Chapter V: Part 5

Hour after hour dragged heavily by in the forest hut, and at last the brother and sister felt quite sure that in some way or other all the rest of the family had perished. Day after day the boy climbed to the top of a tall tree near the house, and sat there till he was almost frozen, looking on all sides through the forest openings, hoping that he might see someone coming along. Very soon all the food in the house was eaten, and he knew he would have to go out and hunt for more. Besides, he wished to seek for his parents.

The little girl did not like being left alone in the hut, and cried bitterly; but her brother told her that there was no use sitting down quietly to starve, and that whether he found any game or not he would certainly be back before the following night. Then he cut himself some arrows, each from a different tree, and winged with the feathers of four different birds. He then made himself a bow, very light and strong, and got down his snow-shoes. All this took some time, and he could not start that day, but early next morning he called his little dog Redmouth, whom he kept in a box, and set out.

After he had followed the trail for a great distance he grew very tired, and sat upon the branch of a tree to rest. But Redmouth barked so furiously that the boy thought that perhaps his parents might have been killed under its branches, and stepping back, shot one of his arrows at the root of the tree. Whereupon a noise like thunder shook it from top to bottom, fire broke out, and in a few minutes a little heap of ashes lay in the place where it had stood.

Not knowing quite what to make of it all, the boy continued on the trail, and went down the right-hand fork till he came to the clump of bushes where the bears used to hide.

Now, as was plain by his being able to change the shape of the two brothers, the bear chief knew a good deal of magic, and he was quite aware that the little boy was following the trail, and he sent a very small but clever bear servant to wait for him in the bushes and to try to tempt him into the mountain. But somehow his spells could not have worked properly that day, as the bear chief did not know that Redmouth had gone with his master, or he would have been more careful. For the moment the dog ran round the bushes barking loudly, the little bear servant rushed out in a fright, and set out for the mountains as fast as he could.

The dog followed the bear, and the boy followed the dog, until the mountain, the house of the great bear chief, came in sight. But along the road the snow was so wet and heavy that the boy could hardly get along, and then the thong of his snow-shoes broke, and he had to stop and mend it, so that the bear and the dog got so far ahead that he could scarcely hear the barking. When the strap was firm again the boy spoke to his snow-shoes and said:

“Now you must go as fast as you can, or, if not, I shall lose the dog as well as the bear.” And the snow-shoes sang in answer that they would run like the wind.

As he came along, the bear chief’s sister was looking out of the window, and took pity on this little brother, as she had on the two elder ones, and waited to see what the boy would do, when he found that the bear servant and the dog had already entered the mountain.

The little brother was certainly very much puzzled at not seeing anything of either of the animals, which had vanished suddenly out of his sight. He paused for an instant to think what he should do next, and while he did so he fancied he heard Redmouth’s voice on the opposite side of the mountain. With great difficulty he scrambled over steep rocks, and forced a path through tangled thickets; but when he reached the other side the sound appeared to start from the place from which he had come. Then he had to go all the way back again, and at the very top, where he stopped to rest, the barking was directly beneath him, and he knew in an instant where he was and what had happened.

“Let my dog out at once, bear chief!” cried he. “If you do not, I shall destroy your palace.” But the bear chief only laughed, and said nothing. The boy was very angry at his silence, and aiming one of his arrows at the bottom of the mountain, shot straight through it.

As the arrow touched the ground a rumbling was heard, and with a roar a fire broke out which seemed to split the whole mountain into pieces. The bear chief and all his servants were burnt up in the flames, but his sister and all that belonged to her were spared because she had tried to save the two elder boys from punishment.

As soon as the fire had burnt itself out the little hunter entered what was left of the mountain, and the first thing he saw was his two brothers—half bear, half boy.

“Oh, help us! help us!” cried they, standing on their hind legs as they spoke, and stretching out their fore-paws to him.

“But how am I to help you?” asked the little brother, almost weeping. “I can kill people, and destroy trees and mountains, but I have no power over men.” And the two elder brothers came up and put their paws on his shoulders, and they all three wept together.

The heart of the bear chief’s sister was moved when she saw their misery, and she came gently up behind, and whispered:

“Little boy, gather some moss from the spring over there, and let your brothers smell it.”

With a bound all three were at the spring, and as the youngest plucked a handful of wet moss, the two others sniffed at it with all their might. Then the bearskin fell away from them, and they stood upright once more.

“How can we thank you? how can we thank you?” they stammered, hardly able to speak; and fell at her feet in gratitude. But the bear’s sister only smiled, and bade them go home and look after the little girl, who had no one else to protect her.

And this the boys did, and took such good care of their sister that, as she was very small, she soon forgot that she had ever had a father and mother.

[From the Bureau of Ethnology, U.S.]

The Sacred Milk of Koumongoé

Far way, in a very hot country, there once lived a man and woman who had two children, a son named Koane and a daughter called Thakane.

Early in the morning and late in the evenings the parents worked hard in the fields, resting, when the sun was high, under the shade of some tree. While they were absent the little girl kept house alone, for her brother always got up before the dawn, when the air was fresh and cool, and drove out the cattle to the sweetest patches of grass he could find.

One day, when Koane had slept later than usual, his father and mother went to their work before him, and there was only Thakane to be seen busy making the bread for supper.

“Thakane,” he said, “I am thirsty. Give me a drink from the tree Koumongoé, which has the best milk in the world.”

“Oh, Koane,” cried his sister, “you know that we are forbidden to touch that tree. What would father say when he came home? For he would be sure to know.”

“Nonsense,” replied Koane, “there is so much milk in Koumongoé that he will never miss a little. If you won’t give it to me, I sha’n’t take the cattle out. They will just have to stay all day in the hut, and you know that they will starve.” And he turned from her in a rage, and sat down in the corner.

After a while Thakane said to him: “It is getting hot, had you better drive out the cattle now?”

But Koane only answered sulkily: “I told you I am not going to drive them out at all. If I have to do without milk, they shall do without grass.”

Thakane did not know what to do. She was afraid to disobey her parents, who would most likely beat her, yet the beasts would be sure to suffer if they were kept in, and she would perhaps be beaten for that too. So at last she took an axe and a tiny earthen bowl, she cut a very small hole in the side of Koumongoé, and out gushed enough milk to fill the bowl.

“Here is the milk you wanted,” said she, going up to Koane, who was still sulking in his corner.

“What is the use of that?” grumbled Koane; “why, there is not enough to drown a fly. Go and get me three times as much!”

Trembling with fright, Thakane returned to the tree, and struck it a sharp blow with the axe. In an instant there poured forth such a stream of milk that it ran like a river into the hut.

“Koane! Koane!” cried she, “come and help me to plug up the hole. There will be no milk left for our father and mother.” But Koane could not stop it any more than Thakane, and soon the milk was flowing through the hut downhill towards their parents in the fields below.

The man saw a white stream a long way off, and guessed what had happened.

“Wife, wife,” he called loudly to the woman, who was working at a little distance: “Do you see Koumongoé running fast down the hill? That is some mischief of the children’s, I am sure. I must go home and find out what is the matter.” And they both threw down their hoes and hurried to the side of Koumongoé.

Kneeling on the grass, the man and his wife made a cup of their hands and drank the milk from it. And no sooner had they done this, than Koumongoé flowed back again up the hill, and entered the hut.

“Thakane,” said the parents, severely, when they reached home panting from the heat of the sun, “what have you been doing? Why did Koumongoé come to us in the fields instead of staying in the garden?”

“It was Koane’s fault,” answered Thakane. “He would not take the cattle to feed until he drank some of the milk from Koumongoé. So, as I did not know what else to do, I gave it to him.”

The father listened to Thakane’s words, but made no answer. Instead, he went outside and brought in two sheepskins, which he stained red and sent for a blacksmith to forge some iron rings. The rings were then passed over Thakane’s arms and legs and neck, and the skins fastened on her before and behind. When all was ready, the man sent for his servants and said:

“I am going to get rid of Thakane.”

“Get rid of your only daughter?” they answered, in surprise. “But why?”

“Because she has eaten what she ought not to have eaten. She has touched the sacred tree which belongs to her mother and me alone.” And, turning his back, he called to Thakane to follow him, and they went down the road which led to the dwelling of an ogre.

They were passing along some fields where the corn was ripening, when a rabbit suddenly sprang out at their feet, and standing on its hind legs, it sang:

Why do you give to the ogre Your child, so fair, so fair?

“You had better ask her,” replied the man, “she is old enough to give you an answer.”

Then, in her turn, Thakane sang:

I gave Koumongoé to Koane, Koumongoé to the keeper of beasts; For without Koumongoé they could not go to the meadows: Without Koumongoé they would starve in the hut; That was why I gave him the Koumongoé of my father.

And when the rabbit heard that, he cried: “Wretched man! it is you whom the ogre should eat, and not your beautiful daughter.”

But the father paid no heed to what the rabbit said, and only walked on the faster, bidding Thakane to keep close behind him. By-and-by they met with a troop of great deer, called elands, and they stopped when they saw Thakane and sang:

Why do you give to the ogre Your child, so fair, so fair?

“You had better ask her, replied the man, “she is old enough to give you an answer.”

Then, in her turn, Thakane sang:

I gave Koumongoé to Koane, Koumongoé to the keeper of beasts; For without Koumongoé they could not go to the meadows: Without Koumongoé they would starve in the hut; That was why I gave him the Koumongoé of my father.

And the elands all cried: “Wretched man! it is you whom the ogre should eat, and not your beautiful daughter.”

By this time it was nearly dark, and the father said they could travel no further that night, and must go to sleep where they were. Thakane was thankful indeed when she heard this, for she was very tired, and found the two skins fastened round her almost too heavy to carry. So, in spite of her dread of the ogre, she slept till dawn, when her father woke her, and told her roughly that he was ready to continue their journey.

Crossing the plain, the girl and her father passed a herd of gazelles feeding. They lifted their heads, wondering who was out so early, and when they caught sight of Thakane, they sang:

Why do you give to the ogre Your child, so fair, so fair?

“You had better ask her, replied the man, “she is old enough to answer for herself.”

Then, in her turn, Thakane sang:

I gave Koumongoé to Koane, Koumongoé to the keeper of beasts; For without Koumongoé they could not go to the meadows: Without Koumongoé they would starve in the hut; That was why I gave him the Koumongoé of my father.

And the gazelles all cried: “Wretched man! it is you whom the ogre should eat, and not your beautiful daughter.”

At last they arrived at the village where the ogre lived, and they went straight to his hut. He was nowhere to be seen, but in his place was his son Masilo, who was not an ogre at all, but a very polite young man. He ordered his servants to bring a pile of skins for Thakane to sit on, but told her father he must sit on the ground. Then, catching sight of the girl’s face, which she had kept down, he was struck by its beauty, and put the same question that the rabbit, and the elands, and the gazelles had done.

Thakane answered him as before, and he instantly commanded that she should be taken to the hut of his mother, and placed under her care, while the man should be led to his father. Directly the ogre saw him he bade the servant throw him into the great pot which always stood ready on the fire, and in five minutes he was done to a turn. After that the servant returned to Masilo and related all that had happened.

Now Masilo had fallen in loved with Thakane the moment he saw her. At first he did not know what to make of this strange feeling, for all his life he had hated women, and had refused several brides whom his parents had chosen for him. However, they were so anxious that he should marry, that they willingly accepted Thakane as their daughter-in-law, though she did bring any marriage portion with her.

After some time a baby was born to her, and Thakane thought it was the most beautiful baby that ever was seen. But when her mother-in-law saw it was a girl, she wrung her hands and wept, saying:

“O miserable mother! Miserable child! Alas for you! why were you not a boy!”

Thakane, in great surprise, asked the meaning of her distress; and the old woman told her that it was the custom in that country that all the girls who were born should be given to the ogre to eat.

Then Thakane clasped the baby tightly in her arms, and cried:

“But it is not the customer in MY country! There, when children die, they are buried in the earth. No one shall take my baby from me.”

That night, when everyone in the hut was asleep, Thakane rose, and carrying her baby on her back, went down to a place where the river spread itself out into a large lake, with tall willows all round the bank. Here, hidden from everyone, she sat down on a stone and began to think what she should do to save her child.

Suddenly she heard a rustling among the willows, and an old woman appeared before her.

“What are you crying for, my dear?” said she.

And Thakane answered: “I was crying for my baby—I cannot hide her for ever, and if the ogre sees her, he will eat her; and I would rather she was drowned than that.”

“What you say is true,” replied the old woman. “Give me your child, and let me take care of it. And if you will fix a day to meet me here I will bring the baby.”

Then Thakane dried her eyes, and gladly accepted the old woman’s offer. When she got home she told her husband she had thrown it in the river, and as he had watched her go in that direction he never thought of doubting what she said.

On the appointed day, Thakane slipped out when everybody was busy, and ran down the path that led to the lake. As soon as she got there, she crouched down among the willows, and sang softly:

Bring to me Dilah, Dilah the rejected one, Dilah, whom her father Masilo cast out!

And in a moment the old woman appeared holding the baby in her arms. Dilah had become so big and strong, that Thakane’s heart was filled with joy and gratitude, and she stayed as long as she dared, playing with her baby. At last she felt she must return to the village, lest she should be missed, and the child was handed back to the old woman, who vanished with her into the lake.

Children grow up very quickly when they live under water, and in less time than anyone could suppose, Dilah had changed from a baby to a woman. Her mother came to visit her whenever she was able, and one day, when they were sitting talking together, they were spied out by a man who had come to cut willows to weave into baskets. He was so surprised to see how like the face of the girl was to Masilo, that he left his work and returned to the village.

“Masilo,” he said, as he entered the hut, “I have just beheld your wife near the river with a girl who must be your daughter, she is so like you. We have been deceived, for we all thought she was dead.”

When he heard this, Masilo tried to look shocked because his wife had broken the law; but in his heart he was very glad.

“But what shall we do now?” asked he.

“Make sure for yourself that I am speaking the truth by hiding among the bushes the first time Thakane says she is going to bathe in the river, and waiting till the girl appears.”

For some days Thakane stayed quietly at home, and her husband began to think that the man had been mistaken; but at last she said to her husband: “I am going to bathe in the river.”

“Well, you can go,” answered he. But he ran down quickly by another path, and got there first, and hid himself in the bushes. An instant later, Thakane arrived, and standing on the bank, she sang:

Bring to me Dilah, Dilah the rejected one, Dilah, whom her father Masilo cast out!

Then the old woman came out of the water, holding the girl, now tall and slender, by the hand. And as Masilo looked, he saw that she was indeed his daughter, and he wept for joy that she was not lying dead in the bottom of the lake. The old woman, however, seemed uneasy, and said to Thakane: “I feel as if someone was watching us. I will not leave the girl to-day, but will take her back with me”; and sinking beneath the surface, she drew the girl after her. After they had gone, Thakane returned to the village, which Masilo had managed to reach before her.

All the rest of the day he sat in a corner weeping, and his mother who came in asked: “Why are you weeping so bitterly, my son?”

“My head aches,” he answered; “it aches very badly.” And his mother passed on, and left him alone.

In the evening he said to his wife: “I have seen my daughter, in the place where you told me you had drowned her. Instead, she lives at the bottom of the lake, and has now grown into a young woman.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” replied Thakane. “I buried my child under the sand on the beach.”

Then Masilo implored her to give the child back to him; but she would not listen, and only answered: “If I were to give her back you would only obey the laws of your country and take her to your father, the ogre, and she would be eaten.”

But Masilo promised that he would never let his father see her, and that now she was a woman no one would try to hurt her; so Thakane’s heart melted, and she went down to the lake to consult the old woman.

“What am I to do?” she asked, when, after clapping her hands, the old woman appeared before her. “Yesterday Masilo beheld Dilah, and ever since he has entreated me to give him back his daughter.”

“If I let her go he must pay me a thousand head of cattle in exchange,” replied the old woman. And Thakane carried her answer back to Masilo.

“Why, I would gladly give her two thousand!” cried he, “for she has saved my daughter.” And he bade messengers hasten to all the neighbouring villages, and tell his people to send him at once all the cattle he possessed. When they were all assembled he chose a thousand of the finest bulls and cows, and drove them down to the river, followed by a great crowd wondering what would happen.

Then Thakane stepped forward in front of the cattle and sang:

Bring to me Dilah, Dilah the rejected one, Dilah, whom her father Masilo cast out!

And Dilah came from the waters holding out her hands to Masilo and Thakane, and in her place the cattle sank into the lake, and were driven by the old woman to the great city filled with people, which lies at the bottom.

[Contes Populaires des Bassoutos.]

The Wicked Wolverine

One day a wolverine was out walking on the hill-side, when, on turning a corner, he suddenly saw a large rock.

“Was that you I heard walking about just now?” he asked, for wolverines are cautious animals, and always like to know the reasons of things.

“No, certainly not,” answered the rock; “I don’t know how to walk.”

“But I SAW you walking,” continued the wolverine.

“I am afraid that you were not taught to speak the truth,” retorted the rock.

“You need not speak like that, for I have SEEN you walking,” replied the wolverine, “though I am quite sure that you could never catch ME!” and he ran a little distance and then stopped to see if the rock was pursuing him; but, to his vexation, the rock was still in the same place. Then the wolverine went up close, and struck the rock a blow with his paw, saying: “Well, will you catch me NOW?”

“I can’t walk, but I can ROLL,” answered the rock.

And the wolverine laughed and said: “Oh, that will do just as well”; and began to run down the side of the mountain.

At first he went quite slowly, “just to give the rock a chance,” he thought to himself; but soon he quickened his pace, for he found that the rock was almost at his heels. But the faster the wolverine ran, the faster the rock rolled, and by-and-by the little creature began to get very tired, and was sorry he had not left the rock to itself. Thinking that if he could manage to put on a spurt he would reach the forest of great trees at the bottom of the mountain, where the rock could not come, he gathered up all his strength, and instead of running he leaped over sticks and stones, but, whatever he did, the rock was always close behind him. At length he grew so weary that he could not even see where he was going, and catching his foot in a branch he tripped and fell. The rock stopped at once, but there came a shriek from the wolverine:

“Get off, get off! can’t you see that you are on my legs?”

“Why did you not leave me alone?” asked the rock. “I did not want to move—I hate moving. But you WOULD have it, and I certainly sha’n’t move now till I am forced to.”

“I will call my brothers,” answered the wolverine. “There are many of them in the forest, and you will soon see that they are stronger than you.” And he called, and called, and called, till wolves and foxes and all sorts of other creatures all came running to see what was the matter.

“How DID you get under that rock?” asked they, making a ring round him; but they had to repeat their question several times before the wolverine would answer, for he, like many other persons, found it hard to confess that he had brought his troubles on himself.

“Well, I was dull, and wanted someone to play with me,” he said at last, in sulky voice, “and I challenged the rock to catch me. Of course I thought I could run the fastest; but I tripped, and it rolled on me. It was just an accident.”

“It serves you right for being so silly,” said they; but they pushed and hauled at the rock for a long time without making it move an inch.

“You are no good at all,” cried the wolverine crossly, for it was suffering great pain, “and if you cannot get me free, I shall see what my friends the lightning and thunder can do.” And he called loudly to the lightning to come and help him as quickly as possible.

In a few minutes a dark cloud came rolling up the sky, giving out such terrific claps of thunder that the wolves and the foxes and all the other creatures ran helter-skelter in all directions. But, frightened though they were, they did not forget to beg the lightning to take off the wolverine’s coat and to free his legs, but to be careful not to hurt him. So the lightning disappeared into the cloud for a moment to gather up fresh strength, and then came rushing down, right upon the rock, which it sent flying in all directions, and took the wolverine’s coat so neatly that, though it was torn into tiny shreds, the wolverine himself was quite unharmed.

“That was rather clumsy of you,” said he, standing up naked in his flesh. “Surely you could have split the rock without tearing my coat to bits!” And he stooped down to pick up the pieces. It took him a long time, for there were a great many of them, but at last he had them all in his hand.

“I’ll go to my sister the frog,” he thought to himself, “and she will sew them together for me”; and he set off at once for the swamp in which his sister lived.

“Will you sew my coat together? I had an unlucky accident, and it is quite impossible to wear,” he said, when he found her.

“With pleasure,” she answered, for she had always been taught to be polite; and getting her needle and thread she began to fit the pieces. But though she was very good-natured, she was not very clever, and she got some of the bits wrong. When the wolverine, who was very particular about his clothes, came to put it on, he grew very angry.

“What a useless creature you are!” cried he. “Do you expect me to go about in such a coat as that? Why it bulges all down the back, as if I had a hump, and it is so tight across the chest that I expect it to burst every time I breathe. I knew you were stupid, but I did not think you were as stupid as that.” And giving the poor frog a blow on her head, which knocked her straight into the water, he walked off in a rage to his younger sister the mouse.

“I tore my coat this morning,” he began, when he had found her sitting at the door of her house eating an apple. “It was all in little bits, and I took it to our sister the frog to ask her to sew it for me. But just look at the way she has done it! You will have to take it to pieces and fit them together properly, and I hope I shall not have to complain again.” For as the wolverine was older than the mouse, he was accustomed to speak to her in this manner. However, the mouse was used to it and only answered: “I think you had better stay here till it is done, and if there is any alteration needed I can make it.” So the wolverine sat down on a heap of dry ferns, and picking up the apple, he finished it without even asking the mouse’s leave.

At last the coat was ready, and the wolverine put it on.

“Yes, it fits very well,” said he, “and you have sewn it very neatly. When I pass this way again I will bring you a handful of corn, as a reward”; and he ran off as smart as ever, leaving the mouse quite grateful behind him.

He wandered about for many days, till he reached a place where food was very scarce, and for a whole week he went without any. He was growing desperate, when he suddenly came upon a bear that was lying asleep. “Ah! here is food at last!” thought he; but how was he to kill the bear, who was so much bigger than himself? It was no use to try force, he must invent some cunning plan which would get her into his power. At last, after thinking hard, he decided upon something, and going up to the bear, he exclaimed: “Is that you, my sister?”

The bear turned round and saw the wolverine, and murmuring to herself, so low that nobody could hear, “I never heard before that I had a brother,” got up and ran quickly to a tree, up which she climbed. Now the wolverine was very angry when he saw his dinner vanishing in front of him, especially as HE could not climb trees like the bear, so he followed, and stood at the foot of the tree, shrieking as loud as he could, “Come down, sister; our father has sent me to look for you! You were lost when you were a little girl and went out picking berries, and it was only the other day that we heard from a beaver where you were.” At these words, the bear came a little way down the tree, and the wolverine, seeing this, went on:

“Are you not fond of berries? I am! And I know a place where they grow so thick the ground is quite hidden. Why, look for yourself! That hillside is quite red with them!”

“I can’t see so far,” answered the bear, now climbing down altogether. “You must have wonderfully good eyes! I wish I had; but my sight is very short.”

“So was mine till my father smashed a pailful of cranberries, and rubbed my eyes with them,” replied the wolverine. “But if you like to go and gather some of the berries I will do just as he did, and you will soon be able to see as far as me.”

It took the bear a long while to gather the berries, for she was slow about everything, and, besides, it made her back ache to stoop. But at last she returned with a sackful, and put them down beside the wolverine. “That is splendid, sister!” cried the wolverine. “Now lie flat on the ground with your head on this stone, while I smash them.”

The bear, who was very tired, was only too glad to do as she was bid, and stretched herself comfortably on the grass.

“I am ready now,” said the wolverine after a bit; “just at first you will find that the berries make your eyes smart, but you must be careful not to move, or the juice will run out, and then it will have to be done all over again.”

So the bear promised to lie very still; but the moment the cranberries touched her eyes she sprang up with a roar.

“Oh, you mustn’t mind a little pain,” said the wolverine, “it will soon be over, and then you will see all sorts of things you have never dreamt of.” The bear sank down with a groan, and as her eyes were full of cranberry juice, which completely blinded her, the wolverine took up a sharp knife and stabbed her to the heart.

Then he took off the skin, and, stealing some fire from a tent, which his sharp eyes had perceived hidden behind a rock, he set about roasting the bear bit by bit. He thought the meat was the best he ever had tasted, and when dinner was done he made up his mind to try that same trick again, if ever he was hungry.

And very likely he did!

[Adapted from Bureau of Ethnology.]

The Husband of the Rat’s Daughter

Once upon a time there lived in Japan a rat and his wife who came of an old and noble race, and had one daughter, the loveliest girl in all the rat world. Her parents were very proud of her, and spared no pains to teach her all she ought to know. There was not another young lady in the whole town who was as clever as she was in gnawing through the hardest wood, or who could drop from such a height on to a bed, or run away so fast if anyone was heard coming. Great attention, too, was paid to her personal appearance, and her skin shone like satin, while her teeth were as white as pearls, and beautifully pointed.

Of course, with all these advantages, her parents expected her to make a brilliant marriage, and, as she grew up, they began to look round for a suitable husband.

But here a difficulty arose. The father was a rat from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail, outside as well as in, and desired that his daughter should wed among her own people. She had no lack of lovers, but her father’s secret hopes rested on a fine young rat, with moustaches which almost swept the ground, whose family was still nobler and more ancient than his own. Unluckily, the mother had other views for her precious child. She was one of those people who always despise their own family and surroundings, and take pleasure in thinking that they themselves are made of finer material than the rest of the world. “HER daughter should never marry a mere rat,” she declared, holding her head high. “With her beauty and talents she had a right to look for someone a little better than THAT.”

So she talked, as mothers will, to anyone that would listen to her. What the girl thought about the matter nobody knew or cared—it was not the fashion in the rat world.

Many were the quarrels which the old rat and his wife had upon the subject, and sometimes they bore on their faces certain marks which looked as if they had not kept to words only.

“Reach up to the stars is MY motto,” cried the lady one day, when she was in a greater passion than usual. “My daughter’s beauty places her higher than anything upon earth,” she cried; “and I am certainly not going to accept a son-in-law who is beneath her.”

“Better offer her in marriage to the sun,” answered her husband impatiently. “As far as I know there is nothing greater than he.”

“Well, I WAS thinking of it,” replied the wife, “and as you are of the same mind, we will pay him a visit to-morrow.”

So the next morning, the two rats, having spent hours in making themselves smart, set out to see the sun, leading their daughter between them.

The journey took some time, but at length they came to the golden palace where the sun lived.

“Noble king,” began the mother, “behold our daughter! She is so beautiful that she is above everything in the whole world. Naturally, we wish for a son-in-law who, on his side, is greater than all. Therefore we have come to you.”

“I feel very much flattered,” replied the sun, who was so busy that he had not the least wish to marry anybody. “You do me great honour by your proposal. Only, in one point you are mistaken, and it would be wrong of me to take advantage of your ignorance. There is something greater than I am, and that is the cloud. Look!” And as he spoke a cloud spread itself over the sun’s face, blotting out his rays.

“Oh, well, we will speak to the cloud,” said the mother. And turning to the cloud she repeated her proposal.

“Indeed I am unworthy of anything so charming,” answered the cloud; “but you make a mistake again in what you say. There is one thing that is even more powerful than I, and that is the wind. Ah, here he comes, you can see for yourself.”

And she DID see, for catching up the cloud as he passed, he threw it on the other side of the sky. Then, tumbling father, mother and daughter down to the earth again, he paused for a moment beside them, his foot on an old wall.

When she had recovered her breath, the mother began her little speech once more.

“The wall is the proper husband for your daughter,” answered the wind, whose home consisted of a cave, which he only visited when he was not rushing about elsewhere; “you can see for yourself that he is greater than I, for he has power to stop me in my flight.” And the mother, who did not trouble to conceal her wishes, turned at once to the wall.

Then something happened which was quite unexpected by everyone.

“I won’t marry that ugly old wall, which is as old as my grandfather,” sobbed the girl, who had not uttered one word all this time. “I would have married the sun, or the cloud, or the wind, because it was my duty, although I love the handsome young rat, and him only. But that horrid old wall—I would sooner die!”

And the wall, rather hurt in his feelings, declared that he had no claim to be the husband of so beautiful a girl.

“It is quite true,” he said, “that I can stop the wind who can part the clouds who can cover the sun; but there is someone who can do more than all these, and that is the rat. It is the rat who passes through me, and can reduce me to powder, simply with his teeth. If, therefore, you want a son-in-law who is greater than the whole world, seek him among the rats.”

“Ah, what did I tell you?” cried the father. And his wife, though for the moment angry at being beaten, soon thought that a rat son-in-law was what she had always desired.

So all three returned happily home, and the wedding was celebrated three days after.

[Contes Populaires.]

The Mermaid and the Boy

Long, long ago, there lived a king who ruled over a country by the sea. When he had been married about a year, some of his subjects, inhabiting a distant group of islands, revolted against his laws, and it became needful for him to leave his wife and go in person to settle their disputes. The queen feared that some ill would come of it, and implored him to stay at home, but he told her that nobody could do his work for him, and the next morning the sails were spread, and the king started on his voyage.

The vessel had not gone very far when she ran upon a rock, and stuck so fast in a cleft that the strength of the whole crew could not get her off again. To make matters worse, the wind was rising too, and it was quite plain that in a few hours the ship would be dashed to pieces and everybody would be drowned, when suddenly the form of a mermaid was seen dancing on the waves which threatened every moment to overwhelm them.

“There is only one way to free yourselves,” she said to the king, bobbing up and down in the water as she spoke, “and that is to give me your solemn word that you will deliver to me the first child that is born to you.”

The king hesitated at this proposal. He hoped that some day he might have children in his home, and the thought that he must yield up the heir to his crown was very bitter to him; but just then a huge wave broke with great force on the ship’s side, and his men fell on their knees and entreated him to save them.

So he promised, and this time a wave lifted the vessel clean off the rocks, and she was in the open sea once more.

The affairs of the islands took longer to settle than the king had expected, and some months passed away before he returned to his palace. In his absence a son had been born to him, and so great was his joy that he quite forgot the mermaid and the price he had paid for the safety of his ship. But as the years went on, and the baby grew into a fine big boy, the remembrance of it came back, and one day he told the queen the whole story. From that moment the happiness of both their lives was ruined. Every night they went to bed wondering if they should find his room empty in the morning, and every day they kept him by their sides, expecting him to be snatched away before their very eyes.

At last the king felt that this state of things could not continue, and he said to his wife:

“After all, the most foolish thing in the world one can do is to keep the boy here in exactly the place in which the mermaid will seek him. Let us give him food and send him on his travels, and perhaps, if the mermaid ever blocs come to seek him, she may be content with some other child.” And the queen agreed that his plan seemed the wisest.

So the boy was called, and his father told him the story of the voyage, as he had told his mother before him. The prince listened eagerly, and was delighted to think that he was to go away all by himself to see the world, and was not in the least frightened; for though he was now sixteen, he had scarcely been allowed to walk alone beyond the palace gardens. He began busily to make his preparations, and took off his smart velvet coat, putting on instead one of green cloth, while he refused a beautiful bag which the queen offered him to hold his food, and slung a leather knapsack over his shoulders instead, just as he had seen other travellers do. Then he bade farewell to his parents and went his way.

All through the day he walked, watching with interest the strange birds and animals that darted across his path in the forest or peeped at him from behind a bush. But as evening drew on he became tired, and looked about as he walked for some place where he could sleep. At length he reached a soft mossy bank under a tree, and was just about to stretch himself out on it, when a fearful roar made him start and tremble all over. In another moment something passed swiftly through the air and a lion stood before him.

“What are you doing here?” asked the lion, his eyes glaring fiercely at the boy.

“I am flying from the mermaid,” the prince answered, in a quaking voice.

“Give me some food then,” said the lion, “it is past my supper time, and I am very hungry.”

The boy was so thankful that the lion did not want to eat him, that he gladly picked up his knapsack which lay on the ground, and held out some bread and a flask of wine.

“I feel better now,” said the lion when he had done, “so now I shall go to sleep on this nice soft moss, and if you like you can lie down beside me.” So the boy and the lion slept soundly side by side, till the sun rose.

“I must be off now,” remarked the lion, shaking the boy as he spoke; “but cut off the tip of my ear, and keep it carefully, and if you are in any danger just wish yourself a lion and you will become one on the spot. One good turn deserves another, you know.”

The prince thanked him for his kindness, and did as he was bid, and the two then bade each other farewell.

“I wonder how it feels to be a lion,” thought the boy, after he had gone a little way; and he took out the tip of the ear from the breast of his jacket and wished with all his might. In an instant his head had swollen to several times its usual size, and his neck seemed very hot and heavy; and, somehow, his hands became paws, and his skin grew hairy and yellow. But what pleased him most was his long tail with a tuft at the end, which he lashed and switched proudly. “I like being a lion very much,” he said to himself, and trotted gaily along the road.

After a while, however, he got tired of walking in this unaccustomed way—it made his back ache and his front paws felt sore. So he wished himself a boy again, and in the twinkling of an eye his tail disappeared and his head shrank, and the long thick mane became short and curly. Then he looked out for a sleeping place, and found some dry ferns, which he gathered and heaped up.

But before he had time to close his eyes there was a great noise in the trees near by, as if a big heavy body was crashing through them. The boy rose and turned his head, and saw a huge black bear coming towards him.

“What are you doing here?” cried the bear.

“I am running away from the mermaid,” answered the boy; but the bear took no interest in the mermaid, and only said: “I am hungry; give me something to eat.”

The knapsack was lying on the ground among the fern, but the prince picked it up, and, unfastening the strap, took out his second flask of wine and another loaf of bread. “We will have supper together,” he remarked politely; but the bear, who had never been taught manners, made no reply, and ate as fast as he could. When he had quite finished, he got up and stretched himself.

“You have got a comfortable-looking bed there,” he observed. “I really think that, bad sleeper as I am, I might have a good night on it. I can manage to squeeze you in,” he added; “you don’t take up a great deal of room.” The boy was rather indignant at the bear’s cool way of talking; but as he was too tired to gather more fern, they lay down side by side, and never stirred till sunrise next morning.

“I must go now,” said the bear, pulling the sleepy prince on to his feet; “but first you shall cut off the tip of my ear, and when you are in any danger just wish yourself a bear and you will become one. One good turn deserves another, you know.” And the boy did as he was bid, and he and the bear bade each other farewell.

“I wonder how it feels to be a bear,” thought he to himself when he had walked a little way; and he took out the tip from the breast of his coat and wished hard that he might become a bear. The next moment his body stretched out and thick black fur covered him all over. As before, his hands were changed into paws, but when he tried to switch his tail he found to his disgust that it would not go any distance. “Why it is hardly worth calling a tail!” said he. For the rest of the day he remained a bear and continued his journey, but as evening came on the bear-skin, which had been so useful when plunging through brambles in the forest, felt rather heavy, and he wished himself a boy again. He was too much exhausted to take the trouble of cutting any fern or seeking for moss, but just threw himself down under a tree, when exactly above his head he heard a great buzzing as a bumble-bee alighted on a honeysuckle branch. “What are you doing here?” asked the bee in a cross voice; “at your age you ought to be safe at home.”

“I am running away from the mermaid,” replied the boy; but the bee, like the lion and the bear, was one of those people who never listen to the answers to their questions, and only said: “I am hungry. Give me something to eat.”

The boy took his last loaf and flask out of his knapsack and laid them on the ground, and they had supper together. “Well, now I am going to sleep,” observed the bee when the last crumb was gone, “but as you are not very big I can make room for you beside me,” and he curled up his wings, and tucked in his legs, and he and the prince both slept soundly till morning. Then the bee got up and carefully brushed every scrap of dust off his velvet coat and buzzed loudly in the boy’s ear to waken him.

“Take a single hair from one of my wings,” said he, “and if you are in danger just wish yourself a bee and you will become one. One good turn deserves another, so farewell, and thank you for your supper.” And the bee departed after the boy had pulled out the hair and wrapped it carefully in a leaf.

“It must feel quite different to be a bee from what it does to be a lion or bear,” thought the boy to himself when he had walked for an hour or two. “I dare say I should get on a great deal faster,” so he pulled out his hair and wished himself a bee.

In a moment the strangest thing happened to him. All his limbs seemed to draw together, and his body to become very short and round; his head grew quite tiny, and instead of his white skin he was covered with the richest, softest velvet. Better than all, he had two lovely gauze wings which carried him the whole day without getting tired.

Late in the afternoon the boy fancied he saw a vast heap of stones a long way off, and he flew straight towards it. But when he reached the gates he saw that it was really a great town, so he wished himself back in his own shape and entered the city.