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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Old-Fashioned Fairy Tales, by Juliana Horatia
+Gatty Ewing
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Old-Fashioned Fairy Tales
+
+
+Author: Juliana Horatia Gatty Ewing
+
+Release Date: April 9, 2005  [eBook #15592]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY TALES***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Jennifer Goslee, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY TALES
+
+by
+
+JULIANA HORATIA EWING.
+
+London:
+Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge,
+Northumberland Avenue, W.C.
+New York: E. & J.B. Young & Co.
+[Published under the direction of the General Literature Committee.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+     DEDICATED TO MY DEAR SISTER, UNDINE MARCIA GATTY.
+
+     J.H.E.
+
+
+
+
+    "Know'st thou not the little path
+    That winds about the Ferny brae,
+    That is the road to bonnie Elfland,
+    Where thou and I this night maun gae."
+
+    _Thomas the Rhymer_.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+As the title of this story-book may possibly suggest that the tales
+are old fairy tales told afresh, it seems well to explain that this is
+not so.
+
+Except for the use of common "properties" of Fairy Drama, and a
+scrupulous endeavour to conform to tradition in local colour and
+detail, the stories are all new.
+
+They have appeared at intervals during some years past in "AUNT JUDY'S
+MAGAZINE FOR YOUNG PEOPLE," and were written in conformity to certain
+theories respecting stories of this kind, with only two of which shall
+the kindly reader of prefaces be troubled.
+
+First, that there are ideas and types, occurring in the myths of all
+countries, which are common properties, to use which does not lay the
+teller of fairy tales open to the charge of plagiarism. Such as the
+idea of the weak outwitting the strong; the failure of man to choose
+wisely when he may have his wish; or the desire of sprites to exchange
+their careless and unfettered existence for the pains and penalties of
+humanity, if they may thereby share in the hopes of the human soul.
+
+Secondly, that in these household stories (the models for which were
+originally oral tradition) the thing most to be avoided is a
+discursive or descriptive style of writing. Brevity and epigram must
+ever be soul of their wit, and they should be written as tales that
+are told.
+
+The degree in which, if at all, the following tales fulfil these
+conditions, nursery critics must decide.
+
+There are older critics before whom fairy tales, as such, need excuse,
+even if they do not meet with positive disapprobation.
+
+On this score I can only say that, for myself, I believe them to
+be--beyond all need of defence--most valuable literature for the
+young. I do not believe that wonder-tales confuse children's ideas of
+truth. If there are young intellects so imperfect as to be incapable
+of distinguishing between fancy and falsehood, it is surely most
+desirable to develop in them the power to do so; but, as a rule, in
+childhood we appreciate the distinction with a vivacity which, as
+elders, our care-clogged memories fail to recall.
+
+Moreover fairy tales have positive uses in education, which no
+cramming of facts, and no merely domestic fiction can serve.
+
+Like Proverbs and Parables, they deal with first principles under the
+simplest forms. They convey knowledge of the world, shrewd lessons of
+virtue and vice, of common sense and sense of humour, of the seemly
+and the absurd, of pleasure and pain, success and failure, in
+narratives where the plot moves briskly and dramatically from a
+beginning to an end. They treat, not of the corner of a nursery or a
+playground, but of the world at large, and life in perspective; of
+forces visible and invisible; of Life, Death, and Immortality.
+
+For causes obvious to the student of early myths, they foster sympathy
+with nature, and no class of child-literature has done so much to
+inculcate the love of animals.
+
+They cultivate the Imagination, that great gift which time and
+experience lead one more and more to value--handmaid of Faith, of
+Hope, and, perhaps most of all, of Charity!
+
+It is true that some of the old fairy tales do not teach the high and
+useful lessons that most of them do; and that they unquestionably deal
+now and again with phases of grown-up life, and with crimes and
+catastrophes, that seem unsuitable for nursery entertainment.
+
+As to the latter question, it must be remembered that the brevity of
+the narrative--whether it be a love story or a robber story--deprives
+it of all harm; a point which writers of modern fairy tales do not
+always realize for their guidance.
+
+The writer of the following tales has endeavoured to bear this
+principle in mind, and it is hoped that the morals--and it is of the
+essence of fairy tales to have a moral--of all of them are beyond
+reproach.
+
+For the rest they are committed to the indulgence of the gentle
+reader.
+
+Hans Anderssen, perhaps the greatest writer of modern fairy tales, was
+content to say:
+
+    "FAIRY TALE NEVER DIES."
+
+    J.H.E.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+     PAGE GOOD LUCK IS BETTER THAN GOLD
+
+     THE HILLMAN AND THE HOUSEWIFE
+
+     THE NECK, A LEGEND OF A LAKE
+
+     THE NIX IN MISCHIEF
+
+     THE COBBLER AND THE GHOSTS
+
+     THE LAIRD AND THE MAN OF PEACE
+
+     THE OGRE COURTING
+
+     THE MAGICIANS' GIFTS
+
+     THE WIDOWS AND THE STRANGERS
+
+     KIND WILLIAM AND THE WATER SPRITE
+
+     MURDOCH'S RATH
+
+     THE LITTLE DARNER
+
+     THE FIDDLER IN THE FAIRY RING
+
+     "I WON'T"
+
+     THE MAGIC JAR
+
+     THE FIRST WIFE'S WEDDING-RING
+
+     THE MAGICIAN TURNED MISCHIEF-MAKER
+
+     KNAVE AND FOOL
+
+     UNDER THE SUN
+
+
+
+
+
+
+GOOD LUCK IS BETTER THAN GOLD.
+
+
+There was once upon a time a child who had Good Luck for his godfather.
+
+"I am not Fortune," said Good Luck to the parents; "I have no gifts to
+bestow, but whenever he needs help I will be at hand."
+
+"Nothing could be better," said the old couple. They were delighted.
+But what pleases the father often fails to satisfy the son: moreover,
+every man thinks that he deserves just a little more than he has got,
+and does not reckon it to the purpose if his father had less.
+
+Many a one would be thankful to have as good reasons for contentment
+as he who had Good Luck for his godfather.
+
+If he fell, Good Luck popped something soft in the way to break his
+fall; if he fought, Good Luck directed his blows, or tripped up his
+adversary; if he got into a scrape, Good Luck helped him out of it;
+and if ever Misfortune met him, Good Luck contrived to hustle her on
+the pathway till his godson got safely by.
+
+In games of hazard the godfather played over his shoulder. In matters
+of choice he chose for him. And when the lad began to work on his
+father's farm the farmer began to get rich. For no bird or field-mouse
+touched a seed that his son had sown, and every plant he planted
+throve when Good Luck smiled on it.
+
+The boy was not fond of work, but when he did go into the fields, Good
+Luck followed him.
+
+"Your christening-day was a blessed day for us all," said the old
+farmer.
+
+"He has never given me so much as a lucky sixpence," muttered Good
+Luck's godson.
+
+"I am not Fortune--I make no presents," said the godfather.
+
+When we are discontented it is oftener to please our neighbours than
+ourselves. It was because the other boys had said--"Simon, the
+shoemaker's son, has an alderman for his godfather. He gave him a
+silver spoon with the Apostle Peter for the handle; but thy godfather
+is more powerful than any alderman"--that Good Luck's godson
+complained, "He has never given me so much as a bent sixpence."
+
+By and by the old farmer died, and his son grew up, and had the
+largest farm in the country. The other boys grew up also, and as they
+looked over the farmer's boundary-wall, they would say:
+
+"Good-morning, Neighbour. That is certainly a fine farm of yours. Your
+cattle thrive without loss. Your crops grow in the rain and are reaped
+with the sunshine. Mischance never comes your road. What you have
+worked for you enjoy. Such success would turn the heads of poor folk
+like us. At the same time one would think a man need hardly work for
+his living at all who has Good Luck for his godfather."
+
+"That is very true," thought the farmer. "Many a man is prosperous,
+and reaps what he sows, who had no more than the clerk and the sexton
+for gossips at his christening."
+
+"What is the matter, Godson?" asked Good Luck, who was with him in the
+field.
+
+"I want to be rich," said the farmer.
+
+"You will not have to wait long," replied the godfather. "In every
+field you sow, in every flock you rear there is increase without
+abatement. Your wealth is already tenfold greater than your father's."
+
+"Aye, aye," replied the farmer. "Good wages for good work. But many a
+young man has gold at his command who need never turn a sod, and none
+of the Good People came to _his_ christening. Fortunatus's Purse now,
+or even a sack or two of gold--"
+
+"Peace!" cried the godfather; "I have said that I give no gifts."
+
+Though he had not Fortunatus's Purse, the farmer had now money and to
+spare, and when the harvest was gathered in, he bought a fine suit of
+clothes, and took his best horse and went to the royal city to see the
+sights.
+
+The pomp and splendour, the festivities and fine clothes dazzled him.
+
+"This is a gay life which these young courtiers lead," said he. "A man
+has nothing to do but to enjoy himself."
+
+"If he has plenty of gold in his pocket," said a bystander.
+
+By and by the Princess passed in her carriage. She was the King's only
+daughter. She had hair made of sunshine, and her eyes were stars.
+
+"What an exquisite creature!" cried the farmer. "What would not one
+give to possess her?"
+
+"She has as many suitors as hairs on her head," replied the bystander.
+"She wants to marry the Prince of Moonshine, but he only dresses in
+silver, and the King thinks he might find a richer son-in-law. The
+Princess will go to the highest bidder."
+
+"And I have Good Luck for my godfather, and am not even at court!"
+cried the farmer; and he put spurs to his horse, and rode home.
+
+Good Luck was taking care of the farm.
+
+"Listen, Godfather!" cried the young man. "I am in love with the
+King's daughter, and want her to wife."
+
+"It is not an easy matter," replied Good Luck, "but I will do what I
+can for you. Say that by good luck you saved the Princess's life, or
+perhaps better the King's--for they say he is selfish--"
+
+"Tush!" cried the farmer. "The King is covetous, and wants a rich
+son-in-law."
+
+"A wise man may bring wealth to a kingdom with his head, if not with
+his hands," said Good Luck, "and I can show you a district where the
+earth only wants mining to be flooded with wealth. Besides, there are
+a thousand opportunities that can be turned to account and influence.
+By wits and work, and with Good Luck to help him, many a poorer man
+than you has risen to greatness."
+
+"Wits and work!" cried the indignant godson. "You speak well--truly! A
+hillman would have made a better godfather. Give me as much gold as
+will fill three meal-bins, and you may keep the rest of your help for
+those who want it."
+
+Now at this moment by Good Luck stood Dame Fortune. She likes handsome
+young men, and there was some little jealousy between her and the
+godfather so she smiled at the quarrel.
+
+"You would rather have had me for your gossip?" said she.
+
+"If you would give me three wishes, I would," replied the farmer
+boldly, "and I would trouble you no more."
+
+"Will you make him over to me?" said Dame Fortune to the godfather.
+
+"If he wishes it," replied Good Luck. "But if he accepts your gifts he
+has no further claim on me."
+
+"Nor on me either," said the Dame. "Hark ye, young man, you mortals
+are apt to make a hobble of your three wishes, and you may end with a
+sausage at your nose, like your betters."
+
+"I have thought of it too often," replied the farmer, "and I know what
+I want. For my first wish I desire imperishable beauty."
+
+"It is yours," said Dame Fortune, smiling as she looked at him.
+
+"The face of a prince and the manners of a clown are poor partners,"
+said the farmer. "My second wish is for suitable learning and courtly
+manners, which cannot be gained at the plough-tail."
+
+"You have them in perfection," said the Dame, as the young man thanked
+her by a graceful bow.
+
+"Thirdly," said he, "I demand a store of gold that I can never
+exhaust."
+
+"I will lead you to it," said Dame Fortune; and the young man was so
+eager to follow her that he did not even look back to bid farewell to
+his godfather.
+
+He was soon at court. He lived in the utmost pomp. He had a suit of
+armour made for himself out of beaten gold. No metal less precious
+might come near his person, except for the blade of his sword. This
+was obliged to be made of steel, for gold is not always strong enough
+to defend one's life or his honour. But the Princess still loved the
+Prince of Moonshine.
+
+"Stuff and nonsense!" said the King. "I shall give you to the Prince
+of Gold."
+
+"I wish I had the good luck to please her," muttered the young Prince.
+But he had not, for all his beauty and his wealth. However, she was to
+marry him, and that was something.
+
+The preparations for the wedding were magnificent.
+
+"It is a great expense," sighed the King, "but then I get the Prince
+of Gold for a son-in-law."
+
+The Prince and his bride drove round the city in a triumphal
+procession. Her hair fell over her like sunshine, but the starlight of
+her eyes was cold.
+
+In the train rode the Prince of Moonshine, dressed in silver, and
+with no colour in his face.
+
+As the bridal chariot approached one of the city gates, two black
+ravens hovered over it, and then flew away, and settled on a tree.
+
+Good Luck was sitting under the tree to see his godson's triumph, and
+he heard the birds talking above him.
+
+"Has the Prince of Gold no friend who can tell him that there is a
+loose stone above the archway that is tottering to fall?" said they.
+And Good Luck covered his face with his mantle as the Prince drove
+through.
+
+Just as they were passing out of the gateway the stone fell on to the
+Prince's head. He wore a casque of pure gold, but his neck was broken.
+
+
+    "We can't have all this expense for nothing," said the King:
+    so he married his daughter to the Prince of Moonshine. If one
+    can't get gold one must be content with silver.
+
+
+"Will you come to the funeral?" asked Dame Fortune of the godfather.
+
+"Not I," replied Good Luck. "I had no hand in _this_ matter."
+
+The rain came down in torrents. The black feathers on the ravens'
+backs looked as if they had been oiled.
+
+"Caw! caw!" said they. "It was an unlucky end."
+
+However, the funeral was a very magnificent one, for there was no
+stint of gold.
+
+
+
+
+THE HILLMAN AND THE HOUSEWIFE.
+
+
+It is well known that the Good People cannot abide meanness. They like
+to be liberally dealt with when they beg or borrow of the human race;
+and, on the other hand, to those who come to them in need, they are
+invariably generous.
+
+Now there once lived a certain Housewife who had a sharp eye to her
+own interests in temporal matters, and gave alms of what she had no
+use for, for the good of her soul. One day a Hillman knocked at her
+door.
+
+"Can you lend us a saucepan, good Mother?" said he. "There's a wedding
+in the hill, and all the pots are in use."
+
+"Is he to have one?" asked the servant lass who had opened the door.
+
+"Aye, to be sure," answered the Housewife. "One must be neighbourly."
+
+But when the maid was taking a saucepan from the shelf, she pinched
+her arm, and whispered sharply--"Not that, you slut! Get the old one
+out of the cupboard. It leaks, and the Hillmen are so neat, and such
+nimble workers, that they are sure to mend it before they send it
+home. So one obliges the Good People, and saves sixpence in tinkering.
+But you'll never learn to be notable whilst your head is on your
+shoulders."
+
+Thus reproached, the maid fetched the saucepan, which had been laid by
+till the tinker's next visit, and gave it to the dwarf, who thanked
+her, and went away.
+
+In due time the saucepan was returned, and, as the Housewife had
+foreseen, it was neatly mended and ready for use.
+
+At supper-time the maid filled the pan with milk, and set it on the
+fire for the children's supper. But in a few minutes the milk was so
+burnt and smoked that no one could touch it, and even the pigs refused
+the wash into which it was thrown.
+
+"Ah, good-for-nothing hussy!" cried the Housewife, as she refilled the
+pan herself, "you would ruin the richest with your carelessness.
+There's a whole quart of good milk wasted at once!"
+
+"_And that's twopence_," cried a voice which seemed to come from the
+chimney, in a whining tone, like some nattering, discontented old body
+going over her grievances.
+
+The Housewife had not left the saucepan for two minutes, when the
+milk boiled over, and it was all burnt and smoked as before.
+
+"The pan must be dirty," muttered the good woman, in great vexation;
+"and there are two full quarts of milk as good as thrown to the dogs."
+
+"_And that's fourpence_," added the voice in the chimney.
+
+After a thorough cleaning, the saucepan was once more filled and set
+on the fire, but with no better success. The milk was hopelessly
+spoilt, and the housewife shed tears of vexation at the waste, crying,
+"Never before did such a thing befall me since I kept house! Three
+quarts of new milk burnt for one meal!"
+
+"_And that's sixpence_," cried the voice from the chimney. "_You
+didn't save the tinkering after all Mother_!"
+
+With which the Hillman himself came tumbling down the chimney, and
+went off laughing through the door.
+
+But thenceforward the saucepan was as good as any other.
+
+
+
+
+THE NECK.
+
+A Legend of a Lake.
+
+
+On a certain lake there once lived a Neck, or Water Sprite, who
+desired, above all things, to obtain a human soul. Now when the sun
+shone this Neck rose up and sat upon the waves and played upon his
+harp. And he played so sweetly that the winds stayed to listen to him,
+and the sun lingered in his setting, and the moon rose before her
+time. And the strain was in praise of immortality.
+
+Furthermore, out of the lake there rose a great rock, whereon dwelt an
+aged hermit, who by reason of his loneliness was afflicted with a
+spirit of melancholy; so that when the fit was on him, he was
+constantly tempted to throw himself into the water, for his life was
+burdensome to him. But one day, when this gloomy madness had driven
+him to the edge of the rock to cast himself down, the Neck rose at the
+same moment, and sitting upon a wave, began to play. And the strain
+was in praise of immortality. And the melody went straight to the
+heart of the hermit as a sunbeam goes into a dark cave, and it
+dispelled his gloom, and he thought all to be as well with him as
+before it had seemed ill. And he called to the Neck and said, "What is
+that which thou dost play, my son?"
+
+And the Neck answered, "It is in praise of immortality."
+
+Then said the hermit, "I beg that thou wilt play frequently beneath
+this rock; for I am an aged and solitary man, and by reason of my
+loneliness, life becomes a burden to me, and I am tempted to throw it
+away. But by this gracious strain the evil has been dispelled.
+Wherefore I beg thee to come often and to play as long as is
+convenient. And yet I cannot offer thee any reward, for I am poor and
+without possessions."
+
+Then the Neck replied, "There are treasures below the water as above,
+and I desire no earthly riches. But if thou canst tell me how I may
+gain a human soul, I will play on till thou shalt bid me cease."
+
+And the hermit said, "I must consider the matter. But I will return
+to-morrow at this time and answer thee."
+
+Then the next day he returned as he had said, and the Neck was
+waiting impatiently on the lake, and he cried, "What news, my father?"
+
+And the hermit said, "If that at any time some human being will freely
+give his life for thee, thou wilt gain a human soul. But thou also
+must die the selfsame day."
+
+"The short life for the long one!" cried the Neck; and he played a
+melody so full of happiness that the blood danced through the hermit's
+veins as if he were a boy again. But the next day when he came as
+usual the Neck called to him and said, "My father, I have been
+thinking. Thou art aged and feeble, and at the most there are but few
+days of life remaining to thee. Moreover, by reason of thy loneliness
+even these are a burden. Surely there is none more fit than thou to be
+the means of procuring me a human soul. Wherefore I beg of thee, let
+us die to-day."
+
+But the hermit cried out angrily, "Wretch! Is this thy gratitude?
+Wouldst thou murder me?"
+
+"Nay, old man," replied the Neck, "thou shalt part easily with thy
+little fag-end of life. I can play upon my harp a strain of such
+surpassing sadness that no human heart that hears it but must break.
+And yet the pain of that heartbreak shall be such that thou wilt not
+know it from rapture. Moreover, when the sun sets below the water, my
+spirit also will depart without suffering. Wherefore I beg of thee,
+let us die to-day."
+
+"Truly," said the hermit, "it is because thou art only a Neck, and
+nothing better, that thou dost not know the value of human life."
+
+"And art thou a man, possessed already of a soul, and destined for
+immortality," cried the Neck, "and dost haggle and grudge to benefit
+me by the sacrifice of a few uncertain days, when it is but to
+exchange them for the life that knows no end?"
+
+"Our days are always uncertain," replied the hermit; "but existence is
+very sweet, even to the most wretched. Moreover, I see not that thou
+hast any claim upon mine." Saying which he returned to his cell, but
+the Neck, flinging aside his harp, sat upon the water, and wept
+bitterly.
+
+Days passed, and the hermit did not show himself, and at last the Neck
+resolved to go and visit him. So he took his harp, and taking also the
+form of a boy with long fair hair and a crimson cap, he appeared in
+the hermit's cell. There he found the old man stretched upon his
+pallet, for lie was dying. When he saw the Neck he was glad, and said,
+"I have desired to see thee, for I repent myself that I did not
+according to thy wishes. Yet is the desire of life stronger in the
+human breast than thou canst understand. Nevertheless I am sorry, and
+I am sorry also that, as I am sick unto death, my life will no longer
+avail thee. But when I am dead, do thou take all that belongs to me,
+and dress thyself in my robe, and go out into the world, and do works
+of mercy, and perchance some one whom thou hast benefited will be
+found willing to die with thee, that thou mayst obtain a soul."
+
+"Now indeed I thank thee!" cried the Neck. "But yet one word
+more--what are these works of which thou speakest?"
+
+"The corporal works of mercy are seven," gasped the hermit, raising
+himself on his arm. "To feed the hungry and give the thirsty drink, to
+visit the sick, to redeem captives, to clothe the naked, to shelter
+the stranger and the houseless, to visit the widow and fatherless, and
+to bury the dead." Then even as he spoke the last words the hermit
+died. And the Neck clothed himself in his robe, and, not to delay in
+following the directions given to him, he buried the hermit with pious
+care, and planted flowers upon his grave. After which he went forth
+into the world.
+
+Now for three hundred years did the Neck go about doing acts of mercy
+and charity towards men. And amongst the hungry, and the naked, and
+the sick, and the poor, and the captives, there were not a few who
+seemed to be weary of this life of many sorrows. But when he had fed
+the hungry, and clothed the naked, and relieved the sick, and made
+the poor rich, and set the captive free, life was too dear to all of
+them to be given up. Therefore he betook himself to the most miserable
+amongst men, and offering nothing but an easy death in a good cause,
+he hoped to find some aged and want-worn creature who would do him the
+kindness he desired. But of those who must look forward to the fewest
+days and to the most misery there was not one but, like the fabled
+woodcutter, chose to trudge out to the end his miserable span.
+
+So when three hundred years were past, the Neck's heart failed him,
+and he said, "All this avails nothing. Wherefore I will return to the
+lake, and there abide what shall befall." And this he accordingly did.
+
+Now one evening there came a tempest down from the hills, and there
+was a sudden squall on the lake. And a certain young man in a boat
+upon the lake was overtaken by the storm. And as he struggled hard,
+and it seemed as if every moment must be his last, a young maid who
+was his sweetheart came down to the shore, and cried aloud in her
+agony, "Alas, that his young life should be cut short thus!"
+
+"Trouble not thyself," said the Neck; "this life is so short and so
+uncertain, that if he were rescued to-day he might be taken from thee
+to-morrow. Only in eternity is love secure. Wherefore be patient, and
+thou shalt soon follow him."
+
+"And who art thou that mockest my sorrow?" cried the maiden.
+
+"One who has watched the passing misfortunes of many generations
+before thine," replied the Neck.
+
+And when the maiden looked, and saw one like a little old man wringing
+out his beard into the lake, she knew it was a Neck, and cried, "Now
+surely thou art a Neck, and they say, 'When Necks play, the winds
+wisht;' wherefore I beg of thee to play upon thy harp, and it may be
+that the storm will lull, and my beloved will be saved."
+
+But the Neck answered, "It is not worth while."
+
+And when the maiden could not persuade him, she fell upon her face in
+bitter grief, and cried, "Oh, my Beloved! Would GOD I could die for
+thee!"
+
+"And yet thou wouldst not if thou couldst," said the Neck.
+
+"If it be in thy power to prove me--prove me!" cried the maiden; "for
+indeed he is the only stay of aged parents, and he is young and
+unprepared for death. Moreover his life is dearer to me than my own."
+
+Then the Neck related his own story, and said, "If thou wilt do this
+for me, which none yet has done whom I have benefited, I will play
+upon my harp, and if the winds wisht, thou must die this easy death;
+but if I fail in my part, I shall not expect thine to be fulfilled.
+And we must both abide what shall befall, even as others." And to this
+the maiden consented most willingly. Only she said, "Do this for me, I
+beg of thee. Let him come so near that I may just see his face before
+I die." And it was so agreed.
+
+Then the aged Neck drew forth his harp and began to play. And as he
+played the wind stayed, as one who pauses to hearken with cleft lips,
+and the lake rose and fell gently, like the bosom of a girl moved by
+some plaintive song, and the sun burst forth as if to see who made
+such sweet music. And so through this happy change the young man got
+safe to land. Then the Neck turned to the maiden and said, "Dost thou
+hold to thy promise?" And she bowed her head.
+
+"In the long life be thy recompense!" cried the Neck, fervently, and
+taking his harp again, he poured his whole spirit into the strain. And
+as he played, it seemed as if the night wind moaned among pine-trees,
+but it was more mournful. And it was as the wail of a mother for her
+only son, and yet fuller of grief. Or like a Dead March wrung from the
+heart of a great musician--loading the air with sorrow--and yet all
+these were as nothing to it for sadness. And when the maiden heard it,
+it was more than she could bear, and her heart broke, as the Neck had
+said. Then the young man sprang to shore, and when she could see his
+face clearly, her soul passed, and her body fell like a snapped flower
+to the earth.
+
+Now when the young man knew what was befallen, he fell upon the Neck
+to kill him, who said, "Thou mayest spare thyself this trouble, for in
+a few moments I shall be dead. But do thou take my robe and my harp,
+and thou shalt be a famous musician."
+
+Now even as the Neck spoke the sun sank, and he fell upon his face.
+And when the young man lifted the robe, behold there was nothing under
+it but the harp, across which there swept such a wild and piteous
+chord that all the strings burst as if with unutterable grief.
+
+Then the young man lifted the body of his sweetheart in his arms, and
+carried her home, and she was buried with many tears.
+
+And in due time he put fresh strings to the harp, which, though it was
+not as when it was in the hands of the Neck, yet it made most
+exquisite music. And the young man became a famous musician. For out
+of suffering comes song.
+
+Furthermore, he occupied himself in good works until that his time
+also came.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And in Eternity Love was made secure.
+
+
+
+
+THE NIX IN MISCHIEF.
+
+
+A certain lake in Germany was once the home of a Nix, who became tired
+of the monotony of life under water, and wished to go into the upper
+world and amuse himself.
+
+His friends and relations all tried to dissuade him. "Be wise," said
+they, "and remain where you are safe, seeing that no business summons
+you from the lake. Few of our kindred have had dealings with the human
+race without suffering from their curiosity or clumsiness; and, do
+them what good you may, in the long run you will reap nothing but
+ingratitude. From how many waters have they not already banished us?
+Wherefore let well alone, and stay where you are."
+
+But this counsel did not please the Nix--(as, indeed, there is no
+reason to suppose that advice is more palatable under water than on
+dry land)--and he only said, "I shall not expect gratitude, for I have
+no intention of conferring benefits; but I wish to amuse myself. The
+Dwarfs and Kobolds play what pranks they please on men and women, and
+they do not always have the worst of it. When I hear of their
+adventures, the soles of my feet tingle. This is a sign of travelling,
+and am I to be debarred from fun because I live in a lake instead of a
+hill?"
+
+His friends repeated their warnings, but to no purpose. The Nix
+remained unconvinced, and spent his time in dreaming of the clever
+tricks by which he should outwit the human race, and the fame he would
+thereby acquire on his return to the lake.
+
+Mischief seldom lacks opportunity, and shortly after this it happened
+that a young girl came down to the lake for water to wash with; and
+dipping her pail just above the Nix's head, in a moment he jumped in,
+and was brought safe to land. The maid was Bess, the washerwoman's
+daughter; and as she had had one good scolding that morning for
+oversleeping herself, and another about noon for dawdling with her
+work, she took up the pail and set off home without delay.
+
+But though she held it steadily enough, the bucket shook, and the
+water spilled hither and thither. Thinking that her right arm might be
+tired, she moved the weight to her left, but with no better success,
+for the water still spilled at every step. "One would think there were
+fishes in the pail," said Bess, as she set it down. But there was
+nothing to be seen but a thin red water-worm wriggling at the bottom,
+such as you may see any day in a soft-water tub. It was in this shape,
+however, that the Nix had disguised himself, and he almost writhed out
+of his skin with delight at the success of his first essay in
+mischief.
+
+When they once more set forward the Nix leaped and jumped harder than
+ever, so that not only was the water spilled, but the maiden's dress
+was soaked, and her tears dropped almost as fast as the wet dripped
+from her clothes.
+
+"The pail is bewitched!" cried the poor girl. "How my mother will beat
+me for this! And my back aches as if I were carrying lead, and yet the
+water is nearly all gone."
+
+"This is something like fun!" laughed the Nix. "When I go home and
+relate _my_ adventures, no dwarfs pranks will be named again!" But
+when Bess looked into the pail, he was the same slimy, stupid-looking
+worm as before. She dared not return to the lake for more
+water--"for," said she, "I should be as much beaten for being late as
+for bringing short measure, and have the labour to boot." So she took
+up her burden again, and the Nix began his dance afresh, and by the
+time they came to their journey's end, there was not a quart of water
+in the pail.
+
+"Was ever a poor woman plagued with such a careless hussy?" cried the
+mother when she saw the dripping dress; and, as Bess had expected, she
+seasoned her complaints with a hearty slap. "And look what she calls a
+pailful of water!" added the mother, with a second blow.
+
+"Late in the morning's unlucky all day," thought poor Bess, and, as
+her mother curled her, she screamed till the house rang with the
+noise; for she had good lungs, and knew that it is well to cry out
+before one gets too much hurt.
+
+Meanwhile the Nix thought she was enduring agonies, and could hardly
+contain his mischievous glee; and when the woman bade her "warm some
+water quickly for the wash," he was in no way disturbed, for he had
+never seen boiling water, and only anticipated fresh sport as he
+slipped from the pail into the kettle.
+
+"Now," cried the mother sharply, "see if you can lift _that_ without
+slopping your clothes."
+
+"Aye, aye," laughed the Nix, "see if you can, my dear!" and as poor
+Bess seized it in her sturdy red hands he began to dance as before.
+But the kettle had a lid, which the pail had not. Moreover Bess was a
+strong, strapping lass, and, stimulated by the remembrance of her
+mother's slaps, with a vigorous effort she set the kettle on the fire.
+"I shall be glad when I'm safely in bed," she muttered. "Everything
+goes wrong to-day."
+
+"It is warm in here," said the Nix to himself, after a while; "in
+fact--stuffy. But one must pay something for a frolic, and it tickles
+my ears to hear that old woman rating her daughter for my pranks. Give
+me time and opportunity, and I'll set the whole stupid race by the
+ears. There she goes again! It is worth enduring a little discomfort,
+though it certainly is warm, and I fancy it grows warmer."
+
+By degrees the bottom of the kettle grew quite hot, and burnt the Nix,
+so that he had to jump up and down in the water to keep himself cool.
+The noise of this made the woman think that the kettle was boiling,
+and she began to scold her daughter as before, shouting, "Are you
+coming with that tub to-night or not? The water is hot already."
+
+This time the Nix laughed (as they say) on the other side of his
+mouth; for the water had now become as hot as the bottom of the
+kettle, and he screamed at the top of his shrill tiny voice with pain.
+
+"How the kettle sings to-night!" said Bess, "and how it rains!" she
+added. For at that moment a tremendous storm burst around the house,
+and the rain poured down in sheets of water, as if it meant to wash
+everything into the lake. The kettle now really boiled, and the lid
+danced up and down with the frantic leaping and jumping of the
+agonized Nix, who puffed and blew till his breath came out of the
+spout in clouds of steam.
+
+"If your eyes were as sharp as your ears you'd see that the water is
+boiling over," snapped the woman; and giving her daughter a passing
+push, she hurried to the fire-place, and lifted the kettle on to the
+ground.
+
+But no sooner had she set it down, than the lid flew off, and out
+jumped a little man with green teeth and a tall green hat, who ran out
+of the door wringing his hands and crying--
+
+"Three hundred and three years have I lived in the water of this lake,
+and I never knew it boil before!"
+
+As he crossed the threshold, a clap of thunder broke with what sounded
+like a peal of laughter from many voices, and then the storm ceased as
+suddenly as it had begun.
+
+The woman now saw how matters stood, and did not fail next morning to
+fasten an old horseshoe to the door of her house. And seeing that she
+had behaved unjustly to her daughter, she bought her the gayest set
+of pink ribbons that were to be found at the next fair.
+
+It is on record that Bess (who cared little for slaps and sharp
+speeches) thought this the best bargain she had ever made. But whether
+the Nix was equally well satisfied is not known.
+
+
+
+
+THE COBBLER AND THE GHOSTS.
+
+
+Long ago there lived a cobbler who had very poor wits, but by strict
+industry he could earn enough to keep himself and his widowed mother
+in comfort.
+
+In this manner he had lived for many years in peace and prosperity,
+when a distant relative died who left him a certain sum of money. This
+so elated the cobbler that he could think of nothing else, and his
+only talk was of the best way of spending the legacy.
+
+His mother advised him to lay it by against a rainy day.
+
+"For," said she, "we have lived long in much comfort as we are, and
+have need of nothing; but when you grow old, or if it should please
+Heaven that you become disabled, you will then be glad of your
+savings."
+
+But to this the cobbler would not listen. "No," said he, "if we save
+the money it may be stolen, but if we spend it well, we shall have
+the use of what we buy, and may sell it again if we are so minded."
+
+He then proposed one purchase after another, and each was more foolish
+than the rest. When this had gone on for some time, one morning he
+exclaimed: "I have it at last! We will buy the house. It cannot be
+stolen or lost, and when it is ours we shall have no rent to pay, and
+I shall not have to work so hard."
+
+"He will never hit on a wiser plan than that," thought the widow; "it
+is not to be expected." So she fully consented to this arrangement,
+which was duly carried out; and the bargain left the cobbler with a
+few shillings, which he tied up in a bag and put in his pocket, having
+first changed them into pence, that they might make more noise when he
+jingled the bag as he walked down the street.
+
+Presently he said; "It is not fit that a man who lives in his own
+house, and has ready money in his pocket too, should spend the whole
+day in labouring with his hands. Since by good luck I can read, it
+would be well that I should borrow a book from the professor, for
+study is an occupation suitable to my present position."
+
+Accordingly, he went to the professor, whom he found seated in his
+library, and preferred his request.
+
+"What book do you want?" asked the professor.
+
+The cobbler stood and scratched his head thoughtfully. The professor
+thought that he was trying to recall the name of the work; but in
+reality he was saying to himself: "How much additional knowledge one
+requires if he has risen ever so little in life! Now, if I did but
+know where it is proper to begin in a case full of books like this!
+Should one take the first on the top shelf, or the bottom shelf, to
+the left, or to the right?"
+
+At last he resolved to choose the book nearest to him; so drawing it
+out from the rest, he answered--
+
+"This one, if it please you, learned sir." The professor lent it to
+him, and he took it home and began to read.
+
+It was, as it happened, a book about ghosts and apparitions; and the
+cobbler's mind was soon so full of these marvels that he could talk of
+nothing else, and hardly did a stroke of work for reading and
+pondering over what he read. He could find none of his neighbours who
+had seen a ghost, though most had heard of such things, and many
+believed in them.
+
+"Live and learn," thought the cobbler; "here is fame as well as
+wealth. If I could but see a ghost there would be no more to desire."
+And with this intent he sallied forth late one night to the
+churchyard.
+
+Meanwhile a thief (who had heard the jingle of his money-bag)
+resolved to profit by the cobbler's whim; so wrapping himself in a
+sheet, he laid wait for him in a field that he must cross to reach the
+church.
+
+When the cobbler saw the white figure, he made sure, that he had now
+seen a ghost, and already felt proud of his own acquaintance, as a
+remarkable character. Meanwhile, the thief stood quite still, and the
+cobbler walked boldly up to him, expecting that the phantom would
+either vanish or prove so impalpable that he could pass through it as
+through a mist, of which he had read many notable instances in the
+professor's book. He soon found out his mistake, however, for the
+supposed ghost grappled him, and without loss of time relieved him of
+his money-bag. The cobbler (who was not wanting in courage) fastened
+as tightly on to the sheet, which he still held with desperate
+firmness when the thief had slipped through his fingers; and after
+waiting in vain for further marvels, he carried the sheet home to his
+mother, and narrated his encounter with the ghost.
+
+"Alack-a-day! that I should have a son with so little wit!" cried the
+old woman; "it was no ghost, but a thief, who is now making merry with
+all the money we possessed."
+
+"We have his sheet," replied her son; "and that is due solely to my
+determination. How could I have acted better?"
+
+"You should have grasped the man, not the sheet," said the widow,
+"and pummelled him till he cried out and dropped the money-bag."
+
+"Live and learn," said the cobbler. The next night he went out as
+before, and this time reached the churchyard unmolested. He was just
+climbing the stile, when he again saw what seemed to be a white figure
+standing near the church. As before, it proved solid, and this time he
+pummelled it till his fingers bled, and for very weariness he was
+obliged to go home and relate his exploits. The ghost had not cried
+out, however, nor even so much as moved, for it was neither more nor
+less than a tall tombstone shining white in the moonlight.
+
+"Alack-a-day!" cried the old woman, "that I should have a son with so
+little wit as to beat a gravestone till his knuckles are sore! Now if
+he had covered it with something black that it might not alarm timid
+women or children, that would at least have been an act of charity."
+
+"Live and learn," said the cobbler. The following night he again set
+forth, but this time in another direction. As he was crossing a field
+behind his house he saw some long pieces of linen which his mother had
+put out to bleach in the dew.
+
+"More ghosts!" cried the shoemaker, "and they know who is behind them.
+They have fallen flat at the sound of my footsteps. But one must
+think of others as well as oneself, and it is not every heart that is
+as stout as mine." Saying which he returned to the house for something
+black to throw over the prostrate ghosts. Now the kitchen chimney had
+been swept that morning, and by the back door stood a sack of soot.
+
+"What is blacker than soot?" said the cobbler; and taking the sack, he
+shook it out over the pieces of linen till not a thread of white was
+to be seen. After which he went home, and boasted of his good deeds.
+
+The widow now saw that she must be more careful as to what she said;
+so, after weighing the matter for some time, she suggested to the
+cobbler that the next night he should watch for ghosts at home; "for
+they are to be seen," said she, "as well when one is in bed as in the
+fields."
+
+"There you are right," said the cobbler, "for I have this day read of
+a ghost that appeared to a man in his own house. The candles burnt
+blue, and when he had called thrice upon the apparition, he became
+senseless."
+
+"That was his mistake," said the old woman. "He should have turned a
+deaf ear, and even pretended to slumber; but it is not every one who
+has courage for this. If one could really fall asleep in the face of
+the apparition, there would be true bravery."
+
+"Leave that to me," said the cobbler. And the widow went off
+chuckling, to herself, "If he comes to any mischance by holding his
+tongue and going to sleep, ill-luck has got him by the leg, and
+counsel is wasted on him."
+
+As soon as his mother was in bed, the cobbler prepared for his watch.
+First he got together all the candles in the house, and stuck them
+here and there about the kitchen, and sat down to watch till they
+should burn blue. After waiting some time, during which the candles
+only guttered with the draughts, the cobbler decided to go to rest for
+a while. "It is too early yet," he thought; "I shall see nothing till
+midnight."
+
+Very soon, however, he fell asleep; but towards morning he awoke, and
+in the dim light perceived a figure in white at his bedside. It was a
+blacksmith who lived near, and he had run in in his night-shirt
+without so much as slippers on his feet.
+
+"The ghost at last!" thought the cobbler, and, remembering his
+mother's advice, he turned over and shut his eyes.
+
+"Neighbour! neighbour!" cried the blacksmith, "your house is on fire!"
+
+"An old bird is not to be caught with chaff," chuckled the cobbler to
+himself; and he pulled the bed-clothes over his head.
+
+"Neighbour!" roared the blacksmith, snatching at the quilt to drag it
+off, "are you mad? The house is burning over your head. Get up for
+your life!"
+
+"I have the courage of a general, and more," thought the cobbler; and
+holding tightly on to the clothes he pretended to snore.
+
+"If you will burn, bum!" cried the blacksmith angrily, "but I mean to
+save my bones"--with which he ran off.
+
+And burnt the cobbler undoubtedly would have been, had not his
+mother's cries at last convinced him that the candles had set fire to
+his house, which was wrapped in flames. With some difficulty he
+escaped with his life, but of all he possessed nothing remained to him
+but his tools and a few articles of furniture that the widow had
+saved.
+
+As he was now again reduced to poverty, he was obliged to work as
+diligently as in former years, and passed the rest of his days in the
+same peace and prosperity which he had before enjoyed.
+
+
+
+
+THE LAIRD AND THE MAN OF PEACE.
+
+
+In the Highlands of Scotland there once lived a Laird of Brockburn,
+who would not believe in fairies. Although his sixth cousin on the
+mother's side, as he returned one night from a wedding, had seen the
+Men of Peace hunting on the sides of Ben Muich Dhui, dressed in green,
+and with silver-mounted bridles to their horses which jingled as they
+rode; and though Rory the fiddler having gone to play at a christening
+did never come home, but crossing a hill near Brockburn in a mist was
+seduced into a _Shian_[1] or fairy turret, where, as all decent bodies
+well believe, he is playing still--in spite, I say, of the wise saws
+and experience of all his neighbours, Brockburn remained obstinately
+incredulous.
+
+[Footnote 1: _Shian_, a Gaelic name for fairy towers, which by day are
+not to be told from mountain crags.]
+
+Not that he bore any ill-will to the Good People, or spoke uncivilly
+of them; indeed he always disavowed any feeling of disrespect towards
+them if they existed, saying that he was a man of peace himself, and
+anxious to live peaceably with whatever neighbours he had, but that
+till he had seen one of the _Daoiné Shi_[2] he could not believe in
+them.
+
+[Footnote 2: _Daoiné Shi_ (pronounced _Dheener Shee_) = Men of Peace.]
+
+Now one afternoon, between Hallowmas and Yule, it chanced that the
+Laird, being out on the hills looking for some cattle, got parted from
+his men and dogs and was overtaken by a mist, in which, familiar as
+the country was to him, he lost his way.
+
+In vain he raised his voice high, and listened low, no sound of man or
+beast came back to him through the thickening vapour.
+
+Then night fell, and darkness was added to the fog, so that Brockburn
+needed to sound every step with his _rung_[3] before he took it.
+
+[Footnote 3: _Rung_ = a thick stick.]
+
+Suddenly light footsteps pattered beside him, then Something rubbed
+against him, then It ran between his legs. The delighted Laird made
+sure that his favourite collie had found him once more.
+
+"Wow, Jock, man!" he cried; "but ye needna throw me on my face. What's
+got ye the night, that _you_ should lose your way in a bit mist?"
+
+To this a voice from the level of his elbow replied, in piping but
+patronizing tones;
+
+"Never did I lose my way in a mist since the night that Finn crossed
+over to Ireland in the Dawn of History. Eh, Laird! I'm weel acquaint
+with every bit path on the hill-side these hundreds of years, and I'll
+guide ye safe hame, never fear!"
+
+The hairs on Brockburn's head stood on end till they lifted his broad
+bonnet, and a damp chill broke out over him that was not the fog. But,
+for all that, he stoutly resisted the evidence of his senses, and only
+felt about him for the collie's head to pat, crying:
+
+"Bark! Jock, my mannie, bark! Then I'll recognize your voice, ye ken.
+It's no canny to hear ye speak like a Christian, my wee doggie."
+
+"I'm nae your doggie, I'm a Man of Peace," was the reply. "Dinna
+miscall your betters, Brockburn: why will ye not credit our existence,
+man?"
+
+"Seein's believin'," said the Laird, stubbornly; "but the mist's ower
+thick for seein' the night, ye ken."
+
+"Turn roun' to your left, man, and ye'll see," said the Dwarf, and
+catching Brockburn by the arm, he twisted him swiftly round three
+times, when a sudden blaze of light poured through the mist, and
+revealed a crag of the mountain well known to the Laird, and which he
+now saw to be a kind of turret, or tower.
+
+Lights shone gaily through the crevices or windows of the _Shian_,
+and sounds of revelry came forth, among which fiddling was
+conspicuous. The tune played at that moment was "Delvyn-side."
+
+Blinded by the light, and amazed at what he saw, the Laird staggered,
+and was silent.
+
+"Keep to your feet, man--keep to your feet!" said the Dwarf, laughing.
+"I doubt ye're fou, Brockburn!"
+
+"I'm nae fou," said the Laird, slowly, his rung grasped firmly in his
+hand, and his bonnet set back from his face, which was deadly pale.
+"But--man-_is yon Rory?_ I'd know his fiddle in a thousand."
+
+"Ask no questions, and ye'll be tellt no lees," said the Dwarf. Then
+stepping up to the door of the _Shian_, he stood so that the light
+from within fell full upon him, and the astonished Laird saw a tiny
+but well-proportioned man, with delicate features, and golden hair
+flowing over his shoulders. He wore a cloak of green cloth, lined with
+daisies, and had silver shoes. His beautiful face quivered with
+amusement, and he cried triumphantly, "D'ye see me?--d'ye see me noo,
+Brockburn?"
+
+"Aye, aye," said the Laird; "and seein's believin'."
+
+"Then roun' wi' ye!" shouted the Man of Peace; and once more seizing
+the Laird by the arm, he turned him swiftly round--this time, to the
+right--and at the third turn the light vanished, and Brockburn and
+the Man of Peace were once more alone together in the mist.
+
+"Aweel, Brockburn," said the Man of Peace, "I'll alloo ye're candid,
+and have a convincible mind. I'm no ill disposit to ye, and yese get
+safe hame, man."
+
+As he spoke he stooped down, and picking up half-a-dozen big stones
+from the mountain-side, he gave them to the Laird, saying, "If the
+gudewife asks ye about the bit stanes, say ye got them in a
+compliment."[4]
+
+[Footnote 4: "In a compliment" = "as a present."]
+
+Brockburn put them into his pocket, briefly saying, "I'm obleeged to
+ye;" but as he followed the Man of Peace down the hill-side, he found
+the obligation so heavy, that from time to time he threw a stone away,
+unobserved, as he hoped, by his companion. When the first stone fell,
+the Man of Peace looked sharply round, saying:
+
+"What's yon?"
+
+"It'll be me striking my rung upon the ground," said the Laird.
+
+"You're mad," said the Man of Peace, and Brockburn felt sure that he
+knew the truth, and was displeased. But as they went on, the stones
+were so heavy, and bumped the Laird's side so hard, that he threw away
+a second, dropping it as gently as he could. But the sound of its
+fall did not escape the ears of the Man of Peace, who cried as before:
+
+"What's yon?"
+
+"It's jest a nasty hoast[5] that I have," said the Laird.
+
+[Footnote 5: "Hoast" = cough.]
+
+"Man, you're daft," said the Dwarf, contemptuously; "that's what ails
+ye."
+
+The Laird now resolved to be prudent, but the inconvenience of his
+burden was so great that after a while he resolved to risk the
+displeasure of the Man of Peace once more, and gently slipped a third
+stone to the ground.
+
+"Third time's lucky," he thought. But the proverb failed him, for the
+Dwarf turned as before, shouting: "What's yon?"
+
+"It'll be my new brogues[6] that ye hear bumpin' Upon the muckle
+stanes," said the Laird.
+
+[Footnote 6: "Brogues" = shoes.]
+
+"Ye're fou, Brockburn, I tellt ye so. Ye're fou!" growled the Man of
+Peace, angrily, and the Laird dared not drop any more of the Dwarfs
+gifts. After a while his companion's good-humour seemed to return, and
+he became talkative and generous.
+
+"I mind your great-grandfather weel, Brockburn. He was a hamely man, I
+found his sheep for him one nicht on this verra hill-side. Mair by
+token, ye'll find your beasties at hame, and the men and the dogs
+forebye."
+
+The Laird thanked him heartily, and after a while the Dwarf became
+more liberal-spirited still.
+
+"Yese no have to say that ye've been with the _Daoiné Shi_ and are no
+the better for it," he said. "I'm thinking I'll grant ye three wushes.
+But choose wisely, man, and dinna throw _them_ away. I hae my fears
+that ye're no without a bee in your bonnet, Brockburn."
+
+Incensed by this insinuation, the Laird defended his own sagacity at
+some length, and retorted on his companion with doubts of the power of
+the _Daoiné Shi_ to grant wishes.
+
+"The proof of the pudding's in the eating o't," said the Man of Peace.
+"Wush away, Brockburn, and mak the nut as hard to crack as ye will."
+
+The Laird at once began to cast about in his mind for three wishes
+sufficiently comprehensive to secure his lifelong prosperity; but the
+more he beat his brains the less could he satisfy himself.
+
+How many miles he wandered thus, the Dwarf keeping silently beside
+him, he never knew, before he sank exhausted on the ground, saying:
+
+"I'm thinking, man, that if ye could bring hame to me, in place of
+bringing me hame, I'd misdoubt your powers nae mair. It's a far cry to
+Loch Awe,[7] ye ken, and it's a weary long road to Brockburn."
+
+[Footnote 7: "It's a far cry to Loch Awe."--_Scotch Proverb_.]
+
+"Is this your wush?" asked the Man of Peace.
+
+"This is my wush," said the Laird, striking his rung upon the ground.
+
+The words had scarcely passed his lips when the whole homestead of
+Brockburn, house and farm buildings, was planted upon the bleak
+hill-side.
+
+The astonished Laird now began to bewail the rash wish which had
+removed his home from the sheltered and fertile valley where it
+originally stood to the barren side of a bleak mountain.
+
+The Man of Peace, however, would not take any hints as to undoing his
+work of his own accord. All he said was:
+
+"If ye wush it away, so it'll be. But then ye'll only have one wush
+left. Ye've small discretion the nicht, Brockburn, I'm feared."
+
+"To leave the steading in sic a spot is no to be thought on," sighed
+the Laird, as he spent his second wish in undoing his first. But he
+cannily added the provision:
+
+"And ye may tak me wi' it."
+
+The words were no sooner spoken than the homestead was back in its
+place, and Brockburn himself was lying in his own bed, Jock, his
+favourite collie, barking and licking his face by turns for joy.
+
+"Whisht, whisht, Jock!" said the Laird. "Ye wouldna bark when I begged
+of ye, so ye may hand your peace noo."
+
+And pushing the collie from him, he sat up in bed and looked anxiously
+but vainly round the chamber for the Man of Peace.
+
+"Lie doun, lie doun," cried the gudewife from beside him. "Ye're
+surely out o' your wuts, Brockburn. Would ye gang stravaging about the
+country again the nicht?"
+
+"Where is he?" cried the Laird.
+
+"There's not a soul here but your lawful wife and your ain dear
+doggie. Was there ae body that ye expected?" asked his wife.
+
+"The Man o' Peace, woman!" cried Brockburn. "I've ane o' my wushes to
+get, and I maun hae't."
+
+"The man's mad!" was the gudewife's comment. "Ye've surely forgotten
+yoursel, Brockburn. Ye never believed in the _Daoiné Shi_ before."
+
+"Seein's believin'," said the Laird. "I forgathered with a Man o'
+Peace the nicht on the hill, and I wush I just saw him again."
+
+As the Laird spoke the window of the chamber was lit up from without,
+and the Man of Peace appeared sitting on the window-ledge in his
+daisy-lined cloak, his feet hanging down into the room, the silver
+shoes glittering as they dangled.
+
+"I'm here, Brockburn!" he cried. "But eh, man! ye've had your last
+wush."
+
+And even as the stupefied Laird gazed, the light slowly died away, and
+the Man of Peace vanished also.
+
+On the following morning the Laird was roused from sleep by loud cries
+of surprise and admiration.
+
+The good wife had been stirring for some hours, and in emptying the
+pockets of her good man's coat she had found three huge cairngorms of
+exquisite tint and lustre. Brockburn thus discovered the value of the
+gifts, half of which he had thrown away.
+
+But no subsequent visits to the hill-side led to their recovery. Many
+a time did the Laird bring home a heavy pocketful of stones, at the
+thrifty gudewife's bidding, but they only proved to be the common
+stones of the mountain-side. The _Shian_ could never be distinguished
+from any other crag, and the _Daoiné Shi_ were visible no more.
+
+Yet it is said that the Laird of Brockburn prospered and throve
+thereafter, in acre, stall, and steading, as those seldom prosper who
+have not the good word of the People of Peace.
+
+
+
+
+THE OGRE COURTING.
+
+
+In days when ogres were still the terror of certain districts, there
+was one who had long kept a whole neighbourhood in fear without any
+one daring to dispute his tyranny.
+
+By thefts and exactions, by heavy ransoms from merchants too old and
+tough to be eaten, in one way and another, the Ogre had become very
+rich; and although those who knew could tell of huge cellars full of
+gold and jewels, and yards and barns groaning with the weight of
+stolen goods, the richer he grew the more anxious and covetous he
+became. Moreover, day by day, he added to his stores; for though (like
+most ogres) he was as stupid as he was strong, no one had ever been
+found, by force or fraud, to get the better of him.
+
+What he took from the people was not their heaviest grievance. Even to
+be killed and eaten by him was not the chance they thought of most. A
+man can die but once; and if he is a sailor, a shark may eat him,
+which is not so much better than being devoured by an ogre. No, that
+was not the worst. The worst was this--he would keep getting married.
+And as he liked little wives, all the short women lived in fear and
+dread. And as his wives always died very soon, he was constantly
+courting fresh ones.
+
+Some said he ate his wives; some said he tormented, and others, that
+he only worked them to death. Everybody knew it was not a desirable
+match, and yet there was not a father who dare refuse his daughter if
+she were asked for. The Ogre only cared for two things in a woman--he
+liked her to be little, and a good housewife.
+
+Now it was when the Ogre had just lost his twenty-fourth wife (within
+the memory of man) that these two qualities were eminently united in
+the person of the smallest and most notable woman of the district, the
+daughter of a certain poor farmer. He was so poor that he could not
+afford properly to dower his daughter, who had in consequence remained
+single beyond her first youth. Everybody felt sure that Managing Molly
+must now be married to the Ogre. The tall girls stretched themselves
+till they looked like maypoles, and said, "Poor thing!" The slatterns
+gossiped from house to house, the heels of their shoes clacking as
+they went, and cried that this was what came of being too thrifty.
+
+And sure enough, in due time, the giant widower came to the farmer as
+he was in the field looking over his crops, and proposed for Molly
+there and then. The farmer was so much put out that he did not know
+what he said in reply, either when he was saying it, or afterwards,
+when his friends asked about it. But he remembered that the Ogre had
+invited himself to sup at the farm that day week.
+
+Managing Molly did not distress herself at the news.
+
+"Do what I bid you, and say as I say," said she to her father, "and if
+the Ogre does not change his mind, at any rate you shall not come
+empty-handed out of the business."
+
+By his daughter's desire the farmer now procured a large number of
+hares, and a barrel of white wine, which expenses completely emptied
+his slender stocking, and on the day of the Ogre's visit, she made a
+delicious and savoury stew with the hares in the biggest pickling tub,
+and the wine-barrel was set on a bench near the table.
+
+When the Ogre came, Molly served up the stew, and the Ogre sat down to
+sup, his head just touching the kitchen rafters. The stew was perfect,
+and there was plenty of it. For what Molly and her father ate was
+hardly to be counted in the tubful. The Ogre was very much pleased,
+and said politely:
+
+"I'm afraid, my dear, that you have been put to great trouble and
+expense on my account, I have a large appetite, and like to sup well."
+
+"Don't mention it, sir," said Molly. "The fewer rats the more corn.
+How do _you_ cook them?"
+
+"Not one of all the extravagant hussies I have had as wives ever
+cooked them at all," said the Ogre; and he thought to himself, "Such a
+stew out of rats! What frugality! What a housewife!"
+
+When he broached the wine, he was no less pleased, for it was of the
+best.
+
+"This, at any rate, must have cost you a great deal, neighbour," said
+he, drinking the farmer's health as Molly left the room.
+
+"I don't know that rotten apples could be better used," said the
+farmer; "but I leave all that to Molly. Do you brew at home?"
+
+"We give _our_ rotten apples to the pigs," growled the Ogre. "But
+things will be better ordered when she is my wife."
+
+The Ogre was now in great haste to conclude the match, and asked what
+dowry the farmer would give his daughter.
+
+"I should never dream of giving a dowry with Molly," said the farmer,
+boldly. "Whoever gets her, gets dowry enough. On the contrary, I shall
+expect a good round sum from the man who deprives me of her. Our
+wealthiest farmer is just widowed, and therefore sure to be in a
+hurry for marriage. He has an eye to the main chance, and would not
+grudge to pay well for such a wife, I'll warrant."
+
+"I'm no churl myself," said the Ogre, who was anxious to secure his
+thrifty bride at any price; and he named a large sum of money,
+thinking, "We shall live on rats henceforward, and the beef and mutton
+will soon cover the dowry."
+
+"Double that, and we'll see," said the farmer, stoutly.
+
+But the Ogre became angry, and cried; "What are you thinking of, man?
+Who is to hinder my carrying your lass off, without 'with your leave'
+or 'by your leave,' dowry or none?"
+
+"How little you know her!" said the farmer. "She is so firm that she
+would be cut to pieces sooner than give you any benefit of her thrift,
+unless you dealt fairly in the matter."
+
+"Well, well," said the Ogre, "let us meet each other." And he named a
+sum larger than he at first proposed, and less than the farmer had
+asked. This the farmer agreed to, as it was enough to make him
+prosperous for life.
+
+"Bring it in a sack to-morrow morning," said he to the Ogre, "and then
+you can speak to Molly; she's gone to bed now."
+
+The next morning, accordingly, the Ogre appeared, carrying the dowry
+in a sack, and Molly came to meet him.
+
+"There are two things," said she, "I would ask of any lover of mine: a
+new farmhouse, built as I should direct, with a view to economy; and a
+feather-bed of fresh goose feathers, filled when the old woman plucks
+her geese. If I don't sleep well, I cannot work well."
+
+"That is better than asking for finery," thought the Ogre; "and after
+all the house will be my own." So, to save the expense of labour, he
+built it himself, and worked hard, day after day, under Molly's
+orders, till winter came. Then it was finished.
+
+"Now for the feather-bed," said Molly. "I'll sew up the ticking, and
+when the old woman plucks her geese, I'll let you know."
+
+When it snows, they say the old woman up yonder is plucking her geese,
+and so at the first snowstorm Molly sent for the Ogre.
+
+"Now you see the feathers falling," said she, "so fill the bed."
+
+"How am I to catch them?" cried the Ogre.
+
+"Stupid! don't you see them lying there in a heap?" cried Molly; "get
+a shovel, and set to work."
+
+The Ogre accordingly carried in shovelfuls of snow to the bed, but as
+it melted as fast as he put it in, his labour never seemed done.
+Towards night the room got so cold that the snow would not melt, and
+now the bed was soon filled.
+
+Molly hastily covered it with sheets and blankets, and said: "Pray
+rest here to-night, and tell me if the bed is not comfort itself.
+To-morrow we will be married."
+
+So the tired Ogre lay down on the bed he had filled, but, do what he
+would, he could not get warm.
+
+"The sheets must be damp," said he, and in the morning he woke with
+such horrible pains in his bones that he could hardly move, and half
+the bed had melted away. "It's no use," he groaned, "she's a very
+managing woman, but to sleep on such a bed would be the death of me."
+And he went off home as quickly as he could, before Managing Molly
+could call upon him to be married; for she was so managing that he was
+more than half afraid of her already.
+
+When Molly found that he had gone, she sent the farmer after him.
+
+"What does he want?" cried the Ogre, when they told him the farmer was
+at the door.
+
+"He says the bride is waiting for you," was the reply.
+
+"Tell him I'm too ill to be married," said the Ogre.
+
+But the messenger soon returned:
+
+"He says she wants to know what you will give her to make up for the
+disappointment."
+
+"She's got the dowry, and the farm, and the feather-bed," groaned the
+Ogre; "what more does she want?"
+
+But again the messenger returned:
+
+"She says you've pressed the feather-bed flat, and she wants some more
+goose feathers."
+
+"There are geese enough in the yard," yelled the Ogre, "Let him drive
+them home; and if he has another word to say, put him down to roast."
+
+The farmer, who overheard this order, lost no time in taking his
+leave, and as he passed through the yard he drove home as fine a flock
+of geese as you will see on a common.
+
+It is said that the Ogre never recovered from the effects of sleeping
+on the old woman's goose feathers, and was less powerful than before.
+
+As for Managing Molly, being now well dowered, she had no lack of
+offers of marriage, and was soon mated to her mind.
+
+
+
+
+THE MAGICIANS' GIFTS.
+
+
+There was once a king in whose dominions lived no less than three
+magicians.
+
+When the king's eldest son was christened, the king invited the three
+magicians to the christening feast, and to make the compliment the
+greater, he asked one of them to stand godfather. But the other two,
+who were not asked to be godfathers, were so angry at what they held
+to be a slight, that they only waited to see how they might best
+revenge themselves upon the infant prince.
+
+When the moment came for presenting the christening gifts, the
+godfather magician advanced to the cradle and said, "My gift is this:
+Whatever he wishes for he shall have. And only I who give shall be
+able to recall this gift." For he perceived the jealousy of the other
+magicians, and knew that, if possible, they would undo what he did.
+But the second magician muttered in his beard, "And yet I will change
+it to a curse." And coming up to the cradle, he said, "The wishes
+that he has thus obtained he shall not be able to revoke or change."
+
+Then the third magician grumbled beneath his black robe, "If he were
+very wise and prudent he might yet be happy. But I will secure his
+punishment." So he also drew near to the cradle, and said, "For my
+part, I give him a hasty temper."
+
+After which, the two dissatisfied magicians withdrew together, saying,
+"Should we permit ourselves to be slighted for nothing?"
+
+But the king and his courtiers were not at all disturbed.
+
+"My son has only to be sure of what he wants," said the king, "and
+then, I suppose, he will not desire to recall his wishes."
+
+And the courtiers added, "If a prince may not have a hasty temper, who
+may, we should like to know?"
+
+And everybody laughed, except the godfather magician, who went out
+sighing and shaking his head, and was seen no more.
+
+Whilst the king's son was yet a child, the gift of the godfather
+magician began to take effect. There was nothing so rare and precious
+that he could not obtain it, or so difficult that it could not be
+accomplished by his mere wish. But, on the other hand, no matter how
+inconsiderately he spoke, or how often he changed his mind, what he
+had once wished must remain as he had wished it, in spite of himself;
+and as he often wished for things that were bad for him, and oftener
+still wished for a thing one day and regretted it the next, his power
+was the source of quite as much pain as pleasure to him. Then his
+temper was so hot, that he was apt hastily to wish ill to those who
+offended him, and afterwards bitterly to regret the mischief that he
+could not undo. Thus, one after another, the king appointed his
+trustiest counsellors to the charge of his son, who, sooner or later,
+in the discharge of their duty, were sure to be obliged to thwart him;
+on which the impatient prince would cry, "I wish you were at the
+bottom of the sea with your rules and regulations;" and the
+counsellors disappeared accordingly, and returned no more.
+
+When there was not a wise man left at court, and the king himself
+lived in daily dread of being the next victim, he said, "Only one
+thing remains to be done: to find the godfather magician, and persuade
+him to withdraw his gift."
+
+So the king offered rewards, and sent out messengers in every
+direction, but the magician was not to be found. At last, one day he
+met a blind beggar, who said to him, "Three nights ago I dreamed that
+I went by the narrowest of seven roads to seek what you are looking
+for, and was successful."
+
+When the king returned home, he asked his courtiers, "Where are there
+seven roads lying near to each other, some broad, and some narrow?"
+And one of them replied, "Twenty-one miles to the west of the palace
+is a four-cross road, where three field-paths also diverge."
+
+To this place the king made his way, and taking the narrowest of the
+field-paths, went on and on till it led him straight into a cave,
+where an old woman sat over a fire.
+
+"Does a magician live here?" asked the king.
+
+"No one lives here but myself," said the old woman. "But as I am a
+wise woman I may be able to help you if you need it."
+
+The king then told her of his perplexities, and how he was desirous of
+finding the magician, to persuade him to recall his gift.
+
+"He could not recall the other gifts," said the wise woman. "Therefore
+it is better that the prince should be taught to use his power
+prudently and to control his temper. And since all the persons capable
+of guiding him have disappeared, I will return with you and take
+charge of him myself. Over me he will have no power."
+
+To this the king consented, and they returned together to the palace,
+where the wise woman became guardian to the prince, and she fulfilled
+her duties so well that he became much more discreet and
+self-controlled. Only at times his violent temper got the better of
+him, and led him to wish what he afterwards vainly regretted.
+
+Thus all went well till the prince became a man, when, though he had
+great affection for her, he felt ashamed of having an old woman for
+his counsellor, and he said, "I certainly wish that I had a faithful
+and discreet adviser of my own age and sex."
+
+On that very day a young nobleman offered himself as companion to the
+prince, and as he was a young man of great ability, he was accepted:
+whereupon the old woman took her departure, and was never seen again.
+
+The young nobleman performed his part so well that the prince became
+deeply attached to him, and submitted in every way to his counsels.
+But at last a day came when, being in a rage, the advice of his friend
+irritated him, and he cried hastily, "Will you drive me mad with your
+long sermons? I wish you would hold your tongue for ever." On which
+the young nobleman became dumb, and so remained. For he was not, as
+the wise woman had been, independent of the prince's power.
+
+The prince's grief and remorse knew no bounds. "Am I not under a
+curse?" said he. "Truly I ought to be cast out from human society, and
+sent to live with wild beasts in a wilderness. I only bring evil upon
+those I love best--indeed, there is no hope for me unless I can find
+my godfather, and make him recall this fatal gift."
+
+So the prince mounted his horse, and, accompanied by his dumb friend,
+who still remained faithful to him, he set forth to find the magician.
+They took no followers, except the prince's dog, a noble hound, who
+was so quick of hearing that he understood all that was said to him,
+and was, next to the young nobleman, the wisest person at court.
+
+"Mark well, my dog," said the prince to him, "we stay nowhere till we
+find my godfather, and when we find him we go no further. I rely on
+your sagacity to help us."
+
+The dog licked the prince's hand, and then trotted so resolutely down
+a certain road that the two friends allowed him to lead them and
+followed close behind.
+
+They travelled in this way to the edge of the king's dominions, only
+halting for needful rest and refreshment. At last the dog led them
+through a wood, and towards evening they found themselves in the
+depths of the forest, with no sign of any shelter for the night.
+Presently they heard a little bell, such as is rung for prayer, and
+the dog ran down a side path and led them straight to a kind of
+grotto, at the door of which stood an aged hermit.
+
+"Does a magician live here?" asked the prince.
+
+"No one lives here but myself," said the hermit, "but I am old, and
+have meditated much. My advice is at your service if you need it."
+
+The prince then related his history, and how he was now seeking the
+magician godfather, to rid himself of his gift.
+
+"And yet that will not cure your temper," said the hermit. "It were
+better that you employed yourself in learning to control that, and to
+use your power prudently."
+
+"No, no," replied the prince; "I must find the magician."
+
+And when the hermit pressed his advice, he cried, "Provoke me not,
+good father, or I may be base enough to wish you ill; and the evil I
+do I cannot undo."
+
+And he departed, followed by his friend, and calling his dog. But the
+dog seated himself at the hermit's feet, and would not move. Again and
+again the prince called him, but he only whined and wagged his tail,
+and refused to move. Coaxing and scolding were both in vain, and when
+at last the prince tried to drag him off by force, the dog growled.
+
+"Base brute!" cried the prince, flinging him from him in a transport
+of rage. "How have I been so deceived in you? I wish you were hanged!"
+And even as he spoke the dog vanished, and as the prince turned his
+head he saw the poor beast's body dangling from a tree above him. The
+sight overwhelmed him, and he began bitterly to lament his cruelty.
+
+"Will no one hang me also," he cried, "and rid the world of such a
+monster?"
+
+"It is easier to die repenting than to live amending," said the
+hermit; "yet is the latter course the better one. Wherefore abide with
+me, my son, and learn in solitude those lessons of self-government
+without which no man is fit to rule others."
+
+"It is impossible," said the prince. "These fits of passion are as a
+madness that comes upon me, and they are beyond cure. It only remains
+to find my godfather, that he may make me less baneful to others by
+taking away the power I abuse." And raising the body of the dog
+tenderly in his arms, he laid it before him on his horse, and rode
+away, the dumb nobleman following him.
+
+They now entered the dominions of another king, and in due time
+arrived at the capital. The prince presented himself to the king, and
+asked if he had a magician in his kingdom.
+
+"Not to my knowledge," replied the king. "But I have a remarkably wise
+daughter, and if you want counsel she may be able to help you."
+
+The princess accordingly was sent for, and she was so beautiful, as
+well as witty, that the prince fell in love with her, and begged the
+king to give her to him to wife. The king, of course, was unable to
+refuse what the prince wished, and the wedding was celebrated without
+delay; and by the advice of his wife the prince placed the body of his
+faithful dog in a glass coffin, and kept it near him, that he might
+constantly be reminded of the evil results of giving way to his anger.
+
+For a time all went well. At first the prince never said a harsh word
+to his wife; but by and by familiarity made him less careful, and one
+day she said something that offended him, and he fell into a violent
+rage. As he went storming up and down, the princess wrung her hands,
+and cried, "Ah, my dear husband, I beg of you to be careful what you
+say to me. You say you loved your dog, and yet you know where he
+lies."
+
+"I know that I wish you were with him, with your prating!" cried the
+prince, in a fury; and the words were scarcely out of his mouth when
+the princess vanished from his side, and when he ran to the glass
+coffin, there she lay, pale and lifeless, with her head upon the body
+of the hound.
+
+The prince was now beside himself with remorse and misery, and when
+the dumb nobleman made signs that they should pursue their search for
+the magician, he only cried, "Too late! too late!"
+
+But after a while he said, "I will return to the hermit, and pass the
+rest of my miserable life in solitude and penance. And you, dear
+friend, go back to my father."
+
+But the dumb nobleman shook his head, and could not be persuaded to
+leave the prince. Then they took the glass coffin on their shoulders,
+and on foot, and weeping as they went, they retraced their steps to
+the forest.
+
+For some time the prince remained with the hermit, and submitted
+himself to his direction. Then the hermit bade him return to his
+father, and he obeyed.
+
+Every day the prince stood by the glass coffin, and beat his breast
+and cried, "Behold, murderer, the fruits of anger!" And he tried hard
+to overcome the violence of his temper. When he lost heart he
+remembered a saying of the hermit: "Patience had far to go, but she
+was crowned at last." And after a while the prince became as gentle as
+he had before been violent. And the king and all the court rejoiced
+at the change; but the prince remained sad at heart, thinking of the
+princess.
+
+One day he was sitting alone, when a man approached him, dressed in a
+long black robe.
+
+"Good-day, godson," said he.
+
+"Who calls me godson?" said the prince.
+
+"The magician you have so long sought," said the godfather. "I have
+come to reclaim my gift."
+
+"What cruelty led you to bestow it upon me?" asked the prince.
+
+"The king, your father, would have been dissatisfied with any ordinary
+present from me," said the magician, "forgetting that the
+responsibilities of common gifts, and very limited power, are more
+than enough for most men to deal with. But I have not neglected you. I
+was the wise woman who brought you up. Again, I was the hermit, as
+your dog was sage enough to discover. I am come now to reclaim what
+has caused you such suffering."
+
+"Alas!" cried the prince, "why is your kindness so tardy? If you have
+not forgotten me, why have you withheld this benefit till it is too
+late for my happiness? My friend is dumb, my wife is dead, my dog is
+hanged. When wishes cannot reach these, do you think it matters to me
+what I may command?"
+
+"Softly, prince," said the magician; "I had a reason for the delay.
+But for these bitter lessons you would still be the slave of the
+violent temper which you have conquered, and which, as it was no gift
+of mine, I could not remove. Moreover, when the spell which made all
+things bend to your wish is taken away, its effects also are undone.
+Godson! I recall my gift."
+
+As the magician spoke the glass sides of the coffin melted into the
+air, and the princess sprang up, and threw herself into her husband's
+arms. The dog also rose, stretched himself, and wagged his tail. The
+dumb nobleman ran to tell the good news to the king, and all the
+counsellors came back in a long train from the bottom of the sea, and
+set about the affairs of state as if nothing had happened.
+
+The old king welcomed his children with open arms, and they all lived
+happily to the end of their days.
+
+
+
+
+THE WIDOWS AND THE STRANGERS.
+
+
+In days of yore, there were once two poor old widows who lived in the
+same hamlet and under the same roof. But though the cottages joined
+and one roof covered them, they had each a separate dwelling; and
+although they were alike in age and circumstances, yet in other
+respects they were very different. For one dame was covetous, though
+she had little to save, and the other was liberal, though she had
+little to give.
+
+Now, on the rising ground opposite to the widows' cottages, stood a
+monastery where a few pious and charitable brethren spent their time
+in prayer, labour, and good works. And with the alms of these monks,
+and the kindness of neighbours, and because their wants were few, the
+old women dwelt in comfort, and had daily bread, and lay warm at
+night.
+
+One evening, when the covetous old widow was having supper, there came
+a knock at her door. Before she opened it she hastily put away the
+remains of her meal.
+
+"For," said she, "it is a stormy night, and ten to one some belated
+vagabond wants shelter; and when there are victuals on the table every
+fool must be asked to sup."
+
+But when she opened the door, a monk came in who had his cowl pulled
+over his head to shelter him from the storm. The widow was much
+disconcerted at having kept one of the brotherhood waiting, and loudly
+apologized, but the monk stopped her, saying, "I fear I cut short your
+evening meal, my daughter."
+
+"Now in the name of ill-luck, how came he to guess that?" thought the
+widow, as with anxious civility she pressed the monk to take some
+supper after his walk; for the good woman always felt hospitably
+inclined towards any one who was likely to return her kindness
+sevenfold.
+
+The brother, however, refused to sup; and as he seated himself the
+widow looked sharply through her spectacles to see if she could gather
+from any distention of the folds of his frock whether a loaf, a bottle
+of cordial, or a new winter's cloak were most likely to crown the
+visit. No undue protuberance being visible about the monk's person,
+she turned her eyes to his face, and found that her visitor was one of
+the brotherhood whom she had not seen before. And not only was his
+face unfamiliar, it was utterly unlike the kindly but rough
+countenances of her charitable patrons. None that she had ever seen
+boasted the noble beauty, the chiselled and refined features of the
+monk before her. And she could not but notice that, although only one
+rushlight illumined her room, and though the monk's cowl went far to
+shade him even from that, yet his face was lit up as if by light from
+within, so that his clear skin seemed almost transparent. In short,
+her curiosity must have been greatly stirred, had not greed made her
+more anxious to learn what he had brought than who he was.
+
+"It's a terrible night," quoth the monk, at length. "Such tempest
+without only gives point to the indoor comforts of the wealthy; but it
+chills the very marrow of the poor and destitute."
+
+"Aye, indeed," sniffed the widow, with a shiver. "If it were not for
+the charity of good Christians, what would poor folk do for comfort on
+such an evening as this?"
+
+"It was that very thought, my daughter," said the monk, with a sudden
+earnestness on his shining face, "that brought me forth even now
+through the storm to your cottage."
+
+"Heaven reward you!" cried the widow, fervently.
+
+"Heaven does reward the charitable!" replied the monk. "To no truth do
+the Scriptures bear such constant and unbroken witness; even as it is
+written: 'He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord; and
+look, what he layeth out it shall be paid him again.'"
+
+"What a blessed thing it must be to be able to do good!" sighed the
+widow, piously wishing in her heart that the holy man would not delay
+to earn his recompense.
+
+"My daughter," said the monk, "that blessing is not withheld from you.
+It is to ask your help for those in greater need than yourself that I
+am come to-night." And forthwith the good brother began to tell how
+two strangers had sought shelter at the monastery. Their house had
+been struck by lightning, and burnt with all it contained; and they
+themselves, aged, poor, and friendless, were exposed to the fury of
+the storm. "Our house is a poor one," continued the monk. "The
+strangers' lodging room was already full, and we are quite without the
+means of making these poor souls comfortable. You at least have a
+sound roof over your head, and if you can spare one or two things for
+the night, they shall be restored to you to-morrow, when some of our
+guests depart."
+
+The widow could hardly conceal her vexation and disappointment. "Now,
+dear heart, holy father!" cried she, "is there not a rich body in the
+place, that you come for charity to a poor old widow like me, that am
+in a case rather to borrow myself than to lend to others?"
+
+"Can you spare us a blanket?" said the monk. "These poor strangers
+have been out in the storm, remember."
+
+The widow started. "What meddling busybody told him that the Baroness
+gave me a new blanket at Michaelmas?" thought she; but at last, very
+unwillingly, she went to an inner room to fetch a blanket from her
+bed.
+
+"They shan't have the new one, that's flat," muttered the widow; and
+she drew out the old one and began to fold it up. But though she had
+made much of its thinness and insufficiency to the Baroness, she was
+so powerfully affected at parting with it, that all its good qualities
+came strongly to her mind.
+
+"It's a very suitable size," she said to herself, "and easy for my
+poor old arms to shake or fold. With careful usage, it would last for
+years yet; but who knows how two wandering bodies that have been
+tramping miles through the storm may kick about in their sleep? And
+who knows if they're decent folk at all? likely enough they're two
+hedge birds, who have imposed a pitiful tale on the good fathers, and
+never slept under anything finer than a shock of straw in their
+lives."
+
+The more the good woman thought of this, the more sure she felt that
+such was the case, and the less willing she became to lend her blanket
+to "a couple of good-for-nothing tramps." A sudden idea decided her.
+"Ten to one they bring fever with them!" she cried; "and dear knows I
+saw enough good bedding burnt after the black fever, three years ago!
+It would be a sin and a shame to burn a good blanket like this." And
+repeating "a sin and a shame" with great force, the widow restored the
+blanket to its place.
+
+"The coverlet's not worth much," she thought; "but my goodman bought
+it the year after we were married, and if anything happened to it I
+should never forgive myself. The old shawl is good enough for tramps."
+Saying which she took a ragged old shawl from a peg, and began to fold
+it up. But even as she brushed and folded, she begrudged the faded
+rag.
+
+"It saves my better one on a bad day," she sighed; "but I suppose the
+father must have something."
+
+And accordingly she took it to the monk, saying, "It's not so good as
+it has been, but there's warmth in it yet, and it cost a pretty penny
+when new."
+
+"And is this all that you can spare to the poor houseless strangers?"
+asked the monk.
+
+"Aye, indeed, good father," said she, "and that will cost me many a
+twinge of rheumatics. Folk at my age can't lie cold at night for
+nothing."
+
+"These poor strangers," said the monk, "are as aged as yourself, and
+have lost everything."
+
+But as all he said had no effect in moving the widow's compassion, he
+departed, and knocked at the door of her neighbour. Here he told the
+same tale, which met with a very different hearing. This widow was one
+of those liberal souls whose possessions always make them feel uneasy
+unless they are being accepted, or used, or borrowed by some one else.
+She blessed herself that, thanks to the Baroness, she had a new
+blanket fit to lend to the king himself, and only desired to know with
+what else she could serve the poor strangers and requite the charities
+of the brotherhood.
+
+The monk confessed that all the slender stock of household goods in
+the monastery was in use, and one after another he accepted the loan
+of almost everything the widow had. As she gave the things he put them
+out through the door, saying that he had a messenger outside; and
+having promised that all should be duly restored on the morrow, he
+departed, leaving the widow with little else than an old chair in
+which she was to pass the night.
+
+When the monk had gone, the storm raged with greater fury than before,
+and at last one terrible flash of lightning struck the widows' house,
+and though it did not hurt the old women, it set fire to the roof,
+and both cottages were soon ablaze. Now as the terrified old creatures
+hobbled out into the storm, they met the monk, who, crying, "Come to
+the monastery!" seized an arm of each, and hurried them up the hill.
+To such good purpose did he help them, that they seemed to fly, and
+arrived at the convent gate they hardly knew how.
+
+Under a shed by the wall were the goods and chattels of the liberal
+widow.
+
+"Take back thine own, daughter," said the monk; "thy charity hath
+brought its own reward."
+
+"But the strangers, good father?" said the perplexed widow.
+
+"Ye are the strangers," answered the monk; "and what thy pity thought
+meet to be spared for the unfortunate, Heaven in thy misfortune hath
+spared to thee."
+
+Then turning to the other widow, he drew the old shawl from beneath
+his frock, and gave it to her, saying, "I give you joy, dame, that
+this hath escaped the flames. It is not so good as it has been; but
+there is warmth in it yet, and it cost a pretty penny when new."
+
+Full of confusion, the illiberal widow took back her shawl, murmuring,
+"Lack-a-day! If I had but known it was ourselves the good father
+meant!"
+
+The monk gave a shrewd smile.
+
+"Aye, aye, it would have been different, I doubt not," said he; "but
+accept the lesson, my daughter, and when next thou art called upon to
+help the unfortunate, think that it is thine own needs that would be
+served; and it may be thou shalt judge better as to what thou canst
+spare."
+
+As he spoke, a flash of lightning lit up the ground where the monk
+stood, making a vast aureole about him in the darkness of the night.
+In the bright light, his countenance appeared stern and awful in its
+beauty, and when the flash was passed, the monk had vanished also.
+
+Furthermore, when the widows sought shelter in the monastery, they
+found that the brotherhood knew nothing of their strange visitor.
+
+
+
+
+KIND WILLIAM AND THE WATER SPRITE.
+
+
+There once lived a poor weaver, whose wife died a few years after
+their marriage. He was now alone in the world except for their child,
+who was a very quick and industrious little lad, and, moreover, of
+such an obliging disposition that he gained the nickname of Kind
+William.
+
+On his seventh birthday his father gave him a little net with a long
+handle, and with this Kind William betook himself to a shallow part of
+the river to fish. After wandering on for some time, he found a quiet
+pool dammed in by stones, and here he dipped for the minnows that
+darted about in the clear brown water. At the first and second casts
+he caught nothing, but with the third he landed no less than
+twenty-one little fishes, and such minnows he had never seen, for as
+they leaped and struggled in the net they shone with alternate tints
+of green and gold.
+
+He was gazing at them with wonder and delight, when a voice behind
+him cried, in piteous tones--
+
+"Oh, my little sisters! Oh, my little sisters!"
+
+Kind William turned round, and saw, sitting on a rock that stood out
+of the stream, a young girl weeping bitterly. She had a very pretty
+face, and abundant yellow hair of marvellous length, and of such
+uncommon brightness that even in the shade it shone like gold. She was
+dressed in grass green, and from her knees downwards she was hidden by
+the clumps of fern and rushes that grew by the stream.
+
+"What ails you, my little lass?" said Kind William.
+
+But the maid only wept more bitterly, and wringing her hands,
+repeated, "Oh, my little sisters! Oh, my little sisters!" presently
+adding in the same tone, "The little fishes! Oh, the little fishes!"
+
+"Dry your eyes, and I will give you half of them," said the
+good-natured child; "and if you have no net you shall fish with me
+this afternoon."
+
+But at this proposal the maid's sobs redoubled, and she prayed and
+begged with frantic eagerness that he would throw the fish back into
+the river. For some time Kind William would not consent to throw away
+his prize, but at last he yielded to her excessive grief, and emptied
+the net into the pool, where the glittering fishes were soon lost to
+sight under the sand and pebbles.
+
+The girl now laughed and clapped her hands.
+
+"This good deed you shall never rue, Kind William," said she, "and
+even now it shall repay you threefold. How many fish did you catch?"
+
+"Twenty-one," said Kind William, not without regret in his tone.
+
+The maid at once began to pull hairs out of her head, and did not stop
+till she had counted sixty-three, and laid them together in her
+fingers. She then began to wind the lock up into a curl, and it took
+far longer to wind than the sixty-three hairs had taken to pull. How
+long her hair really was Kind William never could tell, for after it
+reached her knees he lost sight of it among the fern; but he began to
+suspect that she was no true village maid, but a water sprite, and he
+heartily wished himself safe at home.
+
+"Now," said she, when the lock was wound, "will you promise me three
+things?"
+
+"If I can do so without sin," said Kind William.
+
+"First," she continued, holding out the lock of hair, "will you keep
+this carefully, and never give it away? It will be for your own good."
+
+"One never gives away gifts," said Kind William, "I promise that."
+
+"The second thing is to spare what you have spared. Fish up the river
+and down the river at your will, but swear never to cast net in this
+pool again."
+
+"One should not do kindness by halves," said Kind William. "I promise
+that also."
+
+"Thirdly, you must never tell what you have now seen and heard till
+thrice seven years have passed. And now come hither, my child, and
+give me your little finger, that I may see if you can keep a secret."
+
+But by this time Kind William's hairs were standing on end, and he
+gave the last promise more from fear than from any other motive, and
+seized his net to go.
+
+"No hurry, no hurry," said the maiden (and the words sounded like the
+rippling of a brook over pebbles). Then bending towards him, with a
+strange smile, she added, "You are afraid that I shall pinch too hard,
+my pretty boy. Well, give me a farewell kiss before you go."
+
+"I kiss none but the miller's lass," said Kind William, sturdily; for
+she was his little sweetheart. Besides, he was afraid that the water
+witch would enchant him and draw him down. At his answer she laughed
+till the echoes rang, but Kind William shuddered to hear that the
+echoes seemed to come from the river instead of from the hills; and
+they rang in his ears like a distant torrent leaping over rocks.
+
+"Then listen to my song," said the water sprite. With which she drew
+some of her golden hairs over her arm, and tuning them as if they had
+been the strings of a harp, she began to sing:
+
+    "Warp of woollen and woof of gold:
+    When seven and seven and seven are told."
+
+But when Kind William heard that the river was running with the
+cadence of the tune, he could bear it no longer, and took to his
+heels. When he had run a few yards he heard a splash, as if a salmon
+had jumped, and on looking back he found that the yellow-haired maiden
+was gone.
+
+Kind William was trustworthy as well as obliging, and he kept his
+word. He said nothing of his adventure. He put the yellow lock into an
+old china teapot that had stood untouched on the mantelpiece for
+years. And fishing up the river and down the river he never again cast
+net into the haunted pool. And in course of time the whole affair
+passed from his mind.
+
+Fourteen years went by, and Kind William was Kind William still. He
+was as obliging as ever, and still loved the miller's daughter, who,
+for her part, had not forgotten her old playmate. But the miller's
+memory was not so good, for the fourteen years had been prosperous
+ones with him, and he was rich, whereas they had only brought bad
+trade and poverty to the weaver and his son. So the lovers were not
+allowed even to speak to each other.
+
+One evening Kind William wandered by the river-side lamenting his hard
+fate. It was his twenty-first birthday, and he might not even receive
+the good wishes of the day from his old playmate. It was just growing
+dusk, a time when prudent bodies hurry home from the neighbourhood of
+fairy rings, sprite-haunted streams, and the like, and Kind William
+was beginning to quicken his pace, when a voice from behind him sang:
+
+    "Warp of woollen and woof of gold:
+    When seven and seven and seven are told."
+
+Kind William felt sure that he had heard this before, though he could
+not recall when or where; but suspecting that it was no mortal voice
+that sang, he hurried home without looking behind him. Before he
+reached the house he remembered all, and also that on this very day
+his promise of secrecy expired.
+
+Meanwhile the old weaver had been sadly preparing the loom to weave a
+small stock of yarn, which he had received in payment for some work.
+He had set up the warp, and was about to fill the shuttle, when his
+son came in and told the story, and repeated the water sprite's song.
+
+"Where is the lock of hair, my son?" asked the old man.
+
+"In the teapot still, if you have not touched it," said Kind William;
+"but the dust of fourteen years must have destroyed all gloss and
+colour."
+
+On searching the teapot, however, the lock of hair was found to be as
+bright as ever, and it lay in the weaver's hand like a coil of gold.
+
+"It is the song that puzzles me," said Kind William. "Seven, and
+seven, and seven make twenty-one. Now that is just my age."
+
+"There is your warp of woollen, if that is anything," added the
+weaver, gazing at the loom with a melancholy air.
+
+"And this is golden enough," laughed Kind William, pointing to the
+curl. "Come, father, let us see how far one hair will go on the
+shuttle." And suiting the action to the word, he began to wind. He
+wound the shuttle full, and then sat down to the loom and began to
+throw.
+
+The result was a fabric of such beauty that the Weavers shouted with
+amazement, and one single hair served for the woof of the whole piece.
+
+Before long there was not a town dame or a fine country lady but must
+needs have a dress of the new stuff, and before the sixty-three hairs
+were used up, the fortunes of the weaver and his son were made.
+
+About this time the miller's memory became clearer, and he was often
+heard to speak of an old boy-and-girl love between his dear daughter
+and the wealthy manufacturer of the golden cloth. Within a year and a
+day Kind William married his sweetheart, and as money sticks to money,
+in the end he added the old miller's riches to his own.
+
+Moreover there is every reason to believe that he and his wife lived
+happily to the end of their days.
+
+And what became of the water sprite?
+
+That you must ask somebody else, for I do not know.
+
+
+
+
+MURDOCH'S RATH[8].
+
+[Footnote 8: _Rath_ = a kind of moat-surrounded spot much favoured by
+Irish fairies. The ditch is generally overgrown with furze-bushes.]
+
+
+There was not a nicer boy in all Ireland than Pat, and clever at his
+trade too, if only he'd had one.
+
+But from his cradle he learned nothing (small blame to him with no one
+to teach him!), so when he came to years of discretion, he earned his
+living by running messages for his neighbours; and Pat could always be
+trusted to make the best of a bad bargain, and bring back all the
+change, for he was the soul of honesty and good-nature.
+
+It's no wonder then that he was beloved by every one, and got as much
+work as he could do, and if the pay had but fitted the work, he'd have
+been mighty comfortable; but as it was, what he got wouldn't have kept
+him in shoe-leather, but for making both ends meet by wearing his
+shoes in his pocket, except when he was in the town, and obliged to
+look genteel for the credit of the place he came from.
+
+Well, all was going on as peaceable as could be, till one market-day,
+when business (or it may have been pleasure) detained him till the
+heel of the evening, and by nightfall, when he began to make the road
+short in good earnest, he was so flustered, rehearsing his messages to
+make sure he'd forgotten nothing, that he never bethought him to leave
+off his brogues, but tramped on just as if shoe-leather were made to
+be knocked to bits on the king's highway.
+
+And this was what he was after saying:
+
+"A dozen hanks of grey yarn for Mistress Murphy."
+
+"Three gross of bright buttons for the tailor."
+
+"Half an ounce of throat drops for Father Andrew, and an ounce of
+snuff for his housekeeper," and so on.
+
+For these were what he went to the town to fetch, and he was afraid
+lest one of the lot might have slipped his memory.
+
+Now everybody knows there are two ways home from the town; and that's
+not meaning the right way and the wrong way, which my grandmother
+(rest her soul!) said there was to every place but one that it's not
+genteel to name. (There could only be a wrong way _there_, she said.)
+The two ways home from the town were the highway, and the way by
+Murdoch's Rath.
+
+Murdoch's Rath was a pleasant enough spot in the daytime, but not
+many persons cared to go by it when the sun was down. And in all the
+years Pat was going backwards and forwards, he never once came home
+except by the high-road till this unlucky evening, when, just at the
+place where the two roads part, he got, as one may say, into a sort of
+confusion.
+
+"Halt!" says he to himself (for his own uncle had been a soldier, and
+Pat knew the word of command). "The left-hand turn is the right one,"
+says he, and he was going down the high-road as straight as he could
+go, when suddenly he bethought himself. "And what am I doing?" he
+says. "This was my left hand going to town, and how in the name of
+fortune could it be my left going back, considering that I've turned
+round? It's well that I looked into it in time." And with that he went
+off as fast down the other road as he started down this.
+
+But how far he walked he never could tell, before all of a sudden the
+moon shone out as bright as day, and Pat found himself in Murdoch's
+Rath.
+
+And this was the smallest part of the wonder; for the Rath was full of
+fairies.
+
+When Pat got in they were dancing round and round till his feet
+tingled to look at them, being a good dancer himself. And as he sat on
+the side of the Rath, and snapped his fingers to mark the time, the
+dancing stopped, and a little man comes up, in a black hat and a green
+coat, with white stockings, and red shoes on his feet.
+
+"Won't you take a turn with us, Pat?" says he, bowing till he nearly
+touched the ground. And, indeed, he had not far to go, for he was
+barely two feet high.
+
+"Don't say it twice, sir," says Pat. "It's myself will be proud to
+foot the floor wid ye;" and before you could look round, there was Pat
+in the circle dancing away for bare life.
+
+At first his feet felt like feathers for lightness, and it seemed as
+if he could have gone on for ever. But at last he grew tired, and
+would have liked to stop, but the fairies would not, and so they
+danced on and on. Pat tried to think of something _good_ to say, that
+he might free himself from the spell, but all he could think of was:
+
+"A dozen hanks of grey yarn for Missis Murphy."
+
+"Three gross of bright buttons for the tailor."
+
+"Half an ounce of throat drops for Father Andrew, and an ounce of
+snuff for his housekeeper," and so on.
+
+And it seemed to Pat that the moon was on the one side of the Rath
+when they began to dance, and on the other side when they left off;
+but he could not be sure after all that going round. One thing was
+plain enough. He danced every bit of leather off the soles of his
+feet, and they were blistered so that he could hardly stand; but all
+the little folk did was to stand and hold their sides with laughing at
+him.
+
+At last the one who spoke before stepped up to him, and--"Don't break
+your heart about it, Pat," says he; "I'll lend you my own shoes till
+the morning, for you seem to be a good-natured sort of a boy."
+
+Well, Pat looked at the fairy man's shoes, that were the size of a
+baby's, and he looked at his own feet; but not wishing to be uncivil,
+"Thank ye kindly, sir," says he. "And if your honour 'll be good
+enough to put them on for me, maybe you won't spoil the shape." For he
+thought to himself, "Small blame to me if the little gentleman can't
+get them to fit."
+
+With that he sat down on the side of the Rath, and the fairy man put
+on the shoes for him, and no sooner did they touch Pat's feet, than
+they became altogether a convenient size, and fitted him like wax.
+And, more than that, when he stood up, he didn't feel his blisters at
+all.
+
+"Bring 'em back to the Rath at sunrise, Pat, my boy," says the little
+man.
+
+And as Pat was climbing over the ditch, "Look round, Pat," says he.
+And when Pat looked round, there were jewels and pearls lying at the
+roots of the furze-bushes on the ditch, as thick as peas.
+
+"Will you help yourself, or take what's given ye, Pat?" says the fairy
+man.
+
+"Did I ever learn manners?" says Pat. "Would you have me help myself
+before company? I'll take what your honour pleases to give me, and be
+thankful."
+
+The fairy man picked a lot of yellow furze-blossoms from the bushes,
+and filled Pat's pockets.
+
+"Keep 'em for love, Pat, me darlin'," says he.
+
+Pat would have liked some of the jewels, but he put the furze-blossoms
+by for love.
+
+"Good-evening to your honour," says he.
+
+"And where are you going, Pat, dear?" says the fairy man.
+
+"I'm going home," says Pat. And if the fairy man didn't know where
+that was, small blame to him.
+
+"Just let me dust them shoes for ye, Pat," says the fairy man. And as
+Pat lifted up each foot he breathed on it, and dusted it with the tail
+of his green coat.
+
+"Home!" says he, and when he let go, Pat was at his own doorstep
+before he could look round, and his parcels safe and sound with him.
+
+Next morning he was up with the sun, and carried the fairy man's
+shoes back to the Rath. As he came up, the little man looked over the
+ditch.
+
+"The top of the morning to, your honour," says Pat; "here's your
+shoes."
+
+"You're an honest boy, Pat," says the little gentleman. "It's
+inconvenienced I am without them, for. I have but the one pair. Have
+you looked at the yellow flowers this morning?" he says.
+
+"I have not, sir," says Pat; "I'd be loth to deceive you. I came off
+as soon as I was up."
+
+"Be sure to look when you get back, Pat," says the fairy man, "and
+good luck to ye."
+
+With which he disappeared, and Pat went home. He looked for the
+furze-blossoms, as the fairy man told him, and there's not a word of
+truth in this tale if they weren't all pure gold pieces.
+
+Well, now Pat was so rich, he went to the shoemaker to order another
+pair of brogues, and being a kindly, gossiping boy, the shoemaker soon
+learned the whole story of the fairy man and the Rath. And this so
+stirred up the shoemaker's greed that he resolved to go the very next
+night himself, to see if he could not dance with the fairies, and have
+like luck.
+
+He found his way to the Rath all correct, and sure enough the fairies
+were dancing, and they asked him to join. He danced the soles off his
+brogues, as Pat did, and the fairy man lent him his shoes, and sent
+him home in a twinkling.
+
+As he was going over the ditch, he looked round, and saw the roots of
+the furze-bushes glowing with precious stones as if they had been
+glow-worms.
+
+"Will you help yourself, or take what's given ye?" said the fairy man.
+
+"I'll help myself, if you please," said the cobbler, for he
+thought--"If I can't get more than Pat brought home, my fingers must
+all be thumbs."
+
+So he drove his hand into the bushes, and if he didn't get plenty, it
+wasn't for want of grasping.
+
+When he got up in the morning, he went straight to the jewels. But not
+a stone of the lot was more precious than roadside pebbles. "I ought
+not to look till I come from the Rath," said he. "It's best to do like
+Pat all through."
+
+But he made up his mind not to return the fairy man's shoes.
+
+"Who knows the virtue that's in them?" he said. So he made a small
+pair of red leather shoes, as like them as could be, and he blacked
+the others upon his feet, that the fairies might not know them, and at
+sunrise he went to the Rath.
+
+The fairy man was looking over the ditch as before.
+
+"Good-morning to you," said he.
+
+"The top of the morning to you, sir," said the cobbler; "here's your
+shoes." And he handed him the pair that he had made, with a face as
+grave as a judge.
+
+The fairy man looked at them, but he said nothing, though he did not
+put them on.
+
+"Have you looked at the things you got last night?" says he.
+
+"I'll not deceive you, sir," says the cobbler. "I came off as soon as
+I was up. Sorra peep I took at them."
+
+"Be sure to look when you get back," says the fairy man. And just as
+the cobbler was getting over the ditch to go home, he says:
+
+"If my eyes don't deceive me," says he, "there's the least taste in
+life of dirt on your left shoe. Let me dust it with the tail of my
+coat."
+
+"That means home in a twinkling," thought the cobbler, and he held up
+his foot.
+
+The fairy man dusted it, and muttered something the cobbler did not
+hear. Then, "Sure," says he, "it's the dirty pastures that you've come
+through, for the other shoe's as bad."
+
+So the cobbler held up his right foot, and the fairy man rubbed that
+with the tail of his green coat.
+
+When all was done the cobbler's feet seemed to tingle, and then to
+itch, and then to smart, and then to burn. And at last he began to
+dance, and he danced all round the Rath (the fairy man laughing and
+holding his sides), and then round and round again. And he danced till
+he cried out with weariness, and tried to shake the shoes off. But
+they stuck fast, and the fairies drove him over, the ditch, and
+through the prickly furze-bushes, and he danced away. Where he danced
+to, I cannot tell you. Whether he ever got rid of the fairy shoes, I
+do not know. The jewels never were more than wayside pebbles, and they
+were swept out when his cabin was cleaned, which was not too soon, you
+may be sure.
+
+All this happened long ago; but there are those who say that the
+covetous cobbler dances still, between sunset and sunrise, round
+Murdoch's Rath.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE DARNER.
+
+
+In days gone by there lived a poor widow who had brought up her only
+child so well that the little lass was more helpful and handy than
+many a grown-up person.
+
+When other women's children were tearing and dirtying their clothes,
+clamouring at their mothers' skirts for this and that, losing and
+breaking and spoiling things, and getting into mischief of all kinds,
+the widow's little girl, with her tiny thimble on her finger, could
+patch quite neatly. She was to be trusted to put anything in its
+proper place, and when meals were over she would stand on a little
+stool at the table washing up the dishes. Moreover, she could darn
+stockings so well that the darn looked like a part of the stocking.
+The slatternly mothers, who spoiled and scolded their children by
+turns, and had never taught them to be tidy and obedient, used often
+to quote the widow's little girl to their troublesome brats, and say,
+"Why don't you help your mother as the widow's daughter helps her?"
+
+Thus it came about that the helpless, useless, untidy little girls
+hated the very name of the widow's daughter, because they were always
+being told of her usefulness and neatness.
+
+Now the widow's child often earned a few pence by herding sheep or
+pigs for the farmers, or by darning stockings for their wives, and as
+she could be trusted, people were very glad to employ her. One day she
+was keeping watch over five little pigs in a field, and, not to waste
+time, was darning a pair of stockings as well, when some of the little
+girls who had a spite against her resolved to play her a trick.
+
+Near the field where the little maid and the pigs were there was a
+wood, into which all children were strictly forbidden to go. For in
+the depths of the wood there lived a terrible Ogre and Ogress, who
+kidnapped all children who strayed near their dwelling. Every morning
+the Ogre threw a big black bag over his shoulder, and stalked through
+the forest, making the ground shake as he walked. If he found any
+truant children he popped them into his bag, and when he got home his
+wife cooked them for supper.
+
+The trick played upon the widow's daughter was this. Five little girls
+came up to the field where she was herding the five little pigs, and
+each chasing a pig, they drove them into the Ogre's wood. In vain the
+little maid called to her flock; the pigs ran in a frightened troop
+into the wood, and she ran after them. When the five little girls saw
+that she had got them together again, they ran in to chase them away
+once more, and so they were all in the wood together, when the ground
+shook under them, upsetting the six little girls and the five little
+pigs; and as they rolled over the Ogre picked them up, and put them
+one after another into his bag.
+
+When they were jolting about with the pigs in the poke as the Ogre
+strode homewards, the five spiteful children were as sorry as you
+please; and as the pigs were always fighting and struggling to get to
+the top, they did not escape without some scratches. And their
+screams, and the squealing of the little pigs made such a noise that
+the Ogre's wife heard it a mile and a half away in the depths of the
+wood; and she lighted a fire under the copper, and filled it with
+water, ready to cook whatever her husband brought home.
+
+As for the widow's little daughter she pulled her needle-book from her
+pocket, and every now and then she pushed a needle through the sack,
+that it might fall on the ground, and serve as a guide if she should
+ever have the chance of finding her way home again.
+
+When the Ogre arrived, he emptied the sack, and sent the six little
+girls and the five little pigs all sprawling on to the floor, saying:
+
+"These will last us some time. Cook the fattest, and put the rest
+into the cellar. And whilst you get dinner ready, I will take another
+stroll with the bag. Luck seldom comes singly."
+
+When he had gone, the Ogress looked over the children, and picked out
+the widow's daughter, saying:
+
+"You look the most good-humoured. And the best-tempered always make
+the best eating."
+
+So she set her down on a stool by the fire till the water should boil,
+and locked the others up in the cellar.
+
+"Tears won't put the fire out," thought the little maid. So instead of
+crying she pulled out the old stocking, and went on with her darning.
+When the Ogress came back from the cellar she went up to her and
+looked at her work.
+
+"How you darn!" she cried. "Now that's a sort of thing I hate. And the
+Ogre does wear such big holes in his stockings, and his feet are so
+large, that, though my hand is not a small one, I cannot fill out the
+heel with my fist, and then who's to darn it neatly I should like to
+know?"
+
+"If I had a basin big enough to fill out the heel, I think I could do
+it," said the little maid.
+
+The Ogress scratched her big ear thoughtfully for a minute, and then
+she said:
+
+"To lose a chance is to cheat oneself. Why shouldn't this one darn
+while the others boil? Yes, I think you shall try. Six days ought to
+serve for mending all the stockings, though the Ogre hasn't a whole
+pair left, and angry enough he'll be. And when household matters are
+not to his mind he puts that big sack over my head, and ties it round
+my neck. And if you had ever done housework with your head in a poke,
+you'd know what it is! So you shall darn the stockings, and if you do
+them well, I'll cook one of the others first instead of you."
+
+Saying which, the Ogress fetched one of the Ogre's stockings, and the
+widow's child put a big basin into the heel to stretch it, and began
+to darn. The Ogress watched her till she had put all the threads one
+way, and when she began to run the cross threads, interlacing them
+with the utmost exactness, the old creature was delighted, and went to
+fetch another child to be cooked instead of the widow's.
+
+When the other little girl came up, she cried and screamed so that the
+room rang with her lamentations, and the widow's child laid down her
+needle and ceased working.
+
+"Why don't you go on darning?" asked the Ogress.
+
+"Alas! dear mother," said she, "the little sister's cries make my
+heart beat so that I cannot darn evenly."
+
+"Then she must go back to the cellar for a bit," said the Ogress.
+"And meanwhile I'll sharpen the knife."
+
+So after she had taken back the crying child, and had watched the
+little girl, who now darned away as skilfully as ever, the Ogress took
+down a huge knife from the wall, and began to sharpen it on a
+grindstone in a corner of the kitchen. As she sharpened the knife, she
+glanced from time to time at the little maid, and soon perceived that
+she had once more ceased working.
+
+"Why don't you go on darning?" asked the Ogress.
+
+"Alas! dear mother," said the child, "when I hear you sharpening that
+terrible knife my hands tremble so that I cannot thread my needle."
+
+"Well, it will do now," growled the Ogress, feeling the edge of the
+blade with her horny finger; and, having seen the darning-needle once
+more at work, she went to fetch up one of the children. As she went,
+she hummed what cookmaids sing--
+
+    "Dilly, dilly duckling, come and be killed!"
+
+But it sounded like the wheezing and groaning of a heavy old door upon
+its rusty hinges.
+
+When she came in, with the child in one hand, and the huge knife in
+the other, she went up to the little darner to look at her work. The
+heel of the Ogre's stocking was exquisitely mended, all but seven
+threads; but the little maid sat idle with her hands before her.
+
+"Why don't you go on darning?" asked the Ogress.
+
+"Alas! dear mother," was the reply, "when I think of my little
+playmate about to die, the tears blind my eyes, so that I cannot see
+what stitches I take. Wherefore I beg of you, dear mother, to cook one
+of the little pigs instead, that I may be able to go on with my work,
+and that a pair of stockings may be ready to-morrow morning when the
+Ogre will ask for them; so my playmate's life will be spared, and your
+head will not be put into a poke."
+
+At first the Ogress would not hear of such a thing, but at last she
+consented, and made a stew of one of the little pigs instead of
+cooking the little girl.
+
+"But supposing the Ogre goes to count the children," said she; "he
+will find one too many."
+
+"Then let her go, dear mother," said the widow's daughter; "she will
+find her way home, and you will never be blamed."
+
+"But she must stir the stew with her forefinger first," said the
+Ogress, "that it may have a human flavour."
+
+So the little girl had to stir the hot stew with her finger, which
+scalded it badly; and then she was set at liberty, and ran home as
+hard as she could; and as the little maid's needles sparkled here and
+there on the path, she had no difficulty in finding her way.
+
+The Ogre was quite contented with his dinner, and the Ogress got great
+praise for the way in which she had darned his stockings. Thus it went
+on for four days more. As the widow's little girl wouldn't work if her
+companions were killed, the Ogress cooked the pigs one after another,
+and the children were all sent away with burnt forefingers.
+
+When the fifth had been dismissed, and all the pigs were eaten, the
+Ogress said:
+
+"To-morrow you will have to be stewed, and now I wish I had kept one
+of the others that I might have saved you altogether to work for me.
+However, there is one comfort, the stockings are finished."
+
+But meanwhile the other children had got safely home, and had told
+their tale. And all the men of the place set off at once to attack the
+Ogre, and release the widow's child. Guided by the needles, they
+arrived just as the Ogress was sharpening the big knife for the last
+time.
+
+So they killed the Ogre and his wife, and took the industrious little
+maid back to her mother.
+
+The other little girls were now very repentant; and when their
+fingers were well, they all learned to darn stockings at once.
+
+And as there was now no danger about going into the wood, it was no
+longer forbidden. And this being the case, the children were much less
+anxious to play there than formerly.
+
+
+
+
+THE FIDDLER IN THE FAIRY RING.
+
+
+Generations ago, there once lived a farmer's son, who had no great
+harm in him, and no great good either. He always meant well, but he
+had a poor spirit, and was too fond of idle company.
+
+One day his father sent him to market with some sheep for sale, and
+when business was over for the day, the rest of the country-folk made
+ready to go home, and more than one of them offered the lad a lift in
+his cart.
+
+"Thank you kindly, all the same," said he, "but I am going back across
+the downs with Limping Tim."
+
+Then out spoke a steady old farmer and bade the lad go home with the
+rest, and by the main road. For Limping Tim was an idle, graceless
+kind of fellow, who fiddled for his livelihood, but what else he did
+to earn the money he squandered, no one knew. And as to the sheep path
+over the downs, it stands to reason that the highway is better
+travelling after sunset, for the other is no such very short cut; and
+has a big fairy ring so near it, that a butter-woman might brush it
+with the edge of her market cloak, as she turned the brow of the hill.
+
+But the farmer's son would go his own way, and that was with Limping
+Tim, and across the downs.
+
+So they started, and the fiddler had his fiddle in his hand, and a
+bundle of marketings under his arm, and he sang snatches of strange
+songs, the like of which the lad had never heard before. And the moon
+drew out their shadows over the short grass till they were as long as
+the great stones of Stonehenge.
+
+At last they turned the hill, and the fairy ring looked dark under the
+moon, and the farmer's son blessed himself that they were passing it
+quietly, when Limping Tim suddenly pulled his cloak from his back, and
+handing it to his companion, cried, "Hold this for a moment, will you?
+I'm wanted. They're calling for me."
+
+"I hear nothing," said the farmer's son. But before he had got the
+words out of his mouth, the fiddler had completely disappeared. He
+shouted aloud, but in vain, and had begun to think of proceeding on
+his way, when the fiddler's voice cried, "Catch!" and there came,
+flying at him from the direction of the fairy ring, the bundle of
+marketings which the fiddler had been carrying.
+
+"It's in my way," he then heard the fiddler cry. "Ah, this is dancing!
+Come in, my lad, come in!"
+
+But the farmer's son was not totally without prudence, and he took
+good care to keep at a safe distance from the fairy ring.
+
+"Come back, Tim! Come back!" he shouted, and, receiving no answer, he
+adjured his friend to break the bonds that withheld him, and return to
+the right way, as wisely as one man can counsel another.
+
+After talking for some time to no purpose, he again heard his friend's
+voice, crying, "Take care of it for me! The money dances out of my
+pocket." And therewith the fiddler's purse was hurled to his feet,
+where it fell with a heavy chinking of gold within.
+
+He picked it up, and renewed his warnings and entreaties, but in vain;
+and, after waiting for a long time, he made the best of his way home
+alone, hoping that the fiddler would follow, and come to reclaim his
+property.
+
+The fiddler never came. And when at last there was a fuss about his
+disappearance, the farmer's son, who had but a poor spirit, began to
+be afraid to tell the truth of the matter. "Who knows but they may
+accuse me of theft?" said he. So he hid the cloak, and the bundle,
+and the money-bag in the garden.
+
+But when three months passed, and still the fiddler did not return, it
+was whispered that the farmer's son had been his last companion; and
+the place was searched, and they found the cloak, and the bundle, and
+the money-bag and the lad was taken to prison.
+
+Now, when it was too late, he plucked up a spirit, and told the truth;
+but no one believed him, and it was said that he had murdered the
+fiddler for the sake of his money and goods. And he was taken before
+the judge, found guilty, and sentenced to death.
+
+Fortunately, his old mother was a Wise Woman. And when she heard that
+he was condemned, she said, "Only follow my directions, and we may
+save you yet; for I guess how it is."
+
+So she went to the judge, and begged for her son three favours before
+his death.
+
+"I will grant them," said the judge, "if you do not ask for his life."
+
+"The first," said the old woman, "is, that he may choose the place
+where the gallows shall be erected; the second, that he may fix the
+hour of his execution; and the third favour is, that you will not fail
+to be present."
+
+"I grant all three," said the judge. But when he learned that the
+criminal had chosen a certain hill on the downs for the place of
+execution, and an hour before midnight for the time, he sent to beg
+the sheriff to bear him company on this important occasion.
+
+The sheriff placed himself at the judge's disposal, but he commanded
+the attendance of the gaoler as some sort of protection; and the
+gaoler, for his part, implored his reverence the chaplain to be of the
+party, as the hill was not in good spiritual repute. So, when the time
+came, the four started together, and the hangman and the farmer's son
+went before them to the foot of the gallows.
+
+Just as the rope was being prepared, the farmer'a son called to the
+judge, and said, "If your Honour will walk twenty paces down the hill,
+to where you will see a bit of paper, you will learn the fate of the
+fiddler."
+
+"That is, no doubt, a copy of the poor man's last confession," thought
+the judge.
+
+"Murder will out, Mr. Sheriff," said he; and in the interests of truth
+and justice he hastened to pick up the paper.
+
+But the farmer's son had dropped it as he came along, by his mother's
+direction, in such a place that the judge could not pick it up without
+putting his foot on the edge of the fairy ring. No sooner had he done
+so than he perceived an innumerable company of little people dressed
+in green cloaks and hoods, who were dancing round in a circle as wide
+as the ring itself.
+
+They were all about two feet high, and had aged faces, brown and
+withered, like the knots on gnarled trees in hedge bottoms, and they
+squinted horribly; but, in spite of their seeming age, they flew round
+and round like children.
+
+"Mr. Sheriff! Mr. Sheriff!" cried the judge, "come and see the
+dancing. And hear the music, too, which is so lively that it makes the
+soles of my feet tickle."
+
+"There is no music, my Lord Judge," said the sheriff, running down the
+hill. "It is the wind whistling over the grass that your lordship
+hears."
+
+But when the sheriff had put his foot by the judge's foot, he saw and
+heard the same, and he cried out, "Quick, Gaoler, and come down! I
+should like you to be witness to this matter. And you may take my arm,
+Gaoler, for the music makes me feel unsteady."
+
+"There is no music, sir," said the gaoler; "but your worship doubtless
+hears the creaking of the gallows."
+
+But no sooner had the gaoler's feet touched the fairy ring, than he
+saw and heard like the rest, and he called lustily to the chaplain to
+come and stop the unhallowed measure.
+
+"It is a delusion of the Evil One," said the parson; "there is not a
+sound in the air but the distant croaking of some frogs." But when he
+too touched the ring, he perceived his mistake.
+
+At this moment the moon shone out, and in the middle of the ring they
+saw Limping Tim the fiddler, playing till great drops stood out on his
+forehead, and dancing as madly as he played.
+
+"Ah, you rascal!" cried the judge. "Is this where you've been all the
+time, and a better man than you as good as hanged for you? But you
+shall come home now."
+
+Saying which, he ran in, and seized the fiddler by the arm, but
+Limping Tim resisted so stoutly that the sheriff had to go to the
+judge's assistance, and even then the fairies so pinched and hindered
+them that the sheriff was obliged to call upon the gaoler to put his
+arms about his waist, who persuaded the chaplain to add his strength
+to the string. But as ill luck would have it, just as they were
+getting off, one of the fairies picked up Limping Tim's fiddle, which
+had fallen in the scuffle, and began to play. And as he began to play,
+every one began to dance--the fiddler, and the judge, and the sheriff,
+and the gaoler, and even the chaplain.
+
+"Hangman! hangman!" screamed the judge, as he lifted first one leg and
+then the other to the tune, "come down, and catch hold of his
+reverence the chaplain. The prisoner is pardoned, and he can lay hold
+too."
+
+The hangman knew the judge's voice, and ran towards it; but as they
+were now quite within the ring he could see nothing, either of him or
+his companions.
+
+The farmer's son followed, and warning the hangman not to touch the
+ring, he directed him to stretch his hands forwards in hopes of
+catching hold of some one. In a few minutes the wind blew the
+chaplain's cassock against the hangman's fingers, and he caught the
+parson round the waist. The farmer's son then seized him in like
+fashion, and each holding firmly by the other, the fiddler, the judge,
+the sheriff, the gaoler, the parson, the hangman, and the farmer's son
+all got safely out of the charmed circle.
+
+"Oh, you scoundrel!" cried the judge to the fiddler; "I have a very
+good mind to hang you up on the gallows without further ado."
+
+But the fiddler only looked like one possessed, and upbraided the
+farmer's son for not having the patience to wait three minutes for
+him.
+
+"Three minutes!" cried he; "why, you've been here three months and a
+day."
+
+This the fiddler would not believe, and as he seemed in every way
+beside himself, they led him home, still upbraiding his companion,
+and crying continually for his fiddle.
+
+His neighbours watched him closely, but one day he escaped from their
+care and wandered away over the hills to seek his fiddle, and came
+back no more.
+
+His dead body was found upon the downs, face downwards, with the
+fiddle in his arms. Some said he had really found the fiddle where he
+had left it, and had been lost in a mist, and died of exposure. But
+others held that he had perished differently, and laid his death at
+the door of the fairy dancers.
+
+As to the farmer's son, it is said that thenceforward he went home
+from market by the high-road, and spoke the truth straight out, and
+was more careful of his company.
+
+
+
+
+"I WON'T."
+
+
+"Don't Care"--so they say--fell into a goose-pond; and "I won't" is
+apt to come to no better an end. At least, my grandmother tells me
+that was how the Miller had to quit his native town, and leave the tip
+of his nose behind him.
+
+It all came of his being allowed to say "I won't" when he was quite a
+little boy. His mother thought he looked pretty when he was pouting,
+and that wilfulness gave him an air which distinguished him from other
+people's children. And when she found out that his lower lip was
+becoming so big that it spoilt his beauty, and that his wilfulness
+gained his way twice and stood in his way eight times out of ten, it
+was too late to alter him.
+
+Then she said, "Dearest Abinadab, do be more obliging!"
+
+And he replied (as she had taught him), "I won't."
+
+He always took what he could get, and would neither give nor give up
+to other people. This, he thought, was the way to get more out of life
+than one's neighbours.
+
+Amongst other things, he made a point of taking the middle of the
+footpath.
+
+"Will you allow me to pass you, sir?--I am in a hurry," said a voice
+behind him one day.
+
+"I won't," said Abinadab; on which a poor washerwoman, with her
+basket, scrambled down into the road, and Abinadab chuckled.
+
+Next day he was walking as before.
+
+"Will you allow me to pass you, sir?--I am in a hurry," said a voice
+behind him.
+
+"I won't," said Abinadab. On which he was knocked into the ditch; and
+the Baron walked on, and left him to get out of the mud on whichever
+side he liked.
+
+He quarrelled with his friends till he had none left, and he
+quarrelled with the tradesmen of the town till there was only one who
+would serve him, and this man offended him at last.
+
+"I'll show you who's master!" said the Miller. "I won't pay a penny of
+your bill--not a penny."
+
+"Sir," said the tradesman, "my giving you offence now, is no just
+reason why you should refuse to pay for what you have had and been
+satisfied with. I must beg you to pay me at once."
+
+"I won't," said the Miller, "and what I say I mean. I won't; I tell
+you, I won't."
+
+So the tradesman summoned him before the Justice, and the Justice
+condemned him to pay the bill and the costs of the suit.
+
+"I won't," said the Miller.
+
+So they put him in prison, and in prison he would have remained if his
+mother had not paid the money to obtain his release. By and by she
+died, and left him her blessing and some very good advice, which (as
+is sometimes the case with bequests) would have been more useful if it
+had come earlier.
+
+The Miller's mother had taken a great deal of trouble off his hands
+which now fell into them. She took in all the small bags of grist
+which the country-folk brought to be ground, and kept account of them,
+and spoke civilly to the customers, big and little. But these small
+matters irritated the Miller.
+
+"I may be the slave of all the old women in the country-side," said
+he; "but I won't--they shall see that I won't."
+
+So he put up a notice to say that he would only receive grist at a
+certain hour on certain days. Now, but a third of the old women could
+read the notice, and they did not attend to it. People came as before;
+but the Miller locked the door of the mill and sat in the
+counting-house and chuckled.
+
+"My good friend," said his neighbours, "you can't do business in this
+way. If a man lives by trade, he must serve his customers. And a
+Miller must take in grist when it comes to the mill."
+
+"Others may if they please," said the Miller; "but I won't. When I
+make a rule, I stick to it."
+
+"Take advice, man, or you'll be ruined," said his friends.
+
+"I won't," said the Miller.
+
+In a few weeks all the country-folk turned their donkeys' heads
+towards the windmill on the heath. It was a little farther to go, but
+the Windmiller took custom when it came to him, gave honest measure,
+and added civil words gratis.
+
+The other Miller was ruined.
+
+"All you can do now is to leave the mill while you can pay the rent,
+and try another trade," said his friends.
+
+"I won't," said the Miller. "Shall I be turned out of the house where
+I was born, because the country-folk are fools?"
+
+However, he could not pay the rent, and the landlord found another
+tenant.
+
+"You must quit," said he to the Miller.
+
+"That I won't," said the Miller, "not for fifty new tenants."
+
+So the landlord sent for the constables, and he was carried out,
+which is not a dignified way of changing one's residence. But then it
+is not easy to be obstinate and dignified at the same time.
+
+His wrath against the landlord knew no bounds.
+
+"Was there ever such a brute?" he cried. "Would any man of spirit hold
+his home at the whim of a landlord? I'll never rent another house as
+long as I live."
+
+"But you must live somewhere," said his friends.
+
+"I won't," said the Miller.
+
+He was no longer a young man, and the new tenant pitied him.
+
+"The poor old fellow is out of his senses," he said. And he let him
+sleep in one of his barns. One of the mill cats found out that there
+was a new warm bed in this barn, and she came and lived there too, and
+kept away the mice.
+
+One night, however, Mrs. Pussy disturbed the Miller's rest. She was in
+and out of the window constantly, and meowed horribly into the
+bargain.
+
+"It seems a man can't even sleep in peace," said the Miller. "If this
+happens again, you'll go into the mill-race to sing to the fishes."
+
+The next night the cat was still on the alert, and the following
+morning the Miller tied a stone round her neck, and threw her into the
+water.
+
+"Oh, spare the poor thing, there's a good soul," said a bystander.
+
+"I won't," said the Miller. "I told her what would happen."
+
+When his back was turned, however, the bystander got Pussy out, and
+took her home with him.
+
+Now the cat was away, the mice could play; and they played hide-and
+seek over the Miller's nightcap.
+
+It came to such a pass that there was no rest to be had.
+
+"I won't go to bed, I declare I won't," said the Miller. So he sat up
+all night in an arm-chair, and threw everything he could lay his hands
+on at the corners where he heard the mice scuffling, till the place
+was topsy-turvy.
+
+Towards morning he lit a candle and dressed himself. He was in a
+terrible humour; and when he began to shave, his hand shook and he cut
+himself. The draughts made the flame of the candle unsteady too, and
+the shadow of the Miller's nose (which was a large one) fell in
+uncertain shapes upon his cheeks, and interfered with the progress of
+the razor. At first he thought he would wait till daylight. Then his
+temper got the better of him.
+
+"I won't," he said, "I won't; why should I?"
+
+So he began again. He held on by his nose to steady his cheeks, and
+he gave it such a spiteful pinch that the tears came into his eyes.
+
+"Matters have come to a pretty pass, when a man's own nose is to stand
+in his light," said he.
+
+By and by a gust of wind came through the window. Up flared the
+candle, and the shadow of the Miller's nose danced half over his face,
+and the razor gashed his chin.
+
+Transported with fury, he struck at it before he could think what he
+was doing. The razor was very sharp, and the tip of the Miller's nose
+came off as clean as his whiskers.
+
+When daylight came, and he saw himself in the glass, he resolved to
+leave the place.
+
+"I won't stay here to be a laughing-stock," said he.
+
+As he trudged out on to the highway, with his bundle on his back, the
+Baron met him and pitied him. He dismounted from his horse, and
+leading it up to the Miller, he said:
+
+"Friend, you are elderly to be going far afoot. I will lend you my
+mare to take you to your destination. When you are there, knot the
+reins and throw them on her shoulder, saying, 'Home!' She will then
+return to me. But mark one thing,--she is not used to whip or spur.
+Humour her, and she will carry you well and safely."
+
+The Miller mounted willingly enough, and set forward. At first the
+mare was a little restive. The Miller had no spurs on, but, in spite
+of the Baron's warning, he kicked her with his heels. On this, she
+danced till the Miller's hat and bundle flew right and left, and he
+was very near to following them.
+
+"Ah, you vixen!" he cried. "You think I'll humour you as the Baron
+does. But I won't--no, you shall see that I won't!" And gripping his
+walking-stick firmly in his hand, he belaboured the Baron's mare as if
+she had been a donkey.
+
+On which she sent the Miller clean over her head, and cantered back to
+the castle; and wherever it was that he went to, he had to walk.
+
+He never returned to his native village, and everybody was glad to be
+rid of him. One must bear and forbear with his neighbours, if he hopes
+to be regretted when he departs.
+
+But my grandmother says that long after the mill had fallen into ruin,
+the story was told as a warning to wilful children of the Miller who
+cut off his nose to spite his own face.
+
+
+
+
+THE MAGIC JAR.
+
+
+There was once a young fellow whom fortune had blessed with a good
+mother, a clever head, and a strong body. But beyond this she had not
+much favoured him; and though able and willing to work, he had often
+little to do, and less to eat. But his mother had taught him to be
+contented with his own lot, and to feel for others. Moreover, from her
+he inherited a great love for flowers.
+
+One day, when his pockets were emptiest, a fair was held in the
+neighbouring town, and he must needs go as well as the rest, though he
+had no money to spend. But he stuck a buttercup in his cap, for which
+he had nothing to pay, and strode along as merrily as the most.
+
+Towards evening some of the merrymakers became riotous; and a party of
+them fell upon an old Jew who was keeping a stall of glass and china,
+and would smash his stock. Now as the Jew stood before his booth
+beseeching them to spare his property, up came the strong young man,
+with the flower still unwithered in his cap, and he took the old Jew's
+part and defended him. For from childhood his mother had taught him to
+feel for others.
+
+So those who would have ill-treated the old Jew now moved off, and the
+young man stayed with him till he had packed up his wares.
+
+Then the Jew turned towards him and said, "My son, he who delivers the
+oppressed, and has respect unto the aged, has need of no reward, for
+the blessing of Him that blesseth is about him. Nevertheless, that I
+may not seem ungrateful, choose, I pray thee, one of these china jars;
+and take it to thee for thine own. If thou shalt choose well, it may
+be of more use to thee than presently appears."
+
+Thereupon the young man examined the jars, which were highly
+ornamented with many figures and devices; but he chose one that was
+comparatively plain; only it had a bunch of flowers painted on the
+front, round which was a pretty device in spots or circles of gold.
+
+Then said the Jew, "My son, why have you chosen this jar, when there
+are others so much finer?"
+
+The young man said, "Because the flowers please me, and I have a love
+for flowers."
+
+Then said the Jew, "Happy is he whose tastes are simple! Moreover,
+herein is a rare wisdom, and thou hast gained that which is the most
+valuable of my possessions. This jar has properties which I will
+further explain to thee. It was given to me by a wise woman, subject
+to this condition, that I must expose it for sale from sunrise to
+sunset at the yearly fair. When I understood this I took counsel with
+myself how I should preserve it; and I bought other china jars of more
+apparent value, and I marked them all with the same price. For I said
+within myself, 'There is no man who does not desire to get as much as
+he can for his money, therefore, from its contrast with these others,
+my jar is safe.' And it was even so; for truly, many have desired to
+buy the jar because of the delicate beauty of the flowers, if I would
+have sold it for less than others which seemed more valuable."
+
+"Many times it has been almost gone, but when I have shown the others
+at the same price, my customers have reviled me, saying, 'Dog of a
+Jew, dost thou ask as much for this as for these others Which are
+manifestly worth double?' and they have either departed, cursing me,
+and taking nothing; or they have bought one of the more richly
+decorated jars at the same price. For verily in most men the spirit of
+covetousness is stronger than the love of beauty, and they rather
+desire to get much for their money, than to obtain that which is
+suitable and convenient."
+
+"But in thee, O young man! I have beheld a rare wisdom. To choose that
+which is good in thine eyes, and suitable to thy needs, rather than
+that which satisfieth the lust of over-reaching; and lo! what I have
+so long kept from thousands, has become thine!"
+
+Then the young man wished to restore to the Jew the jar he valued so
+highly, and to choose another.
+
+But the Jew refused, saying, "A gift cannot be recalled. Moreover, I
+will now explain to thee its uses. Within the jar lies a toad, whose
+spit is poison. But it will never spit at its master. Every evening
+thou must feed it with bread and milk, when it will fall asleep; and
+at sunrise in the morning it will awake and breathe heavily against
+the side of the jar, which will thus become warm. As it warms the
+flowers will blossom out, and become real, and full of perfume, and
+thou wilt be able to pluck them without diminishing their number.
+Moreover, these twelve round spots of gold will drop off, and become
+twelve gold pieces, which will be thine. And thus it will be every
+day. Only thou must thyself rise with the sun, and gather the flowers
+and the gold with thine own hands. Furthermore, when the jar cools,
+the flowers and gilding will be as before. Fare thee well."
+
+And even as he spoke the Jew lifted the huge crate of china on to his
+back, and disappeared among the crowd.
+
+All came about as the Jew had promised. As he had twelve gold pieces a
+day, the young man now wanted for nothing, besides which he had fresh
+flowers on his table all the year round.
+
+Now it is well said, "Thy business is my business, and the business of
+all beside;" for every man's affairs are his neighbours' property.
+Thus it came about that all those who lived near the young man were
+perplexed that he had such beautiful flowers in all seasons; and
+esteemed it as an injury to themselves that he should have them and
+give no explanation as to whence they came.
+
+At last it came to the ears of the king, and he also was disturbed.
+For he was curious, and fond of prying into small matters; a taste
+which ill becomes those of high position. But the king had no child to
+succeed him; and he was always suspecting those about him of plotting
+to obtain the crown, and thus he came to be for ever prying into the
+affairs of his subjects.
+
+Now when he heard of the young man who had flowers on his table all
+the year round, he desired one of his officers to go and question him
+as to how he obtained them. But the young man contrived to evade his
+questions, and the matter was at rest for a while.
+
+Then the king sent another messenger, with orders to press the young
+man more closely; and because the young man disdained to tell a lie,
+he said, "I get the flowers from yon china jar."
+
+Then the messenger returned, and said to the king, "The young man says
+that he gets the flowers from a certain china jar which stands in his
+room."
+
+Then said the king, "Bring the contents of the jar hither to me." And
+the messenger returned and brought the toad.
+
+But when the king laid hold upon the toad, it spat in his face; and he
+was poisoned and died.
+
+Then the toad sat upon the king's mouth, and would not be enticed
+away. And every one feared to touch it because it spat poison. And
+they called the wise men of the council; and they performed certain
+rites to charm away the toad, and yet it would not go.
+
+But after three days, the master of the toad came to the palace, and
+without saying who he was, he desired to be permitted to try and get
+the toad from the corpse of the king.
+
+And when he was taken into the king's chamber, he stood and beckoned
+to the toad, saying, "The person of the king and the bodies of the
+dead are sacred, wherefore come away."
+
+And the toad crawled from the king's face and came to him, and did not
+spit at him; and he put it back into the jar.
+
+Then said the wise men, "There is no one so fit to succeed to the
+kingdom as this man is; both for wisdom of speech and for the power of
+command."
+
+And what they said pleased the people; and the young man was made
+king. And in due time he married an amiable and talented princess, and
+had children. And he ruled the kingdom well and wisely, and was
+beloved till his death.
+
+Now when, after the lapse of many years, he died, there was great
+grief among the people, and his body was laid out in his own room, and
+the people were permitted to come and look upon his face for the last
+time.
+
+And among the crowd there appeared an aged Jew. And he did not weep as
+did the others; but he came and stood by the bier, and gazed upon the
+face of the dead king in silence. And after a while he exclaimed, and
+said:
+
+"Oh, wonderful spectacle! A man, and not covetous. A ruler, and not
+oppressive. Contented in poverty, and moderate in wealth. Elect of the
+people, and beloved to the end!"
+
+And when he had said this, he again became silent, and stood as one
+astonished.
+
+And no one knew when he came in, nor perceived when he departed.
+
+But when they came to search for the china jar, it was gone, and could
+never afterwards be found.
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST WIFE'S WEDDING-RING.
+
+
+Many years ago, there lived a certain worthy man who was twice
+married. By his first wife he had a son, who soon after his mother's
+death resolved to become a soldier, and go to foreign lands. "When one
+has seen the world, one values home the more," said he; "and if I live
+I shall return."
+
+So the father gave him a blessing, and his mother's wedding-ring,
+saying, "Keep this ring, and then, however long you stay away, and
+however changed you may become, by this token I shall know you to be
+my true son and heir."
+
+In a short time the father married again, and by this marriage also he
+had one son.
+
+Years passed by, and the elder brother did not return, and at last
+every one believed him to be dead. But in reality he was alive, and
+after a long time he turned his steps homewards. He was so much
+changed by age and travelling that only his mother would have known
+him again, but he had the ring tied safe and fast round his neck. One
+night, however, he was too far from shelter to get a bed, so he slept
+under a hedge, and when he woke in the morning the string was untied
+and the ring was gone. He spent a whole day in searching for it, but
+in vain; and at last he resolved to proceed and explain the matter to
+his father.
+
+The old man was overjoyed to see him, and fully believed his tale, but
+with the second wife it was otherwise. She was greatly displeased to
+think that her child was not now to be the sole heir of his father's
+goods; and she so pestered and worked upon the old man by artful and
+malicious speeches, that he consented to send away the new-comer till
+he should have found the first wife's wedding-ring.
+
+"Is the homestead I have taken such care of," she cried, "to go to the
+first vagrant who comes in with a brown face and a ragged coat,
+pretending that he is your son?"
+
+So the soldier was sent about his business; but his father followed
+him to the gate, and slipped some money into his hand, saying, "God
+speed you back again with the ring!"
+
+It was Sunday morning, and the bells were ringing for service as he
+turned sadly away.
+
+"Ding, dong!" rang the bells, "ding, dong! Why do you not come to
+church like others? Why are you not dressed in your Sunday clothes,
+and wherefore do you heave such doleful sighs, whilst we ring merrily?
+Ding, dong! ding, dong!"
+
+"Is there not a cause?" replied the soldier. "This day I am turned out
+of home and heritage, though indeed I am the true heir."
+
+"Nevertheless we shall ring for your return," said the bells.
+
+As he went, the sun shone on the green fields, and in the soldier's
+eyes, and said, "See how brightly I shine! But you, comrade, why is
+your face so cloudy?"
+
+"Is there not good reason?" replied he. "This day I am turned out of
+home and heritage, and yet I am the true heir."
+
+"Nevertheless I shall shine on your return," said the sun.
+
+Along the road the hawthorn hedges were white with blossom. "Heyday!"
+they cried, "who is this that comes trimp tramp, with a face as long
+as a poplar-tree? Cheer up, friend! It is spring! sweet spring! All is
+now full of hope and joy, and why should you look so sour?"
+
+"May I not be excused?" said the soldier. "This day I am turned out,
+of home and heritage, and yet I am the true heir."
+
+"Nevertheless we shall blossom when you return," said the hedges.
+
+When he had wandered for three days and three nights, all he had was
+spent, and there was no shelter to be seen but a dark gloomy forest,
+which stretched before him. Just then he saw a small, weazened old
+woman, who was trying to lift a bundle of sticks on to her back.
+
+"That is too heavy for you, good mother," said the soldier; and he
+raised and adjusted it for her.
+
+"Have you just come here?" muttered the old crone; "then the best
+thanks I can give you is to bid you get away as fast as you can."
+
+"I never retreated yet, dame," said the soldier, and on he went.
+
+Presently he met with a giant, who was strolling along by the edge of
+the wood, knocking the cones off the tops of the fir-trees with his
+finger-nails. He was an ill-favoured-looking monster, but he said,
+civilly enough, "You look in want of employment, comrade. Will you
+take service with me?"
+
+"I must first know two things," answered the soldier; "my work and my
+wages."
+
+"Your work," said the giant, "is to cut a path through this wood to
+the other side. But then you shall have a year and a day to do it in.
+If you do it within the time, you will find at the other end a
+magpie's nest, in which is the ring of which you are in search. The
+nest also contains the crown jewels which have been stolen, and if you
+take these to the king, you will need no further reward. But, on the
+other hand, if the work is not done within the time, you will
+thenceforth be my servant without wages."
+
+"It is a hard bargain," said the soldier, "but need knows no law, and
+I agree to the conditions."
+
+When he came into the giant's abode, he was greatly astonished to see
+the little weazened old woman. She showed no sign of recognizing him,
+however, and the soldier observed a like discretion. He soon
+discovered that she was the giant's wife, and much in dread of her
+husband, who treated her with great cruelty.
+
+"To-morrow you shall begin to work," said the giant.
+
+"If you please," said the soldier, and before he went to bed he
+carried in water and wood for the old woman.
+
+"There's a kinship in trouble," said he.
+
+Next morning the giant led him to a certain place on the outskirts of
+the forest, and giving him an axe, said, "The sooner you begin, the
+better, and you may see that it is not difficult." Saying which, he
+took hold of one of the trees by the middle, and snapped it off as one
+might pluck a flower.
+
+"Thus to thee, but how to me?" said the soldier; and when the giant
+departed he set to work. But although he was so strong, and worked
+willingly, the trees seemed almost as hard as stone, and he made
+little progress. When he returned at night the giant asked him how he
+got on.
+
+"The trees are very hard," said he.
+
+"So they always say," replied the giant; "I have always had idle
+servants."
+
+"I will not be called idle a second time," thought the soldier, and
+next day he went early and worked his utmost. But the result was very
+small. And when he came home, looking weary and disappointed, he could
+not fail to perceive that this gave great satisfaction to the giant.
+
+Matters had gone on thus for some time, when one morning, as he went
+to work, he found the little old woman gathering sticks as before.
+
+"Listen," said she. "He shall not treat you as he has treated others.
+Count seventy to the left from where you are working, and begin again.
+But do not let him know that you have made a fresh start. And do a
+little at the old place from time to time, as a blind." And before he
+could thank her, the old woman was gone. Without more ado, however, he
+counted seventy from the old place, and hit the seventieth tree such a
+blow with his axe, that it came crashing down then and there. And he
+found that, one after another, the trees yielded to his blows as if
+they were touch-wood. He did a good day's work, gave a few strokes in
+the old spot, and came home, taking care to look as gloomy as before.
+
+Day by day he got deeper and deeper into the wood, the trees falling
+before him like dry elder twigs; and now the hardest part of his work
+was walking backwards and fowards to the giant's home, for the forest
+seemed almost interminable. But on the three hundred and sixty-sixth
+day from his first meeting with the giant, the soldier cut fairly
+through on to an open plain, and as the light streamed in, a magpie
+flew away, and on searching her nest, the soldier found his mother's
+wedding-ring. He also found many precious stones of priceless value,
+which were evidently the lost crown jewels. And as his term of service
+with the giant was now ended, he did not trouble himself to return,
+but with the ring and the jewels in his pocket set off to find his way
+to the capital.
+
+He soon fell in with a good-humoured, fellow who showed him the way,
+and pointed out everything of interest on the road. As they drew near,
+one of the royal carriages was driving out of the city gates, in which
+sat three beautiful ladies who were the king's daughters.
+
+"The two eldest are engaged to marry two neighbouring princes," said
+the companion.
+
+"And whom is the youngest to marry?" asked the soldier, "for she is by
+far the most beautiful."
+
+"She will never marry," answered his companion, "for she is pledged to
+the man who shall find the crown jewels, and cut a path through the
+stone-wood forest that borders the king's domains. And that is much as
+if she were promised to the man who should fetch down the moon for her
+to play with. For the jewels are lost beyond recall, and the wood is
+an enchanted forest."
+
+"Nevertheless she shall be wed with my mother's ring," thought the
+soldier. But he kept his own counsel, and only waited till he had
+smartened himself up, before he sought an audience of the king.
+
+His claim to the princess was fully proved; the king heaped honours
+and riches upon him; and he made himself so acceptable to his
+bride-elect, that the wedding was fixed for an early day.
+
+"May I bring my old father, madam?" he asked of the princess.
+
+"That you certainly may," said she. "A good son makes a good husband."
+
+As he entered his native village the hedges were in blossom, the sun
+shone; and the bells rang for his return.
+
+His stepmother now welcomed him, and was very anxious to go to court
+also. But her husband said, "No. You took such good care of the
+homestead, it is but fit you should look to it whilst I am away."
+
+As to the giant, when he found that he had been outwitted, he went
+off, and was never more heard of in those parts. But the soldier took
+his wife into the city, and cared for her to the day of her death.
+
+
+
+
+THE MAGICIAN TURNED MISCHIEF-MAKER.
+
+
+There was once a wicked magician who prospered, and did much evil for
+many years. But there came a day when Vengeance, disguised as a blind
+beggar, overtook him, and outwitted him, and stole his magic wand.
+With this he had been accustomed to turn those who offended him into
+any shape he pleased; and now that he had lost it he could only
+transform himself.
+
+As Vengeance was returning to his place, he passed through a village,
+the inhabitants of which had formerly lived in great terror of the
+magician, and told them of the downfall of his power. But they only
+said, "Blind beggars have long tongues. One must not believe all one
+hears," and shrugged their shoulders, and left him.
+
+Then Vengeance waved the wand and said, "As you have doubted me,
+distress each other;" and so departed.
+
+By and by he came to another village, and told the news. But here the
+villagers were full of delight, and made a feast, and put the blind
+beggar in the place of honour; who, when he departed, said, "As you
+have done by me, deal with each other always!" and went on to the next
+village.
+
+In this place he was received with even warmer welcome; and when the
+feast was over, the people brought him to the bridge which led out of
+the village, and gave him a guide-dog to help him on his way.
+
+Then the blind beggar waved the wand once more and said;
+
+"Those who are so good to strangers must needs be good to each other.
+But that nothing may be wanting to the peace of this place, I grant to
+the beasts and birds in it that they may understand the language of
+men."
+
+Then he broke the wand in pieces, and threw it into the stream. And
+when the people turned their heads back again from watching the bits
+as they floated away, the blind beggar was gone.
+
+Meanwhile the magician was wild with rage at the loss of his wand, for
+all his pleasure was to do harm and hurt. But when he came to himself
+he said: "One can do a good deal of harm with his tongue. I will turn
+mischief-maker; and when the place is too hot to hold me, I can escape
+in what form I please."
+
+Then he came to the first village, where Vengeance had gone before,
+and here he lived for a year and a day in various disguises; and he
+made more misery with his tongue than he had ever accomplished in any
+other year with his magic wand. For every one distrusted his
+neighbour, and was ready to believe ill of him. So parents disowned
+their children, and husband and wives parted, and lovers broke faith;
+and servants and masters disagreed; and old friends became bitter
+enemies, till at last the place was intolerable even to the magician,
+and he changed himself into a cockchafer, and flew to the next
+village, where, Vengeance had gone before.
+
+Here also he dwelt for a year and a day, and then he left it because
+he could do no harm. For those who loved each other trusted each
+other, and the magician made mischief in vain. In one of his disguises
+he was detected, and only escaped with his life from the enraged
+villagers by changing himself into a cockchafer and flying on to the
+next place, where Vengeance had gone before.
+
+In this village he made less mischief than in the first, and more than
+in the second. And he exercised all his art, and changed his disguises
+constantly; but the dogs knew him under all.
+
+One dog--the oldest dog in the place--was keeping watch over the
+miller's house, when he saw the magician approaching, in the disguise
+of an old woman.
+
+"Do you see that old witch?" said he to the sparrows, who were picking
+up stray bits of grain in the yard. "With her evil tongue she is
+parting my master's daughter and the finest young fellow in the
+country-side. She puts lies and truth together, with more skill than
+you patch moss and feathers to build nests. And when she is asked
+where she heard this or that, she says, 'A little bird told me so.'"
+
+"We never told her," said the sparrows indignantly, "and if we had
+your strength, Master Keeper, she should not malign us long!"
+
+"I believe you are right!" said Master Keeper. "Of what avail is it
+that we have learned the language of men, if we do not help them to
+the utmost of our powers? She shall torment my young mistress no
+more."
+
+Saying which he flew upon the disguised magician as he entered the
+gate, and would have torn him limb from limb, but that the
+mischief-maker changed himself as before into a cockchafer, and flew
+hastily from the village.
+
+And thus he might doubtless have escaped to do yet further harm, had
+not three cock-sparrows overtaken him just before he crossed the
+bridge.
+
+From three sides they hemmed him in, crying, "Which of us told you?"
+"Which of us told you?" "Which of us told you?"--and pecked him to
+pieces before he could transform himself again.
+
+After which peace and prosperity befell all the neighbourhood.
+
+
+
+
+KNAVE AND FOOL.
+
+
+A Fool and a Knave once set up house together; which shows what a fool
+the Fool was.
+
+The Knave was delighted with the agreement; and the Fool thought
+himself most fortunate to have met with a companion who would supply
+his lack of mother-wit.
+
+As neither of them liked work, the Knave proposed that they should
+live upon their joint savings as long as these should last; and, to
+avoid disputes, that they should use the Fool's share till it came to
+an end, and then begin upon the Knave's stocking.
+
+So, for a short time, they lived in great comfort at the Fool's
+expense, and were very good company; for easy times make easy tempers.
+
+Just when the store was exhausted, the Knave came running to the Fool
+with an empty bag and a wry face, crying, "Dear friend, what shall we
+do? This bag, which I had safely buried under a gooseberry-bush, has
+been taken up by some thief, and all my money stolen. My savings were
+twice as large as yours; but now that they are gone, and I can no
+longer perform my share of the bargain, I fear our partnership must be
+dissolved."
+
+"Not so, dear friend," said the Fool, who was very good-natured; "we
+have shared good luck together, and now we will share poverty. But as
+nothing is left, I fear we must seek work."
+
+"You speak very wisely," said the Knave, "And what, for instance, can
+you do?"
+
+"Very little," said the Fool; "but that little I do well."
+
+"So do I," said the Knave. "Now can you plough, or sow, or feed
+cattle, or plant crops?"
+
+"Farming is not my business," said the Fool.
+
+"Nor mine," said the Knave; "but no doubt you are a handicraftsman.
+Are you clever at carpentry, mason's work, tailoring, or shoemaking?"
+
+"I do not doubt that I should have been had I learned the trades,"
+said the Fool, "but I never was bound apprentice."
+
+"It is the same with myself," said the Knave; "but you may have finer
+talents. Can you paint, or play the fiddle?"
+
+"I never tried," said the Fool; "so I don't know."
+
+"Just my case," said the Knave. "And now, since we can't find work, I
+propose that we travel till work finds us."
+
+The two comrades accordingly set forth, and they went on and on, till
+they came to the foot of a hill, where a merchantman was standing by
+his wagon, which had broken down.
+
+"You seem two strong men," said he, as they advanced; "if you will
+carry this chest of valuables up to the top of the hill, and down to
+the bottom on the other side, where there is an inn, I will give you
+two gold pieces for your trouble."
+
+The Knave and the Fool consented to this, saying, "Work has found us
+at last;" and they lifted the box on to their shoulders.
+
+"Turn, and turn about," said the Knave; "but the best turn between
+friends is a good turn; so I will lead the way up-hill, which is the
+hardest kind of travelling, and you shall go first down-hill, the easy
+half of our journey."
+
+The Fool thought this proposal a very generous one, and, not knowing
+that the lower end of their burden was the heavy one, he carried it
+all the way. When they got to the inn, the merchant gave each of them
+a gold piece, and, as the accommodation was good, they remained where
+they were till their money was spent. After this, they lived there
+awhile on credit; and when that was exhausted, they rose one morning
+whilst the landlord was still in bed, and pursued their journey,
+leaving old scores behind them.
+
+They had been a long time without work or food, when they came upon a
+man who sat by the roadside breaking stones, with a quart of porridge
+and a spoon in a tin pot beside him.
+
+"You look hungry, friends," said he, "and I, for my part, want to get
+away. If you will break up this heap, you shall have the porridge for
+supper. But when you have eaten it, put the pot and spoon under the
+hedge, that I may find them when I return."
+
+"If we eat first, we shall have strength for our work," said the
+Knave; "and as there is only one spoon, we must eat by turns. But
+fairly divide, friendly abide. As you went first the latter part of
+our journey, I will begin on this occasion. When I stop, you fall to,
+and eat as many spoonfuls as I ate. Then I will follow you in like
+fashion, and so on till the pot is empty."
+
+"Nothing could be fairer," said the Fool; and the Knave began to eat,
+and went on till he had eaten a third of the porridge. The Fool, who
+had counted every spoonful, now took his turn, and ate precisely as
+much as his comrade. The Knave then began again, and was exact to a
+mouthful; but it emptied the pot. Thus the Knave had twice as much as
+the Fool, who could not see where he had been cheated.
+
+They then set to work.
+
+"As there is only one hammer," said the Knave, "we must work, as we
+supped, by turns; and as I began last time, you shall begin this.
+After you have worked awhile, I will take the hammer from you, and do
+as much myself whilst you rest. Then you shall take it up again, and
+so on till the heap is finished."
+
+"It is not every one who is as just as you," said the Fool; and taking
+up the hammer, he set to work with a will.
+
+The Knave took care to let him go on till he had broken a third of the
+stones, and then he did as good a share himself; after which the Fool
+began again, and finished the heap.
+
+By this means the Fool did twice as much work as the Knave, and yet he
+could not complain.
+
+As they moved on again, the Fool perceived that the Knave was taking
+the can and the spoon with him.
+
+"I am sorry to see you do that, friend," said he.
+
+"It's a very small theft," said the Knave. "The can cannot have cost
+more than sixpence when new."
+
+"That was not what I meant," said the Fool, "so much as that I fear
+the owner will find it out."
+
+"He will only think the things have been stolen by some vagrant,"
+said the Knave--"which, indeed, they would be if we left them. But as
+you seem to have a tender conscience, I will keep them myself."
+
+After a while they met with a farmer, who offered to give them supper
+and a night's lodging, if they would scare the birds from a field of
+corn for him till sunset.
+
+"I will go into the outlying fields," said the Knave, "and as I see
+the birds coming, I will turn them back. You, dear friend, remain in
+the corn, and scare away the few that may escape me."
+
+But whilst the Fool clapped and shouted till he was tired, the Knave
+went to the other side of the hedge, and lay down for a nap.
+
+As they sat together at supper, the Fool said, "Dear friend, this is
+laborious work. I propose that we ask the farmer to let us tend sheep,
+instead. That is a very different affair. One lies on the hillside all
+day. The birds do not steal sheep; and all this shouting and clapping
+is saved."
+
+The Knave very willingly agreed, and next morning the two friends
+drove a flock of sheep on to the downs. The sheep at once began to
+nibble, the dog sat with his tongue out, panting, and the Knave and
+Fool lay down on their backs, and covered their faces with their hats
+to shield them from the sun.
+
+Thus they lay till evening, when, the sun being down, they uncovered
+their faces, and found that the sheep had all strayed away, and the
+dog after them.
+
+"The only plan for us is to go separate ways in search of the flock,"
+said the Knave; "only let us agree to meet here again." They
+accordingly started in opposite directions; but when the Fool was
+fairly off, the Knave returned to his place, and lay down as before.
+
+By and by the dog brought the sheep back; so that, when the Fool
+returned, the Knave got the credit of having found them; for the dog
+scorned to explain his part in the matter.
+
+As they sat together at supper, the Fool said, "The work is not so
+easy as I thought. Could we not find a better trade yet?"
+
+"Can you beg?" said the Knave. "A beggar's trade is both easy and
+profitable. Nothing is required but walking and talking. Then one
+walks at his own pace, for there is no hurry, and no master, and the
+same tale does for every door. And, that all may be fair and equal,
+you shall beg at the front door, whilst I ask an alms at the back."
+
+To this the Fool gladly agreed; and as he was as lean as a hunted cat,
+charitable people gave him a penny or two from time to time.
+Meanwhile, the Knave went round to the back yard, where he picked up
+a fowl, or turkey, or anything that he could lay his hands upon.
+
+When he returned to the Fool, he would say, "See what has been given
+to me, whilst you have only got a few pence."
+
+At last this made the Fool discontented, and he said, "I should like
+now to exchange with you. I will go to the back doors, and you to the
+front."
+
+The Knave consented, and at the next house the Fool went to the back
+door; but the mistress of the farm only rated him, and sent him away.
+Meanwhile, the Knave, from the front, had watched her leave the
+parlour, and slipping in through the window, he took a ham and a
+couple of new loaves from the table, and so made off.
+
+When the friends met, the Fool was crestfallen at his ill luck, and
+the Knave complained that all the burden of their support fell upon
+him. "See," said he, "what they give me, where you get only a mouthful
+of abuse!" And he dined heartily on what he had stolen; but the Fool
+only had bits of the breadcrust, and the parings of the ham.
+
+At the next place the Fool went to the front door as before, and the
+Knave secured a fat goose and some plums in the back yard, which he
+popped under his cloak. The Fool came away with empty hands, and the
+Knave scolded him, saying, "Do you suppose that I mean to share this
+fat goose with a lazy beggar like you? Go on, and find for yourself."
+With which he sat down and began to eat the plums, whilst the Fool
+walked on alone.
+
+After a while, however, the Knave saw a stir in the direction of the
+farm they had left, and he quickly perceived that the loss of the
+goose was known, and that the farmer and his men were in pursuit of
+the thief. So, hastily picking up the goose, he overtook the Fool, and
+pressed it into his arms, saying, "Dear friend, pardon a passing ill
+humour, of which I sincerely repent. Are we not partners in good luck
+and ill? I was wrong, dear friend; and, in token of my penitence, the
+goose shall be yours alone. And here are a few plums with which you
+may refresh yourself by the wayside. As for me, I will hasten on to
+the next farm, and see if I can beg a bottle of wine to wash down the
+dinner, and drink to our good-fellowship." And before the Fool could
+thank him, the Knave was off like the wind.
+
+By and by the farmer and his men came up, and found the Fool eating
+the plums, with the goose on the grass beside him.
+
+They hurried him off to the justice, where his own story met with no
+credit. The woman of the next farm came up also, and recognized him
+for the man who had begged at her door the day she lost a ham and two
+new loaves. In vain he said that these things also had been given to
+his friend. The friend never appeared; and the poor Fool was whipped
+and put in the stocks.
+
+Towards evening the Knave hurried up to the village green, where his
+friend sat doing penance for the theft.
+
+"My dear friend," said he, "what do I see? Is such cruelty possible?
+But I hear that the justice is not above a bribe, and we must at any
+cost obtain your release. I am going at once to pawn my own boots and
+cloak, and everything about me that I can spare, and if you have
+anything to add, this is no time to hesitate."
+
+The poor Fool begged his friend to draw off his boots, and to take his
+hat and coat as well, and to make all speed on his charitable errand.
+
+The Knave, took all that he could get, and, leaving his friend sitting
+in the stocks in his shirt-sleeves, he disappeared as swiftly as one
+could wish a man to carry a reprieve.
+
+For those good folks to whom everything must be explained in full, it
+may be added that the Knave did not come back, and that he kept the
+clothes.
+
+It was very hard on the Fool; but what can one expect if he keeps
+company with a Knave?
+
+
+
+
+UNDER THE SUN.
+
+
+There once lived a farmer who was so avaricious and miserly, and so
+hard and close in all his dealings that, as folks say, he would skin a
+flint. A Jew and a Yorkshireman had each tried to bargain with him,
+and both had had the worst of it. It is needless to say that he never
+either gave or lent.
+
+Now, by thus scraping, and saving, and grinding for many years, he had
+become almost wealthy; though, indeed, he was no better fed and
+dressed than if he had not a penny to bless himself with. But what
+vexed him sorely was that his next neighbour's farm prospered in all
+matters better than his own; and this, although the owner was as
+open-handed as our farmer was stingy.
+
+When in spring he ploughed his own worn-out land, and reached the top
+of the furrow where his field joined one of the richly-fed fields of
+his neighbour, he would cast an envious glance over the hedge, and
+say, "So far and no farther?" for he would have liked to have had the
+whole under his plough. And so in the autumn, when he gathered his own
+scanty crop and had to stop his sickle short of the close ranks of his
+neighbour's corn, he would cry, "All this, and none of that?" and go
+home sorely discontented.
+
+Now on the lands of the liberal farmer (whose name was Merryweather)
+there lived a dwarf or hillman, who made a wager that he would both
+beg and borrow of the covetous farmer, and out-bargain him to boot. So
+he went one day to his house, and asked him if he would kindly give
+him half a stone of flour to make hasty pudding with; adding, that if
+he would lend him a bag to carry it in to the hill, this should be
+returned clean and in good condition.
+
+The farmer saw with half an eye that this was the dwarf from his
+neighbour's estate, and as he had always laid the luck of the liberal
+farmer to his being favoured by the good people, he resolved to treat
+the little man with all civility.
+
+"Look you, wife," said he, "this is no time to be saving half a stone
+of flour when we may make our fortunes at one stroke. I have heard my
+grandfather tell of a man who lent a sack of oats to one of the
+fairies, and got it back filled with gold pieces. And as good measure
+as he gave of oats so he got of gold;" saying which, the farmer took a
+canvas bag to the flour-bin, and began to fill it. Meanwhile the dwarf
+sat in the larder window and cried--"We've a big party for supper
+to-night; give us good measure, neighbour, and you shall have anything
+under the sun that you like to ask for."
+
+When the farmer heard this he was nearly out of his wits with delight,
+and his hands shook so that the flour spilled all about the larder
+floor.
+
+"Thank you, dear sir," he said; "it's a bargain, and I agree to it. My
+wife hears us, and is witness. Wife! wife!" he cried, running into the
+kitchen, "I am to have anything under the sun that I choose to ask
+for. I think of asking for neighbour Merryweather's estate, but this
+is a chance never likely to happen again, and I should like to make a
+wise choice, and that is not easy at a moment's notice."
+
+"You will have a week to think it over in," said the dwarf, who had
+come in behind him; "I must be off now, so give me my flour, and come
+to the hill behind your house seven days hence at midnight, and you
+shall have your share of the bargain."
+
+So the farmer tied up the flour-sack, and helped the dwarf with it on
+to his back, and as he did so he began thinking how easily the bargain
+had been made, and casting about in his mind whether, he could not get
+more where he had so easily got much.
+
+"And half a stone of flour is half a stone of flour," he muttered to
+himself, "and whatever it may do with thriftless people, it goes a
+long way in our house. And there's the bag--and a terrible lot spilled
+on the larder floor--and the string to tie it with, which doubtless
+he'll never think of returning--and my time, which must be counted,
+and nothing whatever for it all for a week to come." And the outlay so
+weighed upon his mind that he cleared his throat and began:
+
+"Not for seven days, did you say, sir? You know, dear sir, or perhaps,
+indeed, you do not know, that when amongst each other we men have to
+wait for the settlement of an account, we expect something over and
+above the exact amount. Interest we call it, my dear sir."
+
+"And you want me to give you something extra for waiting a week?"
+asked the dwarf. "Pray, what do you expect?"
+
+"Oh, dear sir, I leave it to you," said the farmer. "Perhaps you may
+add some trifle--in the flour-bag, or not, as you think fit--but I
+leave it entirely to you."
+
+"I will give you something over and above what you shall choose," said
+the dwarf; "but, as you say, I shall decide what it is to be." With
+which he shouldered the flour-sack, and went his way.
+
+For the next seven days, the farmer had no peace for thinking, and
+planning, and scheming how to get the most out of his one wish. His
+wife made many suggestions to which he did not agree, but he was
+careful not to quarrel with her; "for," he said, "we will not be like
+the foolish couple who wasted three wishes on black-puddings. Neither
+will I desire useless grandeur and unreasonable elevation, like the
+fisherman's wife. I will have a solid and substantial benefit."
+
+And so, after a week of sleepless nights and anxious days, he came
+back to his first thought, and resolved to ask for his neighbour's
+estate.
+
+At last the night came. It was full moon, and the farmer looked
+anxiously about, fearing the dwarf might not be true to his
+appointment. But at midnight he appeared, with the flour-bag neatly
+folded in his hand.
+
+"You hold to the agreement," said the farmer, "of course. My wife was
+witness. I am to have anything under the sun that I ask for; and I am
+to have it now."
+
+"Ask away," said the dwarf.
+
+"I want neighbour Merryweather's estate," said the farmer.
+
+"What, all this land below here, that joins on to your own?"
+
+"Every acre," said the farmer.
+
+"Farmer Merryweather's fields are under the moon at present," said the
+dwarf, coolly, "and thus not within the terms of the agreement. You
+must choose again."
+
+But as the farmer could choose nothing that was not then under the
+moon, he soon saw that he had been outwitted, and his rage knew no
+bounds at the trick the dwarf had played him.
+
+"Give me my bag, at any rate," he screamed, "and the string--and your
+own extra gift that you promised. For half a loaf is better than no
+bread," he muttered, "and I may yet come in for a few gold pieces."
+
+"There's your bag," cried the dwarf, clapping it over the miser's head
+like an extinguisher; "it's clean enough for a nightcap. And there's
+your string," he added, tying it tightly round the farmer's throat
+till he was almost throttled. "And, for my part, I'll give you what
+you deserve;" saying which he gave the farmer such a hearty kick that
+he kicked him straight down from the top of the hill to his own back
+door.
+
+"If that does not satisfy you, I'll give you as much again," shouted
+the dwarf; and as the farmer made no reply, he went chuckling back to
+his hill.
+
+
+
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