Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

But when the magicians came to a wood, where the branches of some of the trees were dancing a sword dance, and the boughs of others were playing together at hot-cockles, they desired the ring to break the spell by which the old man had become young again, and instantly Minecco Aniello, who was just at that minute in the presence of the king, was suddenly seen to grow hoary, his hairs to whiten, his forehead to wrinkle, his eyebrows to grow bristly, his eyes to sink in, his face to be furrowed, his mouth to become toothless, his beard to grow bushy, his back to be humped, his legs to tremble, and, above all, his glittering garments to return to rags and tatters.

The king, seeing this miserable beggar seated beside him at table, ordered him to be instantly driven away with blows and hard words; whereupon Aniello, thus suddenly fallen from his good luck, went weeping to his daughter, and asked for the ring in order to set matters to rights again. But when he heard the fatal trick of the false merchant, he was ready to throw himself out of the window, cursing a thousand times the ignorance of his daughter, who, for the sake of a silly doll, had turned him into a miserable scarecrow, and for a paltry thing of rags had brought him to rags himself, adding that he was resolved to go wandering about the world, like a bad shilling, until he should get tidings of those merchants. So saying, he threw a cloak about his neck and a wallet on his back, drew his sandals on his feet, took a staff in his hand, and, leaving his daughter all chilled and frozen, he set out walking desperately on until he came to the kingdom of Deep-Hole, inhabited by mice, where, having been taken for a big spy of the cats, he was instantly led before Rosecone,[2] the king. The king at once asked him who he was, whence he came, and what he was about in that country; and Minecco Aniello, after first giving the king a cheese-paring, in sign of tribute, related to him all his misfortunes, one by one, and concluded by saying that he was resolved to continue his toil and travel until he could get tidings of those thievish villains who had robbed him of so precious a jewel, taking from him at once the flower of his youth, the source of his wealth, and the prop of his honor.

Footnote 2:

Nibbler.

At these words Rosecone felt pity nibbling at his heart; and wishing to comfort the poor man, he summoned the oldest mice to a council, and asked their opinions on the misfortunes of Minecco Aniello, commanding them to use all diligence and endeavor to obtain some tidings of those false merchants. Now among the rest it happened that Rudolo and Saltariello[3] were present, good mice who were used to the ways of the world, and had lived for six years at a tavern of great resort hard by, and they said to Aniello: “Be of good heart, comrade! Matters will turn out better than you imagine. You must know that one day, when we were in a room at the hostelry of the Horn, where the most famous men of the world lodge and make merry, two persons from the Hook Castle came in, who, after they had eaten their fill and had seen the bottom of their flagon, fell to talking of a trick they had played a certain old man of Dark-Grotto, and how they had cheated him out of a stone of great value, which one of them, named Jennarone, said he would never take from his finger, that he might not run the risk of losing it, as the old man’s daughter had done.”

Footnote 3:

Nibbler and Skipjack.

When Minecco Aniello heard this, he told the two mice that if they would trust themselves to accompany him to the country where these rogues lived, and recover the ring for him, he would give them a good lot of cheese and salt meat, which they might eat and enjoy with his majesty, the king. Then the two mice, after bargaining for a suitable reward, offered to go over sea and mountain, and taking leave of his mousy majesty, they set out.

After journeying a long way, they arrived at Hook Castle, where the mice told Minecco Aniello to remain under some trees on the brink of the river, which, much like a leech, drew the moisture from the land and discharged it into the sea. Then they went to seek the house of the magicians; and, observing that Jennarone never took the ring from his finger, they stood to gain the victory by stratagem; so, waiting till night had dyed with purple grape-juice the sunburnt face of heaven, and the magicians had gone to bed and were fast asleep, Rudolo began to nibble the finger on which the ring was; whereupon Jennarone, feeling the smart, took the ring off and laid it on a table at the bed’s head. But as soon as Saltariello saw this, he bobbed the ring into his mouth, and in four skips he was off to find Minecco Aniello, and with even greater joy than the man at the gallows feels when the pardon arrives, he instantly turned the magicians into two jackasses, and, throwing his mantle over one of them, he bestrode him like a noble count; then he loaded the other with cheese and bacon, and set off toward Deep-Hole, where, having given presents to the king and his counselors, he thanked them for all the good fortune he had received by their assistance, praying Heaven that no mouse-trap might ever lay hold of them, that no cat might ever harm them, and that no arsenic might ever poison them. Then, leaving that country, Minecco Aniello returned to Dark-Grotto, even more handsome than before, and was received by the king and his daughter with the greatest affection of the heart, and having ordered the two asses cast down from a rock, he lived happily with his wife, never more taking the ring from his finger, that he might not again commit such a folly.

_The Fox and the Cat_

In a certain forest there once lived a fox, and near to the fox lived a man who had a cat that had been a good mouser in its youth, but was now old and half-blind. The man didn’t want puss any longer, but not liking to kill him, took him out into the forest and lost him there. Then the fox came up and said:

“Why, Mr. Shaggy Matthew! How d’ye do? What brings you here?”

“Alas!” said pussy, “my master loved me as long as I could bite, but now that I can bite no longer, and have left off catching mice—and I used to catch them finely once—he doesn’t like to kill me, but he has left me in the wood, where I must perish miserably.”

“No, dear pussy!” said the fox; “you leave it to me, and I’ll help you get your daily bread.”

“You are very good, dear little sister foxy!” said the cat, and the fox built him a little shed with a garden round it to walk about in.

Now one day the hare came to steal the man’s cabbage. “Kreem-kreem-kreem!” he squeaked. But the cat popped his head out of the window, and when he saw the hare, he put up his back and stuck up his tail and said:

“Ft-t-t-t-t-Frrrrrrr!”

The hare was frightened and ran away and told the bear, the wolf, and the wild boar all about it.

“Never mind,” said the bear, “I tell you what, we’ll all four give a banquet, and invite the fox and the cat, and do for the pair of them. Now, look here! I’ll steal the man’s mead; and you, Mr. Wolf, steal his fat-pot; and you, Mr. Wildboar, root up his fruit trees; and you, Mr. Bunny, go and invite the fox and the cat to dinner.”

So they made everything ready as the bear had said, and the hare ran off to invite the guests. He came beneath the window and said:

“We invite your little ladyship, Foxy-Woxy, together with Mr. Shaggy Matthew, to dinner”—and back he ran again.

“But you should have told them to bring their spoons with them,” said the bear.

“Oh, what a head I’ve got! if I didn’t quite forget!” cried the hare, and back he went again, ran beneath the window, and cried:

“Mind you bring your spoons!”

“Very well,” said the fox.

So the cat and the fox went to the banquet, and when the cat saw the bacon, he put up his back and stuck out his tail and cried:

“Mee-oo, mee-oo!” with all his might. But they thought he said:

“Ma-lo, ma-lo!”[4]

Footnote 4:

What a little! what a little!

“What!” said the bear, who was hiding behind the beeches with the other beasts, “here have all we four been getting together all we could, and this pig-faced cat calls it too little! What a monstrous cat he must be to have such an appetite!”

So they were all four very frightened, and the bear climbed up a tree, and the others hid where they could. But when the cat saw the boar’s bristles sticking out from behind the bushes he thought it was a mouse, and put up his back again and cried:

“Ft! ft! ft! Frrrrrrr!”

Then they were more frightened than ever. And the boar went into a bush still farther off, and the wolf went behind an oak, and the bear got down from the tree, and climbed up into a bigger one, and the hare ran right away.

But the cat remained in the midst of all the good things and ate away at the bacon, and the little fox gobbled up the honey, and they ate and ate till they couldn’t eat any more, and then they both went home licking their paws.

_The Straw Ox_

There was once upon a time an old man and an old woman. The old man worked in the fields as a pitch burner, while the old woman sat at home and spun flax. They were so poor that they could save nothing at all; all their earnings went in bare food, and when that was gone there was nothing left. At last the old woman had a good idea.

“Look, now, husband,” cried she, “make me a straw ox, and smear it all over with tar.”

“Why, you foolish woman!” said he, “what’s the good of an ox of that sort?”

“Never mind,” said she; “you just make it. I know what I am about.”

What was the poor man to do? He set to work and made the ox of straw, and smeared it all over with tar.

The night passed away, and at early dawn the old woman took her distaff and drove the straw ox out into the steppe to graze, and she herself sat down behind a hillock and began spinning her flax, and cried:

“Graze away, little ox, while I spin my flax; graze away, little ox, while I spin my flax!” And while she spun, her head drooped down, and she began to doze, and while she was dozing, from behind the dark wood and from the back of the huge pines a bear came rushing out upon the ox and said:

“Who are you? Speak and tell me!”

And the ox said:

“A three-year-old heifer am I, made of straw and smeared with tar.”

“Oh!” said the bear, “stuffed with straw and trimmed with tar, are you? Then give me of your straw and tar, that I may patch up my ragged fur again!”

“Take some,” said the ox, and the bear fell upon him and began to tear away at the tar.

He tore and tore, and buried his teeth in it till he found he couldn’t let go again. He tugged and he tugged, but it was no good, and the ox dragged him gradually off, goodness knows where. Then the old woman awoke, and there was no ox to be seen. “Alas! old fool that I am!” cried she, “perchance it has gone home.” Then she quickly caught up her distaff and spinning-board, threw them over her shoulders, and hastened off home, and she saw that the ox had dragged the bear up to the fence, and in she went to her old man. “Dad, dad!” she cried, “look, look! the ox has brought us a bear. Come out and kill it!” Then the old man jumped up, tore off the bear, tied him up, and threw him in the cellar.

Next morning, between dark and dawn, the old woman took her distaff and drove the ox into the steppe to graze. She herself sat down by a mound, began spinning, and said:

“Graze, graze away, little ox, while I spin my flax! Graze, graze away, little ox, while I spin my flax!” And while she spun, her head drooped down, and she dozed. And, lo! from behind the dark wood, from the back of the huge pines, a gray wolf came rushing out upon the ox and said:

“Who are you? Come, tell me!”

“I am a three-year-old heifer, stuffed with straw and trimmed with tar,” said the ox.

“Oh, trimmed with tar, are you? Then give me of your tar to tar my sides, that the dogs and the sons of dogs tear me not!”

“Take some,” said the ox. And with that the wolf fell upon him and tried to tear the tar off. He tugged and tugged, and tore with his teeth, but could get none off. Then he tried to let go, and couldn’t; tug and worry as he might, it was no good. When the old woman woke, there was no heifer in sight. “Maybe my heifer has gone home!” she cried; “I’ll go home and see.” When she got there she was astonished, for by the paling stood the ox with the wolf still tugging at it. She ran and told her old man, and her old man came and threw the wolf into the cellar also.

On the third day the old woman again drove her ox into the pastures to graze, and sat down by a mound and dozed off. Then a fox came running up. “Who are you?” it asked the ox.

“I’m a three-year-old heifer, stuffed with straw and daubed with tar.”

“Then give me some of your tar to smear my sides with, when those dogs and sons of dogs tear my hide!”

“Take some,” said the ox. Then the fox fastened her teeth in him and couldn’t draw them out again. The old woman told her old man, and he took and cast the fox into the cellar in the same way. And after that they caught Pussy Swiftfoot[5] likewise.

Footnote 5:

The hare.

So when he had got them all safely the old man sat down on a bench before the cellar and began sharpening a knife. And the bear said to him:

“Tell me, daddy, what are you sharpening your knife for?”

“To flay your skin off, that I may make a leather jacket for myself and a pelisse for my old woman.”

“Oh, don’t flay me, daddy dear! Rather let me go, and I’ll bring you a lot of honey.”

“Very well, see you do it,” and he unbound and let the bear go. Then he sat down on the bench and again began sharpening his knife. And the wolf asked him:

“Daddy, what are you sharpening your knife for?”

“To flay off your skin, that I may make me a warm cap against the winter.”

“Oh! Don’t flay me, daddy dear, and I’ll bring you a whole herd of little sheep.”

“Well, see that you do it,” and he let the wolf go.

Then he sat down, and began sharpening his knife again. The fox put out her little snout, and asked him:

“Be so kind, dear daddy, and tell me why you are sharpening your knife?”

“Little foxes,” said the old man, “have nice skins that do capitally for collars and trimmings, and I want to skin you!”

“Oh! Don’t take my skin away, daddy dear, and I will bring you hens and geese.”

“Very well, see that you do it!” and he let the fox go.

The hare now alone remained, and the old man began sharpening his knife on the hare’s account.

“Why do you do that?” asked puss, and he replied:

“Little hares have nice little, soft, warm skins, which will make me nice gloves and mittens against the winter!”

“Oh, daddy dear! Don’t flay me, and I’ll bring you kale and good cauliflower, if only you let me go!”

Then he let the hare go also.

Then they went to bed: but very early in the morning, when it was neither dusk nor dawn, there was a noise in the doorway like “Durrrrrr!”

“Daddy!” cried the old woman, “there’s some one scratching at the door; go and see who it is!”

The old man went out, and there was the bear carrying a whole hive full of honey. The old man took the honey from the bear; but no sooner did he lie down than again there was another “Durrrrr!” at the door. The old man looked out and saw the wolf driving a whole flock of sheep into the courtyard. Close on his heels came the fox, driving before him geese and hens, and all manner of fowls; and last of all came the hare, bringing cabbage and kale, and all manner of good food. And the old man was glad, and the old woman was glad. And the old man sold the sheep and oxen, and got so rich that he needed nothing more. As for the straw-stuffed ox, it stood in the sun till it fell to pieces.

_The Cat, the Cock, and the Fox_

There was once upon a time a cat and a cock, who agreed to live together; so they built them a hut in a barnyard, and the cock kept house while the cat went foraging for sausages. One day the fox came running up:

“Open the door, little cock!” cried she.

“Pussy told me not to, little fox!” said the cock.

“Open the door, little cock!” repeated the fox.

“I tell you pussy told me not to, little fox!”

At last, however, the cock grew tired of always saying “No!” so he opened the door, and in the fox rushed, seized him in her jaws, and ran off with him. Then the cock cried:

“Help! pussy-pussy!
That foxy hussy
Has got me tight
With all her might.
Across her tail
My legs do trail
Along the bridge so stony!”

The cat heard it, gave chase to the fox, rescued the cock, brought him home, scolded him well, and said:

“Now keep out of her jaws in the future if you don’t want to be killed altogether!”

Then the cat went out foraging for wheat, so that the cock might have something to eat. He had scarcely gone when the sly she-fox again came creeping up.

“Dear little cock!” said she, “pray open the door!”

“Nay, little fox! Pussy said I wasn’t to.”

But the fox went on asking and asking till at last the cock let him in, when the fox rushed at him, seized him by the neck, and ran off with him. Then the cock cried out:

“Help! pussy-pussy!
That foxy hussy
Has got me tight
With all her might.
Across her tail
My legs do trail
Along the bridge so stony!”

The cat heard it, and again he ran after the fox and rescued the cock, and gave the fox a sound drubbing. Then he said to the cock:

“Now, mind you, never let her come in again, or she’ll eat you.”

But the next time the cat went out, the she-fox came again, and said:

“Dear little cock, open the door!”

“No, little fox! Pussy said I wasn’t to.”

But the fox begged and begged so piteously that at last the cock was quite touched, and opened the door. Then the fox caught him by the throat again, and ran away with him, and the cock cried:

“Help! pussy-pussy!
That foxy hussy
Has got me tight
With all her might.
Across her tail
My legs do trail
Along the bridge so stony!”

The cat heard it, and gave chase again. He ran and ran, but this time he couldn’t catch the fox up; so he returned home and wept bitterly, because he was now all alone. At last, however, he dried his tears and got him a little fiddle, a little fiddle-bow, and a big sack, and went to the fox’s hole and began to play:

“Fiddle-de-dee!
The foxy so wee
Had daughters twice two,
And a little son too,
Oh, fiddle-de-dee!
Come, foxy, and see
My sweet minstrelsy!”

Then the fox’s daughter said:

“Mammy, I’ll go out and see who it is that is playing so nicely!”

So out she skipped, but no sooner did pussy see her than he caught hold of her and popped her into his sack. Then he played again:

“Fiddle-de-dee!
The foxy so wee
Had daughters twice two,
And a little son too
Oh! Fiddle-de-dee!
Come, foxy, and see
My sweet minstrelsy!”

Then the second daughter skipped out, and pussy caught her by the forehead, and popped her into his sack, and went on playing and singing till he had got all four daughters into his sack, and the little son also.

Then the old fox was left all alone, and she waited and waited, but not one of them came back. At last she said to herself:

“I’ll go out and call them home, for the cock is roasting, and the milk pottage is simmering, and ‘tis high time we had something to eat.”

So out she popped, and the cat pounced upon her and killed her too. Then he went and drank up all the soup, and gobbled up all the pottage, and then he saw the cock lying on a plate.

“Come, shake yourself, cock!” said puss.

So the cock shook himself, and got up, and the cat took the cock home, and the dead foxes too. And when they got home they skinned them to make nice beds to lie upon, and lived happily together in peace and plenty. And as they laughed over the joke as a good joke, we may laugh over it too.

_The Fox and the Dove_

Once upon a time there was a dove who built her nest in a high tree. Every year, about the time when her young ones were beginning to get feathers, Reynard Sly-Boots would come along and say to the dove:

“Give me your young ones to eat; throw them down to me of your own accord, or I will gobble you up, as well as them!”

The dove, frightened at the threat, would throw down the young birds and thus it had happened year after year.

Now one day, as the dove sat most melancholy upon her nest, a great bird flew up and asked why she was so sad and downcast. And the dove answered that it was because Reynard would soon come and eat up her young ones.

Upon this the great bird replied, “Oh, you goose! Why do you throw them down to him? Just bid your good friend to please give himself the trouble to come after them. Then you’ll soon see him sneak away with his tail between his legs, for Reynard cannot climb a tree.”

So when the time came round and Reynard again presented himself, the dove said to him, “If you want meat for dinner, just be so kind as to come up and help yourself.”

When the fox saw that he must go away empty he asked the dove who had counseled her to speak thus, and she answered:

“The great bird that has a nest yonder near the stream.”

Reynard at once betook himself to the stream and remonstrated with the great bird for building his nest in so exposed a place, asking what he did in case of a high wind.

The great bird answered, “When the wind blows from the right I turn to the left; when it blows from the left I turn to the right.”

“But what do you do when it blows from all sides?” asked the fox.

“Then I stick my head under my wing,” said the great bird, showing how he did it. But quick as a wink, when the great bird stuck his head under his wing, Reynard Sly-Boots sprang upon him and seized him, saying:

“You know how to give counsel to others, but not to advise yourself.”

So he ate him up!

_The Fox and the Hedgehog_

A hedgehog met Master Reynard in a field, and said to him, “Hello, master! Whither away?”

“Oh, I’m just loafing around!” answered the fox.

“Tell me, now,” said Reynard to the hedgehog, after they had been chatting a while, “how manifold is your understanding?”

“Threefold,” answered the hedgehog.

“Why, how is that?” asked the fox.

“Why, you see, I have one sense above, one below, and the third everywhere,” replied the hedgehog; and added: “And how manifold is your understanding?”

“Oh, mine is seventy-sevenfold,” answered the fox.

“Well, well!” said the hedgehog.

Thereupon they walked along through the fields, and so eagerly were they talking that they gave no heed to the way, and presently stumbled into a wolf’s den. Then was good counsel precious! How should they ever get out of this scrape?

Said Reynard to the hedgehog, “Come now, search around in your head-piece for a means of getting out of this pickle.”

“I should have done that before,” answered the hedgehog, “but I was afraid that by and by you would curse me. How shall I, a little hedgehog, with only a threefold understanding, devise anything better than you, who have a seventy-sevenfold understanding?”

However, after talking back and forth a long time, the hedgehog made this suggestion: “Say, Reynard, just seize me by the ear and throw me up out of the den, because I am the smaller.”

“Yes, but how shall I get out?”

“Oh, just stick up your tail, and I will pull you out!”

So Reynard seized the hedgehog by the ear and tossed him up out of the den. Then he called upon him to keep his word. “Hello, there, Gossip, now pull me out!”

“Do you know what,” answered the hedgehog, “I’ll tell you something. I have only a threefold understanding, and yet I found a way of helping myself. Now do you help yourself with your seventy-sevenfold understanding.”

By this time a peasant came along, and finding the fox in the den he made short work with him. But the hedgehog crept away through the thicket with his threefold understanding, while Reynard, with all his seventy-sevenfold understanding, was carried off by the peasant.

_The Disappointed Bear_

Once upon a time a little old woman, who was walking in the forest, climbed up into a wild-cherry tree to gather cherries. Now, a bear espied her, and he came under the tree and cried, “Come down, old woman, that I may eat you!”

“Go along with you!” answered the old woman. “Why should you eat a scrawny old woman like me. Here, gnaw upon my shoe till I come down, and I will take you to my house; I have two little children there, named Janko and Mirko; they will make you a right savory dish. So have patience till you get them.”

So said the little old woman, and threw down one of her shoes. Master Bruin gnawed and gnawed upon it, but the more he gnawed the hungrier he grew. Greatly enraged, he screamed up to the old woman:

“Come down, you old wench, and let me eat you!”

“Just wait a little longer, till the old wench has gathered enough cherries,” she answered. “Here, gnaw this other shoe a while; she’ll soon come down and show you the way to her house.” So saying, she threw down the other shoe.

When Bruin found that the second shoe was no juicier than the first, he made no further effort, but contented himself with thinking of the fat little children at the old woman’s house. When she had gathered cherries enough, down she came and went home, the bear tramping along behind her.

When they reached the house the old woman said: “I’ll tell you what; first let me give the children a good supper, that they may be all the fatter; and meanwhile do you run about till evening to get up a better appetite.”

So Bruin went away and ran about in the woods all the rest of the day, and at evening he came back to the hut.

“Here I am, little mother!” he cried; “now bring out Janko and Mirko, and see me polish them off. I am starving to death!”

“Oho!” answered the little old woman from within; “Janko has made the door fast with bolts, and I have just put Mirko to sleep. I couldn’t think of waking him. And the little mother is so old and weak that she can’t unbolt the door alone. Come some other day!”

Then Master Bruin perceived that he had been fooled, and he walked reluctantly away, with drooping snout and an empty stomach.

_Young Neverfull_

A certain housewife had a young servant lad who devoured everything eatable that lay in his way. He would rummage in the storeroom until he smelled out something good, and would give himself no rest until he had devoured it all.

Now, the woman had a jar of preserved fruit, and, as she feared that the youngster would eat it and leave her nothing to put into her pies, she said to him:

“My good boy, you have now eaten everything that I have except this jam, and you have left this just as if you knew that it was poisoned. See how kind Heaven is to have preserved you from it. One single spoonful is enough to kill one instantly, so I warn you not to touch it unless you want to die.”

“Very well,” answered the boy.

On the next Sunday, as the woman was getting ready to go to mass, she said to the boy: “Cook the soup and boil the meat and roast this duck; we will have a good dinner to-day. See that you have all done and ready when I come home.”

“Very well; it shall all be done,” answered the boy.

When the woman was gone he cooked the soup and boiled the meat, and then he put the duck upon the spit to roast. When he saw what a delicious brown crisp was forming all over the duck, he thought, “It can roast itself another one,” and ate the crisp all off. He turned the spit and turned it, but the second brown crisp never came.

When he saw this, he thought: “When the mistress comes home she will pepper me well,” and he began to consider how he could escape a beating. In his desperation he remembered the jar of poison against which his mistress had warned him the day before. With a sudden resolution he went into the storeroom and devoured the whole jarful of preserved fruit, and then crouched down in a corner to wait for death.

Presently his mistress came home and cried out angrily: “What have you done to this duck?” She was about to belabor him well, when he cried: “Ah, leave me in peace, dear mistress! I shall die in a minute, anyway, for I have eaten up all the poison!”

At this the woman broke out into a laugh and could not refuse to forgive him. The duck and the preserves, however, were gone all the same.

_Hudden and Dudden and Donald O’Neary_

There was once upon a time two farmers, and their names were Hudden and Dudden. They had poultry in their yards, sheep on the uplands, and scores of cattle in the meadow land alongside the river. But for all that they weren’t happy, for just between their two farms there lived a poor man by the name of Donald O’Neary. He had a hovel over his head and a strip of grass that was barely enough to keep his one cow, Daisy, from starving, and, though she did her best, it was but seldom that Donald got a drink of milk or a roll of butter from Daisy. You would think there was little here to make Hudden and Dudden jealous, but so it is, the more one has the more one wants, and Donald’s neighbors lay awake of nights scheming how they might get hold of his little strip of grass land. Daisy, poor thing, they never thought of; she was just a bag of bones.

One day Hudden met Dudden, and they were soon grumbling as usual, and all to the tune of “If only we could get that vagabond, Donald O’Neary, out of the country.”

“Let’s kill Daisy,” said Hudden at last; “if that doesn’t make him clear out, nothing will.”

No sooner said than agreed; and it wasn’t dark before Hudden and Dudden crept up to the little shed where lay poor Daisy, trying her best to chew the cud, though she hadn’t had as much grass in the day as would cover your hand. And when Donald came to see if Daisy was all snug for the night, the poor beast had only time to lick his hand once before she died.

Well, Donald was a shrewd fellow, and, downhearted though he was, began to think if he could get any good out of Daisy’s death. He thought and he thought, and the next day you might have seen him trudging off early to the fair, Daisy’s hide over his shoulder, every penny he had jingling in his pockets. Just before he got to the fair, he made several slits in the hide, put a penny in each slit, walked into the best inn of the town as bold as if it belonged to him, and, hanging the hide up to a nail in the wall, sat down.

“Some of your best whisky,” says he to the landlord. But the landlord didn’t like his looks. “Is it fearing I won’t pay you, you are?” says Donald; “why, I have a hide here that gives me all the money I want.” And with that he hit it a whack with his stick, and out hopped a penny. The landlord opened his eyes, as you may fancy.

“What’ll you take for that hide?”

“It’s not for sale, my good man.”

“Will you take a gold piece?”

“It’s not for sale, I tell you. Hasn’t it kept me and mine for years?” and with that Donald hit the hide another whack, and out jumped a second penny.

Well, the long and the short of it was that Donald let the hide go, and, that very evening, who but he should walk up to Hudden’s door?

“Good-evening, Hudden. Will you lend me your best pair of scales?”

Hudden stared and Hudden scratched his head, but he lent the scales.

When Donald was safe at home, he pulled out his pocketful of bright gold, and began to weigh each piece in the scales. But Hudden had put a lump of butter at the bottom, and so the last piece of gold stuck fast to the scales when he took them back to Hudden.

If Hudden had stared before, he stared ten times more now, and no sooner was Donald’s back turned, than he was off as hard as he could pelt to Dudden’s.

“Good-evening, Dudden. That vagabond, bad luck to him——”

“You mean Donald O’Neary?”

“And who else should I mean? He’s back here weighing out sackfuls of gold.”

“How do you know that?”

“Here are my scales that he borrowed, and here’s a gold piece still sticking to them.”

Off they went together, and they came to Donald’s door. Donald had finished making the last pile of ten gold pieces. And he couldn’t finish, because a piece had stuck to the scales.

In they walked without an “If you please” or “By your leave.”

“Well, _I_ never!” that was all _they_ could say.

“Good-evening, Hudden; good-evening, Dudden. Ah! you thought you had played me a fine trick, but you never did me a better turn in all your lives. When I found poor Daisy dead, I thought to myself, ‘Well, her hide may fetch something’; and it did. Hides are worth their weight in gold in the market just now.”

Hudden nudged Dudden, and Dudden winked at Hudden.

“Good-evening, Donald O’Neary.”

“Good-evening, kind friends.”

The next day there wasn’t a cow or a calf that belonged to Hudden or Dudden but her hide was going to the fair in Hudden’s biggest cart, drawn by Dudden’s strongest pair of horses.

When they came to the fair, each one took a hide over his arm, and there they were walking through the fair, bawling out at the top of their voices: “Hides to sell! hides to sell!”

Out came the tanner:

“How much for your hides, my good men?”

“Their weight in gold.”

“It’s early in the day to come out of the tavern.” That was all the tanner said, and back he went to his yard.

“Hides to sell! Fine fresh hides to sell!”

Out came the cobbler:

“How much for your hides, my men?”

“Their weight in gold.”

“Is it making game of me you are? Take that for your pains,” and the cobbler dealt Hudden a blow that made him stagger.

Up the people came running from one end of the fair to the other. “What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” cried they.

“Here are a couple of vagabonds selling hides at their weight in gold,” said the cobbler.

“Hold ‘em fast; hold ‘em fast!” bawled the innkeeper, who was the last to come up, he was so fat. “I’ll wager it’s one of the rogues who tricked me out of thirty gold pieces yesterday for a wretched hide.”

It was more kicks than halfpence that Hudden and Dudden got before they were well on their way home again, and they didn’t run the slower because all the dogs of the town were at their heels.

Well, as you may fancy, if they loved Donald little before, they loved him less now.

“What’s the matter, friends?” said he, as he saw them tearing along, their hats knocked in, and their coats torn off, and their faces black and blue. “Is it fighting you’ve been? or mayhap you met the police, ill luck to them?”

“We’ll police you, you vagabond. It’s mighty smart you thought yourself, deluding us with your lying tales.”

“Who deluded you? Didn’t you see the gold with your own two eyes?”

But it was no use talking. Pay for it he must and should. There was a meal-sack handy, and into it Hudden and Dudden popped Donald O’Neary, tied him up tight, ran a pole through the knot, and off they started for the Brown Lake of the Bog, each with a pole-end on his shoulder, and Donald O’Neary between.

But the Brown Lake was far, the road was dusty, Hudden and Dudden were sore and weary, and parched with thirst. There was an inn by the roadside.

“Let’s go in,” said Hudden; “I’m dead beat. It’s heavy he is for the little he had to eat.”

If Hudden was willing, so was Dudden. As for Donald, you may be sure his leave wasn’t asked, but he was dumped down at the inn door for all the world as if he had been a sack of potatoes.

“Sit still, you vagabond,” said Dudden; “if we don’t mind waiting, you needn’t.”

Donald held his peace, but after a while he heard the glasses clink, and Hudden singing away at the top of his voice.

“I won’t have her, I tell you; I won’t have her!” said Donald. But nobody heeded what he said.

“I won’t have her, I tell you; I won’t have her!” said Donald; and this time he said it louder; but nobody heeded what he said.

“I won’t have her, I tell you; I won’t have her!” said Donald; and this time he said it as loud as he could.

“And who won’t you have, may I be so bold as to ask?” said a farmer, who had just come up with a drove of cattle, and was turning in for a glass.

“It’s the king’s daughter. They are bothering the life out of me to marry her.”

“You’re the lucky fellow. I’d give something to be in your shoes.”

“Do you see that, now! Wouldn’t it be a fine thing for a farmer to be marrying a princess, all dressed in gold and jewels?”

“Jewels, do you say? Ah, now, couldn’t you take me with you?”

“Well, you’re an honest fellow, and as I don’t care for the king’s daughter, though she’s as beautiful as the day, and is covered with jewels from top to toe, you shall have her. Just undo the cord and let me out; they tied me up tight, as they knew I’d run away from her.”

Out crawled Donald; in crept the farmer.

“Now lie still, and don’t mind the shaking; it’s only rumbling over the palace steps you’ll be. And maybe they’ll abuse you for a vagabond, who won’t have the king’s daughter; but you needn’t mind that. Ah, it’s a deal I’m giving up for you, sure as it is that I don’t care for the princess.”

“Take my cattle in exchange,” said the farmer; and you may guess it wasn’t long before Donald was at their tails, driving them homeward.

Out came Hudden and Dudden, and the one took one end of the pole, and the other the other.

“I’m thinking he’s heavier,” said Hudden.

“Ah, never mind,” said Dudden; “it’s only a step now to the Brown Lake.”

“I’ll have her now! I’ll have her now!” bawled the farmer from inside the sack.

“By my faith and you shall, though,” said Hudden, and he laid his stick across the sack.

“I’ll have her! I’ll have her!” bawled the farmer, louder than ever.

“Well, here you are,” said Dudden, for they were now come to the Brown Lake, and, unslinging the sack, they pitched it plump into the lake.

“You’ll not be playing your tricks on us any longer,” said Hudden.

“True for you,” said Dudden. “Ah, Donald, my boy, it was an ill day when you borrowed my scales!”

Off they went, with a light step and an easy heart, but when they were near home, whom should they see but Donald O’Neary, and all around him the cows were grazing, and the calves were kicking up their heels and butting their heads together.

“Is it you, Donald?” said Dudden. “Faith, you’ve been quicker than we have.”

“True for you, Dudden, and let me thank you kindly; the turn was good, if the will was ill. You’ll have heard, like me, that the Brown Lake leads to the Land of Promise. I always put it down as lies, but it is just as true as my word. Look at the cattle.”

Hudden stared, and Dudden gaped; but they couldn’t get over the cattle; fine, fat cattle they were, too.

“It’s only the worst I could bring up with me,” said Donald O’Neary; “the others were so fat, there was no driving them. Faith, too, it’s little wonder they didn’t care to leave, with grass as far as you could see, and as sweet and juicy as fresh butter.”

“Ah now, Donald, we haven’t always been friends,” said Dudden, “but, as I was just saying, you were ever a decent lad, and you’ll show us the way, won’t you?”

“I don’t see that I’m called upon to do that; there is a power more cattle down there. Why shouldn’t I have them all to myself?”

“Faith, they may well say, the richer you get, the harder the heart. You always were a neighborly lad, Donald. You wouldn’t wish to keep the luck all to yourself?”

“True for you, Hudden, though it’s a bad example you set me. But I’ll not be thinking of old times. There is plenty for all there, so come along with me.”

Off they trudged, with a light heart and an eager step. When they came to the Brown Lake the sky was full of little white clouds, and, if the sky was full, the lake was as full.

“Ah, now, look! there they are!” cried Donald, as he pointed to the clouds in the lake.

“Where? where?” cried Hudden, and “Don’t be greedy!” cried Dudden, as he jumped his hardest to be up first with the fat cattle. But if he jumped first, Hudden wasn’t long behind.

They never came back. Maybe they got too fat, like the cattle. As for Donald O’Neary, he had cattle and sheep all his days to his heart’s content.

_The Tail_

There was a shepherd once who went out to the hill to look after his sheep. It was misty and cold, and he had much trouble to find them. At last he had them all but one; and after much searching he found that one, too, in a peat hag, half drowned; so he took off his plaid, and bent down and took hold of the sheep’s tail and he pulled! The sheep was heavy with water, and he could not lift her, so he took off his coat and he _pulled!!_ but it was too much for him, so he spit on his hands, and took a good hold of the tail and he PULLED!! and the tail broke! and if it had not been for that this tale would have been a great deal longer.

_Jack and the King who was a Gentleman_

Well, children: wanst upon a time, when pigs was swine, there was a poor widdy woman lived all alone with her wan son Jack in a wee hut of a house, that on a dark night ye might aisily walk over it by mistake, not knowin’ at all, at all, it was there, barrin’ ye’d happen to strike yer toe agin’ it. An’ Jack an’ his mother lived for lee an’ long, as happy as hard times would allow them, in this wee hut of a house, Jack sthrivin’ to ‘arn a little support for them both by workin’ out, an’ doin’ wee turns back an’ forrid to the neighbors. But there was one winter, an’ times come to look black enough for them—nothin’ to do, an’ less to ate, an’ clothe themselves as best they might; an’ the winther wore on, gettin’ harder an’ harder, till at length when Jack got up out of his bed on a mornin’, an’ axed his mother to make ready the drop of stirabout for their little brakwus as usual, “Musha, Jack, _a-mhic_,” says his mother, says she, “the male-chist—thanks be to the Lord!—is as empty as Paddy Ruadh’s donkey that used to ate his brakwus at supper-time. It stood out long an’ well, but it’s empty at last, Jack, an’ no sign of how we’re goin’ to get it filled again—only we trust in the good Lord that niver yet disarted the widow and the orphan—He’ll not see us wantin’, Jack.”

“The Lord helps them that help themselves, mother,” says Jack back again to her.

“Thrue for ye, Jack,” says she, “but I don’t see how we’re goin’ to help ourselves.”

“He’s a mortial dead mule out an’ out that hasn’t a kick in him,” says Jack. “An’, mother, with the help of Providence—not comparin’ the Christian to the brute baste—I have a kick in me yet; if you thought ye could only manage to sthrive along the best way you could for a week, or maybe two weeks, till I get back again off a little journey I’d like to undhertake.”

“An’ may I make bould to ax, Jack,” says his mother to him, “where would ye be afther makin’ the little journey to?”

“You may that, then, mother,” says Jack. “It’s this: You know the King of Munsther is a great jintleman entirely. It’s put on him, he’s so jintlemanly, that he was niver yet known to make use of a wrong or disrespectable word. An’ he prides himself on it so much that he has sent word over all the known airth that he’ll give his beautiful daughter—the loveliest picthur in all Munsther, an’ maybe in all Irelan’, if we’d say it—an’ her weight in goold, to any man that in three trials will make him use the unrespectful word, an’ say, ‘Ye’re a liar!’ But every man that tries him, an’ fails, loses his head. All sorts and descriptions of people, from prences an’ peers down to bagmen an’ beggars, have come from all parts of the known world to thry for the great prize, an’ all of them up to this has failed, an’ by consequence lost their heads. But, mother dear,” says Jack, “where’s the use in a head to a man if he can’t get mail for it to ate? So I’m goin’ to thry me fortune, only axin’ your blissin’ an’ God’s blissin’ to help me on the way.”

“Why, Jack, _a-thaisge_,” says his mother, “it’s a dangersome task; but as you remark, where’s the good of the head to ye when ye can’t get mail to put in it? So I give ye my blissin’, an’ night, noon, an’ mornin’ I’ll be prayin’ for ye to prosper.”

An’ Jack set out, with his heart as light as his stomach, an’ his pocket as light as them both together; but a man’ll not travel far in ould Irelan’ (thanks be to God!) on the barefooted stomach—as we’ll call it—or it’ll be his own fault if he does; an’ Jack didn’t want for plenty of first-class aitin’ an’ dhrinkin’, lashin’s an’ laivin’s, and pressin’ him to more. An’ in this way he thraveled away afore him for five long days till he come to the King of Munsther’s castle. And when he was comed there he rattled on the gate, an’ out come the king.

“Well, me man,” says the king, “what might be your business here?”

“I’m come here, your Kingship,” says Jack, mighty polite, an’ pullin’ his forelock, be raison his poor ould mother had always insthructed him in the heighth of good breedin’—“I’m come here, your R’yal Highness,” says Jack, “to thry for yer daughter.”

“Hum!” says the king. “Me good young man,” says he, “don’t ye think it a poor thing to lose yer head?”

“If I lose it,” says Jack, “sure one consolation ‘ill be that I’ll lose it in a glorious cause.”

An’ who do ye think would be listenin’ to this same deludherin’ speech of Jack’s, from over the wall, but the king’s beautiful daughter herself. She took an eyeful out of Jack, an’ right well plaised she was with his appearance, for—

“Father,” says she at once, “hasn’t the boy as good a right to get a chance as another? What’s his head to you? Let the boy in,” says she.

An’ sure enough, without another word, the king took Jack within the gates, an’ handin’ him over to the sarvints, tould him to be well looked afther an’ cared for till mornin’.

Next mornin’ the king took Jack with him an’ fetched him out into the yard. “Now then, Jack,” says he, “we’re goin’ to begin. We’ll drop into the stables here, an’ I’ll give you your first chance.”

So he took Jack into the stables an’ showed him some wondherful big horses, the likes of which poor Jack never saw afore, an’ every one of which was the heighth of the side wall of the castle an’ could step over the castle walls, which were twenty-five feet high, without strainin’ themselves.

“Thems’ purty big horses, Jack,” says the king. “I don’t suppose ever ye saw as big or as wondherful as them in yer life.”

“Oh, they’re purty big, indeed,” says Jack, takin’ it as cool as if there was nothin’ whatsomever astonishin’ to him about them. “They’re purty big, indeed,” says Jack, “_for this counthry_. But at home with us in Donegal we’d only count them little nags, shootable for the young ladies to dhrive in pony-carriages.”

“What!” says the king, “do ye mane to tell me ye have seen bigger in Donegal?”

“Bigger!” says Jack. “Phew! Blood alive, yer Kingship, I seen horses in my father’s stable that could step over your horses without thrippin’. My father owned one big horse—the greatest, I believe, in the world again.”

“What was he like?” says the king.