilt thou no waken, and turn to me?\"\n\nfor the young Prince whom she watched so tenderly, remained deaf and\nmotionless as a stone.\n\nBy the morning she had almost lost hope, for there was only the plum\nremaining now, and if that failed her last chance had gone. With\ntrembling fingers she broke it open, and found inside another\ncollection of precious stones, richer and rarer than all the others.\n\nShe ran with these to the washerwoman, and, throwing them into her lap,\ntold her she could keep them all and welcome if she would put off the\nwedding once again, and let her watch by the Prince for one more night.\nAnd, greatly wondering, the old woman consented.\n\nNow it chanced that the Black Knight, tired with waiting for his\nwedding, went out hunting that day with all his attendants behind him.\nAnd as the servants rode they talked together about something that had\npuzzled them sorely these two nights gone by. At last an old huntsman\nrode up to the Knight, with a question upon his lips.\n\n\"Master,\" he said, \"we would fain ken who the sweet singer is who\nsingeth through the night in thy chamber?\"\n\n\"Singer!\" he repeated. \"There is no singer. My chamber hath been as quiet\nas the grave, and I have slept a dreamless sleep ever since I came to\nlive at the cottage.\"\n\nThe old huntsman shook his head. \"Taste not the old wife's draught this\nnight, Master,\" he said earnestly; \"then wilt thou hear what other ears\nhave heard.\"\n\nAt other times the Black Knight would have laughed at his words, but\nto-day the man spoke with such earnestness that he could not but listen\nto them. So that evening, when the washerwoman, as was her wont, brought\nhis sleeping-draught of spiced ale to his bedside, he told her that it\nwas not sweet enough for his liking. And when she turned and went to the\nkitchen to fetch some honey to sweeten it, he jumped out of bed and\npoured it all out of the window, and when she came back he pretended\nthat he had drunk it.\n\nSo it came to pass that he lay awake that night and heard the Princess\nenter his room, and listened to her plaintive little song, sung in a\nvoice that was full of sobs:\n\n    \"Seven lang years I served for thee,\n    The glassy hill I clamb for thee,\n    The mantle white I washed for thee,\n    And wilt thou no waken, and turn to me?\"\n\nAnd when he heard it, he understood it all; and he sprang up and took\nher in his arms and kissed her, and asked her to tell him the whole\nstory.\n\nAnd when he heard it, he was so angry with the old washerwoman and her\ndeceitful daughter that he ordered them to leave the country at once;\nand he married the little Princess, and they lived happily all their\ndays.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE WEE BANNOCK\n\n    \"Some tell about their sweethearts,\n      How they tirled them to the winnock,\n    But I'll tell you a bonnie tale\n      About a guid oatmeal bannock.\"\n\n\nThere was once an old man and his wife, who lived in a dear little\ncottage by the side of a burn. They were a very canty and contented\ncouple, for they had enough to live on, and enough to do. Indeed, they\nconsidered themselves quite rich, for, besides their cottage and their\ngarden, they possessed two sleek cows, five hens and a cock, an old cat,\nand two kittens.\n\nThe old man spent his time looking after the cows, and the hens, and the\ngarden; while the old woman kept herself busy spinning.\n\nOne day, just after breakfast, the old woman thought that she would like\nan oatmeal bannock for her supper that evening, so she took down her\nbakeboard, and put on her girdle, and baked a couple of fine cakes, and\nwhen they were ready she put them down before the fire to harden.\n\nWhile they were toasting, her husband came in from the byre, and sat\ndown to take a rest in his great arm-chair. Presently his eyes fell on\nthe bannocks, and, as they looked very good, he broke one through the\nmiddle and began to eat it.\n\nWhen the other bannock saw this it determined that it should not have\nthe same fate, so it ran across the kitchen and out of the door as fast\nas it could. And when the old woman saw it disappearing, she ran after\nit as fast as her legs would carry her, holding her spindle in one hand\nand her distaff in the other.\n\nBut she was old, and the bannock was young, and it ran faster than she\ndid, and escaped over the hill behind the house. It ran, and it ran, and\nit ran, until it came to a large newly thatched cottage, and, as the\ndoor was open, it took refuge inside, and ran right across the floor to\na blazing fire, which was burning in the first room that it came to.\n\nNow, it chanced that this house belonged to a tailor, and he and his two\napprentices were sitting cross-legged on the top of a big table by the\nwindow, sewing away with all their might, while the tailor's wife was\nsitting beside the fire carding lint.\n\nWhen the wee bannock came trundling across the floor, all three tailors\ngot such a fright that they jumped down from the table and hid behind\nthe Master Tailor's wife.\n\n\"Hoot,\" she said, \"what a set of cowards ye be! 'Tis but a nice wee\nbannock. Get hold of it and divide it between you, and I'll fetch you\nall a drink of milk.\"\n\nSo she jumped up with her lint and her lint cards, and the tailor jumped\nup with his great shears, and one apprentice grasped the line measure,\nwhile another took up the saucer full of pins; and they all tried to\ncatch the wee bannock. But it dodged them round and round the fire, and\nat last it got safely out of the door and ran down the road, with one of\nthe apprentices after it, who tried to snip it in two with his shears.\n\nIt ran too quickly for him, however, and at last he stopped and went\nback to the house, while the wee bannock ran on until it came to a tiny\ncottage by the roadside. It trundled in at the door, and there was a\nweaver sitting at his loom, with his wife beside him, winding a clue of\nyarn.\n\n\"What's that, Tibby?\" said the weaver, with a start as the little cake\nflew past him.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried she in delight, jumping to her feet, \"'tis a wee bannock. I\nwonder where it came from?\"\n\n\"Dinna bother your head about that, Tibby,\" said her man, \"but grip it,\nmy woman, grip it.\"\n\nBut it was not so easy to get hold of the wee bannock. It was in vain\nthat the Goodwife threw her clue at it, and that the Goodman tried to\nchase it into a corner and knock it down with his shuttle. It dodged,\nand turned, and twisted, like a thing bewitched, till at last it flew\nout at the door again, and vanished down the hill, \"for all the world,\"\nas the old woman said, \"like a new tarred sheep, or a daft cow.\"\n\nIn the next house that it came to it found the Goodwife in the kitchen,\nkirning. She had just filled her kirn, and there was still some cream\nstanding in the bottom of her cream jar.\n\n\"Come away, little bannock,\" she cried when she saw it. \"Thou art come\nin just the nick of time, for I am beginning to feel hungry, and I'll\nhave cakes and cream for my dinner.\"\n\nBut the wee bannock hopped round to the other side of the kirn, and the\nGoodwife after it. And she was in such a hurry that she nearly upset the\nkirn; and by the time that she had put it right again, the wee bannock\nwas out at the door and half-way down the brae to the mill.\n\nThe miller was sifting meal in the trough, but he straightened himself\nup when he saw the little cake.\n\n\"It's a sign of plenty when bannocks are running about with no one to\nlook after them,\" he said; \"but I like bannocks and cheese, so just come\nin, and I will give thee a night's lodging.\"\n\nBut the little bannock had no wish to be eaten up by the miller, so it\nturned and ran out of the mill, and the miller was so busy that he did\nnot trouble himself to run after it.\n\nAfter this it ran on, and on, and on, till it came to the smithy, and\nit popped in there to see what it could see.\n\nThe smith was busy at the anvil making horse-shoe nails, but he looked\nup as the wee bannock entered.\n\n\"If there be one thing I am fond of, it is a glass of ale and a\nwell-toasted cake,\" he cried. \"So come inbye here, and welcome to ye.\"\n\nBut as soon as the little bannock heard of the ale, it turned and ran\nout of the smithy as fast as it could, and the disappointed smith picked\nup his hammer and ran after it. And when he saw that he could not catch\nit, he flung his heavy hammer at it, in the hope of knocking it down,\nbut, luckily for the little cake, he missed his aim.\n\nAfter this the bannock came to a farmhouse, with a great stack of peats\nstanding at the back of it. In it went, and ran to the fireside. In this\nhouse the master had all the lint spread out on the floor, and was\ncloving[1] it with an iron rod, while the mistress was heckling[2] what\nhe had already cloven.\n\n\"Oh, Janet,\" cried the Goodman in surprise, \"here comes in a little\nbannock. It looks rare and good to eat. I'll have one half of it.\"\n\n\"And I'll have the other half,\" cried the Goodwife. \"Hit it over the\nback with your cloving-stick, Sandy, and knock it down. Quick, or it\nwill be out at the door again.\"\n\nBut the bannock played \"jook-about,\" and dodged behind a chair. \"Hoot!\"\ncried Janet contemptuously, for she thought that her husband might\neasily have hit it, and she threw her heckle at it.\n\nBut the heckle missed it, just as her husband's cloving-rod had done,\nfor it played \"jook-about\" again, and flew out of the house.\n\nThis time it ran up a burnside till it came to a little cottage standing\namong the heather.\n\nHere the Goodwife was making porridge for the supper in a pot over the\nfire, and her husband was sitting in a corner plaiting ropes of straw\nwith which to tie up the cow.\n\n\"Oh, Jock! come here, come here,\" cried the Goodwife. \"Thou art aye\ncrying for a little bannock for thy supper; come here, histie, quick,\nand help me to catch it.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay,\" assented Jock, jumping to his feet and hurrying across the\nlittle room. \"But where is it? I cannot see it.\"\n\n\"There, man, there,\" cried his wife, \"under that chair. Run thou to that\nside; I will keep to this.\"\n\nSo Jock ran into the dark corner behind the chair; but, in his hurry, he\ntripped and fell, and the wee bannock jumped over him and flew laughing\nout at the door.\n\nThrough the whins and up the hillside it ran, and over the top of the\nhill, to a shepherd's cottage on the other side.\n\nThe inmates were just sitting down to their porridge, and the Goodwife\nwas scraping the pan.\n\n\"Save us and help us,\" she exclaimed, stopping with the spoon half-way\nto her mouth. \"There's a wee bannock come in to warm itself at our\nfireside.\"\n\n\"Sneck the door,\" cried the husband, \"and we'll try to catch it. It\nwould come in handy after the porridge.\"\n\nBut the bannock did not wait until the door was sneckit. It turned and\nran as fast as it could, and the shepherd and his wife and all the\nbairns ran after it, with their spoons in their hands, in hopes of\ncatching it.\n\nAnd when the shepherd saw that it could run faster than they could, he\nthrew his bonnet at it, and almost struck it; but it escaped all these\ndangers, and soon it came to another house, where the folk were just\ngoing to bed.\n\nThe Goodman was half undressed, and the Goodwife was raking the cinders\ncarefully out of the fire.\n\n\"What's that?\" said he, \"for the bowl of brose that I had at supper-time\nwasna' very big.\"\n\n\"Catch it, then,\" answered his wife, \"and I'll have a bit, too. Quick!\nquick! Throw your coat over it or it will be away.\"\n\nSo the Goodman threw his coat right on the top of the little bannock,\nand almost managed to smother it; but it struggled bravely, and got out,\nbreathless and hot, from under it. Then it ran out into the grey light\nagain, for night was beginning to fall, and the Goodman ran out after\nit, without his coat. He chased it and chased it through the stackyard\nand across a field, and in amongst a fine patch of whins. Then he lost\nit; and, as he was feeling cold without his coat, he went home.\n\nAs for the poor little bannock, it thought that it would creep under a\nwhin bush and lie there till morning, but it was so dark that it never\nsaw that there was a fox's hole there. So it fell down the fox's hole,\nand the fox was very glad to see it, for he had had no food for two\ndays.\n\n\"Oh, welcome, welcome,\" he cried; and he snapped it through the middle\nwith his teeth, and that was the end of the poor wee bannock.\n\nAnd if a moral be wanted for this tale, here it is: That people should\nnever be too uplifted or too cast down over anything, for all the good\nfolk in the story thought that they were going to get the bannock, and,\nlo and behold! the fox got it after all.\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[Footnote 1: Separating the lint from the stalk.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Combing.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE ELFIN KNIGHT\n\n\nThere is a lone moor in Scotland, which, in times past, was said to be\nhaunted by an Elfin Knight. This Knight was only seen at rare intervals,\nonce in every seven years or so, but the fear of him lay on all the\ncountry round, for every now and then someone would set out to cross the\nmoor and would never be heard of again.\n\nAnd although men might search every inch of the ground, no trace of him\nwould be found, and with a thrill of horror the searching party would go\nhome again, shaking their heads and whispering to one another that he\nhad fallen into the hands of the dreaded Knight.\n\nSo, as a rule, the moor was deserted, for nobody dare pass that way,\nmuch less live there; and by and by it became the haunt of all sorts of\nwild animals, which made their lairs there, as they found that they\nnever were disturbed by mortal huntsmen.\n\nNow in that same region lived two young earls, Earl St. Clair and Earl\nGregory, who were such friends that they rode, and hunted, and fought\ntogether, if need be.\n\nAnd as they were both very fond of the chase, Earl Gregory suggested one\nday that they should go a-hunting on the haunted moor, in spite of the\nElfin King.\n\n\"Certes, I hardly believe in him at all,\" cried the young man, with a\nlaugh. \"Methinks 'tis but an old wife's tale to frighten the bairns\nwithal, lest they go straying amongst the heather and lose themselves.\nAnd 'tis pity that such fine sport should be lost because we--two\nbearded men--pay heed to such gossip.\"\n\nBut Earl St. Clair looked grave. \"'Tis ill meddling with unchancy\nthings,\" he answered, \"and 'tis no bairn's tale that travellers have set\nout to cross that moor who have vanished bodily, and never mair been\nheard of; but it is, as thou sayest, a pity that so much good sport be\nlost, all because an Elfin Knight choosest to claim the land as his, and\nmake us mortals pay toll for the privilege of planting a foot upon it.\n\n\"I have heard tell, however, that one is safe from any power that the\nKnight may have if one wearest the Sign of the Blessed Trinity. So let\nus bind That on our arm and ride forth without fear.\"\n\nSir Gregory burst into a loud laugh at these words. \"Dost thou think\nthat I am one of the bairns,\" he said, \"'first to be frightened by an\nidle tale, and then to think that a leaf of clover will protect me? No,\nno, carry that Sign if thou wilt; I will trust to my good bow and\narrow.\"\n\nBut Earl St. Clair did not heed his companion's words, for he remembered\nhow his mother had told him, when he was a little lad at her knee that\nwhoso carried the Sign of the Blessed Trinity need never fear any spell\nthat might be thrown over him by Warlock or Witch, Elf or Demon.\n\nSo he went out to the meadow and plucked a leaf of clover, which he\nbound on his arm with a silken scarf; then he mounted his horse and rode\nwith Earl Gregory to the desolate and lonely moorland.\n\nFor some hours all went well; and in the heat of the chase the young men\nforgot their fears. Then suddenly both of them reined in their steeds\nand sat gazing in front of them with affrighted faces.\n\nFor a horseman had crossed their track, and they both would fain have\nknown who he was and whence he came.\n\n\"By my troth, but he rideth in haste, whoever he may be,\" said Earl\nGregory at last, \"and tho' I always thought that no steed on earth could\nmatch mine for swiftness, I reckon that for every league that mine\ngoeth, his would go seven. Let us follow him, and see from what part of\nthe world he cometh.\"\n\n\"The Lord forbid that thou shouldst stir thy horse's feet to follow\nhim,\" said Earl St. Clair devoutly. \"Why, man, 'tis the Elfin Knight!\nCanst thou not see that he doth not ride on the solid ground, but flieth\nthrough the air, and that, although he rideth on what seemeth a mortal\nsteed, he is really craried by mighty pinions, which cleave the air like\nthose of a bird? Follow him forsooth! It will be an evil day for thee\nwhen thou seekest to do that.\"\n\nBut Earl St. Clair forgot that he carried a Talisman which his companion\nlacked, that enabled him to see things as they really were, while the\nother's eyes were holden, and he was startled and amazed when Earl\nGregory said sharply, \"Thy mind hath gone mad over this Elfin King. I\ntell thee he who passed was a goodly Knight, clad in a green vesture,\nand riding on a great black jennet. And because I love a gallant\nhorseman, and would fain learn his name and degree, I will follow him\ntill I find him, even if it be at the world's end.\"\n\nAnd without another word he put spurs to his horse and galloped off in\nthe direction which the mysterious stranger had taken, leaving Earl St.\nClair alone upon the moorland, his fingers touching the sacred Sign and\nhis trembling lips muttering prayers for protection.\n\nFor he knew that his friend had been bewitched, and he made up his mind,\nbrave gentleman that he was, that he would follow him to the world's\nend, if need be, and try to deliver him from the spell that had been\ncast over him.\n\nMeanwhile Earl Gregory rode on and on, ever following in the wake of the\nKnight in green, over moor, and burn, and moss, till he came to the\nmost desolate region that he had ever been in in his life; where the\nwind blew cold, as if from snow-fields, and where the hoar-frost lay\nthick and white on the withered grass at his feet.\n\nAnd there, in front of him, was a sight from which mortal man might well\nshrink back in awe and dread. For he saw an enormous Ring marked out on\nthe ground, inside of which the grass, instead of being withered and\nfrozen, was lush, and rank, and green, where hundreds of shadowy Elfin\nfigures were dancing, clad in loose transparent robes of dull blue,\nwhich seemed to curl and twist round their wearers like snaky wreaths of\nsmoke.\n\nThese weird Goblins were shouting and singing as they danced, and waving\ntheir arms above their heads, and throwing themselves about on the\nground, for all the world as if they had gone mad; and when they saw\nEarl Gregory halt on his horse just outside the Ring they beckoned to\nhim with their skinny fingers.\n\n\"Come hither, come hither,\" they shouted; \"come tread a measure with us,\nand afterwards we will drink to thee out of our Monarch's loving cup.\"\n\nAnd, strange as it may seem, the spell that had been cast over the young\nEarl was so powerful that, in spite of his fear, he felt that he must\nobey the eldrich summons, and he threw his bridle on his horse's neck\nand prepared to join them.\n\nBut just then an old and grizzled Goblin stepped out from among his\ncompanions and approached him.\n\nApparently he dare not leave the charmed Circle, for he stopped at the\nedge of it; then, stooping down and pretending to pick up something, he\nwhispered in a hoarse whisper:\n\n\"I know not whom thou art, nor from whence thou comest, Sir Knight, but\nif thou lovest thy life, see to it that thou comest not within this\nRing, nor joinest with us in our feast. Else wilt thou be for ever\nundone.\"\n\nBut Earl Gregory only laughed. \"I vowed that I would follow the Green\nKnight,\" he replied, \"and I will carry out my vow, even if the venture\nleadeth me close to the nethermost world.\"\n\nAnd with these words he stepped over the edge of the Circle, right in\namongst the ghostly dancers.\n\nAt his coming they shouted louder than ever, and danced more madly, and\nsang more lustily; then, all at once, a silence fell upon them, and they\nparted into two companies, leaving a way through their midst, up which\nthey signed to the Earl to pass.\n\nHe walked through their ranks till he came to the middle of the Circle;\nand there, seated at a table of red marble, was the Knight whom he had\ncome so far to seek, clad in his grass-green robes. And before him, on\nthe table, stood a wondrous goblet, fashioned from an emerald, and set\nround the rim with blood-red rubies.\n\nAnd this cup was filled with heather ale, which foamed up over the brim;\nand when the Knight saw Sir Gregory, he lifted it from the table, and\nhanded it to him with a stately bow, and Sir Gregory, being very\nthirsty, drank.\n\nAnd as he drank he noticed that the ale in the goblet never grew less,\nbut ever foamed up to the edge; and for the first time his heart misgave\nhim, and he wished that he had never set out on this strange adventure.\n\nBut, alas! the time for regrets had passed, for already a strange\nnumbness was stealing over his limbs, and a chill pallor was creeping\nover his face, and before he could utter a single cry for help the\ngoblet dropped from his nerveless fingers, and he fell down before the\nElfin King like a dead man.\n\nThen a great shout of triumph went up from all the company; for if there\nwas one thing which filled their hearts with joy, it was to entice some\nunwary mortal into their Ring and throw their uncanny spell over him, so\nthat he must needs spend long years in their company.\n\nBut soon their shouts of triumphs began to die away, and they muttered\nand whispered to each other with looks of something like fear on their\nfaces.\n\nFor their keen ears heard a sound which filled their hearts with dread.\nIt was the sound of human footsteps, which were so free and untrammelled\nthat they knew at once that the stranger, whoever he was, was as yet\nuntouched by any charm. And if this were so he might work them ill, and\nrescue their captive from them.\n\nAnd what they dreaded was true; for it was the brave Earl St. Clair who\napproached, fearless and strong because of the Holy Sign he bore.\n\nAnd as soon as he saw the charmed Ring and the eldrich dancers, he was\nabout to step over its magic border, when the little grizzled Goblin who\nhad whispered to Earl Gregory, came and whispered to him also.\n\n\"Alas! alas!\" he exclaimed, with a look of sorrow on his wrinkled face,\n\"hast thou come, as thy companion came, to pay thy toll of years to the\nElfin King? Oh! if thou hast wife or child behind thee, I beseech thee,\nby all that thou holdest sacred, to turn back ere it be too late.\"\n\n\"Who art thou, and from whence hast thou come?\" asked the Earl, looking\nkindly down at the little creature in front of him.\n\n\"I came from the country that thou hast come from,\" wailed the Goblin.\n\"For I was once a mortal man, even as thou. But I set out over the\nenchanted moor, and the Elfin King appeared in the guise of a beauteous\nKnight, and he looked so brave, and noble, and generous that I followed\nhim hither, and drank of his heather ale, and now I am doomed to bide\nhere till seven long years be spent.\n\n\"As for thy friend, Sir Earl, he, too, hath drunk of the accursed\ndraught, and he now lieth as dead at our lawful Monarch's feet. He will\nwake up, 'tis true, but it will be in such a guise as I wear, and to the\nbondage with which I am bound.\"\n\n\"Is there naught that I can do to rescue him!\" cried Earl St. Clair\neagerly, \"ere he taketh on him the Elfin shape? I have no fear of the\nspell of his cruel captor, for I bear the Sign of One Who is stronger\nthan he. Speak speedily, little man, for time presseth.\"\n\n\"There is something that thou couldst do, Sir Earl,\" whispered the\nGoblin, \"but to essay it were a desperate attempt. For if thou failest,\nthen could not even the Power of the Blessed Sign save thee.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\" asked the Earl impatiently.\n\n\"Thou must remain motionless,\" answered the old man, \"in the cold and\nfrost till dawn break and the hour cometh when they sing Matins in the\nHoly Church. Then must thou walk slowly nine times round the edge of the\nenchanted Circle, and after that thou must walk boldly across it to the\nred marble table where sits the Elfin King. On it thou wilt see an\nemerald goblet studded with rubies and filled with heather ale. That\nmust thou secure and carry away; but whilst thou art doing so let no\nword cross thy lips. For this enchanted ground whereon we dance may look\nsolid to mortal eyes, but in reality it is not so. 'Tis but a quaking\nbog, and under it is a great lake, wherein dwelleth a fearsome Monster,\nand if thou so much as utter a word while thy foot resteth upon it, thou\nwilt fall through the bog and perish in the waters beneath.\"\n\n[Illustration: Two coal-black Ravens Rose in the Air]\n\nSo saying the Grisly Goblin stepped back among his companions, leaving\nEarl St. Clair standing alone on the outskirts of the charmed Ring.\n\nThere he waited, shivering with cold, through the long, dark hours, till\nthe grey dawn began to break over the hill tops, and, with its coming,\nthe Elfin forms before him seemed to dwindle and fade away.\n\nAnd at the hour when the sound of the Matin Bell came softly pealing\nfrom across the moor, he began his solemn walk. Round and round the Ring\nhe paced, keeping steadily on his way, although loud murmurs of anger,\nlike distant thunder, rose from the Elfin Shades, and even the very\nground seemed to heave and quiver, as if it would shake this bold\nintruder from its surface.\n\nBut through the power of the Blessed Sign on his arm Earl St. Clair went\non unhurt.\n\nWhen he had finished pacing round the Ring he stepped boldly on to the\nenchanted ground, and walked across it; and what was his astonishment to\nfind that all the ghostly Elves and Goblins whom he had seen, were lying\nfrozen into tiny blocks of ice, so that he was sore put to it to walk\namongst them without treading upon them.\n\nAnd as he approached the marble table the very hairs rose on his head at\nthe sight of the Elfin King sitting behind it, stiff and stark like his\nfollowers; while in front of him lay the form of Earl Gregory, who had\nshared the same fate.\n\nNothing stirred, save two coal-black ravens, who sat, one on each side\nof the table, as if to guard the emerald goblet, flapping their wings,\nand croaking hoarsely.\n\nWhen Earl St. Clair lifted the precious cup, they rose in the air and\ncircled round his head, screaming with rage, and threatening to dash it\nfrom his hands with their claws; while the frozen Elves, and even their\nmighty King himself stirred in their sleep, and half sat up, as if to\nlay hands on this presumptuous intruder. But the Power of the Holy Sign\nrestrained them, else had Earl St. Clair been foiled in his quest.\n\nAs he retraced his steps, awesome and terrible were the sounds that he\nheard around him. The ravens shrieked, and the frozen Goblins screamed;\nand up from the hidden lake below came the sound of the deep breathing\nof the awful Monster who was lurking there, eager for prey.\n\nBut the brave Earl heeded none of these things, but kept steadily\nonwards, trusting in the Might of the Sign he bore. And it carried him\nsafely through all the dangers; and just as the sound of the Matin Bell\nwas dying away in the morning air he stepped on to solid ground once\nmore, and flung the enchanted goblet from him.\n\nAnd lo! every one of the frozen Elves vanished, along with their King\nand his marble table, and nothing was left on the rank green grass save\nEarl Gregory, who slowly woke from his enchanted slumber, and stretched\nhimself, and stood up, shaking in every limb. He gazed vaguely round\nhim, as if he scarce remembered where he was.\n\nAnd when, after Earl St. Clair had run to him and had held him in his\narms till his senses returned and the warm blood coursed through his\nveins, the two friends returned to the spot where Earl St. Clair had\nthrown down the wondrous goblet, they found nothing but a piece of rough\ngrey whinstone, with a drop of dew hidden in a little crevice which was\nhollowed in its side.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nWHAT TO SAY TO THE NEW MUNE\n\n\n    New Mune, true Mune,\n          Tell unto me,\n        If my ane true love\n          He will marry me.\n\n    If he marry me in haste,\n    Let me see his bonny face;\n\n    If he marry me betide,\n    Let me see his bonnie side;\n\n    Gin he marry na me ava',\n    Turn his back and gae awa.'\n\n\n\n\nHABETROT THE SPINSTRESS\n\n\nIn byegone days, in an old farmhouse which stood by a river, there lived\na beautiful girl called Maisie. She was tall and straight, with auburn\nhair and blue eyes, and she was the prettiest girl in all the valley.\nAnd one would have thought that she would have been the pride of her\nmother's heart.\n\nBut, instead of this, her mother used to sigh and shake her head\nwhenever she looked at her. And why?\n\nBecause, in those days, all men were sensible; and instead of looking\nout for pretty girls to be their wives, they looked out for girls who\ncould cook and spin, and who gave promise of becoming notable\nhousewives.\n\nMaisie's mother had been an industrious spinster; but, alas! to her sore\ngrief and disappointment, her daughter did not take after her.\n\nThe girl loved to be out of doors, chasing butterflies and plucking wild\nflowers, far better than sitting at her spinning-wheel. So when her\nmother saw one after another of Maisie's companions, who were not nearly\nso pretty as she was, getting rich husbands, she sighed and said:\n\n\"Woe's me, child, for methinks no brave wooer will ever pause at our\ndoor while they see thee so idle and thoughtless.\" But Maisie only\nlaughed.\n\nAt last her mother grew really angry, and one bright Spring morning she\nlaid down three heads of lint on the table, saying sharply, \"I will have\nno more of this dallying. People will say that it is my blame that no\nwooer comes to seek thee. I cannot have thee left on my hands to be\nlaughed at, as the idle maid who would not marry. So now thou must work;\nand if thou hast not these heads of lint spun into seven hanks of thread\nin three days, I will e'en speak to the Mother at St. Mary's Convent,\nand thou wilt go there and learn to be a nun.\"\n\nNow, though Maisie was an idle girl, she had no wish to be shut up in a\nnunnery; so she tried not to think of the sunshine outside, but sat down\nsoberly with her distaff.\n\nBut, alas! she was so little accustomed to work that she made but slow\nprogress; and although she sat at the spinning-wheel all day, and never\nonce went out of doors, she found at night that she had only spun half a\nhank of yarn.\n\nThe next day it was even worse, for her arms ached so much she could\nonly work very slowly. That night she cried herself to sleep; and next\nmorning, seeing that it was quite hopeless to expect to get her task\nfinished, she threw down her distaff in despair, and ran out of doors.\n\nNear the house was a deep dell, through which ran a tiny stream. Maisie\nloved this dell, the flowers grew so abundantly there.\n\nThis morning she ran down to the edge of the stream, and seated herself\non a large stone. It was a glorious morning, the hazel trees were newly\ncovered with leaves, and the branches nodded over her head, and showed\nlike delicate tracery against the blue sky. The primroses and\nsweet-scented violets peeped out from among the grass, and a little\nwater wagtail came and perched on a stone in the middle of the stream,\nand bobbed up and down, till it seemed as if he were nodding to Maisie,\nand as if he were trying to say to her, \"Never mind, cheer up.\"\n\nBut the poor girl was in no mood that morning to enjoy the flowers and\nthe birds. Instead of watching them, as she generally did, she hid her\nface in her hands, and wondered what would become of her. She rocked\nherself to and fro, as she thought how terrible it would be if her\nmother fulfilled her threat and shut her up in the Convent of St. Mary,\nwith the grave, solemn-faced sisters, who seemed as if they had\ncompletely forgotten what it was like to be young, and run about in the\nsunshine, and laugh, and pick the fresh Spring flowers.\n\n\"Oh, I could not do it, I could not do it,\" she cried at last. \"It would\nkill me to be a nun.\"\n\n\"And who wants to make a pretty wench like thee into a nun?\" asked a\nqueer, cracked voice quite close to her.\n\nMaisie jumped up, and stood staring in front of her as if she had been\nmoonstruck. For, just across the stream from where she had been sitting,\nthere was a curious boulder, with a round hole in the middle of it--for\nall the world like a big apple with the core taken out.\n\n[Illustration: Seated on this stone was the queerest Little old Woman.]\n\nMaisie knew it well; she had often sat upon it, and wondered how the\nfunny hole came to be there.\n\nIt was no wonder that she stared, for, seated on this stone, was the\nqueerest little old woman that she had ever seen in her life. Indeed,\nhad it not been for her silver hair, and the white mutch with the big\nfrill that she wore on her head, Maisie would have taken her for a\nlittle girl, she wore such a very short skirt, only reaching down to her\nknees.\n\nHer face, inside the frill of her cap, was round, and her cheeks were\nrosy, and she had little black eyes, which twinkled merrily as she\nlooked at the startled maiden. On her shoulders was a black and white\nchecked shawl, and on her legs, which she dangled over the edge of the\nboulder, she wore black silk stockings and the neatest little shoes,\nwith great silver buckles.\n\nIn fact, she would have been quite a pretty old lady had it not been for\nher lips, which were very long and very thick, and made her look quite\nugly in spite of her rosy cheeks and black eyes. Maisie stood and looked\nat her for such a long time in silence that she repeated her question.\n\n\"And who wants to make a pretty wench like thee into a nun? More likely\nthat some gallant gentleman should want to make a bride of thee.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" answered Maisie, \"my mother says no gentleman would look at me\nbecause I cannot spin.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said the tiny woman. \"Spinning is all very well for old\nfolks like me--my lips, as thou seest, are long and ugly because I have\nspun so much, for I always wet my fingers with them, the easier to draw\nthe thread from the distaff. No, no, take care of thy beauty, child; do\nnot waste it over the spinning-wheel, nor yet in a nunnery.\"\n\n\"If my mother only thought as thou dost,\" replied the girl sadly; and,\nencouraged by the old woman's kindly face, she told her the whole story.\n\n\"Well,\" said the old Dame, \"I do not like to see pretty girls weep; what\nif I were able to help thee, and spin the lint for thee?\"\n\nMaisie thought that this offer was too good to be true; but her new\nfriend bade her run home and fetch the lint; and I need not tell you\nthat she required no second bidding.\n\nWhen she returned she handed the bundle to the little lady, and was\nabout to ask her where she should meet her in order to get the thread\nfrom her when it was spun, when a sudden noise behind her made her look\nround.\n\nShe saw nothing; but what was her horror and surprise when she turned\nback again, to find that the old woman had vanished entirely, lint and\nall.\n\nShe rubbed her eyes, and looked all round, but she was nowhere to be\nseen. The girl was utterly bewildered. She wondered if she could have\nbeen dreaming, but no that could not be, there were her footprints\nleading up the bank and down again, where she had gone for the lint, and\nbrought it back, and there was the mark of her foot, wet with dew, on a\nstone in the middle of the stream, where she had stood when she had\nhanded the lint up to the mysterious little stranger.\n\nWhat was she to do now? What would her mother say when, in addition to\nnot having finished the task that had been given her, she had to confess\nto having lost the greater part of the lint also? She ran up and down\nthe little dell, hunting amongst the bushes, and peeping into every nook\nand cranny of the bank where the little old woman might have hidden\nherself. It was all in vain; and at last, tired out with the search, she\nsat down on the stone once more, and presently fell fast asleep.\n\nWhen she awoke it was evening. The sun had set, and the yellow glow on\nthe western horizon was fast giving place to the silvery light of the\nmoon. She was sitting thinking of the curious events of the day, and\ngazing at the great boulder opposite, when it seemed to her as if a\ndistant murmur of voices came from it.\n\nWith one bound she crossed the stream, and clambered on to the stone.\nShe was right.\n\nSomeone was talking underneath it, far down in the ground. She put her\near close to the stone, and listened.\n\nThe voice of the queer little old woman came up through the hole. \"Ho,\nho, my pretty little wench little knows that my name is Habetrot.\"\n\nFull of curiosity, Maisie put her eye to the opening, and the strangest\nsight that she had ever seen met her gaze. She seemed to be looking\nthrough a telescope into a wonderful little valley. The trees there were\nbrighter and greener than any that she had ever seen before and there\nwere beautiful flowers, quite different from the flowers that grew in\nher country. The little valley was carpeted with the most exquisite\nmoss, and up and down it walked her tiny friend, busily engaged in\nspinning.\n\nShe was not alone, for round her were a circle of other little old\nwomen, who were seated on large white stones, and they were all spinning\naway as fast as they could.\n\nOccasionally one would look up, and then Maisie saw that they all seemed\nto have the same long, thick lips that her friend had. She really felt\nvery sorry, as they all looked exceedingly kind, and might have been\npretty had it not been for this defect.\n\nOne of the Spinstresses sat by herself, and was engaged in winding the\nthread, which the others had spun, into hanks. Maisie did not think that\nthis little lady looked so nice as the others. She was dressed entirely\nin grey, and had a big hooked nose, and great horn spectacles. She\nseemed to be called Slantlie Mab, for Maisie heard Habetrot address her\nby that name, telling her to make haste and tie up all the thread, for\nit was getting late, and it was time that the young girl had it to\ncarry home to her mother.\n\nMaisie did not quite know what to do, or how she was to get the thread,\nfor she did not like to shout down the hole in case the queer little old\nwoman should be angry at being watched.\n\nHowever, Habetrot, as she had called herself, suddenly appeared on the\npath beside her, with the hanks of thread in her hand.\n\n\"Oh, thank you, thank you,\" cried Maisie. \"What can I do to show you how\nthankful I am?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" answered the Fairy. \"For I do not work for reward. Only do\nnot tell your mother who span the thread for thee.\"\n\nIt was now late, and Maisie lost no time in running home with the\nprecious thread upon her shoulder. When she walked into the kitchen she\nfound that her mother had gone to bed. She seemed to have had a busy\nday, for there, hanging up in the wide chimney, in order to dry, were\nseven large black puddings.\n\nThe fire was low, but bright and clear; and the sight of it and the\nsight of the puddings suggested to Maisie that she was very hungry, and\nthat fried black puddings were very good.\n\nFlinging the thread down on the table, she hastily pulled off her shoes,\nso as not to make a noise and awake her mother; and, getting down the\nfrying-pan from the wall, she took one of the black puddings from the\nchimney, and fried it, and ate it.\n\nStill she felt hungry, so she took another, and then another, till they\nwere all gone. Then she crept upstairs to her little bed and fell fast\nasleep.\n\nNext morning her mother came downstairs before Maisie was awake. In\nfact, she had not been able to sleep much for thinking of her daughter's\ncareless ways, and had been sorrowfully making up her mind that she must\nlose no time in speaking to the Abbess of St. Mary's about this idle\ngirl of hers.\n\nWhat was her surprise to see on the table the seven beautiful hanks of\nthread, while, on going to the chimney to take down a black pudding to\nfry for breakfast, she found that every one of them had been eaten. She\ndid not know whether to laugh for joy that her daughter had been so\nindustrious, or to cry for vexation because all her lovely black\npuddings--which she had expected would last for a week at least--were\ngone. In her bewilderment she sang out:\n\n    \"My daughter's spun se'en, se'en, se'en,\n    My daughter's eaten se'en, se'en, se'en,\n        And all before daylight.\"\n\nNow I forgot to tell you that, about half a mile from where the old\nfarmhouse stood, there was a beautiful Castle, where a very rich young\nnobleman lived. He was both good and brave, as well as rich; and all\nthe mothers who had pretty daughters used to wish that he would come\ntheir way, some day, and fall in love with one of them. But he had never\ndone so, and everyone said, \"He is too grand to marry any country girl.\nOne day he will go away to London Town and marry a Duke's daughter.\"\n\nWell, this fine spring morning it chanced that this young nobleman's\nfavourite horse had lost a shoe, and he was so afraid that any of the\ngrooms might ride it along the hard road, and not on the soft grass at\nthe side, that he said that he would take it to the smithy himself.\n\nSo it happened that he was riding along by Maisie's garden gate as her\nmother came into the garden singing these strange lines.\n\nHe stopped his horse, and said good-naturedly, \"Good day, Madam; and may\nI ask why you sing such a strange song?\"\n\nMaisie's mother made no answer, but turned and walked into the house;\nand the young nobleman, being very anxious to know what it all meant,\nhung his bridle over the garden gate, and followed her.\n\nShe pointed to the seven hanks of thread lying on the table, and said,\n\"This hath my daughter done before breakfast.\"\n\nThen the young man asked to see the Maiden who was so industrious, and\nher mother went and pulled Maisie from behind the door, where she had\nhidden herself when the stranger came in; for she had come downstairs\nwhile her mother was in the garden.\n\nShe looked so lovely in her fresh morning gown of blue gingham, with her\nauburn hair curling softly round her brow, and her face all over blushes\nat the sight of such a gallant young man, that he quite lost his heart,\nand fell in love with her on the spot.\n\n\"Ah,\" said he, \"my dear mother always told me to try and find a wife who\nwas both pretty and useful, and I have succeeded beyond my expectations.\nDo not let our marriage, I pray thee, good Dame, be too long deferred.\"\n\nMaisie's mother was overjoyed, as you may imagine, at this piece of\nunexpected good fortune, and busied herself in getting everything ready\nfor the wedding; but Maisie herself was a little perplexed.\n\nShe was afraid that she would be expected to spin a great deal when she\nwas married and lived at the Castle, and if that were so, her husband\nwas sure to find out that she was not really such a good spinstress as\nhe thought she was.\n\nIn her trouble she went down, the night before her wedding, to the great\nboulder by the stream in the glen, and, climbing up on it, she laid her\nhead against the stone, and called softly down the hole, \"Habetrot, dear\nHabetrot.\"\n\nThe little old woman soon appeared, and, with twinkling eyes, asked her\nwhat was troubling her so much just when she should have been so happy.\nAnd Maisie told her.\n\n\"Trouble not thy pretty head about that,\" answered the Fairy, \"but come\nhere with thy bridegroom next week, when the moon is full, and I warrant\nthat he will never ask thee to sit at a spinning-wheel again.\"\n\nAccordingly, after all the wedding festivities were over and the couple\nhad settled down at the Castle, on the appointed evening Maisie\nsuggested to her husband that they should take a walk together in the\nmoonlight.\n\nShe was very anxious to see what the little Fairy would do to help her;\nfor that very day he had been showing her all over her new home, and he\nhad pointed out to her the beautiful new spinning-wheel made of ebony,\nwhich had belonged to his mother, saying proudly, \"To-morrow, little\none, I shall bring some lint from the town, and then the maids will see\nwhat clever little fingers my wife has.\"\n\nMaisie had blushed as red as a rose as she bent over the lovely wheel,\nand then felt quite sick, as she wondered whatever she would do if\nHabetrot did not help her.\n\nSo on this particular evening, after they had walked in the garden, she\nsaid that she should like to go down to the little dell and see how the\nstream looked by moonlight. So to the dell they went.\n\nAs soon as they came to the boulder Maisie put her head against it and\nwhispered, \"Habetrot, dear Habetrot\"; and in an instant the little old\nwoman appeared.\n\nShe bowed in a stately way, as if they were both strangers to her, and\nsaid, \"Welcome, Sir and Madam, to the Spinsters' Dell.\" And then she\ntapped on the root of a great oak tree with a tiny wand which she held\nin her hand, and a green door, which Maisie never remembered having\nnoticed before, flew open, and they followed the Fairy through it into\nthe other valley which Maisie had seen through the hole in the great\nstone.\n\nAll the little old women were sitting on their white chucky stones busy\nat work, only they seemed far uglier than they had seemed at first; and\nMaisie noticed that the reason for this was, that, instead of wearing\nred skirts and white mutches as they had done before, they now wore caps\nand dresses of dull grey, and instead of looking happy, they all seemed\nto be trying who could look most miserable, and who could push out their\nlong lips furthest, as they wet their fingers to draw the thread from\ntheir distaffs.\n\n\"Save us and help us! What a lot of hideous old witches,\" exclaimed her\nhusband. \"Whatever could this funny old woman mean by bringing a pretty\nchild like thee to look at them? Thou wilt dream of them for a week and\na day. Just look at their lips\"; and, pushing Maisie behind him, he went\nup to one of them and asked her what had made her mouth grow so ugly.\n\nShe tried to tell him, but all the sound that he could hear was\nsomething that sounded like SPIN-N-N.\n\nHe asked another one, and her answer sounded like this: SPAN-N-N. He\ntried a third, and hers sounded like SPUN-N-N.\n\nHe seized Maisie by the hand and hurried her through the green door. \"By\nmy troth,\" he said, \"my mother's spinning-wheel may turn to gold ere I\nlet thee touch it, if this is what spinning leads to. Rather than that\nthy pretty face should be spoilt, the linen chests at the Castle may get\nempty, and remain so for ever!\"\n\nSo it came to pass that Maisie could be out of doors all day wandering\nabout with her husband, and laughing and singing to her heart's content.\nAnd whenever there was lint at the Castle to be spun, it was carried\ndown to the big boulder in the dell and left there, and Habetrot and her\ncompanions spun it, and there was no more trouble about the matter.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nNIPPIT FIT AND CLIPPIT FIT\n\n\nIn a country, far across the sea, there once dwelt a great and mighty\nPrince. He lived in a grand Castle, which was full of beautiful\nfurniture, and curious and rare ornaments. And among them was a lovely\nlittle glass shoe, which would only fit the tiniest foot imaginable.\n\nAnd as the Prince was looking at it one day, it struck him what a dainty\nlittle lady she would need to be who wore such a very small shoe. And,\nas he liked dainty people, he made up his mind that he would never marry\nuntil he found a maiden who could wear the shoe, and that, when he found\nher, he would ask her to be his wife.\n\nAnd he called all his Lords and Courtiers to him, and told them of the\ndetermination that he had come to, and asked them to help him in his\nquest.\n\nAnd after they had taken counsel together they summoned a trusty Knight,\nand appointed him the Prince's Ambassador; and told him to take the\nslipper, and mount a fleet-footed horse, and ride up and down the whole\nof the Kingdom until he found a lady whom it would fit.\n\nSo the Ambassador put the little shoe carefully in his pocket and set\nout on his errand.\n\nHe rode, and he rode, and he rode, going to every town and castle that\ncame in his way, and summoning all the ladies to appear before him to\ntry on the shoe. And, as he caused a Proclamation to be made that\nwhoever could wear it should be the Prince's Bride, I need not tell you\nthat all the ladies in the country-side flocked to wherever the\nAmbassador chanced to be staying, and begged leave to try on the\nslipper.\n\nBut they were all disappointed, for not one of them, try as she would,\ncould make her foot small enough to go into the Fairy Shoe; and there\nwere many bitter tears shed in secret, when they returned home, by\ncountless fair ladies who prided themselves on the smallness of their\nfeet, and who had set out full of lively expectation that they would be\nthe successful competitors.\n\nAt last the Ambassador arrived at a house where a well-to-do Laird had\nlived. But the Laird was dead now, and there was nobody left but his\nwife and two daughters, who had grown poor of late, and who had to work\nhard for their living.\n\nOne of the daughters was haughty and insolent; the other was little, and\nyoung, and modest, and sweet.\n\nWhen the Ambassador rode into the courtyard of this house, and, holding\nout the shoe, asked if there were any fair ladies there who would like\nto try it on, the elder sister, who always thought a great deal of\nherself, ran forward, and said that she would do so, while the younger\ngirl just shook her head and went on with her work. \"For,\" said she to\nherself, \"though my feet are so little that they might go into the\nslipper, what would I do as the wife of a great Prince? Folk would just\nlaugh at me, and say that I was not fit for the position. No, no, I am\nfar better to bide as I am.\"\n\nSo the Ambassador gave the glass shoe to the elder sister, who carried\nit away to her own room; and presently, to every one's astonishment,\ncame back wearing it on her foot.\n\nIt is true that her face was very white, and that she walked with a\nlittle limp; but no one noticed these things except her younger sister,\nand she only shook her wise little head, and said nothing.\n\nThe Prince's Ambassador was delighted that he had at last found a wife\nfor his master, and he mounted his horse and rode off at full speed to\ntell him the good news.\n\nWhen the Prince heard of the success of his errand, he ordered all his\nCourtiers to be ready to accompany him next day when he went to bring\nhome his Bride.\n\nYou can fancy what excitement there was at the Laird's house when the\ngallant company arrived, with their Prince at their head, to greet the\nlady who was to be their Princess.\n\nThe old mother and the plain-looking maid-of-all-work ran hither and\nthither, fetching such meat and drink as the house could boast to set\nbefore their high-born visitors, while the bonnie little sister went and\nhid herself behind a great pot which stood in the corner of the\ncourtyard, and which was used for boiling hen's meat.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nShe knew that her foot was the smallest in the house; and something told\nher that if the Prince once got a glimpse of her he would not be content\ntill she had tried on the slipper.\n\nMeanwhile, the selfish elder sister did not help at all, but ran up to\nher chamber, and decked herself out in all the fine clothes that she\npossessed before she came downstairs to meet the Prince.\n\nAnd when all the Knights and Courtiers had drunk a stirrup-cup, and\nwished Good Luck to their Lord and his Bride, she was lifted up behind\nthe Prince on his horse, and rode off so full of her own importance,\nthat she even forgot to say good-bye to her mother and sister.\n\nAlas! alas! pride must have a fall. For the cavalcade had not proceeded\nvery far when a little bird which was perched on a branch of a bush by\nthe roadside sang out:\n\n    \"Nippit fit, and clippit fit, behind the King rides,\n    But pretty fit, and little fit, ahint the caldron hides.\"\n\n\"What is this that the birdie says?\" cried the Prince, who, if the truth\nbe told, did not feel altogether satisfied with the Bride whom fortune\nhad bestowed upon him. \"Hast thou another sister, Madam?\"\n\n\"Only a little one,\" murmured the lady, who liked ill the way in which\nthings seemed to be falling out.\n\n\"We will go back and find her,\" said the Prince firmly, \"for when I sent\nout the slipper I had no mind that its wearer should nip her foot, and\nclip her foot, in order to get it on.\"\n\nSo the whole party turned back; and when they reached the Laird's house\nthe Prince ordered a search to be made in the courtyard. And the bonnie\nlittle sister was soon discovered and brought out, all blushes and\nconfusion, from her hiding-place behind the caldron.\n\n\"Give her the slipper, and let her try it on,\" said the Prince, and the\neldest sister was forced to obey. And what was the horror of the\nbystanders, as she drew it off, to see that she had cut off the tops of\nher toes in order to get it on.\n\nBut it fitted her little sister's foot exactly, without either paring or\nclipping; and when the Prince saw that it was so, he lifted the elder\nsister down from his horse and lifted the little one up in her place,\nand carried her home to his Palace, where the wedding was celebrated\nwith great rejoicing; and for the rest of their lives they were the\nhappiest couple in the whole kingdom.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRIES OF MERLIN'S CRAG\n\n\nAbout two hundred years ago there was a poor man working as a labourer\non a farm in Lanarkshire. He was what is known as an \"Orra Man\"; that\nis, he had no special work mapped out for him to do, but he was expected\nto undertake odd jobs of any kind that happened to turn up.\n\nOne day his master sent him out to cast peats on a piece of moorland\nthat lay on a certain part of the farm. Now this strip of moorland ran\nup at one end to a curiously shaped crag, known as Merlin's Crag,\nbecause, so the country folk said, that famous Enchanter had once taken\nup his abode there.\n\nThe man obeyed, and, being a willing fellow, when he arrived at the moor\nhe set to work with all his might and main. He had lifted quite a\nquantity of peat from near the Crag, when he was startled by the\nappearance of the very smallest woman that he had ever seen in his life.\nShe was only about two feet high, and she was dressed in a green gown\nand red stockings, and her long yellow hair was not bound by any\nribbon, but hung loosely round her shoulders.\n\nShe was such a dainty little creature that the astonished countryman\nstopped working, stuck his spade into the ground, and gazed at her in\nwonder.\n\nHis wonder increased when she held up one of her tiny fingers and\naddressed him in these words: \"What wouldst thou think if I were to send\nmy husband to uncover thy house? You mortals think that you can do aught\nthat pleaseth you.\"\n\nThen, stamping her tiny foot, she added in a voice of command, \"Put back\nthat turf instantly, or thou shalt rue this day.\"\n\nNow the poor man had often heard of the Fairy Folk and of the harm that\nthey could work to unthinking mortals who offended them, so in fear and\ntrembling he set to work to undo all his labour, and to place every\ndivot in the exact spot from which he had taken it.\n\nWhen he was finished he looked round for his strange visitor, but she\nhad vanished completely; he could not tell how, nor where. Putting up\nhis spade, he wended his way homewards, and going straight to his\nmaster, he told him the whole story, and suggested that in future the\npeats should be taken from the other end of the moor.\n\n[Illustration: A large band of Fairies dancing Round and Round]\n\nBut the master only laughed. He was a strong, hearty man, and had no\nbelief in Ghosts, or Elves, or Fairies, or any other creature that he\ncould not see; but although he laughed, he was vexed that his servant\nshould believe in such things, so to cure him, as he thought, of his\nsuperstition, he ordered him to take a horse and cart and go back at\nonce, and lift all the peats and bring them to dry in the farm steading.\n\nThe poor man obeyed with much reluctance; and was greatly relieved, as\nweeks went on, to find that, in spite of his having done so, no harm\nbefell him.\n\nIn fact, he began to think that his master was right, and that the whole\nthing must have been a dream.\n\nSo matters went smoothly on. Winter passed, and spring, and summer,\nuntil autumn came round once more, and the very day arrived on which the\npeats had been lifted the year before.\n\nThat day, as the sun went down, the orra man left the farm to go home to\nhis cottage, and as his master was pleased with him because he had been\nworking very hard lately, he had given him a little can of milk as a\npresent to carry home to his wife.\n\nSo he was feeling very happy, and as he walked along he was humming a\ntune to himself. His road took him by the foot of Merlin's Crag, and as\nhe approached it he was astonished to find himself growing strangely\ntired. His eyelids dropped over his eyes as if he were going to sleep,\nand his feet grew as heavy as lead.\n\n\"I will sit down and take a rest for a few minutes,\" he said to\nhimself; \"the road home never seemed so long as it does to-day.\"\n\nSo he sat down on a tuft of grass right under the shadow of the Crag,\nand before he knew where he was he had fallen into a deep and heavy\nslumber.\n\nWhen he awoke it was near midnight, and the moon had risen on the Crag.\nAnd he rubbed his eyes, when by its soft light he became aware of a\nlarge band of Fairies who were dancing round and round him, singing and\nlaughing, pointing their tiny fingers at him, and shaking their wee\nfists in his face.\n\nThe bewildered man rose and tried to walk away from them, but turn in\nwhichever direction he would the Fairies accompanied him, encircling him\nin a magic ring, out of which he could in no wise go.\n\nAt last they stopped, and, with shrieks of elfin laughter, led the\nprettiest and daintiest of their companions up to him, and cried, \"Tread\na measure, tread a measure, Oh, Man! Then wilt thou not be so eager to\nescape from our company.\"\n\nNow the poor labourer was but a clumsy dancer, and he held back with a\nshamefaced air; but the Fairy who had been chosen to be his partner\nreached up and seized his hands, and lo! some strange magic seemed to\nenter into his veins, for in a moment he found himself waltzing and\nwhirling, sliding and bowing, as if he had done nothing else but dance\nall his life.\n\nAnd, strangest thing of all! he forgot about his home and his children;\nand he felt so happy that he had no longer the slightest desire to leave\nthe Fairies' company.\n\nAll night long the merriment went on. The Little Folk danced and danced\nas if they were mad, and the farm man danced with them, until at last a\nshrill sound came over the moor. It was the cock from the farmyard\ncrowing its loudest to welcome the dawn.\n\nIn an instant the revelry ceased, and the Fairies, with cries of alarm,\ncrowded together and rushed towards the Crag, dragging the countryman\nalong in their midst. As they reached the rock, a mysterious door, which\nhe never remembered having seen before, opened in it of its own accord,\nand shut again with a crash as soon as the Fairy Host had all trooped\nthrough.\n\nThe door led into a large, dimly lighted hall full of tiny couches, and\nhere the Little Folk sank to rest, tired out with their exertions, while\nthe good man sat down on a piece of rock in the corner, wondering what\nwould happen next.\n\nBut there seemed to be some kind of spell thrown over his senses, for\neven when the Fairies awoke and began to go about their household\noccupations, and to carry out certain curious practices which he had\nnever seen before, and which, as you will hear, he was forbidden to\nspeak of afterwards, he was content to sit and watch them, without in\nany way attempting to escape.\n\nAs it drew toward evening someone touched his elbow, and he turned round\nwith a start to see the little woman with the green dress and scarlet\nstockings, who had remonstrated with him for lifting the turf the year\nbefore, standing by his side.\n\n\"The divots which thou took'st from the roof of my house have grown once\nmore,\" she said, \"and once more it is covered with grass; so thou canst\ngo home again, for justice is satisfied--thy punishment hath lasted long\nenough. But first must thou take thy solemn oath never to tell to mortal\nears what thou hast seen whilst thou hast dwelt among us.\"\n\nThe countryman promised gladly, and took the oath with all due\nsolemnity. Then the door was opened, and he was at liberty to depart.\n\nHis can of milk was standing on the green, just where he had laid it\ndown when he went to sleep; and it seemed to him as if it were only\nyesternight that the farmer had given it to him.\n\nBut when he reached his home he was speedily undeceived. For his wife\nlooked at him as if he were a ghost, and the children whom he had left\nwee, toddling things were now well-grown boys and girls, who stared at\nhim as if he had been an utter stranger.\n\n\"Where hast thou been these long, long years?\" cried his wife when she\nhad gathered her wits and seen that it was really he, and not a spirit.\n\"And how couldst thou find it in thy heart to leave the bairns and me\nalone?\"\n\nAnd then he knew that the one day he had passed in Fairy-land had lasted\nseven whole years, and he realised how heavy the punishment had been\nwhich the Wee Folk had laid upon him.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE WEDDING OF ROBIN REDBREAST AND JENNY WREN\n\n\nThere was once an old grey Pussy Baudrons, and she went out for a stroll\none Christmas morning to see what she could see. And as she was walking\ndown the burnside she saw a little Robin Redbreast hopping up and down\non the branches of a briar bush.\n\n\"What a tasty breakfast he would make,\" thought she to herself. \"I must\ntry to catch him.\"\n\nSo, \"Good morning, Robin Redbreast,\" quoth she, sitting down on her tail\nat the foot of the briar bush and looking up at him. \"And where mayest\nthou be going so early on this cold winter's day?\"\n\n\"I'm on my road to the King's Palace,\" answered Robin cheerily, \"to sing\nhim a song this merry Yule morning.\"\n\n\"That's a pious errand to be travelling on, and I wish you good\nsuccess,\" replied Pussy slyly; \"but just hop down a minute before thou\ngoest, and I will show thee what a bonnie white ring I have round my\nneck. 'Tis few cats that are marked like me.\"\n\nThen Robin cocked his head on one side, and looked down on Pussy\nBaudrons with a twinkle in his eye. \"Ha, ha! grey Pussy Baudrons,\" he\nsaid. \"Ha, ha! for I saw thee worry the little grey mouse, and I have no\nwish that thou shouldst worry me.\"\n\nAnd with that he spread his wings and flew away. And he flew, and he\nflew, till he lighted on an old sod dyke; and there he saw a greedy old\ngled sitting, with all his feathers ruffled up as if he felt cold.\n\n\"Good morning, Robin Redbreast,\" cried the greedy old gled, who had had\nno food since yesterday, and was therefore very hungry. \"And where\nmayest thou be going to, this cold winter's day?\"\n\n\"I'm on my road to the King's Palace,\" answered Robin, \"to sing to him a\nsong this merry Yule morning.\" And he hopped away a yard or two from the\ngled, for there was a look in his eye that he did not quite like.\n\n\"Thou art a friendly little fellow,\" remarked the gled sweetly, \"and I\nwish thee good luck on thine errand; but ere thou go on, come nearer me,\nI prith'ee, and I will show thee what a curious feather I have in my\nwing. 'Tis said that no other gled in the country-side hath one like\nit.\"\n\n\"Like enough,\" rejoined Robin, hopping still further away; \"but I will\ntake thy word for it, without seeing it. For I saw thee pluck the\nfeathers from the wee lintie, and I have no wish that thou shouldst\npluck the feathers from me. So I will bid thee good day, and go on my\njourney.\"\n\nThe next place on which he rested was a piece of rock that overhung a\ndark, deep glen, and here he saw a sly old fox looking out of his hole\nnot two yards below him.\n\n\"Good morning, Robin Redbreast,\" said the sly old fox, who had tried to\nsteal a fat duck from a farmyard the night before, and had barely\nescaped with his life. \"And where mayest thou be going so early on this\ncold winter's day?\"\n\n\"I'm on my road to the King's Palace, to sing him a song this merry Yule\nmorning,\" answered Robin, giving the same answer that he had given to\nthe grey Pussy Baudrons and the greedy gled.\n\n\"Thou wilt get a right good welcome, for His Majesty is fond of music,\"\nsaid the wily fox. \"But ere thou go, just come down and have a look at a\nblack spot which I have on the end of my tail. 'Tis said that there is\nnot a fox 'twixt here and the Border that hath a spot on his tail like\nmine.\"\n\n\"Very like, very like,\" replied Robin; \"but I chanced to see thee\nworrying the wee lambie up on the braeside yonder, and I have no wish\nthat thou shouldst try thy teeth on me. So I will e'en go on my way to\nthe King's Palace, and thou canst show the spot on thy tail to the next\npasser-by.\"\n\nSo the little Robin Redbreast flew away once more, and never rested\ntill he came to a bonnie valley with a little burn running through it,\nand there he saw a rosy-cheeked boy sitting on a log eating a piece of\nbread and butter. And he perched on a branch and watched him.\n\n\"Good morning, Robin Redbreast; and where mayest thou be going so early\non this cold winter's day?\" asked the boy eagerly; for he was making a\ncollection of stuffed birds, and he had still to get a Robin Redbreast.\n\n\"I'm on my way to the King's Palace to sing him a song this merry Yule\nmorning,\" answered Robin, hopping down to the ground, and keeping one\neye fixed on the bread and butter.\n\n\"Come a bit nearer, Robin,\" said the boy, \"and I will give thee some\ncrumbs.\"\n\n\"Na, na, my wee man,\" chirped the cautious little bird; \"for I saw thee\ncatch the goldfinch, and I have no wish to give thee the chance to catch\nme.\"\n\nAt last he came to the King's Palace and lighted on the window-sill, and\nthere he sat and sang the very sweetest song that he could sing; for he\nfelt so happy because it was the Blessed Yuletide, that he wanted\neveryone else to be happy too. And the King and the Queen were so\ndelighted with his song, as he peeped in at them at their open window,\nthat they asked each other what they could give him as a reward for his\nkind thought in coming so far to greet them.\n\n\"We can give him a wife,\" replied the Queen, \"who will go home with him\nand help him to build his nest.\"\n\n\"And who wilt thou give him for a bride?\" asked the King. \"Methinks\n'twould need to be a very tiny lady to match his size.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"Why, Jenny Wren, of course,\" answered the Queen. \"She hath looked\nsomewhat dowie of late, this will be the very thing to brighten her\nup.\"\n\nThen the King clapped his hands, and praised his wife for her happy\nthought, and wondered that the idea had not struck him before.\n\nSo Robin Redbreast and Jenny Wren were married, amid great rejoicings,\nat the King's Palace; and the King and Queen and all the fine Nobles and\nCourt Ladies danced at their wedding. Then they flew away home to\nRobin's own country-side, and built their nest in the roots of the briar\nbush, where he had spoken to Pussie Baudrons. And you will be glad to\nhear that Jenny Wren proved the best little housewife in the world.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE DWARFIE STONE\n\n\nFar up in a green valley in the Island of Hoy stands an immense boulder.\nIt is hollow inside, and the natives of these northern islands call it\nthe Dwarfie Stone, because long centuries ago, so the legend has it,\nSnorro the Dwarf lived there.\n\nNobody knew where Snorro came from, or how long he had dwelt in the dark\nchamber inside the Dwarfie Stone. All that they knew about him was that\nhe was a little man, with a queer, twisted, deformed body and a face of\nmarvellous beauty, which never seemed to look any older, but was always\nsmiling and young.\n\nMen said that this was because Snorro's father had been a Fairy, and not\na denizen of earth, who had bequeathed to his son the gift of perpetual\nyouth, but nobody knew whether this were true or not, for the Dwarf had\ninhabited the Dwarfie Stone long before the oldest man or woman in Hoy\nhad been born.\n\nOne thing was certain, however: he had inherited from his mother, whom\nall men agreed had been mortal, the dangerous qualities of vanity and\nambition. And the longer he lived the more vain and ambitious did he\nbecome, until at last he always carried a mirror of polished steel round\nhis neck, into which he constantly looked in order to see the reflection\nof his handsome face.\n\nAnd he would not attend to the country people who came to seek his help,\nunless they bowed themselves humbly before him and spoke to him as if he\nwere a King.\n\nI say that the country people sought his help, for he spent his time, or\nappeared to spend it, in collecting herbs and simples on the hillsides,\nwhich he carried home with him to his dark abode, and distilled\nmedicines and potions from them, which he sold to his neighbours at\nwondrous high prices.\n\nHe was also the possessor of a wonderful leathern-covered book, clasped\nwith clasps of brass, over which he would pore for hours together, and\nout of which he would tell the simple Islanders their fortunes, if they\nwould.\n\nFor they feared the book almost as much as they feared Snorro himself,\nfor it was whispered that it had once belonged to Odin, and they crossed\nthemselves for protection as they named the mighty Enchanter.\n\nBut all the time they never guessed the real reason why Snorro chose to\nlive in the Dwarfie Stone.\n\nI will tell you why he did so. Not very far from the Stone there was a\ncurious hill, shaped exactly like a wart. It was known as the Wart Hill\nof Hoy, and men said that somewhere in the side of it was hidden a\nwonderful carbuncle, which, when it was found, would bestow on its\nfinder marvellous magic gifts--Health, Wealth, and Happiness.\nEverything, in fact, that a human being could desire.\n\nAnd the curious thing about this carbuncle was, that it was said that it\ncould be seen at certain times, if only the people who were looking for\nit were at the right spot at the right moment.\n\nNow Snorro had made up his mind that he would find this wonderful stone,\nso, while he pretended to spend all his time in reading his great book\nor distilling medicines from his herbs, he was really keeping a keen\nlook-out during his wanderings, noting every tuft of grass or piece of\nrock under which it might be hidden. And at night, when everyone else\nwas asleep, he would creep out, with pickaxe and spade, to turn over the\nrocks or dig over the turf, in the hope of finding the long-sought-for\ntreasure underneath them.\n\nHe was always accompanied on these occasions by an enormous grey-headed\nRaven, who lived in the cave along with him, and who was his bosom\nfriend and companion. The Islanders feared this bird of ill omen as\nmuch, perhaps, as they feared its Master; for, although they went to\nconsult Snorro in all their difficulties and perplexities, and bought\nmedicines and love-potions from him, they always looked upon him with a\ncertain dread, feeling that there was something weird and uncanny about\nhim.\n\nNow, at the time we are speaking of, Orkney was governed by two Earls,\nwho were half-brothers. Paul, the elder, was a tall, handsome man, with\ndark hair, and eyes like sloes. All the country people loved him, for he\nwas so skilled in knightly exercises, and had such a sweet and loving\nnature, that no one could help being fond of him. Old people's eyes\nwould brighten at the sight of him, and the little children would run\nout to greet him as he rode by their mothers' doors.\n\nAnd this was the more remarkable because, with all his winning manner,\nhe had such a lack of conversation that men called him Paul the Silent,\nor Paul the Taciturn.\n\nHarold, on the other hand, was as different from his brother as night is\nfrom day. He was fair-haired and blue-eyed, and he had gained for\nhimself the name of Harold the Orator, because he was always free of\nspeech and ready with his tongue.\n\nBut for all this he was not a favourite. For he was haughty, and\njealous, and quick-tempered, and the old folks' eyes did not brighten at\nthe sight of him, and the babes, instead of toddling out to greet him,\nhid their faces in their mothers' skirts when they saw him coming.\n\nHarold could not help knowing that the people liked his silent brother\nbest, and the knowledge made him jealous of him, so a coldness sprang up\nbetween them.\n\nNow it chanced, one summer, that Earl Harold went on a visit to the King\nof Scotland, accompanied by his mother, the Countess Helga, and her\nsister, the Countess Fraukirk.\n\nAnd while he was at Court he met a charming young Irish lady, the Lady\nMorna, who had come from Ireland to Scotland to attend upon the Scottish\nQueen. She was so sweet, and good, and gentle that Earl Harold's heart\nwas won, and he made up his mind that she, and only she, should be his\nbride.\n\nBut although he had paid her much attention, Lady Morna had sometimes\ncaught glimpses of his jealous temper; she had seen an evil expression\nin his eyes, and had heard him speak sharply to his servants, and she\nhad no wish to marry him. So, to his great amazement, she refused the\nhonour which he offered her, and told him that she would prefer to\nremain as she was.\n\nEarl Harold ground his teeth in silent rage, but he saw that it was no\nuse pressing his suit at that moment. So what he could not obtain by his\nown merits he determined to obtain by guile.\n\nAccordingly he begged his mother to persuade the Lady Morna to go back\nwith them on a visit, hoping that when she was alone with him in Orkney,\nhe would be able to overcome her prejudice against him, and induce her\nto become his wife. And all the while he never remembered his brother\nPaul; or, if he did, he never thought it possible that he could be his\nrival.\n\nBut that was just the very thing that happened. The Lady Morna, thinking\nno evil, accepted the Countess Helga's invitation, and no sooner had the\nparty arrived back in Orkney than Paul, charmed with the grace and\nbeauty of the fair Irish Maiden, fell head over ears in love with her.\nAnd the Lady Morna, from the very first hour that she saw him, returned\nhis love.\n\nOf course this state of things could not long go on hidden, and when\nHarold realised what had happened his anger and jealousy knew no bounds.\nSeizing a dagger, he rushed up to the turret where his brother was\nsitting in his private apartments, and threatened to stab him to the\nheart if he did not promise to give up all thoughts of winning the\nlovely stranger.\n\nBut Paul met him with pleasant words.\n\n\"Calm thyself, Brother,\" he said. \"It is true that I love the lady, but\nthat is no proof that I shall win her. Is it likely that she will choose\nme, whom all men name Paul the Silent, when she hath the chance of\nmarrying you, whose tongue moves so swiftly that to you is given the\nproud title of Harold the Orator?\"\n\nAt these words Harold's vanity was flattered, and he thought that, after\nall, his step-brother was right, and that he had a very small chance,\nwith his meagre gift of speech, of being successful in his suit. So he\nthrew down his dagger, and, shaking hands with him, begged him to\npardon his unkind thoughts, and went down the winding stair again in\nhigh good-humour with himself and all the world.\n\nBy this time it was coming near to the Feast of Yule, and at that\nFestival it was the custom for the Earl and his Court to leave Kirkwall\nfor some weeks, and go to the great Palace of Orphir, nine miles\ndistant. And in order to see that everything was ready, Earl Paul took\nhis departure some days before the others.\n\nThe evening before he left he chanced to find the Lady Morna sitting\nalone in one of the deep windows of the great hall. She had been\nweeping, for she was full of sadness at the thought of his departure;\nand at the sight of her distress the kind-hearted young Earl could no\nlonger contain himself, but, folding her in his arms, he whispered to\nher how much he loved her, and begged her to promise to be his wife.\n\nShe agreed willingly. Hiding her rosy face on his shoulder, she\nconfessed that she had loved him from the very first day that she had\nseen him; and ever since that moment she had determined that, if she\ncould not wed him, she would wed no other man.\n\nFor a little time they sat together, rejoicing in their new-found\nhappiness. Then Earl Paul sprang to his feet.\n\n\"Let us go and tell the good news to my mother and my brother,\" he said.\n\"Harold may be disappointed at first, for I know, Sweetheart, he would\nfain have had thee for his own. But his good heart will soon overcome\nall that, and he will rejoice with us also.\"\n\nBut the Lady Morna shook her head. She knew, better than her lover, what\nEarl Harold's feeling would be; and she would fain put off the evil\nhour.\n\n\"Let us hold our peace till after Yule,\" she pleaded. \"It will be a joy\nto keep our secret to ourselves for a little space; there will be time\nenough then to let all the world know.\"\n\nRather reluctantly, Earl Paul agreed; and next day he set off for the\nPalace at Orphir, leaving his lady-love behind him.\n\nLittle he guessed the danger he was in! For, all unknown to him, his\nstep-aunt, Countess Fraukirk, had chanced to be in the hall, the evening\nbefore, hidden behind a curtain, and she had overheard every word that\nMorna and he had spoken, and her heart was filled with black rage.\n\nFor she was a hard, ambitious woman, and she had always hated the young\nEarl, who was no blood-relation to her, and who stood in the way of his\nbrother, her own nephew; for, if Paul were only dead, Harold would be\nthe sole Earl of Orkney.\n\nAnd now that he had stolen the heart of the Lady Morna, whom her own\nnephew loved, her hate and anger knew no bounds. She had hastened off to\nher sister's chamber as soon as the lovers had parted; and there the two\nwomen had remained talking together till the chilly dawn broke in the\nsky.\n\n[Illustration: M. Meredith Williams\n\nCountess Fraukirk ... hidden behind a curtain ... overheard every\nword.]\n\nNext day a boat went speeding over the narrow channel of water that\nseparates Pomona (on the mainland) from Hoy. In it sat a woman, but who\nshe was, or what she was like, no one could say, for she was covered\nfrom head to foot with a black cloak, and her face was hidden behind a\nthick, dark veil.\n\nSnorro the Dwarf knew her, even before she laid aside her trappings, for\nCountess Fraukirk was no stranger to him. In the course of her long life\nshe had often had occasion to seek his aid to help her in her evil\ndeeds, and she had always paid him well for his services in yellow gold.\nHe therefore welcomed her gladly; but when he had heard the nature of\nher errand his smiling face grew grave again, and he shook his head.\n\n\"I have served thee well, Lady, in the past,\" he said, \"but methinks\nthat this thing goeth beyond my courage. For to compass an Earl's death\nis a weighty matter, especially when he is so well beloved as is the\nEarl Paul.\n\n\"Thou knowest why I have taken up my abode in this lonely spot--how I\nhope some day to light upon the magic carbuncle. Thou knowest also how\nthe people fear me, and hate me too, forsooth. And if the young Earl\ndied, and suspicion fell on me, I must needs fly the Island, for my life\nwould not be worth a grain of sand. Then my chance of success would be\ngone. Nay! I cannot do it, Lady; I cannot do it.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nBut the wily Countess offered him much gold, and bribed him higher and\nhigher, first with wealth, then with success, and lastly she promised to\nobtain for him a high post at the Court of the King of Scotland; and at\nthat his ambition stirred within him, his determination gave way, and he\nconsented to do what she asked.\n\n\"I will summon my magic loom,\" he said, \"and weave a piece of cloth of\nfinest texture and of marvellous beauty; and before I weave it I will so\npoison the thread with a magic potion that, when it is fashioned into a\ngarment, whoever puts it on will die ere he hath worn it many minutes.\"\n\n\"Thou art a clever knave,\" answered the Countess, a cruel smile lighting\nup her evil face, \"and thou shalt be rewarded. Let me have a couple of\nyards of this wonderful web, and I will make a bonnie waistcoat for my\nfine young Earl and give it to him as a Yuletide gift. Then I reckon\nthat he will not see the year out.\"\n\n\"That will he not,\" said Dwarf Snorro, with a malicious grin; and the\ntwo parted, after arranging that the piece of cloth should be delivered\nat the Palace of Orphir on the day before Christmas Eve.\n\nNow, when the Countess Fraukirk had been away upon her wicked errand,\nstrange things were happening at the Castle at Kirkwall. For Harold,\nencouraged by his brother's absence, offered his heart and hand once\nmore to the Lady Morna. Once more she refused him, and in order to make\nsure that the scene should not be repeated, she told him that she had\nplighted her troth to his brother. When he heard that this was so, rage\nand fury were like to devour him. Mad with anger, he rushed from her\npresence, flung himself upon his horse, and rode away in the direction\nof the sea shore.\n\nWhile he was galloping wildly along, his eyes fell on the snow-clad\nhills of Hoy rising up across the strip of sea that divided the one\nisland from the other. And his thoughts flew at once to Snorro the\nDwarf, who he had had occasion, as well as his step-aunt, to visit in\nbygone days.\n\n\"I have it,\" he cried. \"Stupid fool that I was not to think of it at\nonce. I will go to Snorro, and buy from him a love-potion, which will\nmake my Lady Morna hate my precious brother and turn her thoughts kindly\ntowards me.\"\n\nSo he made haste to hire a boat, and soon he was speeding over the\ntossing waters on his way to the Island of Hoy. When he arrived there he\nhurried up the lonely valley to where the Dwarfie Stone stood, and he\nhad no difficulty in finding its uncanny occupant, for Snorro was\nstanding at the hole that served as a door, his raven on his shoulder,\ngazing placidly at the setting sun.\n\nA curious smile crossed his face when, hearing the sound of approaching\nfootsteps, he turned round and his eyes fell on the young noble.\n\n\"What bringeth thee here, Sir Earl?\" he asked gaily, for he scented more\ngold.\n\n\"I come for a love-potion,\" said Harold; and without more ado he told\nthe whole story to the Wizard. \"I will pay thee for it,\" he added, \"if\nthou wilt give it to me quickly.\"\n\nSnorro looked at him from head to foot. \"Blind must the maiden be, Sir\nOrator,\" he said, \"who needeth a love-potion to make her fancy so\ngallant a Knight.\"\n\nEarl Harold laughed angrily. \"It is easier to catch a sunbeam than a\nwoman's roving fancy,\" he replied. \"I have no time for jesting. For,\nhearken, old man, there is a proverb that saith, 'Time and tide wait for\nno man,' so I need not expect the tide to wait for me. The potion I must\nhave, and that instantly.\"\n\nSnorro saw that he was in earnest, so without a word he entered his\ndwelling, and in a few minutes returned with a small phial in his hand,\nwhich was full of a rosy liquid.\n\n\"Pour the contents of this into the Lady Morna's wine-cup,\" he said,\n\"and I warrant thee that before four-and-twenty hours have passed she\nwill love thee better than thou lovest her now.\"\n\nThen he waved his hand, as if to dismiss his visitor, and disappeared\ninto his dwelling-place.\n\nEarl Harold made all speed back to the Castle; but it was not until one\nor two days had elapsed that he found a chance to pour the love-potion\ninto the Lady Morna's wine-cup. But at last, one night at supper, he\nfound an opportunity of doing so, and, waving away the little page-boy,\nhe handed it to her himself.\n\nShe raised it to her lips, but she only made a pretence at drinking, for\nshe had seen the hated Earl fingering the cup, and she feared some deed\nof treachery. When he had gone back to his seat she managed to pour the\nwhole of the wine on the floor, and smiled to herself at the look of\nsatisfaction that came over Harold's face as she put down the empty\ncup.\n\nHis satisfaction increased, for from that moment she felt so afraid of\nhim that she treated him with great kindness, hoping that by doing so\nshe would keep in his good graces until the Court moved to Orphir, and\nher own true love could protect her.\n\nHarold, on his side, was delighted with her graciousness, for he felt\ncertain that the charm was beginning to work, and that his hopes would\nsoon be fulfilled.\n\nA week later the Court removed to the Royal Palace at Orphir, where Earl\nPaul had everything in readiness for the reception of his guests.\n\nOf course he was overjoyed to meet Lady Morna again, and she was\noverjoyed to meet him, for she felt that she was now safe from the\nunwelcome attentions of Earl Harold.\n\nBut to Earl Harold the sight of their joy was as gall and bitterness,\nand he could scarcely contain himself, although he still trusted in the\nefficacy of Snorro the Dwarf's love-potion.\n\nAs for Countess Fraukirk and Countess Helga, they looked forward eagerly\nto the time when the magic web would arrive, out of which they hoped to\nfashion a fatal gift for Earl Paul.\n\nAt last, the day before Christmas Eve, the two wicked women were sitting\nin the Countess Helga's chamber talking of the time when Earl Harold\nwould rule alone in Orkney, when a tap came to the window, and on\nlooking round they saw Dwarf Snorro's grey-headed Raven perched on the\nsill, a sealed packet in its beak.\n\nThey opened the casement, and with a hoarse croak the creature let the\npacket drop on to the floor; then it flapped its great wings and rose\nslowly into the air again its head turned in the direction of Hoy.\n\nWith fingers that trembled with excitement they broke the seals and\nundid the packet. It contained a piece of the most beautiful material\nthat anyone could possibly imagine, woven in all the colours of the\nrainbow, and sparkling with gold and jewels.\n\n\"'Twill make a bonnie waistcoat,\" exclaimed Countess Fraukirk, with an\nunholy laugh. \"The Silent Earl will be a braw man when he gets it on.\"\n\nThen, without more ado, they set to work to cut out and sew the garment.\nAll that night they worked, and all next day, till, late in the\nafternoon, when they were putting in the last stitches, hurried\nfootsteps were heard ascending the winding staircase, and Earl Harold\nburst open the door.\n\nHis cheeks were red with passion, and his eyes were bright, for he could\nnot but notice that, now that she was safe at Orphir under her true\nlove's protection, the Lady Morna's manner had grown cold and distant\nagain, and he was beginning to lose faith in Snorro's charm.\n\nAngry and disappointed, he had sought his mother's room to pour out his\nstory of vexation to her.\n\nHe stopped short, however, when he saw the wonderful waistcoat lying on\nthe table, all gold and silver and shining colours. It was like a fairy\ngarment, and its beauty took his breath away.\n\n\"For whom hast thou purchased that?\" he asked, hoping to hear that it\nwas intended for him.\n\n\"'Tis a Christmas gift for thy brother Paul,\" answered his mother, and\nshe would have gone on to tell him how deadly a thing it was, had he\ngiven her time to speak. But her words fanned his fury into madness, for\nit seemed to him that this hated brother of his was claiming everything.\n\n\"Everything is for Paul! I am sick of his very name,\" he cried. \"By my\ntroth, he shall not have this!\" and he snatched the vest from the table.\n\nIt was in vain that his mother and his aunt threw themselves at his\nfeet, begging him to lay it down, and warning him that there was not a\nthread in it which was not poisoned. He paid no heed to their words, but\nrushed from the room, and, drawing it on, ran downstairs with a reckless\nlaugh, to show the Lady Morna how fine he was.\n\nAlas! alas! Scarce had he gained the hall than he fell to the ground in\ngreat pain.\n\nEveryone crowded round him, and the two Countesses, terrified now by\nwhat they had done, tried in vain to tear the magic vest from his body.\nBut he felt that it was too late, the deadly poison had done its work,\nand, waving them aside, he turned to his brother, who, in great\ndistress, had knelt down and taken him tenderly in his arms.\n\n\"I wronged thee, Paul,\" he gasped. \"For thou hast ever been true and\nkind. Forgive me in thy thoughts, and,\" he added, gathering up his\nstrength for one last effort, and pointing to the two wretched women who\nhad wrought all this misery, \"_Beware of those two women_, for they\nseek to take thy life.\" Then his head sank back on his brother's\nshoulder, and, with one long sigh, he died.\n\nWhen he learned what had happened, and understood where the waistcoat\ncame from, and for what purpose it had been intended, the anger of the\nSilent Earl knew no bounds. He swore a great oath that he would be\navenged, not only on Snorro the Dwarf, but also on his wicked\nstep-mother and her cruel sister.\n\nHis vengeance was baulked, however, for in the panic and confusion that\nfollowed Harold's death, the two Countesses slipped out of the Palace\nand fled to the coast, and took boat in haste to Scotland, where they\nhad great possessions, and where they were much looked up to, and where\nno one would believe a word against them.\n\nBut retribution fell on them in the end, as it always does fall, sooner\nor later, on everyone who is wicked, or selfish, or cruel; for the\nNorsemen invaded the land, and their Castle was set on fire, and they\nperished miserably in the flames.\n\nWhen Earl Paul found that they had escaped, he set out in hot haste for\nthe Island of Hoy, for he was determined that the Dwarf, at least,\nshould not escape. But when he came to the Dwarfie Stone he found it\nsilent and deserted, all trace of its uncanny occupants having\ndisappeared.\n\nNo one knew what had become of them; a few people were inclined to think\nthat the Dwarf and his Raven had accompanied the Countess Fraukirk and\nthe Countess Helga on their flight, but the greater part of the\nIslanders held to the belief, which I think was the true one, that the\nPowers of the Air spirited Snorro away, and shut him up in some unknown\nplace as a punishment for his wickedness, and that his Raven accompanied\nhim.\n\nAt any rate, he was never seen again by any living person, and wherever\nhe went, he lost all chance of finding the magic carbuncle.\n\nAs for the Silent Earl and his Irish Sweetheart, they were married as\nsoon as Earl Harold's funeral was over; and for hundreds of years\nafterwards, when the inhabitants of the Orkney Isles wanted to express\ngreat happiness, they said, \"As happy as Earl Paul and the Countess\nMorna.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANONBIE DICK AND THOMAS OF ERCILDOUNE\n\n\nIt chanced, long years ago, that a certain horse-dealer lived in the\nSouth of Scotland, near the Border, not very far from Longtown. He was\nknown as Canonbie Dick; and as he went up and down the country, he\nalmost always had a long string of horses behind him, which he bought at\none fair and sold at another, generally managing to turn a good big\npenny by the transaction.\n\nHe was a very fearless man, not easily daunted; and the people who knew\nhim used to say that if Canonbie Dick dare not attempt a thing, no one\nelse need be asked to do it.\n\nOne evening, as he was returning from a fair at some distance from his\nhome with a pair of horses which he had not succeeded in selling, he was\nriding over Bowden Moor, which lies to the west of the Eildon Hills.\nThese hills are, as all men know, the scene of some of the most famous\nof Thomas the Rhymer's prophecies; and also, so men say, they are the\nsleeping-place of King Arthur and his Knights, who rest under the three\nhigh peaks, waiting for the mystic call that shall awake them.\n\nBut little recked the horse-dealer of Arthur and his Knights, nor yet of\nThomas the Rhymer. He was riding along at a snail's pace, thinking over\nthe bargains which he had made at the fair that day, and wondering when\nhe was likely to dispose of his two remaining horses.\n\nAll at once he was startled by the approach of a venerable man, with\nwhite hair and an old-world dress, who seemed almost to start out of the\nground, so suddenly did he make his appearance.\n\nWhen they met, the stranger stopped, and, to Canonbie Dick's great\namazement, asked him for how much he would be willing to part with his\nhorses.\n\nThe wily horse-dealer thought that he saw a chance of driving a good\nbargain, for the stranger looked a man of some consequence; so he named\na good round sum.\n\nThe old man tried to bargain with him; but when he found that he had not\nmuch chance of succeeding--for no one ever did succeed in inducing\nCanonbie Dick to sell a horse for a less sum than he named for it at\nfirst--he agreed to buy the animals, and, pulling a bag of gold from the\npocket of his queerly cut breeches, he began to count out the price.\n\nAs he did so, Canonbie Dick got another shock of surprise, for the\ngold that the stranger gave him was not the gold that was in use at the\ntime, but was fashioned into Unicorns, and Bonnet-pieces, and other\nancient coins, which would be of no use to the horse-dealer in his\neveryday transactions. But it was good, pure gold; and he took it\ngladly, for he knew that he was selling his horses at about half as much\nagain as they were worth. \"So,\" thought he to himself, \"surely I cannot\nbe the loser in the long run.\"\n\nThen the two parted, but not before the old man had commissioned Dick to\nget him other good horses at the same price, the only stipulation he\nmade being that Dick should always bring them to the same spot, after\ndark, and that he should always come alone.\n\nAnd, as time went on, the horse-dealer found that he had indeed met a\ngood customer.\n\nFor, whenever he came across a suitable horse, he had only to lead it\nover Bowden Moor after dark, and he was sure to meet the mysterious,\nwhite-headed stranger, who always paid him for the animal in\nold-fashioned golden pieces.\n\nAnd he might have been selling horses to him yet, for aught I know, had\nit not been for his one failing.\n\nCanonbie Dick was apt to get very thirsty, and his ordinary customers,\nknowing this, took care always to provide him with something to drink.\nThe old man never did so; he paid down his money and led away his\nhorses, and there was an end of the matter.\n\nBut one night, Dick, being even more thirsty than usual, and feeling\nsure that his mysterious friend must live somewhere in the\nneighbourhood, seeing that he was always wandering about the hillside\nwhen everyone else was asleep, hinted that he would be very glad to go\nhome with him and have a little refreshment.\n\n\"He would need to be a brave man who asks to go home with me,\" returned\nthe stranger; \"but, if thou wilt, thou canst follow me. Only, remember\nthis--if thy courage fail thee at that which thou wilt behold, thou wilt\nrue it all thy life.\"\n\nCanonbie Dick laughed long and loud. \"My courage hath never failed me\nyet,\" he cried. \"Beshrew me if I will let it fail now. So lead on, old\nman, and I will follow.\"\n\nWithout a word the stranger turned and began to ascend a narrow path\nwhich led to a curious hillock, which from its shape, was called by the\ncountry-folk the \"Lucken Hare.\"\n\nIt was supposed to be a great haunt of Witches; and, as a rule, nobody\npassed that way after dark, if they could possibly help it.\n\nCanonbie Dick was not afraid of Witches, however, so he followed his\nguide with a bold step up the hillside; but it must be confessed that he\nfelt a little startled when he saw him turn down what seemed to be an\nentrance to a cavern, especially as he never remembered having seen any\nopening in the hillside there before.\n\nHe paused for a moment, looking round him in perplexity, wondering where\nhe was being taken; and his conductor glanced at him scornfully.\n\n\"You can go back if you will,\" he said. \"I warned thee thou wert going\non a journey that would try thy courage to the uttermost.\" There was a\njeering note in his voice that touched Dick's pride.\n\n\"Who said that I was afraid?\" he retorted. \"I was just taking note of\nwhere this passage stands on the hillside, so as to know it another\ntime.\"\n\nThe stranger shrugged his shoulders. \"Time enough to look for it when\nthou wouldst visit it again,\" he said. And then he pursued his way, with\nDick following closely at his heels.\n\nAfter the first yard or two they were enveloped in thick darkness, and\nthe horse-dealer would have been sore put to it to keep near his guide\nhad not the latter held out his hand for him to grasp. But after a\nlittle space a faint glimmering of light began to appear, which grew\nclearer and clearer, until at last they found themselves in an enormous\ncavern lit by flaming torches, which were stuck here and there in\nsconces in the rocky walls, and which, although they served to give\nlight enough to see by, yet threw such ghostly shadows on the floor that\nthey only seemed to intensify the gloom that hung over the vast\napartment.\n\nAnd the curious thing about this mysterious cave was that, along one\nside of it, ran a long row of horse stalls, just like what one would\nfind in a stable, and in each stall stood a coal-black charger, saddled\nand bridled, as if ready for the fray; and on the straw, by every\nhorse's side, lay the gallant figure of a knight, clad from head to foot\nin coal-black armour, with a drawn sword in his mailed hand.\n\nBut not a horse moved, not a chain rattled. Knights and steeds alike\nwere silent and motionless, looking exactly as if some strange\nenchantment had been thrown over them, and they had been suddenly turned\ninto black marble.\n\nThere was something so awesome in the still, cold figures and in the\nunearthly silence that brooded over everything that Canonbie Dick,\nreckless and daring though he was, felt his courage waning and his knees\nbeginning to shake under him.\n\nIn spite of these feelings, however, he followed the old man up the hall\nto the far end of it, where there was a table of ancient workmanship, on\nwhich was placed a glittering sword and a curiously wrought\nhunting-horn.\n\nWhen they reached this table the stranger turned to him, and said, with\ngreat dignity, \"Thou hast heard, good man, of Thomas of\nErcildoune--Thomas the Rhymer, as men call him--he who went to dwell for\na time with the Queen of Fairy-land, and from her received the Gifts of\nTruth and Prophecy?\"\n\nCanonbie Dick nodded; for as the wonderful Soothsayer's name fell on his\nears, his heart sank within him and his tongue seemed to cleave to the\nroof of his mouth. If he had been brought there to parley with Thomas\nthe Rhymer, then had he laid himself open to all the eldrich Powers of\nDarkness.\n\n\"I that speak to thee am he,\" went on the white-haired stranger. \"And I\nhave permitted thee thus to have thy desire and follow me hither in\norder that I may try of what stuff thou art made. Before thee lies a\nHorn and a Sword. He that will sound the one, or draw the other, shall,\nif his courage fail not, be King over the whole of Britain. I, Thomas\nthe Rhymer, have spoken it, and, as thou knowest, my tongue cannot lie.\nBut list ye, the outcome of it all depends on thy bravery; and it will\nbe a light task, or a heavy, according as thou layest hand on Sword or\nHorn first.\"\n\nNow Dick was more versed in giving blows than in making music, and his\nfirst impulse was to seize the Sword, then, come what might, he had\nsomething in his hand to defend himself with. But just as he was about\nto lift it the thought struck him that, if the place were full of\nspirits, as he felt sure that it must be, this action of him might be\ntaken to mean defiance, and might cause them to band themselves together\nagainst him.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nSo, changing his mind, he picked up the Horn with a trembling hand, and\nblew a blast upon it, which, however, was so weak and feeble that it\ncould scarce be heard at the other end of the hall.\n\nThe result that followed was enough to appal the stoutest heart. Thunder\nrolled in crashing peals through the immense hall. The charmed Knights\nand their horses woke in an instant from their enchanted sleep. The\nKnights sprang to their feet and seized their swords, brandishing them\nround their heads, while their great black chargers stamped, and\nsnorted, and ground their bits, as if eager to escape from their stalls.\nAnd where a moment before all had been stillness and silence, there was\nnow a scene of wild din and excitement.\n\nNow was the time for Canonbie Dick to play the man. If he had done so\nall the rest of his life might have been different.\n\nBut his courage failed him, and he lost his chance. Terrified at seeing\nso many threatening faces turned towards him, he dropped the Horn and\nmade one weak, undecided effort to pick up the Sword.\n\nBut, ere he could do so, a mysterious voice sounded from somewhere in\nthe hall, and these were the words that it uttered:\n\n    \"Woe to the coward, that ever he was born,\n    Who did not draw the Sword before he blew the Horn.\"\n\nAnd, before Dick knew what he was about, a perfect whirlwind of cold,\nraw air tore through the cavern, carrying the luckless horse-dealer\nalong with it; and, hurrying him along the narrow passage through which\nhe had entered, dashed him down outside on a bank of loose stones and\nshale. He fell right to the bottom, and was found, with little life left\nin him, next morning, by some shepherds, to whom he had just strength\nenough left to whisper the story of his weird and fearful adventure.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAIRD O' CO'\n\n\nIt was a fine summer morning, and the Laird o' Co' was having a dander\non the green turf outside the Castle walls. His real name was the Laird\no' Colzean, and his descendants to-day bear the proud title of Marquises\nof Ailsa, but all up and down Ayrshire nobody called him anything else\nthan the Laird o' Co'; because of the Co's, or caves, which were to be\nfound in the rock on which his Castle was built.\n\nHe was a kind man, and a courteous, always ready to be interested in the\naffairs of his poorer neighbours, and willing to listen to any tale of\nwoe.\n\nSo when a little boy came across the green, carrying a small can in his\nhand, and, pulling his forelock, asked him if he might go to the Castle\nand get a little ale for his sick mother, the Laird gave his consent at\nonce, and, patting the little fellow on the head, told him to go to the\nkitchen and ask for the butler, and tell him that he, the Laird, had\ngiven orders that his can was to be filled with the best ale that was in\nthe cellar.\n\nAway the boy went, and found the old butler, who, after listening to\nhis message, took him down into the cellar, and proceeded to carry out\nhis Master's orders.\n\nThere was one cask of particularly fine ale, which was kept entirely for\nthe Laird's own use, which had been opened some time before, and which\nwas now about half full.\n\n\"I will fill the bairn's can out o' this,\" thought the old man to\nhimself. \"'Tis both nourishing and light--the very thing for sick folk.\"\nSo, taking the can from the child's hand, he proceeded to draw the ale.\n\nBut what was his astonishment to find that, although the ale flowed\nfreely enough from the barrel, the little can, which could not have held\nmore than a quarter of a gallon, remained always just half full.\n\nThe ale poured into it in a clear amber stream, until the big cask was\nquite empty, and still the quantity that was in the little can did not\nseem to increase.\n\nThe butler could not understand it. He looked at the cask, and then he\nlooked at the can; then he looked down at the floor at his feet to see\nif he had not spilt any.\n\nNo, the ale had not disappeared in that way, for the cellar floor was as\nwhite, and dry, and clean, as possible.\n\n\"Plague on the can; it must be bewitched,\" thought the old man, and his\nshort, stubby hair stood up like porcupine quills round his bald head,\nfor if there was anything on earth of which he had a mortal dread, it\nwas Warlocks, and Witches, and such like Bogles.\n\n\"I'm not going to broach another barrel,\" he said gruffly, handing back\nthe half-filled can to the little lad. \"So ye may just go home with what\nis there; the Laird's ale is too good to waste on a smatchet like thee.\"\n\nBut the boy stoutly held his ground. A promise was a promise, and the\nLaird had both promised, and sent orders to the butler that the can was\nto be filled, and he would not go home till it was filled.\n\nIt was in vain that the old man first argued, and then grew angry--the\nboy would not stir a step.\n\n\"The Laird had said that he was to get the ale, and the ale he must\nhave.\"\n\nAt last the perturbed butler left him standing there, and hurried off to\nhis master to tell him he was convinced that the can was bewitched, for\nit had swallowed up a whole half cask of ale, and after doing so it was\nonly half full; and to ask if he would come down himself, and order the\nlad off the premises.\n\n\"Not I,\" said the genial Laird, \"for the little fellow is quite right. I\npromised that he should have his can full of ale to take home to his\nsick mother, and he shall have it if it takes all the barrels in my\ncellar to fill it. So haste thee to the house again, and open another\ncask.\"\n\nThe butler dare not disobey; so he reluctantly retraced his steps, but,\nas he went, he shook his head sadly, for it seemed to him that not only\nthe boy with the can, but his master also, was bewitched.\n\nWhen he reached the cellar he found the bairn waiting patiently where he\nhad left him, and, without wasting further words, he took the can from\nhis hand and broached another barrel.\n\nIf he had been astonished before, he was more astonished now. Scarce had\na couple of drops fallen from the tap, than the can was full to the\nbrim.\n\n\"Take it, laddie, and begone, with all the speed thou canst,\" he said,\nglad to get the can out of his fingers; and the boy did not wait for a\nsecond bidding. Thanking the butler most earnestly for his trouble, and\npaying no attention to the fact that the old man had not been so civil\nto him as he might have been, he departed. Nor, though the butler took\npains to ask all round the country-side, could he ever hear of him again,\nnor of anyone who knew anything about him, or anything about his sick\nmother.\n\nYears passed by, and sore trouble fell upon the House o' Co'. For the\nLaird went to fight in the wars in Flanders, and, chancing to be taken\nprisoner, he was shut up in prison, and condemned to death. Alone, in a\nforeign country, he had no friends to speak for him, and escape seemed\nhopeless.\n\nIt was the night before his execution, and he was sitting in his lonely\ncell, thinking sadly of his wife and children, whom he never expected to\nsee again. At the thought of them the picture of his home rose clearly\nin his mind--the grand old Castle standing on its rock, and the bonnie\ndaisy-spangled stretch of greensward which lay before its gates, where\nhe had been wont to take a dander in the sweet summer mornings. Then,\nall unbidden, a vision of the little lad carrying the can, who had come\nto beg ale for his sick mother, and whom he had long ago forgotten, rose\nup before him.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe vision was so clear and distinct that he felt almost as if he were\nacting the scene over again, and he rubbed his eyes to get rid of it,\nfeeling that, if he had to die to-morrow, it was time that he turned\nhis thoughts to better things.\n\nBut as he did so the door of his cell flew noiselessly open, and there,\non the threshold, stood the self-same little lad, looking not a day\nolder, with his finger on his lip, and a mysterious smile upon his face.\n\n    \"Laird o' Co',\n    Rise and go!\"\n\nhe whispered, beckoning to him to follow him. Needless to say, the Laird\ndid so, too much amazed to think of asking questions.\n\nThrough the long passages of the prison the little lad went, the Laird\nclose at his heels; and whenever he came to a locked door, he had but to\ntouch it, and it opened before them, so that in no long time they were\nsafe outside the walls.\n\nThe overjoyed Laird would have overwhelmed his little deliverer with\nwords of thanks had not the boy held up his hand to stop him. \"Get on my\nback,\" he said shortly, \"for thou are not safe till thou art out of this\ncountry.\"\n\nThe Laird did as he was bid, and, marvellous as it seems, the boy was\nquite able to bear his weight. As soon as he was comfortably seated the\npair set off, over sea and land, and never stopped till, in almost less\ntime than it takes to tell it, the boy set him down, in the early dawn,\non the daisy-spangled green in front of his Castle, just where he had\nspoken first to him so many years before.\n\nThen he turned, and laid his little hand on the Laird's big one:\n\n    \"Ae gude turn deserves anither,\n    Tak' ye that for being sae kind to my auld mither,\"\n\nhe said, and vanished.\n\nAnd from that day to this he has never been seen again.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nPOUSSIE BAUDRONS\n\n\n    \"Poussie, Poussie Baudrons,\n      Where hae ye been?\"\n    \"I've been at London,\n      Seeing the Queen!\"\n\n    \"Poussie, Poussie Baudrons,\n      What got ye there?\"\n    \"I got a guid fat mousikie,\n      Rinning up a stair.\"\n\n    \"Poussie, Poussie Baudrons,\n      What did ye do wi't?\"\n    \"I put it in my meal-poke\n      To eat it to my bread.\"\n\n[Illustration: I got a guid fat mousikie Rinning up a stair]\n\n\n\n\nTHE MILK-WHITE DOO\n\n\nThere was once a man who got his living by working in the fields. He had\none little son, called Curly-Locks, and one little daughter, called\nGolden-Tresses; but his wife was dead, and, as he had to be out all day,\nthese children were often left alone. So, as he was afraid that some\nevil might befall them when there was no one to look after them, he, in\nan ill day, married again.\n\nI say, \"in an ill day,\" for his second wife was a most deceitful woman,\nwho really hated children, although she pretended, before her marriage,\nto love them. And she was so unkind to them, and made the house so\nuncomfortable with her bad temper, that her poor husband often sighed to\nhimself, and wished that he had let well alone, and remained a widower.\n\nBut it was no use crying over spilt milk; the deed was done, and he had\njust to try to make the best of it. So things went on for several years,\nuntil the children were beginning to run about the doors and play by\nthemselves.\n\nThen one day the Goodman chanced to catch a hare, and he brought it\nhome and gave it to his wife to cook for the dinner.\n\nNow his wife was a very good cook, and she made the hare into a pot of\ndelicious soup; but she was also very greedy, and while the soup was\nboiling she tasted it, and tasted it, till at last she discovered that\nit was almost gone. Then she was in a fine state of mind, for she knew\nthat her husband would soon be coming home for his dinner, and that she\nwould have nothing to set before him.\n\nSo what do you think the wicked woman did? She went out to the door,\nwhere her little step-son, Curly-Locks, was playing in the sun, and told\nhim to come in and get his face washed. And while she was washing his\nface, she struck him on the head with a hammer and stunned him, and\npopped him into the pot to make soup for his father's dinner.\n\nBy and by the Goodman came in from his work, and the soup was dished up;\nand he, and his wife, and his little daughter, Golden-Tresses, sat down\nto sup it.\n\n\"Where's Curly-Locks?\" asked the Goodman. \"It's a pity he is not here as\nlong as the soup is hot.\"\n\n\"How should I ken?\" answered his wife crossly. \"I have other work to do\nthan to run about after a mischievous laddie all the morning.\"\n\nThe Goodman went on supping his soup in silence for some minutes; then\nhe lifted up a little foot in his spoon.\n\n\"This is Curly-Locks' foot,\" he cried in horror. \"There hath been ill\nwork here.\"\n\n\"Hoots, havers,\" answered his wife, laughing, pretending to be very much\namused. \"What should Curly-Locks' foot be doing in the soup? 'Tis the\nhare's forefoot, which is very like that of a bairn.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nBut presently the Goodman took something else up in his spoon.\n\n\"This is Curly-Locks' hand,\" he said shrilly. \"I ken it by the crook in\nits little finger.\"\n\n\"The man's demented,\" retorted his wife, \"not to ken the hind foot of a\nhare when he sees it!\"\n\nSo the poor father did not say any more, but went away out to his work,\nsorely perplexed in his mind; while his little daughter,\nGolden-Tresses, who had a shrewd suspicion of what had happened,\ngathered all the bones from the empty plates, and, carrying them away in\nher apron, buried them beneath a flat stone, close by a white rose tree\nthat grew by the cottage door.\n\nAnd, lo and behold! those poor bones, which she buried with such care:\n\n    \"Grew and grew,\n    To a milk-white Doo,\n    That took its wings,\n    And away it flew.\"\n\nAnd at last it lighted on a tuft of grass by a burnside, where two women\nwere washing clothes. It sat there cooing to itself for some time; then\nit sang this song softly to them:\n\n        \"Pew, pew,\n        My mimmie me slew,\n        My daddy me chew,\n    My sister gathered my banes,\n    And put them between two milk-white stanes.\n        And I grew and grew\n        To a milk-white Doo,\n        And I took to my wings and away I flew.\"\n\nThe women stopped washing and looked at one another in astonishment. It\nwas not every day that they came across a bird that could sing a song\nlike that, and they felt that there was something not canny about it.\n\n\"Sing that song again, my bonnie bird,\" said one of them at last, \"and\nwe'll give thee all these clothes!\"\n\nSo the bird sang its song over again, and the washerwomen gave it all\nthe clothes, and it tucked them under its right wing, and flew on.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nPresently it came to a house where all the windows were open, and it\nperched on one of the window-sills, and inside it saw a man counting out\na great heap of silver.\n\nAnd, sitting on the window-sill, it sang its song to him:\n\n        \"Pew, pew,\n        My mimmie me slew,\n        My daddy me chew,\n    My sister gathered my banes,\n    And put them between two milk-white stanes.\n        And I grew and grew\n        To a milk-white Doo,\n        And I took to my wings and away I flew.\"\n\nThe man stopped counting his silver, and listened. He felt, like the\nwasherwomen, that there was something not canny about this Doo. When it\nhad finished its song, he said:\n\n\"Sing that song again, my bonnie bird, and I'll give thee a' this siller\nin a bag.\"\n\nSo the Doo sang its song over again, and got the bag of silver, which it\ntucked under its left wing. Then it flew on.\n\nIt had not flown very far, however, before it came to a mill where two\nmillers were grinding corn. And it settled down on a sack of meal and\nsang its song to them.\n\n        \"Pew, pew,\n        My mimmie me slew,\n        My daddy me chew,\n    My sister gathered my banes,\n    And put them between two milk-white stanes.\n        And I grew and grew\n        To a milk-white Doo,\n        And I took to my wings and away I flew.\"\n\nThe millers stopped their work, and looked at one another, scratching\ntheir heads in amazement.\n\n\"Sing that song over again, my bonnie bird!\" exclaimed both of them\ntogether when the Doo had finished, \"and we will give thee this\nmillstone.\"\n\nSo the Doo repeated its song, and got the millstone, which it asked one\nof the millers to lift on its back; then it flew out of the mill, and up\nthe valley, leaving the two men staring after it dumb with astonishment.\n\nAs you may think, the Milk-White Doo had a heavy load to carry, but it\nwent bravely on till it came within sight of its father's cottage, and\nlighted down at last on the thatched roof.\n\nThen it laid its burdens on the thatch, and, flying down to the\ncourtyard, picked up a number of little chuckie stones. With them in its\nbeak it flew back to the roof, and began to throw them down the chimney.\n\nBy this time it was evening, and the Goodman and his wife, and his\nlittle daughter, Golden-Tresses, were sitting round the table eating\ntheir supper. And you may be sure that they were all very much startled\nwhen the stones came rattling down the chimney, bringing such a cloud of\nsoot with them that they were like to be smothered. They all jumped up\nfrom their chairs, and ran outside to see what the matter was.\n\nAnd Golden-Tresses, being the littlest, ran the fastest, and when she\ncame out at the door the Milk-White Doo flung the bundle of clothes down\nat her feet.\n\nAnd the father came out next, and the Milk-White Doo flung the bag of\nsilver down at his feet.\n\nBut the wicked step-mother, being somewhat stout came out last, and the\nMilk-White Doo threw the millstone right down on her head and killed\nher.\n\nThen it spread its wings and flew away, and has never been seen again;\nbut it had made the Goodman and his daughter rich for life, and it had\nrid them of the cruel step-mother, so that they lived in peace and\nplenty for the remainder of their days.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE DRAIGLIN' HOGNEY\n\n\nThere was once a man who had three sons, and very little money to\nprovide for them. So, when the eldest had grown into a lad, and saw that\nthere was no means of making a livelihood at home, he went to his father\nand said to him:\n\n\"Father, if thou wilt give me a horse to ride on, a hound to hunt with,\nand a hawk to fly, I will go out into the wide world and seek my\nfortune.\"\n\nHis father gave him what he asked for; and he set out on his travels. He\nrode and he rode, over mountain and glen, until, just at nightfall, he\ncame to a thick, dark wood. He entered it, thinking that he might find a\npath that would lead him through it; but no path was visible, and after\nwandering up and down for some time, he was obliged to acknowledge to\nhimself that he was completely lost.\n\nThere seemed to be nothing for it but to tie his horse to a tree, and\nmake a bed of leaves for himself on the ground; but just as he was about\nto do so he saw a light glimmering in the distance, and, riding on in\nthe direction in which it was, he soon came to a clearing in the wood,\nin which stood a magnificent Castle.\n\nThe windows were all lit up, but the great door was barred; and, after\nhe had ridden up to it, and knocked, and received no answer, the young\nman raised his hunting horn to his lips and blew a loud blast in the\nhope of letting the inmates know that he was without.\n\nInstantly the door flew open of its own accord, and the young man\nentered, wondering very much what this strange thing would mean. And he\nwondered still more when he passed from room to room, and found that,\nalthough fires were burning brightly everywhere, and there was a\nplentiful meal laid out on the table in the great hall, there did not\nseem to be a single person in the whole of the vast building.\n\nHowever, as he was cold, and tired, and wet, he put his horse in one of\nthe stalls of the enormous stable, and taking his hawk and hound along\nwith him, went into the hall and ate a hearty supper. After which he sat\ndown by the side of the fire, and began to dry his clothes.\n\nBy this time it had grown late, and he was just thinking of retiring to\none of the bedrooms which he had seen upstairs and going to bed, when a\nclock which was hanging on the wall struck twelve.\n\nInstantly the door of the huge apartment opened, and a most\nawful-looking Draiglin' Hogney entered. His hair was matted and his\nbeard was long, and his eyes shone like stars of fire from under his\nbushy eyebrows, and in his hands he carried a queerly shaped club.\n\nHe did not seem at all astonished to see his unbidden guest; but, coming\nacross the hall, he sat down upon the opposite side of the fireplace,\nand, resting his chin on his hands, gazed fixedly at him.\n\n\"Doth thy horse ever kick any?\" he said at last, in a harsh, rough\nvoice.\n\n\"Ay, doth he,\" replied the young man; for the only steed that his father\nhad been able to give him was a wild and unbroken colt.\n\n\"I have some skill in taming horses,\" went on the Draiglin' Hogney,\n\"and I will give thee something to tame thine withal. Throw this over\nhim\"--and he pulled one of the long, coarse hairs out of his head and\ngave it to the young man. And there was something so commanding in the\nHogney's voice that he did as he was bid, and went out to the stable and\nthrew the hair over the horse.\n\nThen he returned to the hall, and sat down again by the fire. The moment\nthat he was seated the Draiglin' Hogney asked another question.\n\n\"Doth thy hound ever bite any?\"\n\n\"Ay, verily,\" answered the youth; for his hound was so fierce-tempered\nthat no man, save his master, dare lay a hand on him.\n\n\"I can cure the wildest tempered dog in Christendom,\" replied the\nDraiglin' Hogney. \"Take that, and throw it over him.\" And he pulled\nanother hair out of his head and gave it to the young man, who lost no\ntime in flinging it over his hound.\n\nThere was still a third question to follow. \"Doth ever thy hawk peck\nany?\"\n\nThe young man laughed. \"I have ever to keep a bandage over her eyes,\nsave when she is ready to fly,\" said he; \"else were nothing safe within\nher reach.\"\n\n\"Things will be safe now,\" said the Hogney, grimly. \"Throw that over\nher.\" And for the third time he pulled a hair from his head and handed\nit to his companion. And as the other hairs had been thrown over the\nhorse and the hound, so this one was thrown over the hawk.\n\nThen, before the young man could draw breath, the fiercesome Draiglin'\nHogney had given him such a clout on the side of his head with his\nqueer-shaped club that he fell down in a heap on the floor.\n\nAnd very soon his hawk and his hound tumbled down still and motionless\nbeside him; and, out in the stable, his horse became stark and stiff, as\nif turned to stone. For the Draiglin's words had meant more than at\nfirst appeared when he said that he could make all unruly animals quiet.\n\nSome time afterwards the second of the three sons came to his father in\nthe old home with the same request that his brother had made. That he\nshould be provided with a horse, a hawk, and a hound, and be allowed to\ngo out to seek his fortune. And his father listened to him, and gave him\nwhat he asked, as he had given his brother.\n\n[Illustration: So he set out on his Quest]\n\nAnd the young man set out, and in due time came to the wood, and lost\nhimself in it, just as his brother had done; then he saw the light, and\ncame to the Castle, and went in, and had supper, and dried his clothes,\njust as it all had happened before.\n\nAnd the Draiglin' Hogney came in, and asked him the three questions, and\nhe gave the same three answers, and received three hairs--one to throw\nover his horse, one to throw over his hound, and one to throw over his\nhawk; then the Hogney killed him, just as he had killed his brother.\n\nTime passed, and the youngest son, finding that his two elder brothers\nnever returned, asked his father for a horse, a hawk, and a hound, in\norder that he might go and look for them. And the poor old man, who was\nfeeling very desolate in his old age, gladly gave them to him.\n\nSo he set out on his quest, and at nightfall he came, as the others had\ndone, to the thick wood and the Castle. But, being a wise and cautious\nyouth, he liked not the way in which he found things. He liked not the\nempty house; he liked not the spread-out feast; and, most of all, he\nliked not the look of the Draiglin' Hogney when he saw him. And he\ndetermined to be very careful what he said or did as long as he was in\nhis company.\n\nSo when the Draiglin' Hogney asked him if his horse kicked, he replied\nthat it did, in very few words; and when he got one of the Hogney's\nhairs to throw over him, he went out to the stable, and pretended to do\nso, but he brought it back, hidden in his hand, and, when his unchancy\ncompanion was not looking, he threw it into the fire. It fizzled up like\na tongue of flame with a little hissing sound like that of a serpent.\n\n\"What's that fizzling?\" asked the Giant suspiciously.\n\n\"'Tis but the sap of the green wood,\" replied the young man carelessly,\nas he turned to caress his hound.\n\nThe answer satisfied the Draiglin' Hogney, and he paid no heed to the\nsound which the hair that should have been thrown over the hound, or the\nsound which the hair that should have been thrown over the hawk, made,\nwhen the young man threw them into the fire; and they fizzled up in the\nsame way that the first had done.\n\nThen, thinking that he had the stranger in his power, he whisked across\nthe hearthstone to strike him with his club, as he had struck his\nbrothers; but the young man was on the outlook, and when he saw him\ncoming he gave a shrill whistle. And his horse, which loved him dearly,\ncame galloping in from the stable, and his hound sprang up from the\nhearthstone where he had been sleeping; and his hawk, who was sitting on\nhis shoulder, ruffled up her feathers and screamed harshly; and they all\nfell on the Draiglin' Hogney at once, and he found out only too well how\nthe horse kicked, and the hound bit, and the hawk pecked; for they\nkicked him, and bit him, and pecked him, till he was as dead as a door\nnail.\n\nWhen the young man saw that he was dead, he took his little club from\nhis hand, and, armed with that, he set out to explore the Castle.\n\nAs he expected, he found that there were dark and dreary dungeons under\nit, and in one of them he found his two brothers, lying cold and stiff\nside by side. He touched them with the club, and instantly they came to\nlife again, and sprang to their feet as well as ever.\n\nThen he went into another dungeon; and there were the two horses, and\nthe two hawks, and the two hounds, lying as if dead, exactly as their\nMasters had lain. He touched them with his magic club, and they, too,\ncame to life again.\n\nThen he called to his two brothers, and the three young men searched the\nother dungeons, and they found great stores of gold and silver hidden in\nthem, enough to make them rich for life.\n\nSo they buried the Draiglin' Hogney, and took possession of the Castle;\nand two of them went home and brought their old father back with them,\nand they all were as prosperous and happy as they could be; and, for\naught that I know, they are living there still.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIE O' FERNE-DEN\n\n\nThere have been many Brownies known in Scotland; and stories have been\nwritten about the Brownie o' Bodsbeck and the Brownie o' Blednock, but\nabout neither of them has a prettier story been told than that which I\nam going to tell you about the Brownie o' Ferne-Den.\n\nNow, Ferne-Den was a farmhouse, which got its name from the glen, or\n\"den,\" on the edge of which it stood, and through which anyone who\nwished to reach the dwelling had to pass.\n\nAnd this glen was believed to be the abode of a Brownie, who never\nappeared to anyone in the daytime, but who, it was said, was sometimes\nseen at night, stealing about, like an ungainly shadow, from tree to\ntree, trying to keep from observation, and never, by any chance, harming\nanybody.\n\nIndeed, like all Brownies that are properly treated and let alone, so\nfar was he from harming anybody that he was always on the look-out to do\na good turn to those who needed his assistance. The farmer often said\nthat he did not know what he would do without him; for if there was any\nwork to be finished in a hurry at the farm--corn to thrash, or winnow,\nor tie up into bags, turnips to cut, clothes to wash, a kirn to be\nkirned, a garden to be weeded--all that the farmer and his wife had to\ndo was to leave the door of the barn, or the turnip shed, or the milk\nhouse open when they went to bed, and put down a bowl of new milk on the\ndoorstep for the Brownie's supper, and when they woke the next morning\nthe bowl would be empty, and the job finished better than if it had been\ndone by mortal hands.\n\nIn spite of all this, however, which might have proved to them how\ngentle and kindly the Creature really was, everyone about the place was\nafraid of him, and would rather go a couple of miles round about in the\ndark, when they were coming home from Kirk or Market, than pass through\nthe glen, and run the risk of catching a glimpse of him.\n\nI said that they were all afraid of him, but that was not true, for the\nfarmer's wife was so good and gentle that she was not afraid of anything\non God's earth, and when the Brownie's supper had to be left outside,\nshe always filled his bowl with the richest milk, and added a good\nspoonful of cream to it, for, said she, \"He works so hard for us, and\nasks no wages, he well deserves the very best meal that we can give\nhim.\"\n\nOne night this gentle lady was taken very ill, and everyone was afraid\nthat she was going to die. Of course, her husband was greatly\ndistressed, and so were her servants, for she had been such a good\nMistress to them that they loved her as if she had been their mother.\nBut they were all young, and none of them knew very much about illness,\nand everyone agreed that it would be better to send off for an old woman\nwho lived about seven miles away on the other side of the river, who was\nknown to be a very skilful nurse.\n\nBut who was to go? That was the question. For it was black midnight, and\nthe way to the old woman's house lay straight through the glen. And\nwhoever travelled that road ran the risk of meeting the dreaded Brownie.\n\nThe farmer would have gone only too willingly, but he dare not leave his\nwife alone; and the servants stood in groups about the kitchen, each one\ntelling the other that he ought to go, yet no one offering to go\nthemselves.\n\nLittle did they think that the cause of all their terror, a queer, wee,\nmisshapen little man, all covered with hair, with a long beard,\nred-rimmed eyes, broad, flat feet, just like the feet of a paddock, and\nenormous long arms that touched the ground, even when he stood upright,\nwas within a yard or two of them, listening to their talk, with an\nanxious face, behind the kitchen door.\n\nFor he had come up as usual, from his hiding-place in the glen, to see\nif there were any work for him to do, and to look for his bowl of milk.\nAnd he had seen, from the open door and lit-up windows, that there was\nsomething wrong inside the farmhouse, which at that hour was wont to be\ndark, and still, and silent; and he had crept into the entry to try and\nfind out what the matter was.\n\nWhen he gathered from the servants' talk that the Mistress, whom he\nloved so dearly, and who had been so kind to him, was ill, his heart\nsank within him; and when he heard that the silly servants were so taken\nup with their own fears that they dared not set out to fetch a nurse for\nher, his contempt and anger knew no bounds.\n\n\"Fools, idiots, dolts!\" he muttered to himself, stamping his queer,\nmisshapen feet on the floor. \"They speak as if a body were ready to take\na bite off them as soon as ever he met them. If they only knew the\nbother it gives me to keep out of their road they wouldna be so silly.\nBut, by my troth, if they go on like this, the bonnie lady will die\namongst their fingers. So it strikes me that Brownie must e'en gang\nhimself.\"\n\nSo saying, he reached up his hand, and took down a dark cloak which\nbelonged to the farmer, which was hanging on a peg on the wall, and,\nthrowing it over his head and shoulders, or as somewhat to hide his\nungainly form, he hurried away to the stable, and saddled and bridled\nthe fleetest-footed horse that stood there.\n\nWhen the last buckle was fastened, he led it to the door and scrambled\non its back. \"Now, if ever thou travelledst fleetly, travel fleetly\nnow,\" he said; and it was as if the creature understood him, for it gave\na little whinny and pricked up its ears; then it darted out into the\ndarkness like an arrow from the bow.\n\nIn less time than the distance had ever been ridden in before, the\nBrownie drew rein at the old woman's cottage.\n\nShe was in bed, fast asleep; but he rapped sharply on the window, and\nwhen she rose and put her old face, framed in its white mutch, close to\nthe pane to ask who was there, he bent forward and told her his errand.\n\n\"Thou must come with me, Goodwife, and that quickly,\" he commanded, in\nhis deep, harsh voice, \"if the Lady of Ferne-Den's life is to be saved;\nfor there is no one to nurse her up-bye at the farm there, save a lot of\nempty-headed servant wenches.\"\n\n\"But how am I to get there? Have they sent a cart for me?\" asked the old\nwoman anxiously; for, as far as she could see, there was nothing at the\ndoor save a horse and its rider.\n\n\"No, they have sent no cart,\" replied the Brownie, shortly. \"So you must\njust climb up behind me on the saddle, and hang on tight to my waist,\nand I'll promise to land ye at Ferne-Den safe and sound.\"\n\nHis voice was so masterful that the old woman dare not refuse to do as\nshe was bid; besides, she had often ridden pillion-wise when she was a\nlassie, so she made haste to dress herself, and when she was ready she\nunlocked her door, and, mounting the louping-on stane that stood beside\nit, she was soon seated behind the dark-cloaked stranger, with her arms\nclasped tightly round him.\n\nNot a word was spoken till they approached the dreaded glen, then the\nold woman felt her courage giving way. \"Do ye think that there will be\nany chance of meeting the Brownie?\" she asked timidly. \"I would fain not\nrun the risk, for folk say that he is an unchancy creature.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\nHer companion gave a curious laugh. \"Keep up your heart, and dinna talk\nhavers,\" he said, \"for I promise ye ye'll see naught uglier this night\nthan the man whom ye ride behind.\"\n\n\"Oh, then, I'm fine and safe,\" replied the old woman, with a sigh of\nrelief; \"for although I havena' seen your face, I warrant that ye are a\ntrue man, for the care you have taken of a poor old woman.\"\n\nShe relapsed into silence again till the glen was passed and the good\nhorse had turned into the farmyard. Then the horseman slid to the\nground, and, turning round, lifted her carefully down in his long,\nstrong arms. As he did so the cloak slipped off him, revealing his\nshort, broad body and his misshapen limbs.\n\n\"In a' the world, what kind o' man are ye?\" she asked, peering into his\nface in the grey morning light, which was just dawning. \"What makes your\neyes so big? And what have ye done to your feet? They are more like\npaddock's webs than aught else.\"\n\nThe queer little man laughed again. \"I've wandered many a mile in my\ntime without a horse to help me, and I've heard it said that ower much\nwalking makes the feet unshapely,\" he replied. \"But waste no time in\ntalking, good Dame. Go thy way into the house; and, hark'ee, if anyone\nasks thee who brought thee hither so quickly, tell them that there was a\nlack of men, so thou hadst e'en to be content to ride behind the BROWNIE\nO' FERNE-DEN.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE WITCH OF FIFE\n\n\nIn the Kingdom of Fife, in the days of long ago, there lived an old man\nand his wife. The old man was a douce, quiet body, but the old woman was\nlightsome and flighty, and some of the neighbours were wont to look at\nher askance, and whisper to each other that they sorely feared that she\nwas a Witch.\n\nAnd her husband was afraid of it, too, for she had a curious habit of\ndisappearing in the gloaming and staying out all night; and when she\nreturned in the morning she looked quite white and tired, as if she had\nbeen travelling far, or working hard.\n\nHe used to try and watch her carefully, in order to find out where she\nwent, or what she did, but he never managed to do so, for she always\nslipped out of the door when he was not looking, and before he could\nreach it to follow her, she had vanished utterly.\n\nAt last, one day, when he could stand the uncertainty no longer, he\nasked her to tell him straight out whether she were a Witch or no. And\nhis blood ran cold when, without the slightest hesitation, she answered\nthat she was; and if he would promise not to let anyone know, the next\ntime that she went on one of her midnight expeditions she would tell him\nall about it.\n\nThe Goodman promised; for it seemed to him just as well that he should\nknow all about his wife's cantrips.\n\nHe had not long to wait before he heard of them. For the very next week\nthe moon was new, which is, as everybody knows, the time of all others\nwhen Witches like to stir abroad; and on the first night of the new moon\nhis wife vanished. Nor did she return till daybreak next morning.\n\nAnd when he asked her where she had been, she told him, in great glee,\nhow she and four like-minded companions had met at the old Kirk on the\nmoor and had mounted branches of the green bay tree and stalks of\nhemlock, which had instantly changed into horses, and how they had\nridden, swift as the wind, over the country, hunting the foxes, and the\nweasels, and the owls; and how at last they had swam the Forth and come\nto the top of Bell Lomond. And how there they had dismounted from their\nhorses, and drunk beer that had been brewed in no earthly brewery, out\nof horn cups that had been fashioned by no mortal hands.\n\nAnd how, after that, a wee, wee man had jumped up from under a great\nmossy stone, with a tiny set of bagpipes under his arm, and how he had\npiped such wonderful music, that, at the sound of it, the very trouts\njumped out of the Loch below, and the stoats crept out of their holes,\nand the corby crows and the herons came and sat on the trees in the\ndarkness, to listen. And how all the Witches danced until they were so\nweary that, when the time came for them to mount their steeds again, if\nthey would be home before cock-crow, they could scarce sit on them for\nfatigue.\n\n[Illustration: Ridden and Ridden--Till they Reached the land of the\nLapps]\n\nThe Goodman listened to this long story in silence, shaking his head\nmeanwhile, and, when it was finished, all that he answered was: \"And\nwhat the better are ye for all your dancing? Ye'd have been a deal more\ncomfortable at home.\"\n\nAt the next new moon the old wife went off again for the night; and when\nshe returned in the morning she told her husband how, on this occasion,\nshe and her friends had taken cockle-shells for boats, and had sailed\naway over the stormy sea till they reached Norway. And there they had\nmounted invisible horses of wind, and had ridden and ridden, over\nmountains and glens, and glaciers, till they reached the land of the\nLapps lying under its mantle of snow.\n\nAnd here all the Elves, and Fairies, and Mermaids of the North were\nholding festival with Warlocks, and Brownies, and Pixies, and even the\nPhantom Hunters themselves, who are never looked upon by mortal eyes.\nAnd the Witches from Fife held festival with them, and danced, and\nfeasted, and sang with them, and, what was of more consequence, they\nlearned from them certain wonderful words, which, when they uttered\nthem, would bear them through the air, and would undo all bolts and\nbars, and so gain them admittance to any place soever where they wanted\nto be. And after that they had come home again, delighted with the\nknowledge which they had acquired.\n\n\"What took ye to siccan a land as that?\" asked the old man, with a\ncontemptuous grunt. \"Ye would hae been a sight warmer in your bed.\"\n\nBut when his wife returned from her next adventure, he showed a little\nmore interest in her doings.\n\nFor she told him how she and her friends had met in the cottage of one\nof their number, and how, having heard that the Lord Bishop of Carlisle\nhad some very rare wine in his cellar, they had placed their feet on the\ncrook from which the pot hung, and had pronounced the magic words which\nthey had learned from the Elves of Lappland. And, lo and behold! they\nflew up the chimney like whiffs of smoke, and sailed through the air\nlike little wreathes of cloud, and in less time than it takes to tell\nthey landed at the Bishop's Palace at Carlisle.\n\nAnd the bolts and the bars flew loose before them, and they went down to\nhis cellar and sampled his wine, and were back in Fife, fine, sober, old\nwomen by cock-crow.\n\nWhen he heard this, the old man started from his chair in right earnest,\nfor he loved good wine above all things, and it was but seldom that it\ncame his way.\n\n\"By my troth, but thou art a wife to be proud of!\" he cried. \"Tell me\nthe words, Woman! and I will e'en go and sample his Lordship's wine for\nmyself.\"\n\nBut the Goodwife shook her head. \"Na, na! I cannot do that,\" she said,\n\"for if I did, an' ye telled it over again, 'twould turn the whole world\nupside down. For everybody would be leaving their own lawful work, and\nflying about the world after other folk's business and other folk's\ndainties. So just bide content, Goodman. Ye get on fine with the\nknowledge ye already possess.\"\n\nAnd although the old man tried to persuade her with all the soft words\nhe could think of, she would not tell him her secret.\n\nBut he was a sly old man, and the thought of the Bishop's wine gave him\nno rest. So night after night he went and hid in the old woman's\ncottage, in the hope that his wife and her friends would meet there; and\nalthough for a long time it was all in vain, at last his trouble was\nrewarded. For one evening the whole five old women assembled, and in low\ntones and with chuckles of laughter they recounted all that had befallen\nthem in Lappland. Then, running to the fireplace, they, one after\nanother, climbed on a chair and put their feet on the sooty crook. Then\nthey repeated the magic words, and, hey, presto! they were up the lum\nand away before the old man could draw his breath.\n\n\"I can do that, too,\" he said to himself; and he crawled out of his\nhiding-place and ran to the fire. He put his foot on the crook and\nrepeated the words, and up the chimney he went, and flew through the air\nafter his wife and her companions, as if he had been a Warlock born.\n\nAnd, as Witches are not in the habit of looking over their shoulders,\nthey never noticed that he was following them, until they reached the\nBishop's Palace and went down into his cellar, then, when they found\nthat he was among them, they were not too well pleased.\n\nHowever, there was no help for it, and they settled down to enjoy\nthemselves. They tapped this cask of wine, and they tapped that,\ndrinking a little of each, but not too much; for they were cautious old\nwomen, and they knew that if they wanted to get home before cock-crow it\nbehoved them to keep their heads clear.\n\nBut the old man was not so wise, for he sipped, and he sipped, until at\nlast he became quite drowsy, and lay down on the floor and fell fast\nasleep.\n\nAnd his wife, seeing this, thought that she would teach him a lesson not\nto be so curious in the future. So, when she and her four friends\nthought that it was time to be gone, she departed without waking him.\n\nHe slept peacefully for some hours, until two of the Bishop's servants,\ncoming down to the cellar to draw wine for their Master's table, almost\nfell over him in the darkness. Greatly astonished at his presence there,\nfor the cellar door was fast locked, they dragged him up to the light\nand shook him, and cuffed him, and asked him how he came to be there.\n\nAnd the poor old man was so confused at being awakened in this rough\nway, and his head seemed to whirl round so fast, that all he could\nstammer out was, \"that he came from Fife, and that he had travelled on\nthe midnight wind.\"\n\nAs soon as they heard that, the men servants cried out that he was a\nWarlock, and they dragged him before the Bishop, and, as Bishops in\nthose days had a holy horror of Warlocks and Witches, he ordered him to\nbe burned alive.\n\nWhen the sentence was pronounced, you may be very sure that the poor old\nman wished with all his heart that he had stayed quietly at home in bed,\nand never hankered after the Bishop's wine.\n\nBut it was too late to wish that now, for the servants dragged him out\ninto the courtyard, and put a chain round his waist, and fastened it to\na great iron stake, and they piled faggots of wood round his feet and\nset them alight.\n\nAs the first tiny little tongue of flame crept up, the poor old man\nthought that his last hour had come. But when he thought that, he forgot\ncompletely that his wife was a Witch.\n\n[Illustration: His chains fell off, and he mounted in the air,--up and\nup--]\n\nFor, just as the little tongue of flame began to singe his\nbreeches, there was a swish and a flutter in the air, and a great Grey\nBird, with outstretched wings, appeared in the sky, and swooped down\nsuddenly, and perched for a moment on the old man's shoulder.\n\nAnd in this Grey Bird's mouth was a little red pirnie, which, to\neveryone's amazement, it popped on to the prisoner's head. Then it gave\none fierce croak, and flew away again, but to the old man's ears that\ncroak was the sweetest music that he had ever heard.\n\nFor to him it was the croak of no earthly bird, but the voice of his\nwife whispering words of magic to him. And when he heard them he jumped\nfor joy, for he knew that they were words of deliverance, and he shouted\nthem aloud, and his chains fell off, and he mounted in the air--up and\nup--while the onlookers watched him in awestruck silence.\n\nHe flew right away to the Kingdom of Fife, without as much as saying\ngood-bye to them; and when he found himself once more safely at home,\nyou may be very sure that he never tried to find out his wife's secrets\nagain, but left her alone to her own devices.\n\n\n\n\nASSIPATTLE AND THE MESTER STOORWORM\n\n\nIn far bygone days, in the North, there lived a well-to-do farmer, who\nhad seven sons and one daughter. And the youngest of these seven sons\nbore a very curious name; for men called him Assipattle, which means,\n\"He who grovels among the ashes.\"\n\nPerhaps Assipattle deserved his name, for he was rather a lazy boy, who\nnever did any work on the farm as his brothers did, but ran about the\ndoors with ragged clothes and unkempt hair, and whose mind was ever\nfilled with wondrous stories of Trolls and Giants, Elves and Goblins.\n\nWhen the sun was hot in the long summer afternoons, when the bees droned\ndrowsily and even the tiny insects seemed almost asleep, the boy was\ncontent to throw himself down on the ash-heap amongst the ashes, and lie\nthere, lazily letting them run through his fingers, as one might play\nwith sand on the sea-shore, basking in the sunshine and telling stories\nto himself.\n\nAnd his brothers, working hard in the fields, would point to him with\nmocking fingers, and laugh, and say to each other how well the name\nsuited him, and of how little use he was in the world.\n\nAnd when they came home from their work, they would push him about and\ntease him, and even his mother would make him sweep the floor, and draw\nwater from the well, and fetch peats from the peat-stack, and do all the\nlittle odd jobs that nobody else would do.\n\nSo poor Assipattle had rather a hard life of it, and he would often have\nbeen very miserable had it not been for his sister, who loved him\ndearly, and who would listen quite patiently to all the stories that he\nhad to tell; who never laughed at him or told him that he was telling\nlies, as his brothers did.\n\nBut one day a very sad thing happened--at least, it was a sad thing for\npoor Assipattle.\n\nFor it chanced that the King of these parts had one only daughter, the\nPrincess Gemdelovely, whom he loved dearly, and to whom he denied\nnothing. And Princess Gemdelovely was in want of a waiting-maid, and as\nshe had seen Assipattle's sister standing by the garden gate as she was\nriding by one day, and had taken a fancy to her, she asked her father if\nshe might ask her to come and live at the Castle and serve her.\n\nHer father agreed at once, as he always did agree to any of her wishes;\nand sent a messenger in haste to the farmer's house to ask if his\ndaughter would come to the Castle to be the Princess's waiting-maid.\n\nAnd, of course, the farmer was very pleased at the piece of good fortune\nwhich had befallen the girl, and so was her mother, and so were her six\nbrothers, all except poor Assipattle, who looked with wistful eyes after\nhis sister as she rode away, proud of her new clothes and of the rivlins\nwhich her father had made her out of cowhide, which she was to wear in\nthe Palace when she waited on the Princess, for at home she always ran\nbarefoot.\n\nTime passed, and one day a rider rode in hot haste through the country\nbearing the most terrible tidings. For the evening before, some\nfishermen, out in their boats, had caught sight of the Mester Stoorworm,\nwhich, as everyone knows, was the largest, and the first, and the\ngreatest of all Sea-Serpents. It was that beast which, in the Good Book,\nis called the Leviathan, and if it had been measured in our day, its\ntail would have touched Iceland, while its snout rested on the North\nCape.\n\nAnd the fishermen had noticed that this fearsome Monster had its head\nturned towards the mainland, and that it opened its mouth and yawned\nhorribly, as if to show that it was hungry, and that, if it were not\nfed, it would kill every living thing upon the land, both man and beast,\nbird and creeping thing.\n\nFor 'twas well known that its breath was so poisonous that it consumed\nas with a burning fire everything that it lighted on. So that, if it\npleased the awful creature to lift its head and put forth its breath,\nlike noxious vapour, over the country, in a few weeks the fair land\nwould be turned into a region of desolation.\n\nAs you may imagine, everyone was almost paralysed with terror at this\nawful calamity which threatened them; and the King called a solemn\nmeeting of all his Counsellors, and asked them if they could devise any\nway of warding off the danger.\n\nAnd for three whole days they sat in Council, these grave, bearded men,\nand many were the suggestions which were made, and many the words of\nwisdom which were spoken; but, alas! no one was wise enough to think of\na way by which the Mester Stoorworm might be driven back.\n\nAt last, at the end of the third day, when everyone had given up hope of\nfinding a remedy, the door of the Council Chamber opened and the Queen\nappeared.\n\nNow the Queen was the King's second wife, and she was not a favourite in\nthe Kingdom, for she was a proud, insolent woman, who did not behave\nkindly to her step-daughter, the Princess Gemdelovely, and who spent\nmuch more of her time in the company of a great Sorcerer, whom everyone\nfeared and dreaded, than she did in that of the King, her husband.\n\nSo the sober Counsellors looked at her disapprovingly as she came boldly\ninto the Council Chamber and stood up beside the King's Chair of State,\nand, speaking in a loud, clear voice, addressed them thus:\n\n\"Ye think that ye are brave men and strong, oh, ye Elders, and fit to be\nthe Protectors of the People. And so it may be, when it is mortals that\nye are called on to face. But ye be no match for the foe that now\nthreatens our land. Before him your weapons be but as straw. 'Tis not\nthrough strength of arm, but through sorcery, that he will be overcome.\nSo listen to my words, even though they be but those of a woman, and\ntake counsel with the great Sorcerer, from whom nothing is hid, but who\nknoweth all the mysteries of the earth, and of the air, and of the sea.\"\n\nNow the King and his Counsellors liked not this advice, for they hated\nthe Sorcerer, who had, as they thought, too much influence with the\nQueen; but they were at their wits' end, and knew not to whom to turn\nfor help, so they were fain to do as she said and summon the Wizard\nbefore them.\n\nAnd when he obeyed the summons and appeared in their midst, they liked\nhim none the better for his looks. For he was long, and thin, and\nawesome, with a beard that came down to his knee, and hair that wrapped\nhim about like a mantle, and his face was the colour of mortar, as if he\nhad always lived in darkness, and had been afraid to look on the sun.\n\nBut there was no help to be found in any other man, so they laid the\ncase before him, and asked him what they should do. And he answered\ncoldly that he would think over the matter, and come again to the\nAssembly the following day and give them his advice.\n\nAnd his advice, when they heard it, was like to turn their hair white\nwith horror.\n\nFor he said that the only way to satisfy the Monster, and to make it\nspare the land, was to feed it every Saturday with seven young maidens,\nwho must be the fairest who could be found; and if, after this remedy\nhad been tried once or twice, it did not succeed in mollifying the\nStoorworm and inducing him to depart, there was but one other measure\nthat he could suggest, but that was so horrible and dreadful that he\nwould not rend their hearts by mentioning it in the meantime.\n\nAnd as, although they hated him, they feared him also, the Council had\ne'en to abide by his words, and pronounced the awful doom.\n\nAnd so it came about that, every Saturday, seven bonnie, innocent\nmaidens were bound hand and foot and laid on a rock which ran into the\nsea, and the Monster stretched out his long, jagged tongue, and swept\nthem into his mouth; while all the rest of the folk looked on from the\ntop of a high hill--or, at least, the men looked--with cold, set faces,\nwhile the women hid theirs in their aprons and wept aloud.\n\n\"Is there no other way,\" they cried, \"no other way than this, to save\nthe land?\"\n\nBut the men only groaned and shook their heads. \"No other way,\" they\nanswered; \"no other way.\"\n\nThen suddenly a boy's indignant voice rang out among the crowd. \"Is\nthere no grown man who would fight that Monster, and kill him, and save\nthe lassies alive? I would do it; I am not feared for the Mester\nStoorworm.\"\n\nIt was the boy Assipattle who spoke, and everyone looked at him in\namazement as he stood staring at the great Sea-Serpent, his fingers\ntwitching with rage, and his great blue eyes glowing with pity and\nindignation.\n\n\"The poor bairn's mad; the sight hath turned his head,\" they whispered\none to another; and they would have crowded round him to pet and comfort\nhim, but his elder brother came and gave him a heavy clout on the side\nof his head.\n\n\"Thou fight the Stoorworm!\" he cried contemptuously. \"A likely story! Go\nhome to thy ash-pit, and stop speaking havers;\" and, taking his arm, he\ndrew him to the place where his other brothers were waiting, and they\nall went home together.\n\nBut all the time Assipattle kept on saying that he meant to kill the\nStoorworm; and at last his brothers became so angry at what they thought\nwas mere bragging, that they picked up stones and pelted him so hard\nwith them that at last he took to his heels and ran away from them.\n\nThat evening the six brothers were threshing corn in the barn, and\nAssipattle, as usual, was lying among the ashes thinking his own\nthoughts, when his mother came out and bade him run and tell the others\nto come in for their supper.\n\nThe boy did as he was bid, for he was a willing enough little fellow;\nbut when he entered the barn his brothers, in revenge for his having run\naway from them in the afternoon, set on him and pulled him down, and\npiled so much straw on top of him that, had his father not come from the\nhouse to see what they were all waiting for, he would, of a surety, have\nbeen smothered.\n\nBut when, at supper-time, his mother was quarrelling with the other lads\nfor what they had done, and saying to them that it was only cowards who\nset on bairns littler and younger than themselves, Assipattle looked up\nfrom the bicker of porridge which he was supping.\n\n\"Vex not thyself, Mother,\" he said, \"for I could have fought them all if\nI liked; ay, and beaten them, too.\"\n\n\"Why didst thou not essay it then?\" cried everybody at once.\n\n\"Because I knew that I would need all my strength when I go to fight the\nGiant Stoorworm,\" replied Assipattle gravely.\n\nAnd, as you may fancy, the others laughed louder than before.\n\nTime passed, and every Saturday seven lassies were thrown to the\nStoorworm, until at last it was felt that this state of things could not\nbe allowed to go on any longer; for if it did, there would soon be no\nmaidens at all left in the country.\n\nSo the Elders met once more, and, after long consultation, it was\nagreed that the Sorcerer should be summoned, and asked what his other\nremedy was. \"For, by our troth,\" said they, \"it cannot be worse than\nthat which we are practising now.\"\n\nBut, had they known it, the new remedy was even more dreadful than the\nold. For the cruel Queen hated her step-daughter, Gemdelovely, and the\nwicked Sorcerer knew that she did, and that she would not be sorry to\nget rid of her, and, things being as they were, he thought that he saw a\nway to please the Queen. So he stood up in the Council, and, pretending\nto be very sorry, said that the only other thing that could be done was\nto give the Princess Gemdelovely to the Stoorworm, then would it of a\nsurety depart.\n\nWhen they heard this sentence a terrible stillness fell upon the\nCouncil, and everyone covered his face with his hands, for no man dare\nlook at the King.\n\nBut although his dear daughter was as the apple of his eye, he was a\njust and righteous Monarch, and he felt that it was not right that other\nfathers should have been forced to part with their daughters, in order\nto try and save the country, if his child was to be spared.\n\nSo, after he had had speech with the Princess, he stood up before the\nElders, and declared, with trembling voice, that both he and she were\nready to make the sacrifice.\n\n\"She is my only child,\" he said, \"and the last of her race. Yet it\nseemeth good to both of us that she should lay down her life, if by so\ndoing she may save the land that she loves so well.\"\n\nSalt tears ran down the faces of the great bearded men as they heard\ntheir King's words, for they all knew how dear the Princess Gemdelovely\nwas to him. But it was felt that what he said was wise and true, and\nthat the thing was just and right; for 'twere better, surely, that one\nmaiden should die, even although she were of Royal blood, than that\nbands of other maidens should go to their death week by week, and all to\nno purpose.\n\nSo, amid heavy sobs, the aged Lawman--he who was the chief man of the\nCouncil--rose up to pronounce the Princess's doom. But, ere he did so,\nthe King's Kemper--or Fighting-man--stepped forward.\n\n\"Nature teaches us that it is fitting that each beast hath a tail,\" he\nsaid; \"and this Doom, which our Lawman is about to pronounce, is in very\nsooth a venomous beast. And, if I had my way, the tail which it would\nbear after it is this, that if the Mester Stoorworm doth not depart, and\nthat right speedily, after he have devoured the Princess, the next thing\nthat is offered to him be no tender young maiden, but that tough, lean\nold Sorcerer.\"\n\nAnd at his words there was such a great shout of approval that the\nwicked Sorcerer seemed to shrink within himself, and his pale face grew\npaler than it was before.\n\nNow, three weeks were allowed between the time that the Doom was\npronounced upon the Princess and the time that it was carried out, so\nthat the King might send Ambassadors to all the neighbouring Kingdoms to\nissue proclamations that, if any Champion would come forward who was\nable to drive away the Stoorworm and save the Princess, he should have\nher for his wife.\n\nAnd with her he should have the Kingdom, as well as a very famous sword\nthat was now in the King's possession, but which had belonged to the\ngreat god Odin, with which he had fought and vanquished all his foes.\n\nThe sword bore the name of Sickersnapper, and no man had any power\nagainst it.\n\nThe news of all these things spread over the length and breadth of the\nland, and everyone mourned for the fate that was like to befall the\nPrincess Gemdelovely. And the farmer, and his wife, and their six sons\nmourned also;--all but Assipattle, who sat amongst the ashes and said\nnothing.\n\nWhen the King's Proclamation was made known throughout the neighbouring\nKingdoms, there was a fine stir among all the young Gallants, for it\nseemed but a little thing to slay a Sea-Monster; and a beautiful wife, a\nfertile Kingdom, and a trusty sword are not to be won every day.\n\nSo six-and-thirty Champions arrived at the King's Palace, each hoping to\ngain the prize.\n\nBut the King sent them all out to look at the Giant Stoorworm lying in\nthe sea with its enormous mouth open, and when they saw it, twelve of\nthem were seized with sudden illness, and twelve of them were so afraid\nthat they took to their heels and ran, and never stopped till they\nreached their own countries; and so only twelve returned to the King's\nPalace, and as for them, they were so downcast at the thought of the\ntask that they had undertaken that they had no spirit left in them at\nall.\n\nAnd none of them dare try to kill the Stoorworm; so the three weeks\npassed slowly by, until the night before the day on which the Princess\nwas to be sacrificed. On that night the King, feeling that he must do\nsomething to entertain his guests, made a great supper for them.\n\nBut, as you may think, it was a dreary feast, for everyone was thinking\nso much about the terrible thing that was to happen on the morrow, that\nno one could eat or drink.\n\nAnd when it was all over, and everybody had retired to rest, save the\nKing and his old Kemperman, the King returned to the great hall, and\nwent slowly up to his Chair of State, high up on the dais. It was not\nlike the Chairs of State that we know nowadays; it was nothing but a\nmassive Kist, in which he kept all the things which he treasured most.\n\nThe old Monarch undid the iron bolts with trembling fingers, and lifted\nthe lid, and took out the wondrous sword Sickersnapper, which had\nbelonged to the great god Odin.\n\nHis trusty Kemperman, who had stood by him in a hundred fights, watched\nhim with pitying eyes.\n\n\"Why lift ye out the sword,\" he said softly, \"when thy fighting days are\ndone? Right nobly hast thou fought thy battles in the past, oh, my Lord!\nwhen thine arm was strong and sure. But when folk's years number four\nscore and sixteen, as thine do, 'tis time to leave such work to other\nand younger men.\"\n\nThe old King turned on him angrily, with something of the old fire in\nhis eyes. \"Wheest,\" he cried, \"else will I turn this sword on thee. Dost\nthou think that I can see my only bairn devoured by a Monster, and not\nlift a finger to try and save her when no other man will? I tell\nthee--and I will swear it with my two thumbs crossed on\nSickersnapper--that both the sword and I will be destroyed before so\nmuch as one of her hairs be touched. So go, an' thou love me, my old\ncomrade, and order my boat to be ready, with the sail set and the prow\npointed out to sea. I will go myself and fight the Stoorworm; and if I\ndo not return, I will lay it on thee to guard my cherished daughter.\nPeradventure, my life may redeem hers.\"\n\nNow that night everybody at the farm went to bed betimes, for next\nmorning the whole family was to set out early, to go to the top of the\nhill near the sea, to see the Princess eaten by the Stoorworm. All\nexcept Assipattle, who was to be left at home to herd the geese.\n\nThe lad was so vexed at this--for he had great schemes in his head--that\nhe could not sleep. And as he lay tossing and tumbling about in his\ncorner among the ashes, he heard his father and mother talking in the\ngreat box-bed. And, as he listened, he found that they were having an\nargument.\n\n\"'Tis such a long way to the hill overlooking the sea, I fear me I shall\nnever walk it,\" said his mother. \"I think I had better bide at home.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" replied her husband, \"that would be a bonny-like thing, when all\nthe country-side is to be there. Thou shalt ride behind me on my good\nmare Go-Swift.\"\n\n\"I do not care to trouble thee to take me behind thee,\" said his wife,\n\"for methinks thou dost not love me as thou wert wont to do.\"\n\n\"The woman's havering,\" cried the Goodman of the house impatiently.\n\"What makes thee think that I have ceased to love thee?\"\n\n\"Because thou wilt no longer tell me thy secrets,\" answered his wife.\n\"To go no further, think of this very horse, Go-Swift. For five long\nyears I have been begging thee to tell me how it is that, when thou\nridest her, she flies faster than the wind, while if any other man mount\nher, she hirples along like a broken-down nag.\"\n\nThe Goodman laughed. \"'Twas not for lack of love, Goodwife,\" he said,\n\"though it might be lack of trust. For women's tongues wag but loosely;\nand I did not want other folk to ken my secret. But since my silence\nhath vexed thy heart, I will e'en tell it thee.\n\n\"When I want Go-Swift to stand, I give her one clap on the left\nshoulder. When I would have her go like any other horse, I give her two\nclaps on the right. But when I want her to fly like the wind, I whistle\nthrough the windpipe of a goose. And, as I never ken when I want her to\ngallop like that, I aye keep the bird's thrapple in the left-hand pocket\nof my coat.\"\n\n\"So that is how thou managest the beast,\" said the farmer's wife, in a\nsatisfied tone; \"and that is what becomes of all my goose thrapples. Oh!\nbut thou art a clever fellow, Goodman; and now that I ken the way of it\nI may go to sleep.\"\n\nAssipattle was not tumbling about in the ashes now; he was sitting up in\nthe darkness, with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes.\n\nHis opportunity had come at last, and he knew it.\n\nHe waited patiently till their heavy breathing told him that his parents\nwere asleep; then he crept over to where his father's clothes were, and\ntook the goose's windpipe out of the pocket of his coat, and slipped\nnoiselessly out of the house. Once he was out of it, he ran like\nlightning to the stable. He saddled and bridled Go-Swift, and threw a\nhalter round her neck, and led her to the stable door.\n\nThe good mare, unaccustomed to her new groom, pranced, and reared, and\nplunged; but Assipattle, knowing his father's secret, clapped her once\non the left shoulder, and she stood as still as a stone. Then he mounted\nher, and gave her two claps on the right shoulder, and the good horse\ntrotted off briskly, giving a loud neigh as she did so.\n\nThe unwonted sound, ringing out in the stillness of the night, roused\nthe household, and the Goodman and his six sons came tumbling down the\nwooden stairs, shouting to one another in confusion that someone was\nstealing Go-Swift.\n\nThe farmer was the first to reach the door; and when he saw, in the\nstarlight, the vanishing form of his favourite steed, he cried at the\ntop of his voice:\n\n    \"Stop thief, ho!\n    Go-Swift, whoa!\"\n\nAnd when Go-Swift heard that she pulled up in a moment. All seemed lost,\nfor the farmer and his sons could run very fast indeed, and it seemed to\nAssipattle, sitting motionless on Go-Swift's back, that they would very\nsoon make up on him.\n\nBut, luckily, he remembered the goose's thrapple, and he pulled it out\nof his pocket and whistled through it. In an instant the good mare\nbounded forward, swift as the wind, and was over the hill and out of\nreach of its pursuers before they had taken ten steps more.\n\nDay was dawning when the lad came within sight of the sea; and there, in\nfront of him, in the water, lay the enormous Monster whom he had come so\nfar to slay. Anyone would have said that he was mad even to dream of\nmaking such an attempt, for he was but a slim, unarmed youth, and the\nMester Stoorworm was so big that men said it would reach the fourth part\nround the world. And its tongue was jagged at the end like a fork, and\nwith this fork it could sweep whatever it chose into its mouth, and\ndevour it at its leisure.\n\nFor all this, Assipattle was not afraid, for he had the heart of a hero\nunderneath his tattered garments. \"I must be cautious,\" he said to\nhimself, \"and do by my wits what I cannot do by my strength.\"\n\nHe climbed down from his seat on Go-Swift's back, and tethered the good\nsteed to a tree, and walked on, looking well about him, till he came to\na little cottage on the edge of a wood.\n\nThe door was not locked, so he entered, and found its occupant, an old\nwoman, fast asleep in bed. He did not disturb her, but he took down an\niron pot from the shelf, and examined it closely.\n\n\"This will serve my purpose,\" he said; \"and surely the old dame would\nnot grudge it if she knew 'twas to save the Princess's life.\"\n\nThen he lifted a live peat from the smouldering fire, and went his way.\n\nDown at the water's edge he found the King's boat lying, guarded by a\nsingle boatman, with its sails set and its prow turned in the direction\nof the Mester Stoorworm.\n\n\"It's a cold morning,\" said Assipattle. \"Art thou not well-nigh frozen\nsitting there? If thou wilt come on shore, and run about, and warm\nthyself, I will get into the boat and guard it till thou returnest.\"\n\n\"A likely story,\" replied the man. \"And what would the King say if he\nwere to come, as I expect every moment he will do, and find me playing\nmyself on the sand, and his good boat left to a smatchet like thee?\n'Twould be as much as my head is worth.\"\n\n\"As thou wilt,\" answered Assipattle carelessly, beginning to search\namong the rocks. \"In the meantime, I must be looking for a wheen mussels\nto roast for my breakfast.\" And after he had gathered the mussels, he\nbegan to make a hole in the sand to put the live peat in. The boatman\nwatched him curiously, for he, too, was beginning to feel hungry.\n\nPresently the lad gave a wild shriek, and jumped high in the air. \"Gold,\ngold!\" he cried. \"By the name of Thor, who would have looked to find\ngold here?\"\n\nThis was too much for the boatman. Forgetting all about his head and the\nKing, he jumped out of the boat, and, pushing Assipattle aside, began to\nscrape among the sand with all his might.\n\n[Illustration: Assipattle, sailing slowly over the sea]\n\nWhile he was doing so, Assipattle seized his pot, jumped into the boat,\npushed her off, and was half a mile out to sea before the outwitted man,\nwho, needless to say, could find no gold, noticed what he was about.\n\nAnd, of course, he was very angry, and the old King was more angry still\nwhen he came down to the shore, attended by his Nobles and carrying the\ngreat sword Sickersnapper, in the vain hope that he, poor feeble old man\nthat he was, might be able in some way to defeat the Monster and save\nhis daughter.\n\nBut to make such an attempt was beyond his power now that his boat was\ngone. So he could only stand on the shore, along with the fast\nassembling crowd of his subjects, and watch what would befall.\n\nAnd this was what befell!\n\nAssipattle, sailing slowly over the sea, and watching the Mester\nStoorworm intently, noticed that the terrible Monster yawned\noccasionally, as if longing for his weekly feast. And as it yawned a\ngreat flood of sea-water went down its throat, and came out again at its\nhuge gills.\n\nSo the brave lad took down his sail, and pointed the prow of his boat\nstraight at the Monster's mouth, and the next time it yawned he and his\nboat were sucked right in, and, like Jonah, went straight down its\nthroat into the dark regions inside its body. On and on the boat\nfloated; but as it went the water grew less, pouring out of the\nStoorworm's gills, till at last it stuck, as it were, on dry land. And\nAssipattle jumped out, his pot in his hand, and began to explore.\n\nPresently he came to the huge creature's liver, and having heard that\nthe liver of a fish is full of oil, he made a hole in it and put in the\nlive peat.\n\nWoe's me! but there was a conflagration! And Assipattle just got back to\nhis boat in time; for the Mester Stoorworm, in its convulsions, threw\nthe boat right out of its mouth again, and it was flung up, high and\ndry, on the bare land.\n\nThe commotion in the sea was so terrible that the King and his\ndaughter--who by this time had come down to the shore dressed like a\nbride, in white, ready to be thrown to the Monster--and all his\nCourtiers, and all the country-folk, were fain to take refuge on the\nhill top, out of harm's way, and stand and see what happened next.\n\nAnd this was what happened next.\n\nThe poor, distressed creature--for it was now to be pitied, even\nalthough it was a great, cruel, awful Mester Stoorworm--tossed itself to\nand fro, twisting and writhing.\n\nAnd as it tossed its awful head out of the water its tongue fell out,\nand struck the earth with such force that it made a great dent in it,\ninto which the sea rushed. And that dent formed the crooked Straits\nwhich now divide Denmark from Norway and Sweden.\n\nThen some of its teeth fell out and rested in the sea, and became the\nIslands that we now call the Orkney Isles; and a little afterwards some\nmore teeth dropped out, and they became what we now call the Shetland\nIsles.\n\nAfter that the creature twisted itself into a great lump and died; and\nthis lump became the Island of Iceland; and the fire which Assipattle\nhad kindled with his live peat still burns on underneath it, and that is\nwhy there are mountains which throw out fire in that chilly land.\n\nWhen at last it was plainly seen that the Mester Stoorworm was dead, the\nKing could scarce contain himself with joy. He put his arms round\nAssipattle's neck, and kissed him, and called him his son. And he took\noff his own Royal Mantle and put it on the lad, and girded his good\nsword Sickersnapper round his waist. And he called his daughter, the\nPrincess Gemdelovely, to him, and put her hand in his, and declared that\nwhen the right time came she should be his wife, and that he should be\nruler over all the Kingdom.\n\nThen the whole company mounted their horses again, and Assipattle rode\non Go-Swift by the Princess's side; and so they returned, with great\njoy, to the King's Palace.\n\nBut as they were nearing the gate Assipattle's sister, she who was the\nPrincess's maid, ran out to meet him, and signed to the Princess to lout\ndown, and whispered something in her ear.\n\nThe Princess's face grew dark, and she turned her horse's head and rode\nback to where her father was, with his Nobles. She told him the words\nthat the maiden had spoken; and when he heard them his face, too, grew\nas black as thunder.\n\nFor the matter was this: The cruel Queen, full of joy at the thought\nthat she was to be rid, once for all, of her step-daughter, had been\nmaking love to the wicked Sorcerer all the morning in the old King's\nabsence.\n\n\"He shall be killed at once,\" cried the Monarch. \"Such behaviour cannot\nbe overlooked.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt have much ado to find him, your Majesty,\" said the girl, \"for\n'tis more than an hour since he and the Queen fled together on the\nfleetest horses that they could find in the stables.\"\n\n\"But I can find him,\" cried Assipattle; and he went off like the wind on\nhis good horse Go-Swift.\n\nIt was not long before he came within sight of the fugitives, and he\ndrew his sword and shouted to them to stop.\n\nThey heard the shout, and turned round, and they both laughed aloud in\nderision when they saw that it was only the boy who grovelled in the\nashes who pursued them.\n\n\"The insolent brat! I will cut off his head for him! I will teach him a\nlesson!\" cried the Sorcerer; and he rode boldly back to meet Assipattle.\nFor although he was no fighter, he knew that no ordinary weapon could\nharm his enchanted body; therefore he was not afraid.\n\nBut he did not count on Assipattle having the Sword of the great god\nOdin, with which he had slain all his enemies; and before this magic\nweapon he was powerless. And, at one thrust, the young lad ran it\nthrough his body as easily as if he had been any ordinary man, and he\nfell from his horse, dead.\n\nThen the Courtiers of the King, who had also set off in pursuit, but\nwhose steeds were less fleet of foot than Go-Swift, came up, and seized\nthe bridle of the Queen's horse, and led it and its rider back to the\nPalace.\n\nShe was brought before the Council, and judged, and condemned to be shut\nup in a high tower for the remainder of her life. Which thing surely\ncame to pass.\n\nAs for Assipattle, when the proper time came he was married to the\nPrincess Gemdelovely, with great feasting and rejoicing. And when the\nold King died they ruled the Kingdom for many a long year.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOX AND THE WOLF\n\n\nThere was once a Fox and a Wolf, who set up house together in a cave\nnear the sea-shore. Although you may not think so, they got on very well\nfor a time, for they went out hunting all day, and when they came back\nat night they were generally too tired to do anything but to eat their\nsupper and go to bed.\n\nThey might have lived together always had it not been for the slyness\nand greediness of the Fox, who tried to over-reach his companion, who\nwas not nearly so clever as he was.\n\nAnd this was how it came about.\n\nIt chanced, one dark December night, that there was a dreadful storm at\nsea, and in the morning the beach was all strewn with wreckage. So as\nsoon as it was daylight the two friends went down to the shore to see\nif they could find anything to eat.\n\nThey had the good fortune to light on a great Keg of Butter, which had\nbeen washed overboard from some ship on its way home from Ireland,\nwhere, as all the world knows, folk are famous for their butter.\n\nThe simple Wolf danced with joy when he saw it. \"Marrowbones and\ntrotters! but we will have a good supper this night,\" cried he, licking\nhis lips. \"Let us set to work at once and roll it up to the cave.\"\n\nBut the wily Fox was fond of butter, and he made up his mind that he\nwould have it all to himself. So he put on his wisest look, and shook\nhis head gravely.\n\n\"Thou hast no prudence, my friend,\" he said reproachfully, \"else wouldst\nthou not talk of breaking up a Keg of Butter at this time of year, when\nthe stackyards are full of good grain, which can be had for the eating,\nand the farmyards are stocked with nice fat ducks and poultry. No, no.\nIt behoveth us to have foresight, and to lay up in store for the spring,\nwhen the grain is all threshed, and the stackyards are bare, and the\npoultry have gone to market. So we will e'en bury the Keg, and dig it up\nwhen we have need of it.\"\n\nVery reluctantly, for he was thinner and hungrier than the Fox, the Wolf\nagreed to this proposal. So a hole was dug, and the Keg was buried, and\nthe two animals went off hunting as usual.\n\nAbout a week passed by: then one day the Fox came into the cave, and\nflung himself down on the ground as if he were very much exhausted. But\nif anyone had looked at him closely they would have seen a sly twinkle\nin his eye.\n\n\"Oh, dear, oh, dear!\" he sighed. \"Life is a heavy burden.\"\n\n\"What hath befallen thee?\" asked the Wolf, who was ever kind and\nsoft-hearted.\n\n\"Some friends of mine, who live over the hills yonder, are wanting me to\ngo to a christening to-night. Just think of the distance that I must\ntravel.\"\n\n\"But needst thou go?\" asked the Wolf. \"Canst thou not send an excuse?\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"I doubt that no excuse would be accepted,\" answered the Fox, \"for they\nasked me to stand god-father. Therefore it behoveth me to do my duty,\nand pay no heed to my own feelings.\"\n\nSo that evening the Fox was absent, and the Wolf was alone in the cave.\nBut it was not to a christening that the sly Fox went; it was to the Keg\nof Butter that was buried in the sand. About midnight he returned,\nlooking fat and sleek, and well pleased with himself.\n\nThe Wolf had been dozing, but he looked up drowsily as his companion\nentered. \"Well, how did they name the bairn?\" he asked.\n\n\"They gave it a queer name,\" answered the Fox. \"One of the queerest\nnames that I ever heard.\"\n\n\"And what was that?\" questioned the Wolf.\n\n\"Nothing less than 'Blaisean' (Let-me-taste),\" replied the Fox, throwing\nhimself down in his corner. And if the Wolf could have seen him in the\ndarkness he would have noticed that he was laughing to himself.\n\nSome days afterwards the same thing happened. The Fox was asked to\nanother christening; this time at a place some twenty-five miles along\nthe shore. And as he had grumbled before, so he grumbled again; but he\ndeclared that it was his duty to go, and he went.\n\nAt midnight he came back, smiling to himself and with no appetite for\nhis supper. And when the Wolf asked him the name of the child, he\nanswered that it was a more extraordinary name than the other--\"Be na\nInheadnon\" (Be in its middle).\n\nThe very next week, much to the Wolf's wonder, the Fox was asked to yet\nanother christening. And this time the name of the child was \"Sgriot an\nClar\" (Scrape the staves). After that the invitations ceased.\n\nTime went on, and the hungry spring came, and the Fox and the Wolf had\ntheir larder bare, for food was scarce, and the weather was bleak and\ncold.\n\n\"Let us go and dig up the Keg of Butter,\" said the Wolf. \"Methinks that\nnow is the time we need it.\"\n\nThe Fox agreed--having made up his mind how he would act--and the two\nset out to the place where the Keg had been hidden. They scraped away\nthe sand, and uncovered it; but, needless to say, they found it empty.\n\n\"This is thy work,\" said the Fox angrily, turning to the poor, innocent\nWolf. \"Thou hast crept along here while I was at the christenings, and\neaten it up by stealth.\"\n\n\"Not I,\" replied the Wolf. \"I have never been near the spot since the\nday that we buried it together.\"\n\n\"But I tell thee it must have been thou,\" insisted the Fox, \"for no\nother creature knew it was there except ourselves. And, besides, I can\nsee by the sleekness of thy fur that thou hast fared well of late.\"\n\nWhich last sentence was both unjust and untrue, for the poor Wolf looked\nas lean and badly nourished as he could possibly be.\n\nSo back they both went to the cave, arguing all the way. The Fox\ndeclaring that the Wolf _must_ have been the thief, and the Wolf\nprotesting his innocence.\n\n\"Art thou ready to swear to it?\" said the Fox at last; though why he\nasked such a question, dear only knows.\n\n\"Yes, I am,\" replied the Wolf firmly; and, standing in the middle of\nthe cave, and holding one paw up solemnly he swore this awful oath:\n\n    \"If it be that I stole the butter; if it be, if it be--\n    May a fateful, fell disease fall on me, fall on me.\"\n\nWhen he was finished, he put down his paw and, turning to the Fox,\nlooked at him keenly; for all at once it struck him that his fur looked\nsleek and fine.\n\n\"It is thy turn now,\" he said. \"I have sworn, and thou must do so also.\"\n\nThe Fox's face fell at these words, for although he was both untruthful\nand dishonest now, he had been well brought up in his youth, and he knew\nthat it was a terrible thing to perjure oneself and swear falsely.\n\nSo he made one excuse after another, but the Wolf, who was getting more\nand more suspicious every moment, would not listen to him.\n\nSo, as he had not courage to tell the truth, he was forced at last to\nswear an oath also, and this was what he swore:\n\n    \"If it be that I stole the butter; if it be, if it be--\n    Then let some most deadly punishment fall on me, fall on me--\n    Whirrum wheeckam, whirrum wheeckam,\n    Whirram whee, whirram whee!\"\n\nAfter he had heard him swear this terrible oath, the Wolf thought that\nhis suspicions must be groundless, and he would have let the matter\nrest; but the Fox, having an uneasy conscience, could not do so. So he\nsuggested that as it was clear that one of them must have eaten the Keg\nof Butter, they should both stand near the fire; so that when they\nbecame hot, the butter would ooze out of the skin of whichever of them\nwas guilty. And he took care that the Wolf should stand in the hottest\nplace.\n\nBut the fire was big and the cave was small; and while the poor lean\nWolf showed no sign of discomfort, he himself, being nice and fat and\ncomfortable, soon began to get unpleasantly warm.\n\nAs this did not suit him at all, he next proposed that they should go\nfor a walk, \"for,\" said he, \"it is now quite plain that neither of us\ncan have taken the butter. It must have been some stranger who hath\nfound out our secret.\"\n\nBut the Wolf had seen the Fox beginning to grow greasy, and he knew now\nwhat had happened, and he determined to have his revenge. So he waited\nuntil they came to a smithy which stood at the side of the road, where a\nhorse was waiting just outside the door to be shod.\n\nThen, keeping at a safe distance, he said to his companion, \"There is\nwriting on that smithy door, which I cannot read, as my eyes are\nfailing; do thou try to read it, for perchance it may be something\n'twere good for us to know.\"\n\nAnd the silly Fox, who was very vain, and did not like to confess that\nhis eyes were no better than those of his friend, went close up to the\ndoor to try and read the writing. And he chanced to touch the horse's\nfetlock, and, it being a restive beast, lifted its foot and struck out\nat once, and killed the Fox as dead as a door-nail.\n\nAnd so, you see, the old saying in the Good Book came true after all:\n\"Be sure your sin will find you out.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nKATHERINE CRACKERNUTS\n\n\nThere was once a King whose wife died, leaving him with an only\ndaughter, whom he dearly loved. The little Princess's name was\nVelvet-Cheek, and she was so good, and bonnie, and kind-hearted that all\nher father's subjects loved her. But as the King was generally engaged\nin transacting the business of the State, the poor little maiden had\nrather a lonely life, and often wished that she had a sister with whom\nshe could play, and who would be a companion to her.\n\nThe King, hearing this, made up his mind to marry a middle-aged\nCountess, whom he had met at a neighbouring Court, who had one daughter,\nnamed Katherine, who was just a little younger than the Princess\nVelvet-Cheek, and who, he thought, would make a nice play-fellow for\nher.\n\nHe did so, and in one way the arrangement turned out very well, for the\ntwo girls loved one another dearly, and had everything in common, just\nas if they had really been sisters.\n\nBut in another way it turned out very badly, for the new Queen was a\ncruel and ambitious woman, and she wanted her own daughter to do as she\nhad done, and make a grand marriage, and perhaps even become a Queen.\nAnd when she saw that Princess Velvet-Cheek was growing into a very\nbeautiful young woman--more beautiful by far than her own daughter--she\nbegan to hate her, and to wish that in some way she would lose her good\nlooks.\n\n\"For,\" thought she, \"what suitor will heed my daughter as long as her\nstep-sister is by her side?\"\n\nNow, among the servants and retainers at her husband's Castle there was\nan old Hen-wife, who, men said, was in league with the Evil Spirits of\nthe air, and who was skilled in the knowledge of charms, and philtres,\nand love potions.\n\n\"Perhaps she could help me to do what I seek to do,\" said the wicked\nQueen; and one night, when it was growing dusk, she wrapped a cloak\nround her, and set out to this old Hen-wife's cottage.\n\n\"Send the lassie to me to-morrow morning ere she hath broken her fast,\"\nreplied the old Dame when she heard what her visitor had to say. \"I will\nfind out a way to mar her beauty.\" And the wicked Queen went home\ncontent.\n\nNext morning she went to the Princess's room while she was dressing, and\ntold her to go out before breakfast and get the eggs that the Hen-wife\nhad gathered. \"And see,\" added she, \"that thou dost not eat anything ere\nthou goest, for there is nothing that maketh the roses bloom on a young\nmaiden's cheeks like going out fasting in the fresh morning air.\"\n\nPrincess Velvet-Cheek promised to do as she was bid, and go and fetch\nthe eggs; but as she was not fond of going out of doors before she had\nhad something to eat, and as, moreover, she suspected that her\nstep-mother had some hidden reason for giving her such an unusual order,\nand she did not trust her step-mother's hidden reasons, she slipped into\nthe pantry as she went downstairs and helped herself to a large slice of\ncake. Then, after she had eaten it, she went straight to the Hen-wife's\ncottage and asked for the eggs.\n\n\"Lift the lid of that pot there, your Highness, and you will see them,\"\nsaid the old woman, pointing to the big pot standing in the corner in\nwhich she boiled her hens' meat.\n\nThe Princess did so, and found a heap of eggs lying inside, which she\nlifted into her basket, while the old woman watched her with a curious\nsmile.\n\n\"Go home to your Lady Mother, Hinny,\" she said at last, \"and tell her\nfrom me to keep the press door better snibbit.\"\n\nThe Princess went home, and gave this extraordinary message to her\nstep-mother, wondering to herself the while what it meant.\n\nBut if she did not understand the Hen-wife's words, the Queen understood\nthem only too well. For from them she gathered that the Princess had in\nsome way prevented the old Witch's spell doing what she intended it to\ndo.\n\nSo next morning, when she sent her step-daughter once more on the same\nerrand, she accompanied her to the door of the Castle herself, so that\nthe poor girl had no chance of paying a visit to the pantry. But as she\nwent along the road that led to the cottage, she felt so hungry that,\nwhen she passed a party of country-folk picking peas by the roadside,\nshe asked them to give her a handful.\n\nThey did so, and she ate the peas; and so it came about that the same\nthing happened that had happened yesterday.\n\nThe Hen-wife sent her to look for the eggs; but she could work no spell\nupon her, because she had broken her fast. So the old woman bade her go\nhome again and give the same message to the Queen.\n\nThe Queen was very angry when she heard it, for she felt that she was\nbeing outwitted by this slip of a girl, and she determined that,\nalthough she was not fond of getting up early, she would accompany her\nnext day herself, and make sure that she had nothing to eat as she went.\n\nSo next morning she walked with the Princess to the Hen-wife's cottage,\nand, as had happened twice before, the old woman sent the Royal maiden\nto lift the lid off the pot in the corner in order to get the eggs.\n\nAnd the moment that the Princess did so off jumped her own pretty head,\nand on jumped that of a sheep.\n\n[Illustration: Off jumped her own pretty head and on jumped that of a\nsheep]\n\nThen the wicked Queen thanked the cruel old Witch for the service that\nshe had rendered to her, and went home quite delighted with the success\nof her scheme; while the poor Princess picked up her own head and put it\ninto her basket along with the eggs, and went home crying, keeping\nbehind the hedge all the way, for she felt so ashamed of her sheep's\nhead that she was afraid that anyone saw her.\n\nNow, as I told you, the Princess's step-sister Katherine loved her\ndearly, and when she saw what a cruel deed had been wrought on her she\nwas so angry that she declared that she would not remain another hour in\nthe Castle. \"For,\" said she, \"if my Lady Mother can order one such deed\nto be done, who can hinder her ordering another. So, methinks, 'twere\nbetter for us both to be where she cannot reach us.\"\n\nSo she wrapped a fine shawl round her poor step-sister's head, so that\nnone could tell what it was like, and, putting the real head in the\nbasket, she took her by the hand, and the two set out to seek their\nfortunes.\n\nThey walked and they walked, till they reached a splendid Palace, and\nwhen they came to it Katherine made as though she would go boldly up and\nknock at the door.\n\n\"I may perchance find work here,\" she explained, \"and earn enough money\nto keep us both in comfort.\"\n\nBut the poor Princess would fain have pulled her back. \"They will have\nnothing to do with thee,\" she whispered, \"when they see that thou hast a\nsister with a sheep's head.\"\n\n\"And who is to know that thou hast a sheep's head?\" asked Katherine. \"If\nthou hold thy tongue, and keep the shawl well round thy face, and leave\nthe rest to me.\"\n\nSo up she went and knocked at the kitchen door, and when the housekeeper\ncame to answer it she asked her if there was any work that she could\ngive her to do. \"For,\" said she, \"I have a sick sister, who is sore\ntroubled with the migraine in her head, and I would fain find a quiet\nlodging for her where she could rest for the night.\"\n\n\"Dost thou know aught of sickness?\" asked the housekeeper, who was\ngreatly struck by Katherine's soft voice and gentle ways.\n\n\"Ay, do I,\" replied Katherine, \"for when one's sister is troubled with\nthe migraine, one has to learn to go about softly and not to make a\nnoise.\"\n\nNow it chanced that the King's eldest son, the Crown Prince, was lying\nill in the Palace of a strange disease, which seemed to have touched his\nbrain. For he was so restless, especially at nights, that someone had\nalways to be with him to watch that he did himself no harm; and this\nstate of things had gone on so long that everyone was quite worn out.\n\nAnd the old housekeeper thought that it would be a good chance to get a\nquiet night's sleep if this capable-looking stranger could be trusted to\nsit up with the Prince.\n\nSo she left her at the door, and went and consulted the King; and the\nKing came out and spoke to Katherine and he, too, was so pleased with\nher voice and her appearance that he gave orders that a room should be\nset apart in the Castle for her sick sister and herself, and he promised\nthat, if she would sit up that night with the Prince, and see that no\nharm befell him, she would have, as her reward, a bag of silver Pennies\nin the morning.\n\nKatherine agreed to the bargain readily, \"for,\" thought she, \"'twill\nalways be a night's lodging for the Princess; and, forbye that, a bag of\nsilver Pennies is not to be got every day.\"\n\nSo the Princess went to bed in the comfortable chamber that was set\napart for her, and Katherine went to watch by the sick Prince.\n\nHe was a handsome, comely young man, who seemed to be in some sort of\nfever, for his brain was not quite clear, and he tossed and tumbled from\nside to side, gazing anxiously in front of him, and stretching out his\nhands as if he were in search of something.\n\nAnd at twelve o'clock at night, just when Katherine thought that he was\ngoing to fall into a refreshing sleep, what was her horror to see him\nrise from his bed, dress himself hastily, open the door, and slip\ndownstairs, as if he were going to look for somebody.\n\n\"There be something strange in this,\" said the girl to herself.\n\"Methinks I had better follow him and see what happens.\"\n\nSo she stole out of the room after the Prince and followed him safely\ndownstairs; and what was her astonishment to find that apparently he was\ngoing some distance, for he put on his hat and riding-coat, and,\nunlocking the door crossed the courtyard to the stable, and began to\nsaddle his horse.\n\nWhen he had done so, he led it out, and mounted, and, whistling softly\nto a hound which lay asleep in a corner, he prepared to ride away.\n\n\"I must go too, and see the end of this,\" said Katherine bravely; \"for\nmethinks he is bewitched. These be not the actions of a sick man.\"\n\nSo, just as the horse was about to start, she jumped lightly on its\nback, and settled herself comfortably behind its rider, all unnoticed by\nhim.\n\nThen this strange pair rode away through the woods, and, as they went,\nKatherine pulled the hazel-nuts that nodded in great clusters in her\nface. \"For,\" said she to herself, \"Dear only knows where next I may get\nanything to eat.\"\n\nOn and on they rode, till they left the greenwood far behind them and\ncame out on an open moor. Soon they reached a hillock, and here the\nPrince drew rein, and, stooping down, cried in a strange, uncanny\nwhisper, \"Open, open, Green Hill, and let the Prince, and his horse, and\nhis hound enter.\"\n\n\"And,\" whispered Katherine quickly, \"let his lady enter behind him.\"\n\nInstantly, to her great astonishment, the top of the knowe seemed to tip\nup, leaving an aperture large enough for the little company to enter;\nthen it closed gently behind them again.\n\nThey found themselves in a magnificent hall, brilliantly lighted by\nhundreds of candles stuck in sconces round the walls. In the centre of\nthis apartment was a group of the most beautiful maidens that Katherine\nhad ever seen, all dressed in shimmering ball-gowns, with wreaths of\nroses and violets in their hair. And there were sprightly gallants also,\nwho had been treading a measure with these beauteous damsels to the\nstrains of fairy music.\n\nWhen the maidens saw the Prince, they ran to him, and led him away to\njoin their revels. And at the touch of their hands all his languor\nseemed to disappear, and he became the gayest of all the throng, and\nlaughed, and danced, and sang as if he had never known what it was to be\nill.\n\nAs no one took any notice of Katherine, she sat down quietly on a bit of\nrock to watch what would befall. And as she watched, she became aware of\na wee, wee bairnie, playing with a tiny wand, quite close to her feet.\n\nHe was a bonnie bit bairn, and she was just thinking of trying to make\nfriends with him when one of the beautiful maidens passed, and, looking\nat the wand, said to her partner, in a meaning tone, \"Three strokes of\nthat wand would give Katherine's sister back her pretty face.\"\n\nHere was news indeed! Katherine's breath came thick and fast; and with\ntrembling fingers she drew some of the nuts out of her pocket, and began\nrolling them carelessly towards the child. Apparently he did not get\nnuts very often, for he dropped his little wand at once, and stretched\nout his tiny hands to pick them up.\n\nThis was just what she wanted; and she slipped down from her seat to the\nground, and drew a little nearer to him. Then she threw one or two more\nnuts in his way, and, when he was picking these up, she managed to lift\nthe wand unobserved, and to hide it under her apron. After this, she\ncrept cautiously back to her seat again; and not a moment too soon, for\njust then a cock crew, and at the sound the whole of the dancers\nvanished--all but the Prince, who ran to mount his horse, and was in\nsuch a hurry to be gone that Katherine had much ado to get up behind him\nbefore the hillock opened, and he rode swiftly into the outer world once\nmore.\n\nBut she managed it, and, as they rode homewards in the grey morning\nlight, she sat and cracked her nuts and ate them as fast as she could,\nfor her adventures had made her marvellously hungry.\n\nWhen she and her strange patient had once more reached the Castle, she\njust waited to see him go back to bed, and begin to toss and tumble as\nhe had done before; then she ran to her step-sister's room, and, finding\nher asleep, with her poor misshapen head lying peacefully on the\npillow, she gave it three sharp little strokes with the fairy wand and,\nlo and behold! the sheep's head vanished, and the Princess's own pretty\none took its place.\n\nIn the morning the King and the old housekeeper came to inquire what\nkind of night the Prince had had. Katherine answered that he had had a\nvery good night; for she was very anxious to stay with him longer, for\nnow that she had found out that the Elfin Maidens who dwelt in the Green\nKnowe had thrown a spell over him, she was resolved to find out also how\nthat spell could be loosed.\n\nAnd Fortune favoured her; for the King was so pleased to think that such\na suitable nurse had been found for the Prince, and he was also so\ncharmed with the looks of her step-sister, who came out of her chamber\nas bright and bonnie as in the old days, declaring that her migraine was\nall gone, and that she was now able to do any work that the housekeeper\nmight find for her, that he begged Katherine to stay with his son a\nlittle longer, adding that if she would do so, he would give her a bag\nof gold Bonnet Pieces.\n\nSo Katherine agreed readily; and that night she watched by the Prince as\nshe had done the night before. And at twelve o'clock he rose and dressed\nhimself, and rode to the Fairy Knowe, just as she had expected him to\ndo, for she was quite certain that the poor young man was bewitched, and\nnot suffering from a fever, as everyone thought he was.\n\nAnd you may be sure that she accompanied him, riding behind him all\nunnoticed, and filling her pockets with nuts as she rode.\n\nWhen they reached the Fairy Knowe, he spoke the same words that he had\nspoken the night before. \"Open, open, Green Hill, and let the young\nPrince in with his horse and his hound.\" And when the Green Hill opened,\nKatherine added softly, \"And his lady behind him.\" So they all passed in\ntogether.\n\nKatherine seated herself on a stone, and looked around her. The same\nrevels were going on as yesternight, and the Prince was soon in the\nthick of them, dancing and laughing madly. The girl watched him\nnarrowly, wondering if she would ever be able to find out what would\nrestore him to his right mind; and, as she was watching him, the same\nlittle bairn who had played with the magic wand came up to her again.\nOnly this time he was playing with a little bird.\n\nAnd as he played, one of the dancers passed by, and, turning to her\npartner, said lightly, \"Three bites of that birdie would lift the\nPrince's sickness, and make him as well as he ever was.\" Then she joined\nin the dance again, leaving Katherine sitting upright on her stone\nquivering with excitement.\n\nIf only she could get that bird the Prince might be cured! Very\ncarefully she began to shake some nuts out of her pocket, and roll them\nacross the floor towards the child.\n\nHe picked them up eagerly, letting go the bird as he did so; and, in an\ninstant, Katherine caught it, and hid it under her apron.\n\nIn no long time after that the cock crew, and the Prince and she set out\non their homeward ride. But this morning, instead of cracking nuts, she\nkilled and plucked the bird, scattering its feathers all along the road;\nand the instant she gained the Prince's room, and had seen him safely\ninto bed, she put it on a spit in front of the fire and began to roast\nit.\n\nAnd soon it began to frizzle, and get brown, and smell deliciously, and\nthe Prince, in his bed in the corner, opened his eyes and murmured\nfaintly, \"How I wish I had a bite of that birdie.\"\n\nWhen she heard the words Katherine's heart jumped for joy, and as soon\nas the bird was roasted she cut a little piece from its breast and\npopped it into the Prince's mouth.\n\nWhen he had eaten it his strength seemed to come back somewhat, for he\nrose on his elbow and looked at his nurse. \"Oh! if I had but another\nbite of that birdie!\" he said. And his voice was certainly stronger.\n\nSo Katherine gave him another piece, and when he had eaten that he sat\nright up in bed.\n\n\"Oh! if I had but a third bite o' that birdie!\" he cried. And now the\ncolour was coming back into his face, and his eyes were shining.\n\nThis time Katherine brought him the whole of the rest of the bird; and\nhe ate it up greedily, picking the bones quite clean with his fingers;\nand when it was finished, he sprang out of bed and dressed himself, and\nsat down by the fire.\n\nAnd when the King came in the morning, with his old housekeeper at his\nback, to see how the Prince was, he found him sitting cracking nuts with\nhis nurse, for Katherine had brought home quite a lot in her apron\npocket.\n\nThe King was so delighted to find his son cured that he gave all the\ncredit to Katherine Crackernuts, as he called her, and he gave orders at\nonce that the Prince should marry her. \"For,\" said he, \"a maiden who is\nsuch a good nurse is sure to make a good Queen.\"\n\nThe Prince was quite willing to do as his father bade him; and, while\nthey were talking together, his younger brother came in, leading\nPrincess Velvet-Cheek by the hand, whose acquaintance he had made but\nyesterday, declaring that he had fallen in love with her, and that he\nwanted to marry her immediately.\n\nSo it all fell out very well, and everybody was quite pleased; and the\ntwo weddings took place at once, and, unless they be dead sinsyne, the\nyoung couples are living yet.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Times To Sneeze]\n\n[Illustration: Sneeze on Monanday Sneeze for a Letter]\n\n[Illustration: Sneeze on Tuesday Something Better]\n\n[Illustration: Sneeze on Wednesday Kiss a Stranger]\n\n[Illustration: Sneeze on Feersday Sneeze for Danger]\n\n[Illustration: Sneeze on Friday Sneeze for Sorrow]\n\n[Illustration: Sneeze on Saturday see your Sweetheart Tomorrow]\n\n\n\n\nTHE WELL O' THE WORLD'S END\n\n\nThere was once an old widow woman, who lived in a little cottage with\nher only daughter, who was such a bonnie lassie that everyone liked to\nlook at her.\n\nOne day the old woman took a notion into her head to bake a girdleful of\ncakes. So she took down her bakeboard, and went to the girnel and\nfetched a basinful of meal; but when she went to seek a jug of water to\nmix the meal with, she found that there was none in the house.\n\nSo she called to her daughter, who was in the garden; and when the girl\ncame she held out the empty jug to her, saying, \"Run, like a good\nlassie, to the Well o' the World's End and bring me a jug of water, for\nI have long found that water from the Well o' the World's End makes the\nbest cakes.\"\n\nSo the lassie took the jug and set out on her errand.\n\nNow, as its name shows, it is a long road to that well, and many a weary\nmile had the poor maid to go ere she reached it.\n\nBut she arrived there at last; and what was her disappointment to find\nit dry.\n\nShe was so tired and so vexed that she sat down beside it and began to\ncry; for she did not know where to get any more water, and she felt that\nshe could not go back to her mother with an empty jug.\n\nWhile she was crying, a nice yellow Paddock, with very bright eyes, came\njump-jump-jumping over the stones of the well, and squatted down at her\nfeet, looking up into her face.\n\n\"And why are ye greeting, my bonnie maid?\" he asked. \"Is there aught\nthat I can do to help thee?\"\n\n\"I am greeting because the well is empty,\" she answered, \"and I cannot\nget any water to carry home to my mother.\"\n\n\"Listen,\" said the Paddock softly. \"I can get thee water in plenty, if\nso be thou wilt promise to be my wife.\"\n\nNow the lassie had but one thought in her head, and that was to get the\nwater for her mother's oat-cakes, and she never for a moment thought\nthat the Paddock was in earnest, so she promised gladly enough to be his\nwife, if he would get her a jug of water.\n\nNo sooner had the words passed her lips than the beastie jumped down the\nmouth of the well, and in another moment it was full to the brim with\nwater.\n\nThe lassie filled her jug and carried it home, without troubling any\nmore about the matter. But late that night, just as her mother and she\nwere going to bed, something came with a faint \"thud, thud,\" against\nthe cottage door, and then they heard a tiny little wee voice singing:\n\n    \"Oh, open the door, my hinnie, my heart,\n    Oh, open the door, my ain true love;\n    Remember the promise that you and I made\n    Down i' the meadow, where we two met.\"\n\n\"Wheesht,\" said the old woman, raising her head. \"What noise is that at\nthe door?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said her daughter, who was feeling rather frightened, \"it's only a\nyellow Paddock.\"\n\n\"Poor bit beastie,\" said the kind-hearted old mother. \"Open the door and\nlet him in. It's cold work sitting on the doorstep.\"\n\nSo the lassie, very unwillingly opened the door, and the Paddock came\njump-jump-jumping across the kitchen, and sat down at the fireside.\n\nAnd while he sat there he began to sing this song:\n\n    \"Oh, gie me my supper, my hinnie, my heart,\n    Oh, gie me my supper, my ain true love;\n    Remember the promise that you and I made\n    Down i' the meadow, where we two met.\"\n\n\"Gie the poor beast his supper,\" said the old woman. \"He's an uncommon\nPaddock that can sing like that.\"\n\n\"Tut,\" replied her daughter crossly, for she was growing more and more\nfrightened as she saw the creature's bright black eyes fixed on her\nface. \"I'm not going to be so silly as to feed a wet, sticky Paddock.\"\n\n\"Don't be ill-natured and cruel,\" said her mother. \"Who knows how far\nthe little beastie has travelled? And I warrant that it would like a\nsaucerful of milk.\"\n\nNow, the lassie could have told her that the Paddock had travelled from\nthe Well o' the World's End; but she held her tongue, and went ben to\nthe milk-house, and brought back a saucerful of milk, which she set down\nbefore the strange little visitor.\n\n    \"Now chap off my head, my hinnie, my heart,\n    Now chap off my head, my ain true love,\n    Remember the promise that you and I made\n    Down i' the meadow, where we two met.\"\n\n\"Hout, havers, pay no heed, the creature's daft,\" exclaimed the old\nwoman, running forward to stop her daughter, who was raising the axe to\nchop off the Paddock's head. But she was too late; down came the axe,\noff went the head; and lo, and behold! on the spot where the little\ncreature had sat, stood the handsomest young Prince that had ever been\nseen.\n\nHe wore such a noble air, and was so richly dressed, that the astonished\ngirl and her mother would have fallen on their knees before him had he\nnot prevented them by a movement of his hand.\n\n\"'Tis I that should kneel to thee, Sweetheart,\" he said, turning to the\nblushing girl, \"for thou hast delivered me from a fearful spell, which\nwas cast over me in my infancy by a wicked Fairy, who at the same time\nslew my father. For long years I have lived in that well, the Well o'\nthe World's End, waiting for a maiden to appear, who should take pity on\nme, even in my loathsome disguise, and promise to be my wife, and who\nwould also have the kindness to let me into her house, and the courage,\nat my bidding, to cut off my head.\n\n\"Now I can return and claim my father's Kingdom, and thou, most gracious\nmaiden, will go with me, and be my bride, for thou well deserv'st the\nhonour.\"\n\nAnd this was how the lassie who went to fetch water from the Well o' the\nWorld's End became a Princess.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nFARQUHAR MACNEILL\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a young man named Farquhar MacNeill. He had\njust gone to a new situation, and the very first night after he went to\nit his mistress asked him if he would go over the hill to the house of a\nneighbour and borrow a sieve, for her own was all in holes, and she\nwanted to sift some meal.\n\nFarquhar agreed to do so, for he was a willing lad, and he set out at\nonce upon his errand, after the farmer's wife had pointed out to him the\npath that he was to follow, and told him that he would have no\ndifficulty in finding the house, even though it was strange to him, for\nhe would be sure to see the light in the window.\n\nHe had not gone very far, however, before he saw what he took to be the\nlight from a cottage window on his left hand, some distance from the\npath, and, forgetting his Mistress's instructions that he was to follow\nthe path right over the hill, he left it, and walked towards the light.\n\nIt seemed to him that he had almost reached it when his foot tripped,\nand he fell down, down, down, into a Fairy Parlour, far under the\nground.\n\n[Illustration: They bowed gravely]\n\nIt was full of Fairies, who were engaged in different occupations.\n\nClose by the door, or rather the hole down which he had so\nunceremoniously tumbled, two little elderly women, in black aprons and\nwhite mutches, were busily engaged in grinding corn between two flat\nmillstones. Other two Fairies, younger women, in blue print gowns and\nwhite kerchiefs, were gathering up the freshly ground meal, and baking\nit into bannocks, which they were toasting on a girdle over a peat fire,\nwhich was burning slowly in a corner.\n\nIn the centre of the large apartment a great troop of Fairies, Elves,\nand Sprites were dancing reels as hard as they could to the music of a\ntiny set of bagpipes which were being played by a brown-faced Gnome, who\nsat on a ledge of rock far above their heads.\n\nThey all stopped their various employments when Farquhar came suddenly\ndown in their midst, and looked at him in alarm; but when they saw that\nhe was not hurt, they bowed gravely and bade him be seated. Then they\nwent on with their work and with their play as if nothing had happened.\n\nBut Farquhar, being very fond of dancing, and being in no wise anxious\nto be seated, thought that he would like to have a reel first, so he\nasked the Fairies if he might join them. And they, although they looked\nsurprised at his request, allowed him to do so, and in a few minutes\nthe young man was dancing away as gaily as any of them.\n\nAnd as he danced a strange change came over him. He forgot his errand,\nhe forgot his home, he forgot everything that had ever happened to him,\nhe only knew that he wanted to remain with the Fairies all the rest of\nhis life.\n\nAnd he did remain with them--for a magic spell had been cast over him,\nand he became like one of themselves, and could come and go at nights\nwithout being seen, and could sip the dew from the grass and honey from\nthe flowers as daintily and noiselessly as if he had been a Fairy born.\n\nTime passed by, and one night he and a band of merry companions set out\nfor a long journey through the air. They started early, for they\nintended to pay a visit to the Man in the Moon and be back again before\ncock-crow.\n\nAll would have gone well if Farquhar had only looked where he was going,\nbut he did not, being deeply engaged in making love to a young Fairy\nMaiden by his side, so he never saw a cottage that was standing right in\nhis way, till he struck against the chimney and stuck fast in the\nthatch.\n\nHis companions sped merrily on, not noticing what had befallen him, and\nhe was left to disentangle himself as best he could.\n\nAs he was doing so he chanced to glance down the wide chimney, and in\nthe cottage kitchen he saw a comely young woman dandling a rosy-cheeked\nbaby.\n\nNow, when Farquhar had been in his mortal state, he had been very fond\nof children, and a word of blessing rose to his lips.\n\n\"God shield thee,\" he said, as he looked at the mother and child, little\nguessing what the result of his words would be.\n\nFor scarce had the Holy Name crossed his lips than the spell which had\nheld him so long was broken, and he became as he had been before.\n\nInstantly his thoughts flew to his friends at home, and to the new\nMistress whom he had left waiting for her sieve; for he felt sure that\nsome weeks must have elapsed since he set out to fetch it. So he made\nhaste to go to the farm.\n\nWhen he arrived in the neighbourhood everything seemed strange. There\nwere woods where no woods used to be, and walls where no walls used to\nbe. To his amazement, he could not find his way to the farm, and, worst\nof all, in the place where he expected to find his father's house he\nfound nothing but a crop of rank green nettles.\n\nIn great distress he looked about for someone to tell him what it all\nmeant, and at last he found an old man thatching the roof of a cottage.\n\nThis old man was so thin and grey that at first Farquhar took him for a\npatch of mist, but as he went nearer he saw that he was a human being,\nand, going close up to the wall and shouting with all his might, for he\nfelt sure that such an ancient man would be deaf, he asked him if he\ncould tell him where his friends had gone to, and what had happened to\nhis father's dwelling.\n\nThe old man listened, then he shook his head. \"I never heard of him,\" he\nanswered slowly; \"but perhaps my father might be able to tell you.\"\n\n\"Your father!\" said Farquhar, in great surprise. \"Is it possible that\nyour father is alive?\"\n\n\"Aye he is,\" answered the old man, with a little laugh. \"If you go into\nthe house you'll find him sitting in the arm-chair by the fire.\"\n\nFarquhar did as he was bid, and on entering the cottage found another\nold man, who was so thin and withered and bent that he looked as if he\nmust at least be a hundred years old. He was feebly twisting ropes to\nbind the thatch on the roof.\n\n\"Can ye tell me aught of my friends, or where my father's cottage is?\"\nasked Farquhar again, hardly expecting that this second old man would be\nable to answer him.\n\n\"I cannot,\" mumbled this ancient person; \"but perhaps my father can tell\nyou.\"\n\n\"Your father!\" exclaimed Farquhar, more astonished than ever. \"But\nsurely he must be dead long ago.\"\n\nThe old man shook his head with a weird grimace.\n\n\"Look there,\" he said, and pointed with a twisted finger, to a leathern\npurse, or sporran, which was hanging to one of the posts of a wooden\nbedstead in the corner.\n\nFarquhar approached it, and was almost frightened out of his wits by\nseeing a tiny shrivelled face crowned by a red pirnie, looking over the\nedge of the sporran.\n\n\"Tak' him out; he'll no touch ye,\" chuckled the old man by the fire.\n\nSo Farquhar took the little creature out carefully between his finger\nand thumb, and set him on the palm of his left hand. He was so\nshrivelled with age that he looked just like a mummy.\n\n\"Dost know anything of my friends, or where my father's cottage is gone\nto?\" asked Farquhar for the third time, hardly expecting to get an\nanswer.\n\n\"They were all dead long before I was born,\" piped out the tiny figure.\n\"I never saw any of them, but I have heard my father speak of them.\"\n\n\"Then I must be older than you!\" cried Farquhar, in great dismay. And he\ngot such a shock at the thought that his bones suddenly dissolved into\ndust, and he fell, a heap of grey ashes, on the floor.\n\n\n\n\nPEERIFOOL\n\n\nThere was once a King and a Queen in Rousay who had three daughters.\nWhen the young Princesses were just grown up, the King died, and the\nCrown passed to a distant cousin, who had always hated him, and who paid\nno heed to the widowed Queen and her daughters.\n\nSo they were left very badly off, and they went to live in a tiny\ncottage, and did all the housework themselves. They had a kailyard in\nfront of the cottage, and a little field behind it, and they had a cow\nthat grazed in the field, and which they fed with the cabbages that grew\nin the kailyard. For everyone knows that to feed cows with cabbages\nmakes them give a larger quantity of milk.\n\nBut they soon discovered that some one was coming at night and stealing\nthe cabbages, and, of course, this annoyed them very much. For they knew\nthat if they had not cabbages to give to the cow, they would not have\nenough milk to sell.\n\nSo the eldest Princess said she would take out a three-legged stool, and\nwrap herself in a blanket, and sit in the kailyard all night to see if\nshe could catch the thief. And, although it was very cold and very dark,\nshe did so.\n\nAt first it seemed as if all her trouble would be in vain, for hour\nafter hour passed and nothing happened. But in the small hours of the\nmorning, just as the clock was striking two, she heard a stealthy\ntrampling in the field behind, as if some very heavy person were trying\nto tread very softly, and presently a mighty Giant stepped right over\nthe wall into the kailyard.\n\nHe carried an enormous creel on his arm, and a large, sharp knife in his\nhand; and he began to cut the cabbages, and to throw them into the creel\nas fast as he could.\n\nNow the Princess was no coward, so, although she had not expected to\nface a Giant, she gathered up her courage, and cried out sharply, \"Who\ngave thee liberty to cut our cabbages? Leave off this minute, and go\naway.\"\n\nThe Giant paid no heed, but went on steadily with what he was doing.\n\n\"Dost thou not hear me?\" cried the girl indignantly; for she was the\nPrincess Royal, and had always been accustomed to be obeyed.\n\n\"If thou be not quiet I will take thee too,\" said the Giant grimly,\npressing the cabbages down into the creel.\n\n\"I should like to see thee try,\" retorted the Princess, rising from her\nstool and stamping her foot; for she felt so angry that she forgot for\na moment that she was only a weak maiden and he was a great and powerful\nGiant.\n\nAnd, as if to show her how strong he was, he seized her by her arm and\nher leg, and put her in his creel on the top of the cabbages, and\ncarried her away bodily.\n\nWhen he reached his home, which was in a great square house on a lonely\nmoor, he took her out, and set her down roughly on the floor.\n\n\"Thou wilt be my servant now,\" he said, \"and keep my house, and do my\nerrands for me. I have a cow, which thou must drive out every day to the\nhillside; and see, here is a bag of wool, when thou hast taken out the\ncow, thou must come back and settle thyself at home, as a good housewife\nshould, and comb, and card it, and spin it into yarn, with which to\nweave a good thick cloth for my raiment. I am out most of the day, but\nwhen I come home I shall expect to find all this done, and a great\nbicker of porridge boiled besides for my supper.\"\n\nThe poor Princess was very dismayed when she heard these words, for she\nhad never been accustomed to work hard, and she had always had her\nsisters to help her; but the Giant took no notice of her distress, but\nwent out as soon as it was daylight, leaving her alone in the house to\nbegin her work.\n\nAs soon as he had gone she drove the cow to the pasture, as he had told\nher to do; but she had a good long walk over the moor before she reached\nthe hill, and by the time that she got back to the house she felt very\ntired.\n\nSo she thought that she would put on the porridge pot, and make herself\nsome porridge before she began to card and comb the wool. She did so,\nand just as she was sitting down to sup them the door opened, and a\ncrowd of wee, wee Peerie Folk came in.\n\nThey were the tiniest men and women that the Princess had ever seen; not\none of them would have reached half-way to her knee; and they were\ndressed in dresses fashioned out of all the colours of the\nrainbow--scarlet and blue, green and yellow, orange and violet; and the\nfunny thing was, that every one of them had a shock of straw-coloured\nyellow hair.\n\nThey were all talking and laughing with one another; and they hopped up,\nfirst on stools, then on chairs, till at last they reached the top of\nthe table, where they clustered round the bowl, out of which the\nPrincess was eating her porridge.\n\n\"We be hungry, we be hungry,\" they cried, in their tiny shrill voices.\n\"Spare a little porridge for the Peerie Folk.\"\n\nBut the Princess was hungry also; and, besides being hungry, she was\nboth tired and cross; so she shook her head and waved them impatiently\naway with her spoon,\n\n    \"Little for one, and less for two,\n    And never a grain have I for you.\"\n\nshe said sharply, and, to her great delight, for she did not feel quite\ncomfortable with all the Peerie Folk standing on the table looking at\nher, they vanished in a moment.\n\nAfter this she finished her porridge in peace; then she took the wool\nout of the bag, and she set to work to comb and card it. But it seemed\nas if it were bewitched; it curled and twisted and coiled itself round\nher fingers so that, try as she would, she could not do anything with\nit. And when the Giant came home he found her sitting in despair with it\nall in confusion round her, and the porridge, which she had left for him\nin the pot, burned to a cinder.\n\nAs you may imagine, he was very angry, and raged, and stamped, and used\nthe most dreadful words; and at last he took her by the heels, and beat\nher until all her back was skinned and bleeding; then he carried her out\nto the byre, and threw her up on the joists among the hens. And,\nalthough she was not dead, she was so stunned and bruised that she could\nonly lie there motionless, looking down on the backs of the cows.\n\nTime went on, and in the kailyard at home the cabbages were disappearing\nas fast as ever. So the second Princess said that she would do as her\nsister had done, and wrap herself in a blanket, and go and sit on a\nthree-legged stool all night, to see what was becoming of them.\n\nShe did so, and exactly the same fate befell her that had befallen her\nelder sister. The Giant appeared with his creel, and he carried her\noff, and set her to mind the cow and the house, and to make his porridge\nand to spin; and the little yellow-headed Peerie Folk appeared and asked\nher for some supper, and she refused to give it to them; and after that,\nshe could not comb or card her wool, and the Giant was angry, and he\nscolded her, and beat her, and threw her up, half dead, on the joists\nbeside her sister and the hens.\n\nThen the youngest Princess determined to sit out in the kailyard all\nnight, not so much to see what was becoming of the cabbages, as to\ndiscover what had happened to her sisters.\n\nAnd when the Giant came and carried her off, she was not at all sorry,\nbut very glad, for she was a brave and loving little maiden; and now she\nfelt that she had a chance of finding out where they were, and whether\nthey were dead or alive.\n\nSo she was quite cheerful and happy, for she felt certain that she was\nclever enough to outwit the Giant, if only she were watchful and\npatient; so she lay quite quietly in her creel above the cabbages, but\nshe kept her eyes very wide open to see by which road he was carrying\nher off.\n\nAnd when he set her down in his kitchen, and told her all that he\nexpected her to do, she did not look downcast like her sisters, but\nnodded her head brightly, and said that she felt sure that she could do\nit.\n\nAnd she sang to herself as she drove the cow over the moor to pasture,\nand she ran the whole way back, so that she should have a good long\nafternoon to work at the wool, and, although she would not have told the\nGiant this, to search the house.\n\nBefore she set to work, however, she made herself some porridge, just as\nher sisters had done; and, just as she was going to sup them, all the\nlittle yellow-haired Peerie Folk trooped in, and climbed up on the\ntable, and stood and stared at her.\n\n\"We be hungry, we be hungry,\" they cried. \"Spare a little porridge for\nthe Peerie Folk.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" replied the good-natured Princess. \"If you can find\ndishes little enough for you to sup out of, I will fill them for you.\nBut, methinks, if I were to give you all porringers, you would smother\nyourselves among the porridge.\"\n\nAt her words the Peerie Folk shouted with laughter, till their\nstraw-coloured hair tumbled right over their faces; then they hopped on\nto the floor and ran out of the house, and presently they came trooping\nback holding cups of blue-bells, and foxgloves, and saucers of primroses\nand anemones in their hands; and the Princess put a tiny spoonful of\nporridge into each saucer, and a tiny drop of milk into each cup, and\nthey ate it all up as daintily as possible with neat little grass\nspoons, which they had brought with them in their pockets.\n\nWhen they had finished they all cried out, \"Thank you! Thank you!\" and\nran out of the kitchen again, leaving the Princess alone. And, being\nalone, she went all over the house to look for her sisters, but, of\ncourse, she could not find them.\n\n\"Never mind, I will find them soon,\" she said to herself. \"To-morrow I\nwill search the byre and the outhouses; in the meantime, I had better\nget on with my work.\" So she went back to the kitchen, and took out the\nbag of wool, which the Giant had told her to make into cloth.\n\nBut just as she was doing so the door opened once more, and a\nYellow-Haired Peerie Boy entered. He was exactly like the other Peerie\nFolk who had eaten the Princess's porridge, only he was bigger, and he\nwore a very rich dress of grass-green velvet. He walked boldly into the\nmiddle of the kitchen and looked round him.\n\n\"Hast thou any work for me to do?\" he asked. \"I ken grand how to handle\nwool and turn it into fine thick cloth.\"\n\n\"I have plenty of work for anybody who asks it,\" replied the Princess;\n\"but I have no money to pay for it, and there are but few folk in this\nworld who will work without wages.\"\n\n\"All the wages that I ask is that thou wilt take the trouble to find out\nmy name, for few folk ken it, and few folk care to ken. But if by any\nchance thou canst not find it out, then must thou pay toll of half of\nthy cloth.\"\n\nThe Princess thought that it would be quite an easy thing to find out\nthe Boy's name, so she agreed to the bargain, and, putting all the wool\nback into the bag, she gave it to him, and he swung it over his shoulder\nand departed.\n\nShe ran to the door to see where he went, for she had made up her mind\nthat she would follow him secretly to his home, and find out from the\nneighbours what his name was.\n\nBut, to her great dismay, though she looked this way and that, he had\nvanished completely, and she began to wonder what she should do if the\nGiant came back and found that she had allowed someone, whose name she\ndid not even know, to carry off all the wool.\n\nAnd, as the afternoon wore on, and she could think of no way of finding\nout who the boy was, or where he came from, she felt that she had made a\ngreat mistake, and she began to grow very frightened.\n\nJust as the gloaming was beginning to fall a knock came at the door,\nand, when she opened it, she found an old woman standing outside, who\nbegged for a night's lodging.\n\nNow, as I have told you, the Princess was very kind-hearted, and she\nwould fain have granted the poor old Dame's request, but she dared not,\nfor she did not know what the Giant would say. So she told the old woman\nthat she could not take her in for the night, as she was only a servant,\nand not the mistress of the house; but she made her sit down on a bench\nbeside the door, and brought her out some bread and milk, and gave her\nsome water to bathe her poor, tired feet.\n\nShe was so bonnie, and gentle, and kind, and she looked so sorry when\nshe told her that she would need to turn her away, that the old woman\ngave her her blessing, and told her not to vex herself, as it was a\nfine, dry night, and now that she had had a meal she could easily sit\ndown somewhere and sleep in the shelter of the outhouses.\n\nAnd, when she had finished her bread and milk, she went and laid down by\nthe side of a green knowe, which rose out of the moor not very far from\nthe byre door.\n\nAnd, strange to say, as she lay there she felt the earth beneath her\ngetting warmer and warmer, until she was so hot that she was fain to\ncrawl up the side of the hillock, in the hope of getting a mouthful of\nfresh air.\n\nAnd as she got near the top she heard a voice, which seemed to come from\nsomewhere beneath her, saying, \"TEASE, TEASENS, TEASE; CARD, CARDENS,\nCARD; SPIN, SPINNENS, SPIN; for PEERIFOOL PEERIFOOL, PEERIFOOL is what\nmen call me.\" And when she got to the very top, she found that there was\na crack in the earth, through which rays of light were coming; and when\nshe put her eye to the crack, what should she see down below her but a\nbrilliantly lighted chamber, in which all the Peerie Folk were sitting\nin a circle, working away as hard as they could.\n\nSome of them were carding wool, some of them were combing it, some of\nthem were spinning it, constantly wetting their fingers with their lips,\nin order to twist the yarn fine as they drew it from the distaff, and\nsome of them were spinning the yarn into cloth.\n\nWhile round and round the circle, cracking a little whip, and urging\nthem to work faster, was a Yellow-Haired Peerie Boy.\n\n\"This is a strange thing, and these be queer on-goings,\" said the old\nwoman to herself, creeping hastily down to the bottom of the hillock\nagain. \"I must e'en go and tell the bonnie lassie in the house yonder.\nMaybe the knowledge of what I have seen will stand her in good stead\nsome day. When there be Peerie Folk about, it is well to be on one's\nguard.\"\n\nSo she went back to the house and told the Princess all that she had\nseen and heard, and the Princess was so delighted with what she had told\nher that she risked the Giant's wrath and allowed her to go and sleep in\nthe hayloft.\n\nIt was not very long after the old woman had gone to rest before the\ndoor opened, and the Peerie Boy appeared once more with a number of webs\nof cloth upon his shoulder. \"Here is thy cloth,\" he said, with a sly\nsmile, \"and I will put it on the shelf for thee the moment that thou\ntellest me what my name is.\"\n\nThen the Princess, who was a merry maiden, thought that she would tease\nthe little follow for a time ere she let him know that she had found out\nhis secret.\n\nSo she mentioned first one name and then another, always pretending to\nthink that she had hit upon the right one; and all the time the Peerie\nBoy jumped from side to side with delight, for he thought that she would\nnever find out the right name, and that half of the cloth would be his.\n\nBut at last the Princess grew tired of joking, and she cried out, with a\nlittle laugh of triumph, \"Dost thou by any chance ken anyone called\nPEERIFOOL, little Mannikin?\"\n\nThen he knew that in some way she had found out what men called him, and\nhe was so angry and disappointed that he flung the webs of cloth down in\na heap on the floor, and ran out at the door, slamming it behind him.\n\nMeanwhile the Giant was coming down the hill in the darkening, and, to\nhis astonishment, he met a troop of little Peerie Folk toiling up it,\nlooking as if they were so tired that they could hardly get along. Their\neyes were dim and listless, their heads were hanging on their breasts,\nand their lips were so long and twisted that the poor little people\nlooked quite hideous.\n\nThe Giant asked how this was, and they told him that they had to work so\nhard all day, spinning for their Master that they were quite exhausted;\nand that the reason why their lips were so distorted was that they used\nthem constantly to wet their fingers, so that they might pull the wool\nin very fine strands from the distaff.\n\n\"I always thought a great deal of women who could spin,\" said the Giant,\n\"and I looked out for a housewife that could do so. But after this I\nwill be more careful, for the housewife that I have now is a bonnie\nlittle woman, and I would be loth to have her spoil her face in that\nmanner.\"\n\nAnd he hurried home in a great state of mind in case he should find that\nhis new servant's pretty red lips had grown long and ugly in his\nabsence.\n\nGreat was his relief to see her standing by the table, bonnie and\nwinsome as ever, with all the webs of cloth in a pile in front of her.\n\n\"By my troth, thou art an industrious maiden,\" he said, in high good\nhumour, \"and, as a reward for working so diligently, I will restore thy\nsisters to thee.\" And he went out to the byre, and lifted the two other\nPrincesses down from the rafters, and brought them in and laid them on\nthe settle.\n\nTheir little sister nearly screamed aloud when she saw how ill they\nlooked and how bruised their backs were, but, like a prudent maiden, she\nheld her tongue, and busied herself with applying a cooling ointment to\ntheir wounds, and binding them up, and by and by her sisters revived,\nand, after the Giant had gone to bed, they told her all that had\nbefallen them.\n\n\"I will be avenged on him for his cruelty,\" said the little Princess\nfirmly; and when she spoke like that her sisters knew that she meant\nwhat she said.\n\nSo next morning, before the Giant was up, she fetched his creel, and put\nher eldest sister into it, and covered her with all the fine silken\nhangings and tapestry that she could find, and on the top of all she put\na handful of grass, and when the Giant came downstairs she asked him, in\nher sweetest tone, if he would do her a favour.\n\nAnd the Giant, who was very pleased with her because of the quantity of\ncloth which he thought she had spun, said that he would.\n\n\"Then carry that creelful of grass home to my mother's cottage for her\ncow to eat,\" said the Princess. \"'Twill help to make up for all the\ncabbages which thou hast stolen from her kailyard.\"\n\nAnd, wonderful to relate, the Giant did as he was bid, and carried the\ncreel to the cottage.\n\nNext morning she put her second sister into another creel, and covered\nher with all the fine napery she could find in the house, and put an\narmful of grass on the top of it, and at her bidding the Giant, who was\nreally getting very fond of her, carried it also home to her mother.\n\nThe next morning the little Princess told him that she thought that she\nwould go for a long walk after she had done her housework, and that she\nmight not be in when he came home at night, but that she would have\nanother creel of grass ready for him, if he would carry it to the\ncottage as he had done on the two previous evenings. He promised to do\nso; then, as usual, he went out for the day.\n\nIn the afternoon the clever little maiden went through the house,\ngathering together all the lace, and silver, and jewellery that she\ncould find, and brought them and placed them beside the creel. Then she\nwent out and cut an armful of grass, and brought it in and laid it\nbeside them.\n\nThen she crept into the creel herself, and pulled all the fine things in\nabove her, and then she covered everything up with the grass, which was\na very difficult thing to do, seeing she herself was at the bottom of\nthe basket. Then she lay quite still and waited.\n\nPresently the Giant came in, and, obedient to his promise, he lifted the\ncreel and carried it off to the old Queen's cottage.\n\nNo one seemed to be at home, so he set it down in the entry, and turned\nto go away. But the little Princess had told her sisters what to do, and\nthey had a great can of boiling water ready in one of the rooms\nupstairs, and when they heard his steps coming round that side of the\nhouse, they threw open the window and emptied it all over his head; and\nthat was the end of him.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Birthdays]\n\n[Illustration: A Monanday's Child His a Bonnie Face]\n\n[Illustration: A Tyesdays Child is Fou O' Grace]\n\n[Illustration: A Wednesday's Child is the Child o' Woe]\n\n[Illustration: A Feersday's Child Hiz Far To Go]\n\n[Illustration: A Friday's Child is Lovin and Givin]\n\n[Illustration: A Saitirday's Child Works hard for his Livin]\n\n[Illustration: But them thats Born On Sunday Is happy, blithe, and Gay]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nGLOSSARY\n\n\n  A body            a person\n\n  Airt              direction\n\n  Ahint             behind\n\n  Bairn             child\n\n  Baudrons          Scotch name for a cat\n\n  Ben               in towards an inner room\n\n  Ben               a mountain peak\n\n  Bicker            to argue in a petty way\n\n  Bonnet-piece      an old Scottish coin\n\n  Byre              cowhouse\n\n  Canty             kindly, cheerful\n\n  Cantrip           a freak, or wilful piece of trickery\n\n  Chuckie-stone     a small white pebble\n\n  Clout             a blow\n\n  Cloving           separating lint from its stalk\n\n  Clue              a ball of worsted\n\n  Creel             a large hand-made basket\n\n  Cutty-pipe        a short clay pipe\n\n  Daft              silly, weak-minded\n\n  Dander            to walk aimlessly\n\n  Darkening         the twilight\n\n  Divot             a sod\n\n  Doo               a dove\n\n  Douce             sedate\n\n  Dowie             dull, low-spirited\n\n  Dyke              a wall\n\n  Eldritch          weird\n\n  Emprise           an enterprise\n\n  Entry             a passage\n\n  Fain              gladly\n\n  Feared            afraid\n\n  Forbye            besides\n\n  Gang              go\n\n  Girnel            a meal-chest\n\n  Gled              a hawk\n\n  Gloaming          the twilight\n\n  Greeting          crying\n\n  Hantle            very much, a considerable number\n\n  Havers            nonsense\n\n  Heckle            to comb\n\n  Hinnie            a term of endearment\n\n  Hirple            to limp\n\n  Histie            \"haste thee\"\n\n  Inbye             inside\n\n  Ingle neuk        the corner by the fire\n\n  Joists            the beams in a roof\n\n  Kailyard          a kitchen garden\n\n  Ken               know\n\n  Kirn              a churn, to churn\n\n  Kist              a chest\n\n  Knowe             a little hillock\n\n  Lift              the sky, the air\n\n  Light             alight\n\n  Lintie            a linnet\n\n  Lout              to stoop\n\n  Lum               chimney\n\n  Louping-on-stane  a stone from which to mount a horse\n\n  Malison           a curse\n\n  Meat              food\n\n  Migraine          a pain affecting one half of the head\n\n  Mutch             a cap\n\n  Onstead           farm buildings\n\n  Paddock           a toad or frog\n\n  Pirnie            a woollen nightcap\n\n  Poke              a bag\n\n  Rivlins           shoes made of cowhide\n\n  Sen' night        a week\n\n  Shoon             shoes\n\n  Siccan            such\n\n  Siller            money\n\n  Sinsyne           since\n\n  Smatchet          small boy\n\n  Sneck             to latch or shut a door\n\n  Snibbit           bolted, _snib_, a bolt\n\n  Thrapple          throat\n\n  Thole             to bear\n\n  Unchancy          uncanny\n\n  Wheen             a few\n\n  Wheesht           be quiet!\n\n  Wight             a person\n\n  Winnock           a window\n\n  Winnow            to separate the chaff from the grain by wind\n\n  Yestreen          yesterday\n\n  Yule              Christmas\n\n  Unicorns          Ancient Scottish coins\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n  Transcriber's notes:\n\n  Taken out hypen in 'Mer-maids' and 'Mer-men' in Preface as not in text.\n  Leaving the two words 'tomorrow' and 'tomorrow' as is.\n  P.76. Taken out extra 'day' from 'day day'.\n  P.80. Taken out extra 'the' from 'the the'.\n  P.104. 'craried' is found in another version of this book, leaving as is.\n  P.124. Taken out extra 'did' from 'did did'.\n  P.144. Taken out hyphen in 'burn-side'.\n  P.161. Taken out hyphen in 'Yule-tide'.\n  P.263. Taken out hyphen in 'mis-shapen'.\n\n----------------------------------------------------------------------","title":"The Scottish Fairy Book","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":66672}