Chapter XIV: Conclusion (3)

“Very well,” said _Jizō_, “but you must really be kind to her. If you are not, I shall be very angry.”

“I won’t hurt her at all,” promised the _oni_; “and she will only have to do a little work for us every day. Good-by, _Jizō San_.”

Then the _oni_ took the old woman far down the road till they came to a wide deep river, where there was a boat. He put her into the boat, and took her across the river to his house. It was a very large house. He led her at once into the kitchen, and told her to cook some dinner for himself and the other _oni_ who lived with him. And he gave her a small wooden rice-paddle, and said:

“You must always put only one grain of rice into the pot, and, when you stir that one grain of rice in the water with this paddle, the grain will multiply until the pot is full.”

So the old woman put just one rice-grain into the pot, as the _oni_ told her, and began to stir it with the paddle; and, as she stirred, the one grain became two, then four, then eight, then sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, and so on. Every time she moved the paddle the rice increased in quantity, and in a few minutes the great pot was full.

After that, the funny old woman stayed a long time in the house of the _oni_, and every day cooked food for him and for all his friends. The _oni_ never hurt or frightened her, and her work was made quite easy by the magic paddle, although she had to cook a very, very great quantity of rice, because an oni eats much more than any human being eats.

But she felt lonely, and always wished very much to go back to her own little house, and make her dumplings; and one day, when the _oni_ were all out somewhere, she thought she would try to run away.

She first took the magic paddle and slipped it under her girdle, and then she went down to the river. No one saw her, and the boat was there. She got into it and pushed off, and, as she could row very well, she was soon far away from the shore.

But the river was very wide, and she had not rowed more than one-fourth of the way across when the _oni_, all of them, came back to the house.

They found that their cook was gone, and the magic paddle, too. They ran down to the river at once, and saw the old woman rowing away very fast.

Perhaps they could not swim; at all events, they had no boat, and they thought the only way they could catch the funny old woman would be to drink up all the water of the river before she got to the other bank. So they knelt down, and began to drink so fast that, before the old woman had got half-way over, the water had become quite low.

But the old woman kept on rowing until the water had got so shallow that the _oni_ stopped drinking, and began to wade across. Then she dropped her oar, took the magic paddle from her girdle, and shook it at the _oni_, and made such funny faces that the _oni_ all burst out laughing.

But, the moment they laughed, all the water came up that they had drunk, and so the river became full again. The _oni_ could not cross, and the funny old woman got safely over to the other side, and ran away up the road as fast as she could. She never stopped running until she found herself at home again.

After that she was very happy, for she could make dumplings whenever she pleased. Besides, she had the magic paddle to make rice for her. She sold her dumplings to her neighbors and passengers, and in quite a short time she became rich.

_The Three Goats_

Once upon a time there were three goats that were sent to some pasture-lands in order to be fattened, and all three happened to be named Brausewind. On their road to the pasture there was a bridge across a river which they must pass, and under the bridge lived a gigantic and horrible spirit, whose eyes were as large as two pewter plates, and whose nose was as long as the handle of a hoe.

The youngest goat Brausewind first came along, and stepped upon the bridge.

“Creak, creak!” complained the bridge.

“Who is tripping over my bridge?” cried the elf underneath.

“Oh! it is only the smallest of the goats named Brausewind,” said the goat in a very shrill voice.

“Then I shall come and fetch you,” cried the elf.

“Nay, do not come for me, for I am still so little,” said the goat; “wait a bit, till the second Brausewind comes, for he is much larger than I am.”

“Very well,” quoth the elf.

After a while the other goat Brausewind came along, and he began to go over the bridge.

“_Creaky creak!_” cried the bridge again.

“Who is tramping over my bridge?” cried the elf.

“Oh! it is only the second goat Brausewind; I am going to the pasture-lands to get a little fatter,” answered the goat, but in a less soft voice than the first.

“Then I shall come and fetch you,” said the elf.

“Nay, do not take me, but wait a bit till the large goat Brausewind comes, for he is a great deal bigger than I am.”

“Very well,” replied the elf.

It was not long before the big goat Brausewind reached the same spot.

“CREAK, CREAK!” went the bridge, as if it were going to split.

“Who comes thundering over my bridge?” cried the elf.

“The big goat Brausewind,” said the goat in a gruff voice.

“Then I shall come and fetch you,” cried the elf.

“Well, come if you like; I’ve two spears in my head,
With which I can easily strike you dead.
Yes, come if you like; and with thundering stones
I shiver to powder your brains and your bones,”

replied the goat; and, butting at the elf, he easily broke every bone in his body, after which he threw him into the river, and followed the other goats to the pastures.

And here the goats grew so very, very, very fat that they were not able to come home again; and, unless they have grown thinner since, they are probably there still.

_The Fox Turned Shepherd_

There was once a farmer’s wife who rode out to try and find a shepherd. She happened to meet a bear on the way, and the bear inquired whither she was going.

“Oh, I’m going to hire a shepherd,” answered she.

“Will you take me for a shepherd?” asked the bear.

“Yes,” said the woman, “provided you can call the sheep properly.”

“Ho—o—y!” growled the bear.

“No,” said the woman on hearing this, “I can’t hire you,” and on she went.

Soon after she met a wolf. “Where are you going?” asked the wolf.

“Oh, I’m going to hire a shepherd,” answered the woman.

“Will you take me for a shepherd?” asked the wolf.

“Yes, if you can call the sheep properly,” replied the woman.

“Uh—uh!” howled the wolf.

“No, I can’t hire you,” said the woman.

A little farther on she met a Fox. “Where are you going?” asked he.

“Oh, I’m only going to hire a shepherd,” answered the woman.

“Will you take me for a shepherd?” asked the Fox.

“Yes, provided you can but call the sheep properly,” replied the woman.

“Dil—dal—holom!” cried the Fox in a pretty, proper tone.

“Yes, I will hire you,” said the woman; and she took him for a shepherd to watch over the cattle.

The first day, on driving the cattle to the meadows, the Fox ate up all the goats. On the second day he made a dainty meal upon the sheep, and on the third day it was the turn for the cows to be eaten.

On returning home in the evening, the woman asked him where he had left the cattle. “Their heads are in the brook, and their bones are in the bushes,” replied the Fox. The farmer’s wife was just then at the butter-tub, busy making butter; still, she wanted to go and see for herself how things stood. While she went to look, the Fox put his head into the butter-tub and drank up all the cream.

When the woman came back and saw what he had done, she was so exasperated that she seized a clot of cream that still remained in the tub and flung it at the Fox, so that it made a spot upon his tail. And this is the reason why the Fox’s tail has a white tip.

_The Seven Boys and the Monster_

It was Saturday afternoon, and Caspar, Michael, Fritz, and little Bessy were playing before their house, when presently little Hans came running toward them, and breathlessly cried:

“What have I seen? what have I seen?”

“What have you seen, then?” exclaimed all the children with one voice, collecting around him.

“A monster! a frightful monster!” answered Hans, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“You are afraid of your own shadow, fearful Hans,” said Caspar mockingly; “perhaps your neighbor’s black cat has turned her fiery eyes on you again.”

“I am not afraid of my shadow,” answered Hans angrily; “had you only been there, your ridicule would soon have vanished. A cat is not a bit like a grasshopper—a fearful great grasshopper, on which one could ride!”

At this the children wondered very much; and when Hans related that he had seen the monster in the shepherd’s hut in the field—that it had horns, and such a voice that the whole hut trembled—they almost believed him; and little Fritz thought: “Who knows if it is not one of the rhinoceroses of which Herr Gulmann told us yesterday?”

“Has the monster done you any harm?” asked little Bessy.

“No,” answered Hans; “when I screamed, it shrank back into its house.”

“But I must go and see it,” said Caspar; “and, if you will all follow, I will go now.”

The children determined to go, but little Hans said:

“I will not go unarmed!”

So Caspar mounted his horse-stick, put on his helmet, and buckled his saber to his side; Michael took his gun, Fritz the drum, and little Hans his lance.

“You must remain at home, little Bessy,” said Hans; “I won’t bear the blame if the monster hurts you.”

“But I want to go with you,” answered little Bessy, almost crying; “and, if you will not take me, I will tell my mother.”

“Let her go, then,” said Fritz; “but remember, Bessy, you must always keep ten yards behind.”

Thus, having armed themselves, they took courage, and Caspar thought: “Oh, if we could only catch the monster, dead or alive! Ah! here come Peter, and Frank, and George—they can also go with us, but they must take the great bean-pole out of the garden, that we may be able to attack the monster at a distance.”

Now the little army set itself in motion. Caspar on “Roho” (for so his horse was named) came first, as commander; then came Hans with the spear, Fritz with the drum, Michael with the gun, and lastly, Peter, Frank, and George, with the pole. Little Bessy came ten yards behind them. All were full of courage, and they sang:

The general on his horse comes first,
And next the spear and drum;
The soldier, with his gun; and three
Armed with a bean-pole come.
But Bessy marches after all,
That unto her no harm may fall.

When they came to the little wood through which one must go in order to get to the great meadow where the shepherd’s cot stands, Hans cried out all at once, his flag nearly falling from his hand:

“Did you not hear a noise?”

“Yes!” cried all, trembling; but Fritz had still courage enough to say:

“Bessy must remain behind.”

Then they whispered to one another, “The monster, perhaps, has hidden here”; but they dared not run away, for fear the monster should fall on them from behind, and they resolved to lie on the ground and listen. So they laid down all apart, and presently they whispered:

“Hans trembles very much.”

After a long time Fritz asked:

“Have you heard nothing, Caspar?”

“No,” said he, and the others also said “no”; and Frank thought, perhaps, it was only the wind. At this they took courage, and, in order to show they were not afraid, they sang:

O wind, in the wood whistle all the day long,
We’ll whistle as boldly, we’ll whistle as strong,

and they began to whistle, with all their strength, against the wind.

When they had come out of the wood they saw the shepherd’s hut standing quite alone; in the distance the sheep were peacefully feeding, and their little bells sounded merrily along the meadows. Only an old ram saw the young band of heroes, and it ventured nearer in order to look wonderingly. But Caspar rode against it, brandishing his sword, which made the ram bleat and gallop away.

“Now is the time!” said Caspar; “we will first walk three times round the hut, but no one must make any noise!”

“Bessy still stops behind!” cried Fritz, out of the strength of his love.

“Once more I say,” exclaimed Caspar loudly and forcibly, “no one must make a noise. We will now walk around, and when we are about to attack, Fritz shall give the signal with his drum.”

So they began to walk round the hut, but they marched round much oftener than three times, and each time they stopped at the same place.

“We cannot go round any more,” said Caspar, “we must attack the monster from some place. Do you hide first, behind the oak-tree, one behind another, that the monster may not see you; I will step on to the wheel there, and look in at the window, but—mind you are all ready at the first call.”

As they hid themselves behind the oak, he walked slowly with drawn sword to the hut, and little Hans whispered behind the tree:

“If there should be a wolf in the hut! Do you remember the story of ‘Little Red Riding-hood’?”

This made them very much afraid, and they held the faster to one another. Only Frank dared look out to see how their captain got on.

He had arrived at the hut, and, having fastened his horse to a stake, he mounted the wheel in order to look through the window. But—what a monster!—a great bearded beast with horns sprang with a loud cry at him; and Caspar, pale as death from terror, fell back, and could scarcely cry:

“Help! help!—the monster!”

As he called out, Franz said, “It has a beard and horns, and such a voice!” and Hans, who stood next to the oak, fell back on the rest, and one after the other fell to the ground.

Fritz picked himself up first, and called to Caspar from afar:

“Has he eaten you up yet, dear Caspar?”

“Who?” cried Caspar, springing up, “who?” And out of the hut sounded again the cry; it shook the door, and all fell back again. A goat came running up, with playful jumps, to our heroes.

“Herr Gulmann’s sick goat!” cried out all, “which, since the day before yesterday, we have not seen in the schoolyard.”

“Did I not say so?” cried Caspar. “But, ah, fearful Hans! where is the monster?”

“That must still be within,” protested Hans. “You also have seen it.”

“We will look again,” cried the enraged Caspar, in anger; “but, as the monster has not eaten the goat, it is no cannibal. Just come here, and stand around while Hans and I go in; and do you hold the bar of the door, that the monster may not come out.”

All were, in spite of their former terror, become courageous; still, Hans would willingly have gone back if he had not disliked to be called “fearful Hans.” He placed himself, therefore, at the door, behind Caspar, holding his banner before his eyes, and pressing it close to him. But Caspar did not remark that Hans had placed himself behind him; and Hans, on the other hand, did not see Caspar turn himself angrily and quickly round, the hut being very dark; and it so happened that he overturned Hans and fell over him.

“The monster! the monster!” cried Hans; and Caspar exclaimed, too, “The monster! the monster!” for each thought that it had overthrown him. With the quickness of lightning they sprang up again, in order to escape through the door, but those outside only held the bar faster from terror; and Hans and Caspar kicked with such violence against the wood that the others cried, “The monster! the monster!”

But this time it was not a goat, but the specter, which every one sometimes sees and feels. This our hero, Caspar, very soon found out; and springing up, he stamped thrice on the ground with his foot, and seizing poor Hans by the collar, he shook him angrily, and cried out in a voice nearly choked with rage:

“You are a coward! you are a coward!”

“Dear Caspar, let me go; I will not do it again!”

“Hans, you are a coward!” replied Caspar, for the third time shaking him.

But as little Hans said, “I will certainly show you a monster!” and as the others begged for his life, he let him loose, stamped again on the ground, and exclaimed:

“Oh, I would have commanded a band of heroes; I would have caught the monster, and led it in triumph home, but now it is gone, and you are the cause!”

But meanwhile the goat, which at first had so frightened them, approached again, and performed various playful capers to induce them to play with it. This increased Caspar’s rage, who would have seized the animal and beaten it; but it ran back, and then lowering its horns rushed against Caspar, not very softly. This excited him the more; he made a bold spring, seized the brute by the hair, and mounted it, in order the better to hold it; but, lo! the goat ran wildly away with him, with mad jumps through the wood, past shrieking Bessy, away into the village, where the people pointed their fingers at him mockingly.

Where did the goat stop?—for Caspar, while he lives, will not forget this! It easily found the way to the schoolhouse where it once joyfully fed, and flying to the yard, where the affrighted dog tried to seize it, it rushed into the school at the principal entrance, and stood suddenly in the schoolroom, where Herr Gulmann was correcting the exercises of his scholars. He heard the tremendous noise and outcry, and putting on his spectacles he discovered all!

What further happened I will omit, out of pity for Caspar, who may read this history some time. Only this must I mention: that Herr Gulmann made him read and explain on Monday morning, for a religious exercise, the history of David and Goliath, and soon after he unwillingly related the story of the Seven Suabians, who allowed themselves to be conquered by a hare, and at that seven little boys blushed very deeply. I believe, however, that seven times seven-and-seventy little boys would blush at this story I have just told if it had happened to them!

_The Story of Little Black Mingo_

Once upon a time there was a little black girl, and her name was Little Black Mingo.

She had no father and mother, so she had to live with a horrid cross old woman called Black Noggy, who used to scold her every day, and sometimes beat her with a stick, even though she had done nothing naughty.

One day Black Noggy called her, and said: “Take this chatty down to the river and fill it with water, and come back as fast as you can—_quick now_!”

So Little Black Mingo took the chatty and ran down to the river as fast as she could, and began to fill it with water, when cr-r-rrrack!!! bang!!! a horrible big mugger poked its nose up through the bottom of the chatty and said: “Ha, ha! Little Mingo, I’m going to eat you up!”

Little Black Mingo did not say anything. She turned and ran away as fast as ever she could, and the mugger ran after her. But the broken chatty round his neck caught his paws, so he could not overtake her.

But when she got back to Black Noggy, and told her how the mugger had broken the chatty, Black Noggy was fearfully angry. “You naughty girl,” she said, “you have broken the chatty yourself. I have a good mind to beat you.” And if she had not been in such a hurry for the water she _would_ have beaten her.

Then she went and fetched the great big chatty that the dhobi used to boil the clothes in. “Take this,” said she, “and mind you don’t break it, or I _will_ beat you.”

“But I can’t carry that when it is full of water,” said Little Black Mingo.

“You must go twice, and bring it half-full each time,” said Black Noggy.

So Little Black Mingo took the dhobi’s great big chatty, and started again to go to the river. But first she went to a little bank above the river, and peeped up and down to see if she could see the old mugger anywhere. But she could not see him, for he was hiding under the very bank she was standing on, and, though his tail stuck out a little, she never saw him at all.

She would have liked to run home, but she was too much afraid that Black Noggy would beat her.

So Little Black Mingo crept down to the river, and began to fill the big chatty with water. And while she was filling it the mugger came creeping softly down behind her and caught her by the leg, saying: “Aha, Little Black Mingo, now I’ve got you.”

And Little Black Mingo said: “Oh! please don’t eat me up, great big mugger!”

“What will you give me if I don’t eat you up?” said the mugger. But Little Black Mingo was so poor she had nothing to give. So the mugger caught her in his great cruel mouth and swam away with her to an island in the middle of the river, and set her down beside a huge pile of eggs.

“Those are my eggs,” said he; “to-morrow a little mugger will come out of each, and then we will have a great feast, and we will eat you up.”

Then he waddled off to catch fish for himself, and left Little Black Mingo alone beside the big pile of eggs.

And Little Black Mingo sat down on a big stone and hid her face in her hands, and cried bitterly, because she couldn’t swim, and she didn’t know how to get away.

Presently she heard a queer little squeaky noise that sounded like “Squeak, squeak, squeak!!! Oh, Little Black Mingo, help me, or I shall be drowned.” She got up and looked to see what was calling, and she saw a bush coming floating down the river with something wriggling and scrambling about in it, and as it came near she saw that it was a mongoose that was in the bush. So she waded out as far as she could, and caught hold of the bush and pulled it in, and the poor mongoose crawled up her arm on to her shoulder, and she carried him to shore.

When they got to shore the mongoose shook himself, and Little Black Mingo wrung out her petticoat, and so they both very soon got dry.

The mongoose then began to poke about for something to eat, and very soon he found the great big pile of muggers’ eggs. “Oh, joy!” said he, “what’s this?”

“Those are muggers’ eggs,” said Little Black Mingo.

“I’m not afraid of muggers!” said the mongoose; and he sat down and began to crack the eggs, and eat the little muggers as they came out. And he threw the shells into the water, so that the old mugger should not see that any one had been eating them. But he was careless, and he left one egg-shell on the edge, and he was hungry, and he ate so many that the pile got much smaller, and when the old mugger came back he saw at once that some one had been meddling with them.

So he ran to Little Black Mingo, and said, “How dare you eat my eggs?”

“Indeed, indeed, I didn’t,” said Little Black Mingo.

“Then who could it have been?” said the mugger, and he ran back to the eggs as fast as he could, and, sure enough, when he got back he found the mongoose had eaten a whole lot more!!

Then he said to himself, “I must stay beside my eggs till they are hatched into little muggers, or the mongoose will eat them all.” So he curled himself into a ring round the eggs and went to sleep.

But while he was asleep the mongoose came to eat some more of the eggs, and ate as many as he wanted, and when the mugger woke this time, oh! _what_ a rage he was in, for there were only six eggs left! He roared so loud that all the little muggers inside the shells gnashed their teeth, and tried to roar, too.

Then he said: “I know what I’ll do. I’ll fetch Little Black Mingo’s big chatty, and cover my eggs with that; then the mongoose won’t be able to get at them.” So he swam across to the shore, and fetched the dhobi’s big chatty, and covered the eggs with it. “Now, you wicked little mongoose, come and eat my eggs if you can,” said he, and he went off quite proud and happy.

By and by the mongoose came back, and he was terribly disappointed when he found the eggs all covered with the big chatty.

So he ran off to Little Black Mingo, and asked her to help him, and Little Black Mingo came and took the big chatty off the eggs, and the mongoose ate them, every one.

“Now,” said he, “there will be no little muggers to make a feast for to-morrow.”

“No,” said Little Black Mingo, “but the mugger will eat me all by himself, I am afraid.”

“No, he won’t,” said the mongoose, “for we will sail away together in the big chatty before he comes back.”

So he climbed on to the edge of the chatty, and Little Black Mingo pushed the chatty out into the water, and then she clambered into it and paddled with her two hands as hard as she could, and the big chatty just sailed beautifully.

So they got across safely, and Little Black Mingo filled the chatty half-full of water and took it on her head, and they went up the bank together.

But when the mugger came back, and found only empty egg-shells, he was fearfully angry. He roared and he raged, and he howled and he yelled, till the whole island shook, and his tears ran down his cheeks and pattered on the sand like rain.

So he started to chase Little Black Mingo and the mongoose, and he swam across the river as fast as ever he could, and when he was half-way across he saw them landing, and as he landed they hurried over the first ridge.

So he raced after them, but they ran, and just before he caught them they got into the house, and banged the door in his face. Then they shut all the windows, so he could not get in anywhere.

“All right,” said he, “you will have to come out some time, and then I will catch you both, and eat you up.”

So he hid behind the back of the house and waited.

Now, Black Noggy was just coming home from the bazaar with a tin of kerosene on her head and a box of matches in her hand.

And when he saw her the mugger rushed out and gobbled her up, kerosene tin, matches, and all!!!

When Black Noggy found herself in the mugger’s dark inside, she wanted to see where she was, so she felt for the match-box, and took out a match and lit it. But the mugger’s teeth had made holes in the kerosene tin, so that the flame of the match caught the kerosene, and BANG!! the kerosene exploded, and blew the old mugger and Black Noggy into little bits.

At the fearful noise Little Black Mingo and the mongoose came running out, and there they found Black Noggy and the old mugger all blown to bits.

So Little Black Mingo and the mongoose got the nice little house for their very own, and there they lived happy ever after. And Little Black Mingo got the mugger’s head for her seat, and the mongoose got Black Noggy’s handkerchief for his. But he was so wee he used to put it on the mugger’s nose, and there they sat, and had their tea every evening.

HELEN BANNERMAN.

_The Cock and the Crested Hen_

There was once a Cock who had a whole farm-yard of hens to look after and manage; and among them was a tiny little Crested Hen. She thought she was altogether too grand to be in company with the other hens, for they looked so old and shabby; she wanted to go out and strut about all by herself, so that people could see how fine she was, and admire her pretty crest and beautiful plumage.

So one day when all the hens were strutting about on the dust-heap and showing themselves off, and picking and clucking, as they were wont to do, this desire seized her, and she began to cry:

“Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, over the fence! cluck, cluck, cluck, over the fence!” and wanted to get away.

The Cock stretched his neck and shook his comb and feathers, and cried:

“Go not there!” And all the old hens cackled:

“Go-go-go-go not there!”

But she set off for all that; and was not a little proud when she got away, and could go about pluming and showing herself off quite alone.

Just then a hawk began to fly round in a circle above her, and all of a sudden he swooped down upon her. The Cock, as he stood on top of the dust-heap, stretching his neck and peering first with one eye and then with the other, had long noticed him, and cried with all his might:

“Come, come, come and help! Come, come, come and help!” till the people came running to see what was the matter. They frightened the hawk so that he let go the Hen, and had to be satisfied with her tuft and her finest feathers, which he had plucked from her. And then, you may be sure, she lost no time in running home; she stretched her neck, and tripped along, crying:

“See, see, see, see how I look! See, see, see, see how I look!”

The Cock came up to her in his dignified way, drooped one of his wings, and said:

“Didn’t I tell you?”

From that time the Hen did not consider herself too good to be in the company of the old hens on the dust-heap.

_The Old Woman and the Fish_

There was once upon a time an old woman who lived in a miserable cottage on the brow of a hill overlooking the town. Her husband had been dead for many years, and her children were in service round about the parish, so she felt rather lonely and dreary by herself, and otherwise she was not particularly well off either.

But when it has been ordained that one shall live, one cannot think of one’s funeral; and so one has to take the world as it is, and still be satisfied; and that was about all the old woman could console herself with. But that the road up which she had to carry the pails from the well should be so heavy; and that the ax should have such a blunt and rusty edge, so that it was only with the greatest difficulty that she could cut the little firewood she had; and that the stuff she was weaving was not sufficient—all this grieved her greatly, and caused her to complain from time to time.

So one day, when she had pulled the bucket up from the well, she happened to find a small pike in the bucket, which did not at all displease her.

“Such fish does not come into my pot every day,” she said; and now she could have a really grand dish, she thought. But the fish that she had got this time was no fool; it had the gift of speech, that it had.

“Let me go!” said the fish.

The old woman began to stare, you may be sure. Such a fish she had never before seen in this world.

“Are you so much better than other fish, then?” she said, “and too good to be eaten?”

“Wise is he who does not eat all he gets hold of,” said the fish; “only let me go, and you shall not remain without reward for your trouble.”

“I like a fish in the bucket better than all those frisking about free and frolicsome in the lakes,” said the old woman. “And what one can catch with one hand, one can also carry to one’s mouth,” she said.

“That may be,” said the fish; “but if you do as I tell you, you shall have three wishes.”

“Wish in one fist, and pour water in the other, and you’ll soon see which you will get filled first,” said the woman. “Promises are well enough, but keeping them is better, and I sha’n’t believe much in you till I have got you in the pot,” she said.

“You should mind that tongue of yours,” said the fish, “and listen to my words. Wish for three things, and then you’ll see what will happen,” he said.

Well, the old woman knew well enough what she wanted to wish, and there might not be so much danger in trying how far the fish would keep his word, she thought.

She then began thinking of the heavy hill up from the well.

“I would wish that the pails could go of themselves to the well and home again,” she said.

“So they shall,” said the fish.

Then she thought of the ax, and how blunt it was.

“I would wish that whatever I strike shall break right off,” she said.

“So it shall,” said the fish.

And then she remembered that the stuff she was weaving was not long enough.

“I would wish that whatever I pull shall become long,” she said.

“That it shall,” said the fish. “And now, let me down into the well again.”

Yes, that she would, and all at once the pails began to shamble up the hill.

“Dear me, did you ever see anything like it?” The old woman became so glad and pleased that she slapped herself across the knees.

Crack, crack! it sounded; and then both her legs fell off, and she was left sitting on the top of the lid over the well.

Now came a change. She began to cry and wail, and the tears started from her eyes, whereupon she began blowing her nose with her apron, and as she tugged at her nose it grew so long, so long, that it was terrible to see.

That is what she got for her wishes! Well, there she sat, and there she no doubt still sits, on the lid of the well. And if you want to know what it is to have a long nose, you had better go there and ask her, for she can tell you all about it, she can.

_The Lad and the Fox_

There was once upon a time a little lad, who was on his way to church, and when he came to a clearing in the forest he caught sight of a fox, that was lying on the top of a big stone so fast asleep that he did not know the lad had seen him.

“If I kill that fox,” said the lad, taking a heavy stone in his fist, “and sell the skin, I shall get money for it, and with that money I shall buy some rye, and that rye I shall sow in father’s corn-field at home. When the people who are on their way to church pass by my field of rye they’ll say: ‘Oh, what splendid rye that lad has got!’ Then I shall say to them: ‘I say, keep away from my rye!’ But they won’t heed me. Then I shall shout to them: ‘I say, keep away from my rye!’ But still they won’t take any notice of me. Then I shall scream with all my might: ‘Keep away from my rye!’ and then they’ll listen to me.”

But the lad screamed so loudly that the fox woke up and made off at once for the forest, so that the lad did not even get as much as a handful of his hair.

No; it’s best always to take what you can reach, for of undone deeds you should never screech, as the saying goes.

_The Old Woman and the Tramp_

There was once a tramp who went plodding his way through a forest. The distance between the houses was so great that he had little hope of finding a shelter before the night set in. But all of a sudden he saw some lights between the trees. He then discovered a cottage, where there was a fire burning on the hearth. How nice it would be to roast one’s self before that fire, and to get a bite of something, he thought; and so he dragged himself toward the cottage.

Just then an old woman came toward him.

“Good evening, and well met!” said the tramp.

“Good evening,” said the woman. “Where do you come from?”

“South of the sun, and east of the moon,” said the tramp; “and now I am on the way home again, for I have been all over the world with the exception of this parish,” he said.

“You must be a great traveler, then,” said the woman. “What may be your business here?”

“Oh, I want a shelter for the night,” he said.

“I thought as much,” said the woman; “but you may as well get away from here at once, for my husband is not at home, and my place is not an inn,” she said.

“My good woman,” said the tramp, “you must not be so cross and hard-hearted, for we are both human beings, and should help one another, as it is written.”

“Help one another?” said the woman, “help? Did you ever hear such a thing? Who’ll help me, do you think? I haven’t got a morsel in the house! No, you’ll have to look for quarters elsewhere,” she said.

But the tramp was like the rest of his kind; he did not consider himself beaten at the first rebuff. Although the old woman grumbled and complained as much as she could, he was just as persistent as ever, and went on begging and praying like a starved dog, until at last she gave in, and he got permission to lie on the floor for the night.

That was very kind, he thought, and he thanked her for it.

“Better on the floor without sleep, than suffer cold in the forest deep,” he said; for he was a merry fellow, this tramp, and was always ready with a rhyme.

When he came into the room he could see that the woman was not so badly off as she had pretended; but she was a greedy and stingy woman of the worst sort, and was always complaining and grumbling.

He now made himself very agreeable, of course, and asked her in his most insinuating manner for something to eat.

“Where am I to get it from?” said the woman. “I haven’t tasted a morsel myself the whole day.”

But the tramp was a cunning fellow, he was.

“Poor old granny, you must be starving,” he said. “Well, well, I suppose I shall have to ask you to have something with me, then?”

“Have something with you!” said the woman. “You don’t look as if you could ask any one to have anything! What have you got to offer one, I should like to know?”

“He who far and wide does roam sees many things not known at home; and he who many things has seen has wits about him and senses keen,” said the tramp. “Better dead than lose one’s head! Lend me a pot, granny!”

The old woman now became very inquisitive, as you may guess, and so she let him have a pot.

He filled it with water and put it on the fire, and then he blew with all his might till the fire was burning fiercely all round it. Then he took a four-inch nail from his pocket, turned it three times in his hand, and put it into the pot.

The woman stared with all her might.

“What’s this going to be?” she asked.

“Nail broth,” said the tramp, and began to stir the water with the porridge-stick.

“Nail broth?” asked the woman.

“Yes, nail broth,” said the tramp.

The old woman had seen and heard a good deal in her time, but that anybody could have made broth with a nail, well, she had never heard the like before.

“That’s something for poor people to know,” she said, “and I should like to learn how to make it.”

“That which is not worth having will always go a-begging,” said the tramp, but if she wanted to learn how to make it she had only to watch him, he said, and went on stirring the broth.

The old woman squatted on the ground, her hands clasping her knees, and her eyes following his hand as he stirred the broth.

“This generally makes good broth,” he said; “but this time it will very likely be rather thin, for I have been making broth the whole week with the same nail. If one only had a handful of sifted oatmeal to put in, that would make it all right,” he said. “But what one has to go without, it’s no use thinking more about,” and so he stirred the broth again.

“Well, I think I have a scrap of flour somewhere,” said the old woman, and went out to fetch some, and it was both good and fine.

The tramp began putting the flour into the broth, and went on stirring, while the woman sat staring now at him and then at the pot until her eyes nearly burst their sockets.

“This broth would be good enough for company,” he said, putting in one handful of flour after another. “If I had only a bit of salted beef and a few potatoes to put in, it would be fit for gentlefolks, however particular they might be,” he said. “But what one has to go without, it’s no use thinking more about.”

When the old woman really began to think it over, she thought she had some potatoes, and perhaps a bit of beef as well; and these she gave the tramp, who went on stirring, while she sat and stared as hard as ever.

“This will be grand enough for the best in the land,” he said.

“Well, I never!” said the woman; “and just fancy—all with a nail!”

He was really a wonderful man, that tramp! He could do more than drink a sup and turn the tankard up, he could.

“If one had only a little barley and a drop of milk, we could ask the king himself to have some of it,” he said; “for this is what he has every blessed evening—that I know, for I have been in service under the king’s cook,” he said.

“Dear me! Ask the king to have some! Well, I never!” exclaimed the woman, slapping her knees. She was quite awestruck at the tramp and his grand connections.

“But what one has to go without, it’s no use thinking more about,” said the tramp.

And then she remembered she had a little barley; and as for milk, well, she wasn’t quite out of that, she said, for her best cow had just calved. And then she went to fetch both the one and the other.

The tramp went on stirring, and the woman sat staring, one moment at him and the next at the pot.

Then all at once the tramp took out the nail.

“Now it’s ready, and now we’ll have a real good feast,” he said. “But to this kind of soup the king and the queen always take a dram or two, and one sandwich at least. And then they always have a cloth on the table when they eat,” he said. “But what one has to go without, it’s no use thinking more about.”

But by this time the old woman herself had begun to feel quite grand and fine, I can tell you; and if that was all that was wanted to make it just as the king had it, she thought it would be nice to have it exactly the same way for once, and play at being king and queen with the tramp. She went straight to a cupboard and brought out the brandy bottle, dram glasses, butter and cheese, smoked beef and veal, until at last the table looked as if it were decked out for company.

Never in her life had the old woman had such a grand feast, and never had she tasted such broth, and just fancy, made only with a nail!

She was in such a good and merry humor at having learned such an economical way of making broth that she did not know how to make enough of the tramp who had taught her such a useful thing.

So they ate and drank, and drank and ate, until they became both tired and sleepy.

The tramp was now going to lie down on the floor. But that would never do, thought the old woman; no, that was impossible. “Such a grand person must have a bed to lie in,” she said.

He did not need much pressing. “It’s just like the sweet Christmas time,” he said, “and a nicer woman I never came across. Ah, well! Happy are they who meet with such good people,” said he; and he lay down on the bed and went asleep.

And next morning, when he woke, the first thing he got was coffee and a dram.

When he was going, the old woman gave him a bright dollar piece.

“And thanks, many thanks, for what you have taught me,” she said. “Now I shall live in comfort, since I have learned how to make broth with a nail.”

“Well, it isn’t very difficult if one only has something good to add to it,” said the tramp as he went his way.

The woman stood at the door staring after him.

“Such people don’t grow on every bush,” she said.

THE END

McCLURE’S LIBRARY OF CHILDREN’S CLASSICS

“THE CRIMSON CLASSICS”

EDITED BY

Kate Douglas Wiggin

AND

Nora Archibald Smith

The problem of children’s reading is one of the greatest with which parents and teachers are confronted. It is the purpose of this series to provide the very best literature in every field for the use of children and young people of all ages,—poetry, fairy lore, fables, nursery rhymes, short entertaining stories, etc., etc. To accomplish this purpose the editors have spared no trouble and the publishers no expense, to the end that this series may take its place permanently in the home and in the school library, superseding all others less complete and less carefully selected with reference to the mental and spiritual needs and the simple æsthetic tastes of children. A full description of the five volumes already published will be found on the following pages.

PINAFORE PALACE

A BOOK OF RHYMES FOR THE NURSERY

This volume is absolutely unique in scope and conception. It is a collection of all the best nursery rhymes, nonsense verses, guessing games, lullabies and slumber songs for the delectation of the very littlest readers, just as The Posy Ring was designed for children a little older, and GOLDEN NUMBERS for their brothers and sisters who are beginning to grow up and to prepare for school and college. The editors have, as in the case of the former volumes in the series, gone through the entire field of available material, and drawn upon many sources that are remote or inaccessible for the general reader. In this way they have been able to recover many a veritable little masterpiece of nursery lore, as well as to bring together all the old favorites from Mother Goose and other collections in a form at once compact and comprehensive. Teachers of kindergartens everywhere, as well as mothers with children to entertain at home, will welcome this little book and keep it on the most convenient shelf of the nursery bookcase. “Every home, large or small, poor or rich,” writes Mrs. Wiggin in her delightful INTRODUCTION TO THE MOTHER IN PINAFORE PALACE; and, she adds later, “no greater love for a task nor happiness in doing it, no more ardent wish to please a child or meet a mother’s need, ever went into a book than has been brought into this volume.”

_$1.50_

MAGIC CASEMENTS

A SECOND FAIRY BOOK

This volume, a companion to “The Fairy Ring,” completes that volume and makes, with it, the most exhaustive collection of fairy lore available for young readers. The editors, with their unerring gift for selection which in itself amounts to genius, have gathered those stories which have in them the greatest degree of that glamour which, in the language of Keats, opens “magic casements” on the world of Fairyland. These stories are for the most part longer and more elaborate than those in the preceding volume and are designed for slightly older readers.

THE FAIRY RING

Designed by its editors to be the standard fairy book for children. The educational value of the fairy story cannot be denied in its healthy stimulation of the child’s imaginative powers. Here the collections of Grimm, Andersen, Joseph Jacobs, Laboulaye, Perrault, and Dasent have yielded their richest stores, but the editors have not confined themselves to these better-known sources. They have gone far afield, read and examined all existing books of fairy literature, sifting all the material till they have made a generous selection which is inclusive of the very best that has ever been written.

“Can hardly fail to prove the most popular anthology of its kind
ever published.” _Boston Herald._

_Each volume beautifully printed and bound; about 450 pages: Gilt
top; postpaid, $1.50_

GOLDEN NUMBERS

A BOOK OF VERSE FOR YOUTH

The best anthology of English verse ever prepared for young people from the ages of 12 to 17. It is composed entirely of the finest examples of English poetical literature, selected with special reference to the requirements of young people of the grammar and high school age.

“The book will charm the child for the moment; it will educate his
tastes without awakening the suspicion that he is at school, and
it will enrich his memory for all time to come.” _Outlook._

_With an introduction by Kate Douglas Wiggin, and interleaves.
Cloth, 500 pages; postpaid, $2.17; net, $2.00_

THE POSY RING

A BOOK OF VERSE FOR CHILDREN

A companion volume to “Golden Numbers,” suitable for children from the ages of 7 to 12. The compilers have drawn largely on the works of Longfellow, Stevenson, Lewis Carroll, Eugene Field, Mary Mapes Dodge and James Whitcomb Riley. Every poem will give delight to the child, and also to the mother who would read them to the little ones.

“Into its pages have been gathered the cream of poetry for
children.” _Boston Transcript._

_Printed in very large, readable type. Cloth, postpaid, $1.37;
net, $1.25_

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Changed ‘shall everything’ to ‘shall have everything’ on p. 25. 2. Changed ‘of in all’ to ‘of it all’ on p. 93. 3. Silently corrected typographical errors. 4. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed. 5. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.