Chapter II: Part 2

Now the queen thought she would try her skill in getting Olaf’s horn. She had no trouble in getting it from his pocket, but as she neared the palace, the horn slipped away from her. In the evening, Olaf returned with his flock as usual.

“I see that I must do the thing myself,” muttered the king. “That farmer’s lad shall not outwit me. I’ll tie the horn in one of my hunting bags to make sure of it.”

Anxiously the queen and princess awaited the king’s return. At last he came, untied the bag, and reached in for the horn. Alas! it had disappeared. And there in the distance came Olaf and the rabbits. The king sent word for Olaf to appear before the royal family. “Tell me about that horn of yours. Where did you get it? Hasn’t it magic power?” said the king, impatiently.

“Sire, it is a magic horn,” began Olaf.

“Prove it,” said the king.

“I would rather not,” said Olaf.

“Do as I bid you, without a word!” roared the king, becoming red with anger.

Olaf raised the little end of his horn to his lips and blew a strong blast, while secretly he made a wish. In a moment the royal family scattered in all directions.

“Bring us back! Bring us back! How dare you? I’ll have you punished for this!” roared the king, as he tumbled into the distance.

Olaf blew into the big end of his horn and instantly the royal family were back at the palace. The king, in a rage, tried to seize Olaf, but just then the rabbit keeper raised the small end of the horn to his lips.

“Hold, hold!” cried the king. “I will do you no harm if you will keep that wicked horn from your lips. I would rather give up half my kingdom than take another flighty trip. You are a wonderful lad and the best of rabbit keepers. The reward is yours.”

In a short time there was a beautiful wedding at the palace. Olaf had won the princess.

THE LEAPING MATCH

A flea, a grasshopper, and a frog once wanted to see which one of them could jump the highest. So they made a festival and invited the whole world and everybody else besides, who would like to come, to see the frolic. When the people assembled to see the contest they all admitted that these three famous jumpers were indeed well worth seeing.

“I will give the princess, my daughter, to the one who can jump the highest,” said the king. “The champion in such a trial of skill must be rewarded.”

The flea was the first to come forward. His manners were perfect and he bowed to the company on every side, for noble blood flowed in his veins; and, besides, he had been accustomed to associating with human beings, which was much to his advantage.

The grasshopper came next. The green uniform, which he always wore, set off his figure very well. He carried himself with great dignity, for he belonged to a very old Egyptian family, he said, and was highly thought of in the house in which he lived.

In fact when he was brought out of the fields he was put into a card house, three stories high. The colored sides of the cards were turned in and the doors and windows were cut out of the Queen of Hearts. “It was built on purpose for me,” he said, “and I sing so well that sixteen crickets who had chirped all their life, and still had no card house to live in, were so angry at hearing me that they grew thinner than they ever had been before.”

In this way the flea and the grasshopper went on with their long praises, each thinking himself quite an excellent match for the princess.

The frog said nothing, but his silence only made the people think he knew a great deal, and the house dog who sniffed at him walked away with an air of approval.

The old counselor who had issued three orders for keeping quiet, said at last, that the frog was a prophet, for one could tell from his back whether the coming winter would be severe or mild. Such wisdom could never be gained from the back of the man who writes almanacs.

“I shall say nothing,” said the king, “but I have my own opinion; for I see everything.”

And now the leaping match began. The flea jumped first. He jumped so high that no one could see what had become of him. So the people said he did not jump at all. How shameful it was of him after all his boasting!

The grasshopper jumped only half as high; but he jumped right into the king’s face. This act the king thought extremely rude.

The frog stood still for a long time; some began to think that he did not mean to jump at all.

“Perhaps he’s ill,” said the house dog; so he went up to sniff at the frog again; when “pop” he made a side jump which landed him right into the lap of the princess, who was sitting on a little golden stool.

“There is nothing in the world higher than my daughter,” called out the king. “The frog has made the highest jump that can be made. Only one who has a good mind could have done anything so clever as that.” And so the leaping frog won the princess.

“I jumped the highest,” said the flea, “in spite of what the king said, but the decision does not matter to me. The princess may have that heavy, stiff-legged, ugly creature if he’s to her taste. Dullness and heaviness win in this stupid world. I’m too light and airy.” So the flea went into foreign lands.

The grasshopper sat down upon a green bank and thought about the world and its ways. “Yes,” he said to himself, “dullness and heaviness do win in this stupid world. People care most about fine looks nowadays.” Then he began to sing in the grasshopper way; and from his song we have taken this little story.

THE CLEVER TURTLE

A turtle lay upon a large rock sunning himself. His eyes were turned toward the palace of the king which overlooked the beautiful river. He could hear the merry voices of the little princes playing in the royal courtyard.

“What happy times they have!” thought the turtle. “I have heard that there is a lovely little lake in the princes’ playground, where they have fine fun, swimming and sailing tiny boats. How dull it is living out here on the rocks! I’m sure I should be happier if I lived in a royal courtyard.”

At that moment the turtle was startled by the voices of two men who were carrying fishing nets and large buckets to the river. He slipped under the rock and lay very still and listened.

“You see,” said one of the men, “we are to put the fishes into the courtyard lake and surprise the young princes. His majesty, the king, heard them wish that fishes swam in their lake, and he decided to surprise them.”

“How happy they will be in the morning!” replied the other man. “Come, let us climb to the edge of these rocks and throw our nets into the river. Then we will draw them in, empty the fishes into those buckets, and carry them to the courtyard lake this evening.”

When the turtle heard that some of his neighbors were to live in the royal courtyard, he was very jealous indeed!

“Fishes are such stupid creatures!” he said to himself. “How much more delight a turtle would give those young princes. I’ll not live on this rock any longer. I’ll slip very quietly into one of those buckets, and the men will carry me into the royal courtyard. They will never notice me. Fishes for the delight of royalty! It is absurd!”

The next morning the little princes took their sailboats and ran to the lake in the courtyard.

“See, see!” cried one of them. “Our wish has come true! There are fishes swimming about in the water. Oh, what fun?”

“Come away! Come, come, brother!” shouted the other little prince in terror. “See, there is a demon on the bank! Perhaps the fishes belong to him! Come!”

To the turtle’s great surprise off ran the lads, crying out, “A demon has come to live on the bank of our lake!”

When the king saw how frightened the princes were, he ordered an attendant to capture the demon and bring him to the palace. So, before the poor turtle could make up his mind what to do, he was caught and brought before the king.

“How shall we kill him?” asked an attendant.

“Throw him into the fire,” said one.

“Drop a large rock on his head and crush him,” said another.

“Oh, that would not do,” said one of the princes. “See! He has pulled his head inside that shell back of his. Perhaps his back is too strong to be crushed by a rock.”

“I have it,” said an old servant who was afraid of the water, “let us fling him over the rocks into the river. Then he will be swept away into the sea and drowned.”

In a twinkling out came the turtle’s head.

“My friends,” he said, “pray do not throw me into the river that flows to the great wide sea! Of all your plans to punish me, that is the worst! Burn me, or crush me if you will, but do not throw me into the river that flows to the great wide sea! I shudder at the thought of it.”

“Take the demon to the rocks and throw him into the river,” said the king.

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the turtle when he whirled about in the water and swam back to the friendly rocks where he had lived so long.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW

From Oberon, in fairy land,
The king of ghosts and shadows there,
Mad Robin, I, at his command,
Am sent to view the night sports here.
What revel rout
Is kept about
In every corner where I go,
I will o’ersee
And merry be,
And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho!

More swift than lightning can I fly
About this airy welkin soon;
And, in a minute’s space, descry
Each thing that’s done below the moon.
There’s not a hag
Or ghost shall wag
Or cry, ‘ware goblins! where I go;
But, Robin, I,
Their feats will spy
And send them home with ho, ho, ho!

Whene’er such wanderers I meet,
As from their night sports they trudge home,
With counterfeiting voice I greet,
And call them on with me to roam;
Through woods, through lakes,
Through bogs, through brakes,
Or else, unseen, with them I go,
All in the nick
To play some trick,
And frolic it, with ho, ho, ho!

Sometimes I meet them like a man,
Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound;
And to a horse I turn me can,
To trip and trot about them round.
But if to ride,
My back they stride,
More swift than wind away I go,
O’er hedge and lands
Through pools and ponds
I hurry laughing, ho, ho, ho!

By wells and rills in meadows green
We nightly dance our heyday guise;
And to our fairy King and Queen
We chant our moonlight minstrelsies.
When larks ‘gin sing
Away we fling;
And babes new born steal as we go;
And elf in bed,
We leave instead,
And wend us, laughing ho, ho, ho!

From hag-bred Merlin’s time have I
Thus nightly revel’d to and fro;
And for my pranks men call me by
The name of Robin Goodfellow.
Fiends, ghosts, and sprites
Who haunt the nights,
The hags and goblins do me know;
And beldames old
My feats have told,
So _vale, vale_, ho, ho, ho!

MERLIN’S CRAG

One evening the master of a fine estate and a farm laborer were walking over the fields. The master said, “To-morrow I want the peat cut from yonder crag, which rises at the end of the moorland.”

“Do you mean Merlin’s Crag, master?” asked the laborer.

“You have been here but a short time. How did you learn that name?” said the master in surprise.

“One of the old servants told me about it, sir. He said that long, long ago an enchanter named Merlin lived there. And, master, there is a haunted cave under the crag where—”

“Nonsense! Pay no attention to the stories servants tell, but see to it that the peat is cut to-morrow,” said the owner impatiently.

The next afternoon the laborer began to cut the peat which covered the curiously shaped crag. He was about to lift up a piece of turf when, suddenly, there appeared before him the daintiest little creature he had ever seen. She was twelve inches tall and was dressed in a gown of sparkling green. She wore red stockings and dainty red sandals with jeweled buckles. On her head was a tiny, dazzling coronet. Her lovely golden hair rippled down under the crown and over her shoulders.

The laborer stopped his work and in amazement gazed silently at this exquisite little queen. She raised her tiny wand in warning and said in a silvery small voice:

“Now tell me, pray, what would you think if I should send one of my people to unroof your home? I am out of patience with you mortals! I am, indeed. You are selfish creatures. You do anything that pleases you and you consider no one but yourselves.” Here she stamped her tiny sandaled foot and continued, “Now listen to me! Put back that turf this instant, or I declare you shall rue the day that you disturbed the roof of Merlin’s Crag.” Then she vanished.

The poor bewildered laborer could hardly believe his senses. He put back the turf exactly where it belonged, took up his spade, and went back to his master.

“Why, where is the peat?” began the landlord.

“O master,” said the poor man, “the fairies live in Merlin’s Crag! I have seen the queen, and she warned me not to take the turf from the top. May I cut the peat from the other side of the moor?”

“What do you mean? I believe your senses are wandering, or you would not say such stupid things,” replied the master. “Go back immediately and cut all the peat from Merlin’s Crag. Even if the old wizard himself appears, you must do as I command.”

The poor laborer was obliged to obey, so he went back to the crag and cut the peat. His heart beat very fast, for every minute he expected the fairy to reappear and upbraid him, but strange to say, nothing of the kind happened.

Exactly one year from the day when the peat was cut from the top of Merlin’s Crag, the laborer started on his way home across the fields. The master had given him a present of a can of milk and some cheese for his wife and children; so he whistled a merry tune as he hurried along. In the distance he noticed the queerly-shaped outline of Merlin’s Crag against a pale amber sky and his thoughts wandered back to the day one year ago. How strange that he had never again seen the exquisite little fairy! What a funny threat she had made! As he drew near the crag he began to feel strangely tired. He seemed to drag his leaden feet, and his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

“I must rest a bit,” he thought. “How long the road seems this evening!” So he sat down in a shadow near the crag and fell into a deep sleep.

When he awoke, the soft silvery moonlight flooded the fields, and he heard distinctly the village bell striking the midnight hour. Then there floated to his ears the happiest ripple of laughter. He rubbed his eyes and aroused himself. He heard a sweet, small voice singing:

“Come, follow, follow me
Ye fairy elves that be,
Which circle on the green,
Come follow Mab, your queen;
Hand in hand, let’s dance around,
For the place is fairy ground.”

And a fairy chorus answered:

“O’er tops of dewy grass
So nimbly do we pass,
The young and tender stalk
Ne’er bends when we do walk;
Yet in the morning may be seen
Where we the night before have been.”

Ringed about him was a host of dainty fairies singing and dancing, and laughing and pointing wee elfin fingers at him as if he were the funniest object in the whole world. What could it all mean?

He determined to break through their circle and make for home, but, when he rose and tried to walk away, the magic green ring and the dancing fairies accompanied him and held him prisoner. How the wee folks enjoyed his dilemma! They fairly shrieked with laughter. In a little while the queen, whom he had met before, danced forward and said slyly, “Wilt thou not tread a measure, O mortal? Come, thou mayest have our loveliest maiden for a partner. Join our sport, do. Then thou wilt not be so eager to depart.”

She waved her wand to the circle of fairies, and a charming little creature flitted up to him. Before the poor man realized what was happening the wee dancer took one of his fingers in each of her tiny hands and away they went, swinging, whirling, waltzing about in the gayest manner. The little people shrieked again and again with elfin laughter at the sight of this strange couple treading a measure. All night long the merriment continued.

Finally the moon set behind the dark crag, and rosy streaks broke through the gray curtain in the east. Then the queen held up her tiny wand and said, “Come, the cock is welcoming the dawn.” She led the way and the other fairies forced our friend to accompany them. As she drew near the crag a mysterious door opened and the fairies trooped through into a beautiful hall carpeted with velvet moss and dimly lighted by glow-worms. On tiny couches the wee people soon fell asleep. Our friend the countryman sat on a fragment of rock in the corner of the hall.

When the fairies woke each went, about some special task. Some mixed wonderful colors for flower petals, birds’ eggs, and delicate shells, others powdered gold dust for pollen and spun gossamer threads, while still others mixed the most delicious odors for violets, wild roses, and hyacinths.

The countryman was so charmed with the sight that he desired nothing more than the joy of watching these elfin people forever. Toward evening the queen touched his arm with her wand and said,

“Your punishment is over.”

“What do you mean?” asked our friend.

She replied, “The turf you cut from the roof of Merlin’s Crag has grown again. Once more the roof of our hall is whole. You may go back to your friends now. But first you must take a solemn oath that you will never disclose to mortal ears where you have been, or what you have seen. Do you promise?”

“I promise,” said the countryman.

Then the fairy led the way to the cave’s door which opened of its own accord, and he passed out into the fields.

As he made his way to the village, he noticed that the people looked at him in astonishment. When he reached his cottage his wife, who came to the door, drew back in fear and wonder.

“Is it indeed you, my husband?” she cried out. “Where have you been so long?”

“So long?” the dazed countryman echoed. “So long? What do you mean? I don’t understand. Where are the children?”

“There they are,” said his wife, pointing to a well-grown boy and girl. “You have been gone from us seven years. No wonder you do not know us.”

“Seven years!” he exclaimed. “Seven years do you say? Let me think.”

Then suddenly he knew what the fairy queen meant by his punishment. He had been imprisoned seven long years by the wee folk of fairyland.

He was besieged with questions when the village people learned about his return, but he shook his head and said nothing.

He never explained the mystery of his long absence, but many noticed that there was one name which always made him hasten to change the subject, and that name was—Merlin’s Crag.

THE STORY OF LI’L’ HANNIBAL

Once on a time, ‘way down South, there lived a little boy named Hannibal, Li’l’ Hannibal. He lived along with his gran’mammy and his gran’daddy in a li’l’ one-story log cabin that was set right down in a cotton field. Well, from morning until night, Li’l’ Hannibal’s gran’mammy kept him toting things. As soon as he woke up in the morning it was:

“Oh, Li’l’ Hannibal, fetch a pine knot and light the kitchen fire.”

“Oh, Li’l’ Hannibal, fetch the teakettle to the well and get some water for the tea.”

“Oh, Li’l’ Hannibal, mix a li’l’ hoecake for your gran’daddy’s brea’fus’.”

“Oh, Li’l’ Hannibal, take the bunch of turkeys’ feathers and dust the ashes off the hearth.”

And from morning until night, Li’l’ Hannibal’s gran’daddy kept him toting things, too.

“Oh, Li’l’ Hannibal,” his gran’daddy would say, “fetch the corn and feed the turkeys.”

“Oh, Li’l’ Hannibal, take your li’l’ ax and chop some lightwood for gran’mammy’s fire.”

“Oh, Li’l’ Hannibal, run ‘round to the store and buy a bag of flour.”

“Oh, Li’l’ Hannibal, fetch your basket and pick a li’l’ cotton off the edge of the field.”

So they kept poor little Hannibal toting ‘most all day long, and he had only four or five hours to play.

Well, one morning when Li’l’ Hannibal woke up, he made up his mind to something. Before they could ask him to light the kitchen fire, or fill the teakettle, or mix the hoecake, or dust the hearth, or feed the turkeys, or chop any wood, or go to the store, or pick any cotton, he had made up his mind that he was not going to tote for his gran’mammy and his gran’daddy any longer. He was going to run away!

So Li’l’ Hannibal got out of bed very quietly. He put on his li’l’ trousers, and his li’l’ shirt, and his li’l’ suspenders, and his li’l’ shoes—he never wore stockings. He pulled his li’l’ straw hat down tight over his ears, and then Li’l’ Hannibal ran away!

He went down the road past all the cabins. He went under the fence and across the cotton fields. He went through the pine grove past the schoolhouse, stooping down low—so the schoolmistress couldn’t see him—and then he went ‘way, ‘way off into the country.

When he was a long way from town, Li’l’ Hannibal met a possum loping along by the edge of the road, and the possum stopped and looked at Li’l’ Hannibal.

“How do? Where you goin’, Li’l’ Hannibal?” asked the possum.

Li’l’ Hannibal sat down by the side of the road and took off his straw hat to fan himself, for he felt quite warm, and he said,

“I done run away, Br’er Possum, my gran’mammy and my gran’daddy kept me totin’, totin’ for them all the time. I don’t like to work, Br’er Possum.”

“Po’ Li’l’ Hannibal!” said the possum, sitting up and scratching himself. “Any special place you bound for?”

“I don’t reckon so,” said Li’l’ Hannibal, for he was getting tired, and he had come away without any breakfast.

“You come along with me, Li’l’ Hannibal,” said the possum; “I reckon I kin take you somewhere.”

So the possum and Li’l’ Hannibal went along together, the possum loping along by the side of the road and Li’l’ Hannibal going very slowly in the middle of the road, for his shoes were full of sand and it hurt his toes. They went on and on until they came, all at once, to a sort of open space in the woods and then they stopped. There was a big company there—Br’er Rabbit and Br’er Partridge, and Br’er Jay Bird and Br’er Robin, and Ol’ Miss Guinea Hen.

“Here’s po’ Li’l’ Hannibal come to see you,” said the possum. “Li’l’ Hannibal done run away from his gran’mammy and gran’daddy.”

Li’l’ Hannibal hung his head as if he was ashamed, but nobody noticed him. They were all as busy as they could be, and so he just sat down on a pine stump and watched them.

Each one had his own special work and he was keeping at it right smart. Br’er Robin was gathering all the holly berries from the south side of the holly tree and singing as he worked:

“Cheer up, cheer-u-up!”

Br’er Partridge was building a new house down low in the bushes. As he hurried back and forth with twigs, he would stop and drum a little, he felt so happy to be busy.

Br’er Jay Bird was taking corn down below. You know that is what Br’er Jay Bird does all the time. He takes one kernel of corn in his bill to the people down below and then comes back for another. It is a very long trip to take with one kernel of corn, but Br’er Jay Bird doesn’t seem to mind how hard he works.

Ol’ Miss Guinea Hen was almost the busiest of the whole company, for she was laying eggs. As soon as ever she laid one she would get up on a low branch and screech, “Catch it! Catch it! Catch it!” like to deafen everybody.

But Li’l’ Hannibal was most interested to see what Br’er Rabbit was doing. Br’er Rabbit had on a li’l’ apron, and he kept bringing things in his market basket. Then he cooked the things over a fire back in the bushes, and when it got to be late in the afternoon, he spread a tablecloth on a big stump and then he pounded on his stewpan with his soup ladle. “Supper’s ready,” said Br’er Rabbit.

Then Br’er Robin, and Br’er Partridge, and Br’er Jay Bird, and Br’er Possum, and Ol’ Miss Guinea Hen all scrambled to their places at the table and Li’l’ Hannibal tried to find a place to sit at, but there wasn’t any.

“Po’ Li’l’ Hannibal!” said Br’er Rabbit as he poured the soup. “Doesn’t like work! Doesn’t like to tote for his gran’mammy. Can’t have no supper!”

“Catch him! Catch him!” said Ol’ Miss Guinea Hen, but no one did it. They were all too busy eating.

They had a grand supper. There was breakfast strip, and roast turkey, and fried chicken, and mutton and rice, and hominy and sweet potatoes, and peas and beans, and baked apples, and cabbage, and hoe cake, and hot biscuits, and corn muffins, and butter cakes and waffles and maple syrup.

When they were through eating, it was dark, and they all went home, and they left Li’l’ Hannibal all by himself.

Well, after a while it began to get darker. Br’er Mocking Bird came out, and he looked at Li’l’ Hannibal and then he began to scream, just like Ol’ Miss Guinea Hen,

“Catch him! Catch him! Catch him!” Br’er Screech Owl looked down from a tree and he said very hoarsely:

“Who! Who! Who-oo!”

Then all the frogs began to say, loud and shrill, “Li’l’ Hannibal! Li’l’ Hannibal!” like they thought he was deaf.

So Li’l’ Hannibal got up from his pine stump and he said, “I reckon I better go home to my gran’mammy.”

Well, Li’l’ Hannibal started for home slowly, because his feet hurt and he was hungry. When he came to the pine grove by the schoolhouse the shadows came out from behind the trees and followed him, and that was much worse than seeing the schoolmistress. But Li’l’ Hannibal got away from them all right. He crawled under the fence and ran across the cotton field, and there in the door of the cabin was his gran’daddy with a lantern. His gran’daddy had been out looking for Li’l’ Hannibal.

“Why, Li’l’ Hannibal, where you been all day?” asked his gran’daddy.

“Oh, Li’l’ Han’,” said his gran’mammy, “here’s your corn mush. I kep’ it warm on the hearth, but afore you eat your supper, Li’l’ Han, jus’ take your li’l’ basket and run ‘round to the chicken house for a couple of eggs.”

So Li’l’ Hannibal took his li’l’ basket, and he started for those eggs singing all the way. You see, he reckoned he was mighty glad to be at home, and toting again.

HOW TIMOTHY WON THE PRINCESS

Once upon a time a poor widow and her son Timothy lived in a little cottage near a village. One day Tim’s mother said: “Tim, my boy, the landlord’s rent must be paid and I haven’t a bit of money in the house. I’ve made up my mind to sell one of our three cows.”

Tim replied: “All right! I’ll take the old red cow to the fair in the morning, and sell her for a good price, mother mine.”

Bright and early Tim was ready. It was a fine spring morning, and the birds sang merrily in the trees. The hedgerows were white with May blossoms. Tim drove the old cow along the mossy green lanes until he came to the village, where a fair was being held.

A great crowd had gathered in a ring near the main road, and Timothy hurried there to see what caused the excitement. In the middle of this ring, on a tiny platform, was a little man with a tiny harp and a tiny stool. The dwarf reached down deep into his pocket and brought out a bee, all dressed up in a blue suit of clothes with bright buttons and gold braid. Perched on one side of his head was a cunning little cap which matched his suit. Again the little man reached down into his pocket and drew out a cockroach and a tiny mouse.

The cockroach was dressed in a very full skirt of flowered silk, a lace bodice, and bright panniers of velvet. On her head was a dainty bit of a hat wreathed with flowers.

The little mouse wore a dress suit and a tall silk hat. At a sign from the little man, the bee jumped on the stool and began to play a tune on the harp. Then Mr. Mouse bowed to Miss Cockroach. She courtesied gracefully, and the two began to waltz to the music.

Now the moment they began to dance every man and woman, youth and maid, joined them. Soon everything in sight, pots and pans, pigs and cows, ducks and hens, began to reel about as if they had all gone mad! The old cow began to whirl round and round, and then Timothy started. His feet kept time to the music which grew louder and faster as the sport proceeded. In a short time the little man picked up the harp, stool, and animals and put them back into his pocket.

Instantly, everybody and everything came to a standstill! Then such a roar of laughter burst forth as was never heard before. The people laughed until their sides ached, and Timothy’s voice was heard above all the others. The little man walked up to him.

“What do you think of that for sport?” he asked.

“Oh, indeed, it was fine fun, sir,” answered Tim.

“And how would you like to own my little animals?”

“Like to own them, sir? Indeed I should, but I have no money, nor have I any way of getting it.”

“I’ll tell you how to make a good bargain though,” said the little man, coming closer. “I’ll trade you the harp and my musician, the bee, for the cow you’ve brought to the fair to sell. Come, what do you say to that?”

“Oh, how I should like to have them, sir! But mother must have money for the landlord. She is very sad and downhearted because we cannot pay the rent.”

“Yes, yes, but think how the tiny musician will make her laugh, my boy. She needs cheering,” persuaded the little man.

“So she does, sir,” said Tim. “I’ll trade with you.”

The little man took the cow and disappeared, and Timothy put the harp, the stool, and the bee into his pocket and went home.

“You’ve sold the cow, my boy?” said his mother, anxiously. “How much money did you get for her?”

“Money, mother! I got something much better than money,” said Tim, excitedly.

Then out of his pocket he took the harp, the stool, and the bee, and set them on the floor. After a deep bow the bee seated himself on the stool, cocked his head on one side, and began to play a lively tune. The little fellow looked so comical that Timothy’s mother couldn’t keep a straight face. She burst into a peal of laughter. The lad joined her, and then the pots and the pans, the table and chairs, everything in the house began to reel and jig. Tim and his mother began to hop up and down in the funniest manner. This kept on for some time, and then Tim took up the harp, the stool, and the bee, and put them into his pocket. In a second, everything quieted down. Tim’s mother, however, kept on laughing for some minutes. Finally she stopped, and then she grew very angry.

“What a foolish bargain you’ve made!” she cried. “Here we are without food or money, and you have traded the red cow for such worthless toys! Oh, what shall I do? You must go back to the fair and sell the white cow, I suppose. See that you keep your wits about you this time.”

Early next morning Timothy started to the fair, driving the white cow. They soon arrived, and there in the main road he saw a big crowd gathered. He pushed forward to see what was going on. In the middle of the ring stood the little man with twinkling eyes. His mouth was screwed up in a very queer way, and he was whistling. The mouse and the cockroach were dancing an Irish jig; bowing, reeling, scraping, courtesying in the finest manner. Tim’s heart beat fast at the sight. Soon everybody and everything in the fair began to imitate the movements of the queer little creatures. Men and women, youths and maidens, pots and pans, carts and gigs, all hopped about and jigged exactly like the mouse and the cockroach; even the stalls and the buildings seemed to hop up and down in time with the music. In a little while the tiny man stopped whistling, picked up the little animals, and put them into his pocket. Then there was no more dancing, but everybody burst into a hearty roar of laughter. How they did laugh! The little man now spied Tim.

“Ah, my lad,” he said, “wouldn’t you like to own those wonderful little creatures?”

“Indeed I should, sir, but I have no money,” said Tim, shaking his head.

“Oh! that makes no difference, I’ll trade with you again. Give me the old white cow, and I’ll give you the mouse.”

“Indeed I can’t, sir. Mother is so sad because we can’t pay our rent or buy any food. I must get money to pay the landlord,” replied Tim, looking longingly at the little man’s pocket.

“Oh, stuff and nonsense! Better be lighthearted than rich! What will cheer her like the sight of my little gentleman mouse dancing to the music of your musician, the bee?”

“All right, sir,” answered Tim, meekly, and he traded the white cow for the mouse.

When he reached home, his mother cried out, “You’ve sold the cow, my boy?”

“Yes, mother.”

“How much money did you get?”

Timothy said not one word, but took the mouse, the harp, and the bee out of his pocket and put them on the floor. Tim began to whistle. The bee accompanied him with beautiful chords on the harp. After a grand sweeping bow the mouse fell into a gay Irish jig. Soon everything in the house seemed to be hopping and jigging about. Even Tim and his mother could not hold their feet still. In a little while Tim took up the mouse, the bee, and the harp and put them into his pocket. Then everything quieted down except the peals of laughter which his mother could not stop. She laughed and laughed until her sides ached. After some time she began to look serious; then she grew very, very angry.

“Tim, you are the most foolish boy in the whole world,” she began. “How could you take such worthless toys for our fine old white cow? Oh, dear. What shall I do? There is no money, and the landlord will turn us out. The old spotted cow must go, I see. Take her to the fair to-morrow and see you bring back _nothing_ but money.”

“I’ll do that mother,” said Tim. His intentions were good, but alas! when he reached the fair, there was the little man again with the cockroach. He was whistling merrily and the whole fair went jigging and dancing about, all led by the lively cockroach. Soon the little man put the tiny, graceful dancer into his pocket. Then, as before, the dancing stopped. But the laughter! You should have heard the merry peals in every direction.

“Ha, my boy! Here again! You’ve brought me the spotted cow, I see! Good! You ought to have the cockroach to complete your wonders. Take her along.”

“But, sir, I promised mother,” began Tim, “that——”

“See her pretty bright dress. Master Mouse and she make a charming couple. How your mother will be cheered when she sees them dancing together. There is no sight like it. Here you are.” Carefully he lifted the cockroach, and Tim could not resist the offer of such a wonderful little creature. He put her into his pocket, and the little man disappeared with the spotted cow.

Tim hurried home. He slipped into the house. He took out of his pocket Miss Cockroach, Master Mouse, Musician Bee, the harp, and the stool, and arranged them in a corner of the room, telling them to remain quiet until he came back. Then he went into the kitchen.

“Tim, my boy,” cried the mother, “how much money did you get?”

“Mother,” replied Tim, “don’t talk about money. Come with me.”

He led her into the next room. The minute they entered, Tim began to whistle. The bee joined him with a lively tune on the harp; the mouse made a deep bow, hat in hand, and the cockroach courtesied most gracefully. Then the two danced toward each other and began a real Irish jig, keeping excellent time to the music. Everything in the house joined in the merriment, pots and pans, chairs and tables, forks and spoons, all went hopping and jigging about in the most comical way. Tim clapped his hands. His mother nodded her head in time with the music and a broad smile spread over her face, although she tried and tried to frown. Finally Tim took up the tiny dancers, the musician, and the harp, and put them into his pocket. In an instant everything quieted down. Then how Tim’s mother did laugh! She laughed until the tears streamed down her cheeks. After some time she quieted herself; then she frowned and grew very angry.

“Oh! you foolish, foolish boy,” she began; “you’ve traded away all my cows for those worthless things. Where shall I get money to pay the rent? We are much worse off than before. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!”

Tim couldn’t bear to hear her cry, and so he took his hat and hastened out of doors. He was strolling down the lane toward the distant hills when suddenly he saw a tiny woman who held up her finger in a very mysterious way. Tim politely raised his hat and bowed.

“Good morning!” she said pleasantly. “I thought all gallant youths were at the palace of the king.”

“And why should they be there?” asked Tim astonished.

“Oh, haven’t you heard that the king is in great trouble about his beautiful daughter, the princess? She is so sad and downhearted that the court physicians fear she will die. She hasn’t laughed for years, and the king has sent word throughout the land that he will give the princess in marriage to any youth who can make her laugh three times.”

Tim didn’t wait to hear another word. He darted away and ran as fast as he could to the palace. After a time he reached the outer gates, and told the guards who were stationed there why he had come.

“You had better think twice before you try,” said one of them, “for the king casts all who fail into a dungeon.”

“No matter, I shall try,” said Timothy.

Word was sent to the king that a new suitor had arrived at the palace. The king commanded the newcomer to appear immediately.

“You know the penalty if you fail to make the princess laugh three times?” said his majesty.

“I do, most gracious sire,” replied Tim, bowing very humbly.

“Then, in a short time, be ready to make your trial.” With a gesture the king dismissed him.

In a few minutes a messenger brought word that the king, the queen, the sad princess, and attendants were ready for the trial. Tim took out of his pocket the mouse, the cockroach, the bee, the harp, and the stool. He tied them all together with a long string. Then he marched into the king’s room, holding the end of the string in his hand. All the queer menagerie followed after him. He looked so comical as he approached that the king, the queen, and the courtiers burst into a hearty laugh. This made the princess lift her bowed head and look. When her eyes fell on Tim and his string of queer little followers, she threw back her head and laughed heartily.

“That’s once,” nodded Tim.

Then he untied the string. Musician Bee at once took his place on the stool near the harp. Mr. Mouse made his deepest bow. Miss Cockroach courtesied deep and long. Tim began to whistle. The bee tuned the harp and joined him with silvery chords. The mouse and the cockroach stepped gracefully in time to the music until they came near each other. Then they began to perform their merry Irish jig. The sight was too much for the king and queen and courtiers. They all burst into such a merry laugh that the castle walls rang. The princess tried to look serious but she couldn’t! She joined the others and they all laughed heartily.

“That’s twice,” said Tim smiling.

Then he began to whistle faster; the bee followed him in time. The mouse and the cockroach bowed and jigged and reeled and whirled,—all to no purpose. The king, queen, and courtiers laughed heartily, but the princess kept a grave expression. Finally the mouse whirled around on one heel three times, and on the last turn his tail swept right into the cockroach’s mouth. The cockroach started to cough violently. She coughed and coughed, and took out her tiny bit of a handkerchief to hold to her mouth. When the princess and her ladies saw this, they threw back their heads and shrieked with laughter.

“That’s thrice,” said Timothy. “I’ve won the Princess.”

The king now ordered the courtiers to take Timothy to a royal dressing room. There he was dressed in a satin suit with gold lace trimmings and beautiful ornaments. He looked so handsome in his new clothes that the Princess fell in love with him. A glorious wedding feast was prepared. Timothy’s mother came in a wonderful coach drawn by six beautiful white horses. At the wedding, the bee furnished the music; the mouse and the cockroach led the dancing; and such was the merriment that the peals of laughter are still ringing in the valley around the palace.

THE OVERTURNED CART

One day, as Oh-I-Am, the wizard, went over Three-Tree Common, his shoe became untied, and he bent down to refasten it. Then he saw Wry-Face, the gnome, hiding among the bracken and looking as mischievous as anything. In one hand he held a white fluff-feather. Now these feathers are as light as anything, and will blow in the wind; and whatever they are placed under, whether light or heavy, they are bound to topple over as soon as the wind blows.

As Oh-I-Am tied his shoe he saw Wry-Face place his fluff-feather carefully in the roadway, and at the same moment there came along One-Eye, the potato wife, with her cart full of potatoes. The cart went rumble, crumble, crack, crack, crack, over the leaves and twigs, and One-Eye sang to her donkey:

“Steady, steady,
We’re always ready,—”

in a most cheerful voice.

Then the cart came to the fluff-feather, and over it went—crash, bang, splutter; and the potatoes flew everywhere, like rain.

Wry-Face, the gnome, laughed to himself so that he ached, and he rolled over the ground with mirth. Then he flew away, laughing as he went.

But One-Eye, the potato wife, was not laughing. Her tears went drip-drip as she started to gather her potatoes together. And as to getting her cart straight again, she did not know how she was to do it.

But, when she turned round from gathering together the potatoes, she found that the cart was all right again, since Oh-I-Am the wizard had straightened it for her, and the donkey was standing on his legs, none the worse for his fall.

Oh-I-Am looked stern and straight in his brown robe which trailed behind him. He said,

“One-Eye, have you got all your potatoes together?”

One-Eye still wept. She said, “No, I have not found all of them, for some have wandered far. And I must not seek further, for this is market day, and I must away to the town.”

And she began to gather up the potatoes, and drop them into the cart, thud, thud, thud.

Oh-I-Am stooped then, and he, too, gathered up the potatoes; and he threw them into the cart, splish, splash, splutter!

“Alas!” said One-Eye, “if you throw them into the cart, splish, splash, splutter, you will bruise and break them. You must throw them in gently, thud, thud, thud.”

So Oh-I-Am held back his anger, and he threw the potatoes in gently, thud, thud, thud. But, when the potato wife had gone on her way, he flew to his Brown House by the Brown Bramble; and he began to weave a spell.

He put into it a potato, and a grain of earth, and a down from a pillow, and a pearl and an apple pip from a pie. And when the spell was ready, he lay down, and fell asleep.

Wry-Face had gone round to all the neighbors to tell them the grand joke about One-Eye, the potato wife. Sometimes he told it through the window, and sometimes he stood at the door. Sometimes he told it to a gnome who was fine and feathery, and sometimes to one who was making bread. But all the time he laughed, laughed, laughed, till he was scarcely fit to stand.

Now he did not call at Oh-I-Am’s fine house to tell _him_, not he! And it was quite unnecessary, since Oh-I-Am knew the joke already, every bit.

Oh-I-Am had hidden the spell in his cupboard. When it was evening time, he stole out and laid it by Wry-Face’s door. Then he went home, and went to bed.

Wry-Face was making a pie for his supper. Suddenly the room became as dark as dark. The darkness was not night coming on, for this was summer time and night never came on as quickly as all that.

“Dear me, what can be the matter?” thought Wry-Face; for he could barely see to finish making his pie.

Then he heard a little voice from his window, crying, “Here I am, Wry-Face, here I am!” But he could not go out to see what it was yet awhile.

When the apple pie was finished and in the oven, Wry-Face ran outside as fast as he could. But he did not see the spell which Oh-I-Am had placed by his door.

What he did see was a great potato plant which had sprung up suddenly close to his window, and was springing up further still, high, high, and higher.

“Good gracious me!” cried Wry-Face in a rage, “I never planted a potato plant there, not in my whole life! Now I should just like to know what you are doing by my window?”

The potato plant took no notice, but went on climbing high, high, and higher, and, ever so far above, he heard a tiny faint voice crying,

“Here I am, Wry-Face, here I am!”

“Well, I never did!” cried Wry-Face, and he began to weep; for he saw that the potato plant would climb up to his roof and round his chimney and he would never be able to get rid of it.

And he wept and wept.

At last he went in, and took his pie out of the oven, and set it in the pantry, for it was quite done. And he found a spade, and went out, and began to dig and dig at the root of the potato plant. But his digging did not seem to make any difference, and the evening began to grow darker.

Wry-Face fetched his little lamp, which is named Bright Beauty and which always burns without flickering. Then he went on digging, and he dug and dug and dug.

And when he had dug for hours and hours, so that he was very, very tired, the potato plant began suddenly to dwindle and dwindle. It dwindled as fast as anything, the leaves disappeared and the stem disappeared and all the horrid stretching arms. They sank down, down, and down, till at last there was nothing left at all but—a big brown potato!

“Well, I do declare!” cried Wry-Face. “I should like to know what _you_ have to do with my fine garden.”

The potato replied, “I jumped here from the cart of One-Eye, the potato wife, and it is quite certain that unless I am taken back to her immediately, I shall start again, growing and growing and growing.”

“Dear potato, you must not start growing again,” cried Wry-Face, in a great way. “To-night I am so tired, I cannot do anything, but if you will but wait till to-morrow I will take you back to One-Eye, the potato wife—I will, indeed.”

At first the potato would not listen to this at all; but after a while it said, “Well, well, I will wait till to-morrow. But remember, if you do not carry me home to One-Eye, the potato wife, to-morrow, I shall grow into a potato _tree_, without a doubt.”

So Wry-Face carried the potato into his house, and stored it in his bin. But he never noticed the spell which Oh-I-Am had placed by his door.

“I am so tired, I can scarcely yawn,” said Wry-Face. “It is quite time for me to have my supper and go to bed.”

So he fetched the apple pie from the pantry and set it upon the table, and presently he sat down to his meal.

And he forgot for a moment how tired he was, thinking how delightful it was to sit down to a supper of apple pie.

Then he lifted his knife and fork to cut off a large piece, but alas, the fork stuck fast. As for the knife, it would not move either, not an inch. Wry-Face began to weep.

“Alack, what has happened to my apple pie?” cried he, and his tears fell, round as round.

Then he got upon his feet, and he caught hold of the knife and fork and pulled and pulled and pulled. And with the last pull the top of the apple pie came off, sticking to the knife and fork, and Wry-Face saw that within the pie there was not one piece of apple, but—a big brown potato!

Wry-Face wept again with horror at the sight.

“I should like to know,” cried he, “what _you_ are doing in my fine apple pie?”

The brown potato replied, as cool as cool, “I am one of the potatoes belonging to One-Eye, the potato wife, and I turned the apples out, that I might hide here awhile. But this I must tell you, Wry-Face, unless you take me home to the potato wife immediately, here, in this pie dish, I intend to remain.”

“Alas!” cried Wry-Face, “to-night I am so tired I could never find One-Eye; but if you will but wait till to-morrow, I will carry you home to the potato wife—I will, indeed.”

At first the potato would not agree to this at all, but after a while it said, “Very well, I will wait till to-morrow. But remember, my Wry-Face, if you do not carry me home to One-Eye to-morrow, I will creep into every pie you make; and you will die at last of starvation without a doubt.”

So Wry-Face stored the potato in the potato bin and went supperless to bed. And he knew nothing of the spell which Oh-I-Am had placed by his door.