Chapter III: The Broom Master

There was one time an old man who had three sons, and the two eldest were bold, bright lads of whom he was proud; but the youngest was so dull a lout that they called him “Dumbling,” and he must always sit at the lowest place at table and wait on all the others. He wore ragged clothes and fared hardly until it came time for his father to die.

Then the father said to the eldest son, “I give thee the roan horse, the house and all therein. Keep it!”

To the second he said, “I give thee the gray mare and the little field with all therein. Till it!”

And to poor Dumbling he said: “Thou art good for nothing save to be a scullion; so take the old broom behind the door!”

For many days after the funeral, the elder brothers spent all their money in carousing, and the house stood cluttered and unattended; and the little field lay untilled and unwatered. Only the hearth fire burned brightly, for Dumbling brought in wood and swept the hearth clean from day to day.

When the money was all gone and the cellar empty of meat and drink, the elder brothers rode away, telling Dumbling he could stay and starve.

When he had eaten his last crust, poor Dumbling bethought him that he must now fare forth into the wide, wide world and seek his fortune. But as he turned from the cold hearth to go, the house lay all dusty and cluttered before him; so he took the old broom from behind the door and set the house to rights, sweeping it clean. Then lo! from where I cannot tell you, he swept up a rusty brown leather knapsack.

“Come,” said he, “I’ll not go forth empty-handed.” So he swung it over his shoulder, took his broom in hand, and set out.

But as he passed the little field, he thought: “Father said ‘till it’; so dig I must.” And he set to work with such a good will that by evening he had spaded it. Then he stopped to rest by a scarecrow that had been set up to frighten the birds. About this straw man hung an old cloak of faded green.

“Come,” said Dumbling, “thou art better clad than I.” And he put the cloak across his own shoulders and set out to seek his fortune just as the sun went down. He walked and walked for a long time, until the stars spangled the dark sky and the owls began to hoot in a large wood to which he now came.

Seeing no other path but that which entered the forest, Dumbling pressed on, and suddenly heard a loud quarreling and shouting of rough voices from behind a clump of bushes. Peeping through them, he saw by a smoldering fire three robbers, with long mustaches, and with fierce pistols in their belts and broadswords at their sides, engaged in a wrangle over a bag of gold.

Running suddenly among them, Dumbling seized the money and was gone like a flash; and when he had run a mile or so, he marveled to find that he was not pursued. But you must know that the green cloak from the scarecrow’s back was one that rendered its wearer invisible, and though the robbers saw their booty disappear, they each accused the other, not being able to see Dumbling at all.

When Dumbling had walked a great distance, it began to grow so dark that he had to feel his way until he saw a faint light, which he found came from a little hut with a candle in its window.

Knocking at the door, it was opened by a ragged old woman who peered out, much frightened to hear a voice so near and see nothing. For a while Dumbling enjoyed her dismay; then he entered, closed the door behind him with a bang, and removed the green cloak, when the dame saw a poorly clad lad with tousled hair, and an old broom in his hand.

Then she cried out that he must depart at once, as she was the servant of three bloody robbers, who would murder them both if they should come home.

“Well, I only ask a bite and a sup and a sleep by the fire,” said Dumbling. But she wept and wrung her hands, saying her throat would surely be cut, and that there was not even a moldy crust in the cupboard.

“Alas,” said Dumbling, “I have worked and traveled fasting for a day. How I wish this old knapsack held a capon and a pottle of good wine therein!” And he pulled at the rusty buckles until it flew open. And there, indeed, was a lusty, smoking capon and an earthen pottle of fine wine, with a long, crusty loaf, for this knapsack was enchanted, and its owner would never want food.

You may be sure they dined well, and then, when the dame had fallen asleep by the fire, Dumbling took up his broom to clean the hearth, when he swept up--from where, I cannot tell you--an old pair of leather top-boots.

Just then a great hullabaloo arose outside. It was the robbers returning, and their horses’ feet were tramping nearer and nearer, when the old woman awoke with a cry of “Fly!” and, seeing the boots, she told Dumbling that none could hear or catch their wearer, as they were the seven-league boots of silence. So, pulling them on and taking up his luggage, Dumbling stepped swiftly and invisibly out the door as the robbers entered, and was far away from there in a jiffy, I can tell you!

And by midnight he had come to a large city which was all illuminated, and where bells were all ringing, though the citizens who crowded the streets were mourning and seemed sorrowful.

Doffing the invisible cloak, Dumbling stopped before the door of a handsome mansion, in whose portico sat an old man in a ragged black cloak, looking sadly out at the lights. And in reply to a salutation, he answered civilly enough, and noting the lad’s strange burden,--the knapsack, the boots, the bag of gold, great cloak, and old birch broom,--he asked him whither he went and what he did for a living.

“Why, as for the first, honored master,” answered Dumbling, “anywhere! And for a vocation, I may say I am a broom master, for this birch broom and these things you see upon me are all I am master of in this world.”

After some talk, the two struck a bargain. Dumbling should serve in the old man’s house for a penny a day. And before they went to rest, his master told him the reason for the illumination of the city, and why he, the owner of so fine a mansion, must be served by a strange lad at a penny a day.

The king of that city had a daughter fairer than moonlight, but more black-hearted than midnight, for she was a wicked witch and would marry no one of her many suitors who could not make her shiver. And this none could do, for she had a heart of ice, and many a prince, noble and gentle, had failed in this endeavor and had had his head cut off and hung on the garden wall to scare the birds away.

Dumbling’s master had seven sons, all of whom tried to make the princess shiver, and all of whom now lay headless in the churchyard, while the poor father had vainly spent his vast fortune in the king’s courts trying to save them. But no unsuccessful suitor lived, for the law was, “He who fails dies.”

And now the son of a great king had sent heralds to declare his intent to win the lovely princess, and so the town was all ablaze with rockets and strings of lanterns in honor of his coming.

For some days after his arrival in the city, Dumbling pondered on all this as he moved about the mansion, serving his master faithfully for a penny a day, though he often eked out the scanty board with food from his enchanted knapsack. The poor master, however, never noticed this, so sad was he at his great losses.

Soon the king’s son came with a great retinue, and fell into ecstasy over the beauty of the princess. But he fared no better than all the rest, and his head would certainly have graced the wall had not his faithful followers rallied around him, fought a fierce fight with the king’s soldiers, and, having slaughtered many and burned part of the town, marched away vowing vengeance.

Now was the poor old king more anxious than ever to wed his daughter, for, with a great war threatening, he knew he must secure a rich and powerful ally in the shape of a son-in-law. So he redoubled his efforts, even sending the princess riding through all the countryside on a milk-white, silver-trappinged palfrey, with forty noble maidens in her train, that all might see her beauty.

So it was that Dumbling, the broom master, saw her from his high balcony as he shook out a dusty tapestry. He marveled at her long, golden hair falling across her horse’s flanks, and her rose-leaf face, like some rare flower, smiling at the shouting people; for, though she had bereaved half the city by her wickedness, they could but worship her beauty. She, looking up on the balcony, saw only a rosy-cheeked serving man waving a tapestry, and smiled up at him, as she did on all men. That smile won the broom master’s heart, and he thereafter could think of nothing but the princess, and he finally went to his master, asking a holiday, that he might go and win the princess for his wife.

“Alas, my poor servant,” cried his master, “have you lost your wits?” And he told again the long list of gentles and nobles whose heads hung on the garden wall. But go Dumbling would and must.

“Well, then,” said the master, “if it must be, go sweep the courtyard yet once more, and tell me what you find there.”

So the broom master swept the flagging clean, and lo! he turned up--I cannot tell you from where--a great stone; whereupon up gushed a fountain, colder than the mountain snows and sparkling with hundreds of tiny gold and silver fishes, a lovely sight in the morning sunlight.

“Take thou this cask,” said Dumbling’s master, “and fill it. My sons, scorning my advice, would have none of it; but it may save your head.”

Wondering, but obedient, the broom master set his cask, the cloak, boots, and broom into a donkey cart and drove away.

As he passed down the street, neighbors said, “Whither away, broom master?” And when he answered, “To wed the king’s daughter,” they laughed, yet were sorry, too. For all liked Dumbling, and one cried: “They’ll never let you in with those rags! Come, I’ll lend you my coat.”

“If clothes be needed, neighbor,” answered the broom master, “I can soon provide for that.” And thanking him, Dumbling drove the little gray donkey to the king’s own tailor, and, taking out the bag of robbers’ gold, soon had a suit of handsome velvet all overlaid with silver, a hat with a long, long plume, and stockings of silk above his gold-buckled shoes. Then to the king’s own barber clattered the cart, and when, towards evening, his toilet was completed, the broom master came forth as curled and perfumed an exquisite as ever took the palace stairs.

When he arrived in the palace yard, he threw his reins to an astonished groom, and bade the porter carefully to carry up the cask to the king. But as it was wrapped in the green cloak, the fellow marveled at this strange, handsome fellow who gave him a burden that he could not see.

His Majesty gave a willing audience to this new suitor, not dismayed by his queer equipage or the old boots and broom tucked away under his arm; for wooers of the princess had come in strange guise. He also consented to the broom master’s demand that the princess must not know of his coming, and that he must see her asleep.

These arrangements made, the two sat down to supper, and afterwards drank their wine and talked of this and that until the palace bells rang midnight, and the king gave the order that the broom master be shown into the garden where the princess slept in summer.

The broom master, with the cask, broom, boots, and cloak in one great bundle on his back, followed a page through the silent palace out into the silent rose perfumed garden.

Here the loveliest princess in all the world slept on a bed of white satin upon a marble portico overlooking the lake, and her ladies, wearied by the heat of the midsummer night, slept also upon cushions on the steps below her, instead of watching, as was their duty.

The broom master’s heart gave a leap as he saw her, so fair, asleep in the starlight. He wrapped his cloak about him, donned the seven-league boots of silence, and, walking softly to her couch, turned out the cask of icy water, which, being under enchantment, had but grown the colder as it stood.

Ugh! The icy shower drenched her lacy robe and wet her through and through, the tiny fishes splashed and wriggled coldly all about her, and, waking with a cry, “I shiver! Oh, I shiver!” she saw that she was conquered at last.

Then, with a loud scream of rage, she turned herself into a great black eagle and flew out of the garden away across the prairies. But the seven-league boots could fly, too. So after her sped the broom master, flogging her with the birchen broom, until she was glad to alight in a forest and turn herself into a roaring lion; but the broom master belabored her so hard she was forced to take to the air again, this time turning into a lovely white swan; and he, following in her wake, flogged and flogged until the blood stained her white feathers, and she was forced to turn again toward the palace garden. And just at daybreak, with drooping pinions and plaintive cries, she flew over the garden wall and, dropping her swan form, fell at the broom master’s feet. Then the golden sun rose over the fair garden, where all the sweet flowers stretched their little lovely faces up to smile at him, and all the birds woke to chant his praise.

Then the sleeping ladies woke, too, to see their mistress, all draggled and disheveled, seated on her couch by the side of a handsome lad, who was kissing her as if he never meant to stop and vowing to make her a kind and loving husband.

This he did, for the next day they were wed amidst great rejoicing, and the broom master and the king’s daughter lived happily forever after.

IV

ROSE-MARIE AND THE WITCH O’ WOODS