Chapter VI: Front Matter (6)

So another maid had to go for the water, but the same thing happened to her; she went back and said she was far too pretty and too good to fetch water from the spring for the Prince. Then the Prince went himself, for he had a mind to see what all this could mean. So, when he reached the spring, he too saw the image in the water; but he looked up at once, and became aware of the lovely lassie who sat there up in the tree. Then he coaxed her down and took her home; and at last made up his mind to have her for his queen, because she was so lovely; but his mother, who was still alive, was against it.

“She can’t speak,” she said, “and maybe she’s a wicked witch.”

But the Prince could not be content till he got her. So after they had lived together a while, the lassie was to have a child, and when the child came to be born, the Prince set a strong watch round her; but at the birth one and all fell into a deep sleep, and her foster-mother came, cut the babe on its little finger, and smeared the Queen’s mouth with the blood; and said,—

“Now you shall be as grieved as I was when you let out the star;” and with these words she carried off the babe.

But when those who were on the watch woke, they thought the Queen had eaten her own child, and the old queen was all for burning her alive but the Prince was so fond of her that at last he begged her off, but he had hard work to set her free.

So the next time the young Queen was to have a child, twice as strong a watch was set as the first time, but the same thing happened over again, only this time her foster-mother said,—

“Now you shall be as grieved as I was when you let the moon out.”

And the Queen begged, and prayed, and wept; for when her foster-mother was there, she could speak—but it was all no good.

And now the old queen said she must be burnt, but the Prince found means to beg her off. But when the third child was to be born, a watch was set three times as strong as the first, but just the same thing happened. Her foster-mother came while the watch slept, took the babe and cut its little finger, and smeared the Queen’s mouth with the blood, telling her now she should be as grieved as she had been when the lassie let out the sun.

And now the Prince could not save her any longer. She must and should be burnt. But just as they were leading her to the stake, all at once they saw her foster-mother, who came with all three children—two she led by the hand, and the third she had on her arm; and so she went up to the young Queen and said,—

“Here are your children; now you shall have them again. I am the Virgin Mary, and so grieved as you have been, so grieved was I when you let out sun, and moon, and star. Now you have been punished for what you did, and henceforth you shall have your speech.”

How glad the Queen and Prince now were, all may easily think, but no one can tell. After that they were always happy; and from that day even the Prince’s mother was very fond of the young Queen.

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THE THREE AUNTS
]

THE THREE AUNTS.

ONCE on a time there was a poor man who lived in a hut far away in the wood, and got his living by shooting. He had an only daughter who was very pretty, and as she had lost her mother when she was a child, and was now half grown up, she said she would go out into the world and earn her bread.

“Well, lassie!” said the father, “true enough you have learnt nothing here but how to pluck birds and roast them, but still you may as well try to earn your bread.”

So the girl went off to seek a place, and when she had gone a little while, she came to a palace. There she stayed and got a place, and the queen liked her so well, that all the other maids got envious of her. So they made up their minds to tell the queen how the lassie said she was good to spin a pound of flax in four and twenty hours, for you must know the queen was a great housewife, and thought much of good work.

“Have you said this? then you shall do it,” said the queen; “but you may have a little longer time if you choose.”

Now, the poor lassie dared not say she had never spun in all her life, but she only begged for a room to herself. That she got, and the wheel and the flax were brought up to her. There she sat sad and weeping, and knew not how to help herself. She pulled the wheel this way and that, and twisted and turned it about, but she made a poor hand of it, for she had never even seen a spinning-wheel in her life.

But all at once, as she sat there, in came an old woman to her.

“What ails you child?” she said.

“Ah!” said the lassie, with a deep sigh, “it’s no good to tell you, for you’ll never be able to help me.”

“Who knows?” said the old wife. “May be I know how to help you after all.”

Well, thought the lassie to herself, I may as well tell her, and so she told her how her fellow-servants had given out that she was good to spin a pound of flax in four and twenty hours.

“And here am I, wretch that I am, shut up to spin all that heap in a day and a night, when I have never even seen a spinning-wheel in all my born days.”

“Well, never mind, child,” said the old woman, “if you’ll call me Aunt on the happiest day of your life, I’ll spin this flax for you, and so you may just go away and lie down to sleep.”

Yes the lassie was willing enough, and off she went and lay down to sleep.

Next morning when she awoke, there lay all the flax spun on the table, and that so clean and fine, no one had ever seen such even and pretty yarn. The queen was very glad to get such nice yarn, and she set greater store by the lassie than ever. But the rest were still more envious, and agreed to tell the queen how the lassie had said she was good to weave the yarn she had spun in four and twenty hours. So the queen said again, as she had said it she must do it; but if she couldn’t quite finish it in four and twenty hours, she wouldn’t be too hard upon her, she might have a little more time. This time, too, the lassie dared not say No, but begged for a room to herself, and then she would try. There she sat again, sobbing and crying, and not knowing which way to turn, when another old woman came in and asked,—

“What ails you, child?”

At first the lassie wouldn’t say, but at last she told her the whole story of her grief.

“Well, well!” said the old wife, “never mind. If you’ll call me Aunt on the happiest day of your life, I’ll weave this yarn for you, and so you may just be off, and lie down to sleep.”

Yes, the lassie was willing enough; so she went away and lay down to sleep. When she awoke, there lay the piece of linen on the table, woven so neat and close, no woof could be better. So the lassie took the piece and ran down to the queen, who was very glad to get such beautiful linen, and set greater store than ever by the lassie. But as for the others, they grew still more bitter against her, and thought of nothing but how to find out something to tell about her.

At last they told the queen the lassie had said she was good to make up the piece of linen into shirts in four and twenty hours. Well, all happened as before; the lassie dared not say she couldn’t sew; so she was shut up again in a room by herself, and there she sat in tears and grief. But then another old wife came, who said she would sew the shirts for her if she would call her Aunt on the happiest day of her life. The lassie was only too glad to do this, and then she did as the old wife told her, and went and lay down to sleep.

Next morning when she woke she found the piece of linen made up into shirts, which lay on the table—and such beautiful work no one had ever set eyes on; and more than that, the shirts were all marked and ready for wear. So when the queen saw the work, she was so glad at the way in which it was sewn, that she clapped her hands and said,—

“Such sewing I never had, nor even saw in all my born days;” and after that she was as fond of the lassie as of her own children; and she said to her,—

“Now, if you like to have the Prince for your husband, you shall have him; for you will never need to hire workwomen. You can sew, and spin, and weave all yourself.”

So as the lassie was pretty, and the Prince was glad to have her, the wedding soon came on. But just as the Prince was going to sit down with the bride to the bridal feast, in came an ugly old hag with a long nose—I’m sure it was three ells long.

So up got the bride and made a curtsey, and said,—

“Good-day, Auntie.”

“_That_ Auntie to my bride,” said the Prince.

“Yes, she was!”

“Well, then, she’d better sit down with us to the feast,” said the Prince; but, to tell you the truth, both he and the rest thought she was a loathsome woman to have next you.

But just then in came another ugly old hag. She had a back so humped and broad, she had hard work to get through the door. Up jumped the bride in a trice, and greeted her with “Good-day, Auntie!”

And the Prince asked again if that were his bride’s aunt. They both said Yes; so the Prince said, if that were so, she too had better sit down with them to the feast.

But they had scarce taken their seats before another ugly old hag came in, with eyes as large as saucers, and so red and bleared, ’twas gruesome to look at her. But up jumped the bride again, with her “Good-day, Auntie,” and her, too, the Prince asked to sit down; but I can’t say he was very glad, for he thought to himself,—

“Heaven shield me from such Aunties as my bride has!” So when he had sat a while, he could not keep his thoughts to himself any longer, but asked,—

“But how, in all the world, can my bride, who is such a lovely lassie, have such loathsome, misshapen Aunts?”

“I’ll soon tell you how it is,” said the first. “I was just as good-looking when I was her age; but the reason why I’ve got this long nose is, because I was always kept sitting, and poking, and nodding over my spinning, and so my nose got stretched and stretched, until it got as long as you now see it.”

“And I,” said the second, “ever since I was young, I have sat and scuttled backwards and forwards over my loom, and that’s how my back has got so broad and humped, as you now see it.”

“And I,” said the third, “ever since I was little, I have sat, and stared, and sewn, and sewn and stared, night and day; and that’s why my eyes have got so ugly and red, and now there’s no help for them.”

“So! so!” said the Prince, “’twas lucky I came to know this; for if folk can get so ugly and loathsome by all this, then my bride shall neither spin, nor weave, nor sew, all her life long.”

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THE COCK, THE CUCKOO, AND THE BLACK-COCK.

[This is another of those tales in which the birds’ notes must be
imitated.]

ONCE on a time the Cock, the Cuckoo, and the Black-cock bought a cow between them. But when they came to share it, and couldn’t agree which should buy the others out, they settled that he who woke first in the morning should have the cow.

So the Cock woke first.

“Now the cow’s mine! Now the cow’s mine! Hurrah! hurrah!” he crew, and as he crew, up woke the Cuckoo.

“Half cow! Half cow!” sang the Cuckoo, and woke up the Black-cock.

“A like share, a like share; dear friends, that’s only fair! Saw see! See saw!”

That’s what the Black-cock said.

And now, can you tell me which of them ought to have the cow?

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RICH PETER THE PEDLAR.

ONCE on a time there was a man whom they called Rich Peter the Pedlar, because he used to travel about with a pack, and got so much money, that he became quite rich. This Rich Peter had a daughter, whom he held so dear that all who came to woo her, were sent about their business, for no one was good enough for her, he thought. Well, this went on and on, and at last no one came to woo her, and as years rolled on, Peter began to be afraid that she would die an old maid.

“I wonder now,” he said to his wife, “why suitors no longer come to woo our lass, who is so rich. ’Twould be odd if nobody cared to have her, for money she has, and more she shall have. I think I’d better just go off to the Stargazers, and ask them whom she shall have, for not a soul comes to us now.”

“But how,” asked the wife, “can the Stargazers answer that?”

RICH PETER THE PEDLAR
]

“Can’t they?” said Peter; “why! they read all things in the stars.”

So he took with him a great bag of money, and set off to the Stargazers, and asked them to be so good as to look at the stars, and tell him the husband his daughter was to have.

Well! the Stargazers looked and looked, but they said they could see nothing about it. But Peter begged them to look better, and to tell him the truth; he would pay them well for it. So the Stargazers looked better, and at last they said that his daughter’s husband was to be the miller’s son, who was only just born, down at the mill below Rich Peter’s house. Then Peter gave the Stargazers a hundred dollars, and went home with the answer he had got.

Now, he thought it too good a joke that his daughter should wed one so newly born, and of such poor estate. He said this to his wife, and added,—

“I wonder now if they would sell me the boy; then I’d soon put him out of the way?”

“I daresay they would,” said his wife; “you know they’re very poor.”

So Peter went down to the mill, and asked the miller’s wife whether she would sell him her son; she should get a heap of money for him.

“No!” that she wouldn’t.

“Well!” said Peter, “I’m sure I can’t see why you shouldn’t; you’ve hard work enough as it is to keep hunger out of the house, and the boy won’t make it easier, I think.”

But the mother was so proud of the boy, she couldn’t part with him. So when the miller came home, Peter said the same thing to him, and gave his word to pay six hundred dollars for the boy, so that they might buy themselves a farm of their own, and not have to grind other folks’ corn, and to starve when they ran short of water. The miller thought it was a good bargain, and he talked over his wife; and the end was, that Rich Peter got the boy. The mother cried and sobbed, but Peter comforted her by saying, the boy should be well cared for; only they had to promise never to ask after him, for he said he meant to send him far away to other lands, so that he might learn foreign tongues.

So when Peter the Pedlar got home with the boy, he sent for a carpenter, and had a little chest made, which was so tidy and neat, ’twas a joy to see. This he made water-tight with pitch, put the miller’s boy into it, locked it up, and threw it into the river, where the stream carried it away.

“Now, I’m rid of him,” thought Peter the Pedlar.

But when the chest had floated ever so far down the stream, it came into the mill-head of another mill, and ran down and hampered the shaft of the wheel, and stopped it. Out came the miller to see what stopped the mill, found the chest, and took it up. So when he came home to dinner to his wife, he said,—

“I wonder now whatever there can be inside this chest which came floating down the mill-head, and stopped our mill to-day?”

“That we’ll soon know,” said his wife; “see there’s the key in the lock, just turn it.”

So they turned the key and opened the chest, and lo! there lay the prettiest child you ever set eyes on. So they were both glad, and were ready to keep the child, for they had no children of their own, and were so old, they could now hope for none.

“Now, after a little while Peter the Pedlar began to wonder how it was no one came to woo his daughter, who was so rich in land, and had so much ready money. At last, when no one came, off he went again to the Stargazers, and offered them a heap of money if they could tell him whom his daughter was to have for a husband.

“Why! we have told you already, that she is to have the miller’s son down yonder,” said the Stargazers.

“All very true I daresay,” said Peter the Pedlar; “but it so happens he’s dead; but if you can tell me whom she’s to have, I’ll give you two hundred dollars, and welcome.”

So the Stargazers looked at the stars again, but they got quite cross, and said,—

“We told you before, and we tell you now, she is to have the miller’s son, whom you threw into the river, and wished to make an end of; for he is alive, safe and sound, in such and such a mill, far down the stream.”

So Peter the Pedlar gave them two hundred dollars for this news, and thought how he could best be rid of the miller’s son. The first thing Peter did when he got home, was to set off for the mill. By that time the boy was so big that he had been confirmed, and went about the mill and helped the miller. Such a pretty boy you never saw.

“Can’t you spare me that lad yonder?” said Peter the Pedlar to the miller.

“No! that I can’t,” he answered; “I’ve brought him up as my own son, and he has turned out so well, that now he’s a great help and aid to me in the mill, for I’m getting old and past work.”

“It’s just the same with me,” said Peter the Pedlar; “that’s why I’d like to have some one to learn my trade. Now, if you’ll give him up to me, I’ll give you six hundred dollars, and then you can buy yourself a farm, and live in peace and quiet the rest of your days.”

Yes! when the miller heard that, he let Peter the Pedlar have the lad.

Then the two travelled about far and wide with their packs and wares, till they came to an inn, which lay by the edge of a great wood. From this Peter the Pedlar sent the lad home with a letter to his wife, for the way was not so long if you took the short cut across the wood, and told him to tell her she was to be sure and do what was written in the letter as quickly as she could. But it was written in the letter, that she was to have a great pile made there and then, fire it, and cast the miller’s son into it. If she didn’t do that, he’d burn her alive himself when he came back. So the lad set off with the letter across the wood, and when evening came on he reached a house far, far away in the wood, into which he went; but inside he found no one. In one of the rooms was a bed ready made, so he threw himself across it and fell asleep. The letter he had stuck into his hat-band, and the hat he pulled over his face. So when the robbers came back—for in that house twelve robbers had their abode—and saw the lad lying on the bed, they began to wonder who he could be, and one of them took the letter and broke it open and read it.

“Ho! ho!” said he; “this comes from Peter the Pedlar, does it? Now we’ll play him a trick. It would be a pity if the old niggard made an end of such a pretty lad.”

So the robbers wrote another letter to Peter the Pedlar’s wife, and fastened it under his hat-band while he slept; and in that they wrote, that as soon as ever she got it she was to make a wedding for her daughter and the miller’s boy, and give them horses and cattle, and household stuff, and set them up for themselves in the farm which he had under the hill; and if he didn’t find all this done by the time he came back, she’d smart for it—that was all.

Next day the robbers let the lad go, and when he came home and delivered the letter, he said he was to greet her kindly from Peter the Pedlar, and to say that she was to carry out what was written in the letter as soon as ever she could.

“You must have behaved very well then,” said Peter the Pedlar’s wife to the miller’s boy, “if he can write so about you now, for when you set off, he was so mad against you, he didn’t know how to put you out of the way.” So she married them on the spot, and set them up for themselves, with horses, and cattle, and household stuff, in the farm up under the hill.

No long time after Peter the Pedlar came home, and the first thing he asked was, if she had done what he had written in his letter.

“Ay! ay!” she said; “I thought it rather odd, but I dared not do anything else;” and so Peter asked where his daughter was.

“Why, you know well enough where she is,” said his wife. “Where should she be but up at the farm under the hill, as you wrote in the letter.”

So when Peter the Pedlar came to hear the whole story, and came to see the letter, he got so angry he was ready to burst with rage, and off he ran up to the farm to the young couple.

“It’s all very well, my son, to say you have got my daughter,” he said to the miller’s lad; “but if you wish to keep her, you must go to the Dragon of Deepferry, and get me three feathers out of his tail; for he who has them may get anything he chooses.”

“But where shall I find him?” said his son-in-law.

“I’m sure I can’t tell,” said Peter the Pedlar; “that’s your look-out, not mine.”

So the lad set off with a stout heart, and after he had walked some way, he came to a king’s palace.

“Here I’ll just step in and ask,” he said to himself; “for such great folk know more about the world than others, and perhaps I may here learn the way to the Dragon.”

Then the King asked him whence he came, and whither he was going?

“Oh!” said the lad, “I’m going to the Dragon of Deepferry to pluck three feathers out of his tail, if I only knew where to find him.”

“You must take luck with you, then,” said the King, “for I never heard of any one who came back from that search. But if you find him, just ask him from me why I can’t get clear water in my well; for I’ve dug it out time after time, and still I can’t get a drop of clear water.”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to ask him,” said the lad. So he lived on the fat of the land at the palace, and got money and food when he left it.

At even he came to another king’s palace, and when he went into the kitchen, the King came out of the parlour, and asked whence he came, and on what errand he was bound?

“Oh!” said the lad, “I’m going to the Dragon of Deepferry to pluck three feathers out of his tail.”

“Then you must take luck with you,” said the King, “for I never yet heard that any one came back who went to look for him. But if you find him, be so good as to ask him from me where my daughter is, who has been lost so many years. I have hunted for her, and had her name given out in every church in the country, but no one can tell me anything about her.”

“Yes, I’ll mind and do that,” said the lad; and in that palace too he lived on the best, and when he went away he got both money and food.

So when evening drew on again he came at last to another king’s palace. Here who should come out into the kitchen but the Queen and she asked him whence he came, and on what errand he was bound?

“I’m going to the Dragon of Deepferry to pluck three feathers out of his tail,” said the lad.

“Then you’d better take a good piece of luck with you,” said the Queen, “for I never heard of any one that came back from him. But if you find him, just be good enough to ask him from me where I shall find my gold keys which I have lost.”

“Yes! I’ll be sure to ask him,” said the lad.

Well! when he left the palace he came to a great broad river; and while he stood there and wondered whether he should cross it, or go down along the bank, an old hunchbacked man came up, and asked whither he was going?

“Oh, I’m going to the Dragon of Deepferry, if I could only find any one to tell where I can find him.”

“I can tell you that,” said the man; “for here I go backwards and forwards, and carry those over who are going to see him. He lives just across, and when you climb the hill you’ll see his castle; but mind, if you come to talk with him, to ask him from me how long I’m to stop here and carry folk over.

“I’ll be sure to ask him,” said the lad.

So the man took him on his back and carried him over the river; and when he climbed the hill, he saw the castle, and went in.

He found there a Princess who lived with the Dragon all alone; and she said,—

“But, dear friend, how can Christian folk dare to come hither? None have been here since I came, and you’d best be off as fast as you can; for as soon as the Dragon comes home, he’ll smell you out, and gobble you up in a trice, and that’ll make me so unhappy.”

“Nay! nay!” said the lad; “I can’t go before I’ve got three feathers out of his tail.”

“You’ll never get them,” said the Princess; “you’d best be off.”

But the lad wouldn’t go; he would wait for the Dragon, and get the feathers, and an answer to all his questions.

“Well, since you’re so steadfast, I’ll see what I can do to help you,” said the Princess; “just try to lift that sword that hangs on the wall yonder.”

No; the lad could not even stir it.

“I thought so,” said the Princess; “but just take a drink out of this flask.”

So when the lad had sat a while, he was to try again; and then he could just stir it.

“Well! you must take another drink,” said the Princess, “and then you may as well tell me your errand hither.”

So he took another drink, and then he told her how one king had begged him to ask the Dragon, how it was he couldn’t get clean water in his well?—how another had bidden him ask, what had become of his daughter, who had been lost many years since?—and how a queen had begged him to ask the Dragon what had become of her gold keys?—and, last of all, how the ferryman had begged him to ask the Dragon, how long he was to stop there and carry folk over? When he had done his story, and took hold of the sword, he could lift it; and when he had taken another drink, he could brandish it.

“Now,” said the Princess, “if you don’t want the Dragon to make an end of you, you’d best creep under the bed, for night is drawing on, and he’ll soon be home, and then you must lie as still as you can, lest he should find you out. And when we have gone to bed, I’ll ask him, but you must keep your ears open, and snap up all that he says; and under the bed you must lie till all is still, and the Dragon falls asleep; then creep out softly and seize the sword, and as soon as he rises, look out to hew off his head at one stroke, and at the same time pluck out the three feathers, for else he’ll tear them out himself, that no one may get any good by them.”

So the lad crept under the bed, and the Dragon came home.

“What a smell of Christian flesh,” said the Dragon.

“Oh yes,” said the Princess, “a raven came flying with a man’s bone in his bill, and perched on the roof. No doubt it’s that you smell.”

“So it is, I daresay,” said the Dragon.

So the Princess served supper; and after they had eaten, they went to bed. But after they had lain a while, the Princess began to toss about, and all at once she started up and said,—

“Ah! ah!”

“What’s the matter?” said the Dragon.

“Oh,” said the Princess, “I can’t rest at all, and I’ve had such a strange dream.”

“What did you dream about? Let’s hear?” said the Dragon.

“I thought a king came here, and asked you what he must do to get clear water in his well.”

“Oh,” said the Dragon, “he might just as well have found that out for himself. If he dug the well out, and took out the old rotten stump which lies at the bottom, he’d get clean water fast enough. But be still now, and don’t dream any more.”

When the Princess had lain a while, she began to toss about, and at last she started up with her

“Ah! ah!”

“What’s the matter now?” said the Dragon.

“Oh! I can’t get any rest at all, and I’ve had such a strange dream,” said the Princess.

“Why, you seem full of dreams to-night,” said the Dragon; “what was your dream now?”

“I thought a king came here, and asked you what had become of his daughter who had been lost many years since,” said the Princess.

“Why, you are she,” said the Dragon; “but he’ll never set eyes on you again. But now, do pray be still, and let me get some rest, and don’t let’s have any more dreams, else I’ll break your ribs.”

Well, the Princess hadn’t lain much longer before she began to toss about again. At last she started up with her

“Ah! ah!”

“What! Are you at it again?” said the Dragon. “What’s the matter now?” for he was wild and sleep-surly, so that he was ready to fly to pieces.

“Oh, don’t be angry,” said the Princess; “but I’ve had such a strange dream.”

“The deuce take your dreams,” roared the Dragon; “what did you dream this time?”

“I thought a queen came here, who asked you to tell her where she would find her gold keys, which she has lost.”

“Oh,” said the Dragon, “she’ll find them soon enough if she looks among the bushes where she lay that time she wots of. But do now let me have no more dreams, but sleep in peace.”

So they slept a while; but then the Princess was just as restless as ever, and at last she screamed out—

“Ah! ah!”

“You’ll never behave till I break your neck,” said the Dragon, who was now so wroth that sparks of fire flew out of his eyes. “What’s the matter now?”

“Oh, don’t be so angry,” said the Princess; “I can’t bear that; but I’ve had such a strange dream.”

“Bless me!” said the Dragon, “if I ever heard the like of these dreams—there’s no end to them. And pray, what did you dream now?”

“I thought the ferryman down at the ferry came and asked how long he was to stop there and carry folk over,” said the Princess.

“The dull fool!” said the Dragon; “he’d soon be free, if he chose. When any one comes who wants to go across, he has only to take and throw him into the river, and say, ‘Now, carry folk over yourself till some one sets you free.’ But now, pray let’s have an end of these dreams, else I’ll lead you a pretty dance.”

So the Princess let him sleep on. But as soon as all was still, and the miller’s lad heard that the Dragon snored, he crept out. Before it was light the Dragon rose; but he had scarce set both his feet on the floor before the lad cut off his head, and plucked three feathers out of his tail. Then came great joy, and both the lad and the Princess took as much gold and silver, and money, and precious things as they could carry; and when they came down to the ford, they so puzzled the ferryman with all they had to tell, that he quite forgot to ask what the Dragon had said about him till they had got across.

“Halloa, you sir,” he said, as they were going off, “did you ask the Dragon what I begged you to ask?”

“Yes I did,” said the lad, “and he said, ‘When any one comes and wants to go over, you must throw him into the midst of the river, and say, ‘Now, carry folk over yourself till some one comes to set you free,’’ and then you’ll be free.”

“Ah, bad luck to you,” said the ferryman; “had you told me that before, you might have set me free yourself.”

So, when they got to the first palace, the Queen asked if he had spoken to the Dragon about her gold keys?

“Yes,” said the lad, and whispered in the Queen’s ear, “he said you must look among the bushes where you lay the day you wot of.”

“Hush! hush! Don’t say a word,” said the Queen, and gave the lad a hundred dollars.

When they came to the second palace, the King asked if he had spoken to the Dragon of what he begged him?

“Yes,” said the lad, “I did; and see, here is your daughter.”

At that the King was so glad, he would gladly have given the Princess to the miller’s lad to wife, and half the kingdom beside; but as he was married already, he gave him two hundred dollars, and coaches and horses, and as much gold and silver as he could carry away.

When he came to the third King’s palace, out came the King and asked if he had asked the Dragon of what he begged him?

“Yes,” said the lad, “and he said you must dig out the well, and take out the rotten old stump which lies at the bottom, and then you’ll get plenty of clear water.”

Then the King gave him three hundred dollars, and he set out home; but he was so loaded with gold and silver, and so grandly clothed, that it gleamed and glistened from him, and he was now far richer than Peter the Pedlar.

When Peter got the feathers he hadn’t a word more to say against the wedding; but when he saw all that wealth, he asked if there was much still left at the Dragon’s castle.

“Yes, I should think so,” said the lad; “there was much more than I could carry with me—so much, that you might load many horses with it; and if you choose to go, you may be sure there’ll be enough for you.”

So his son-in-law told him the way so clearly, that he hadn’t to ask it of any one.

“But the horses,” said the lad, “you’d best leave this side the river; for the old ferryman, he’ll carry you over safe enough.”

So Peter set off, and took with him great store of food and many horses; but these he left behind him on the river’s brink, as the lad had said. And the old ferryman took him upon his back; but when they had come a bit out into the stream, he cast him into the midst of the river, and said,—

“Now you may go backwards and forwards, here, and carry folk over till you are set free.”

And unless some one has set him free, there goes Rich Peter the Pedlar backwards and forwards, and carries folk across this very day.

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BOOTS AND THE TROLL.

ONCE on a time there was a poor man who had three sons. When he died, the two elder set off into the world to try their luck, but the youngest they wouldn’t have with them at any price.

“As for you,” they said, “you’re fit for nothing but to sit and poke about in the ashes.”

So the two went off and got places at a palace—the one under the coachman, and the other under the gardener. But Boots, he set off too, and took with him a great kneading-trough, which was the only thing his parents left behind them, but which the other two would not bother themselves with. It was heavy to carry, but he did not like to leave it behind, and so, after he had trudged a bit, he too came to the palace, and asked for a place. So they told him they did not want him, but he begged so prettily that at last he got leave to be in the kitchen, and carry in wood and water for the kitchen-maid. He was quick and ready, and in a little while every one liked him; but the two others were dull, and so they got more kicks than halfpence, and grew quite envious of Boots, when they saw how much better he got on.

Just opposite the Palace, across a lake, lived a Troll, who had seven silver ducks which swam on the lake, so that they could be seen from the palace. These the king had often longed for; and so the two elder brothers told the coachman,—

“If our brother only chose, he has said he could easily get the king those seven silver ducks.”

You may fancy it wasn’t long before the coachman told this to the king; and the king called Boots before him, and said,—

“Your brothers say you can get me the silver ducks; so now go and fetch them.”

“I’m sure I never thought or said anything of the kind,” said the lad.

“You did say so, and you shall fetch them,” said the king, who would hold his own.

“Well! well!” said the lad; “needs must, I suppose; but give me a bushel of rye, and a bushel of wheat, and I’ll try what I can do.”

So he got the rye and the wheat, and put them into the kneading trough he had brought with him from home, got in, and rowed across the lake. When he reached the other side he began to walk along the shore, and to sprinkle and strew the grain, and at last he coaxed the ducks into his kneading-trough, and rowed back as fast as ever he could.

When he got half over, the Troll came out of his house, and set eyes on him.

“HALLOA!” roared out the Troll; “is it you that has gone off with my seven silver ducks?”

“AYE! AYE!” said the lad.

“Shall you be back soon?” asked the Troll.

“Very likely,” said the lad.

So when he got back to the king, with the seven silver ducks, he was more liked than ever, and even the king was pleased to say, “Well done!” But at this his brothers grew more and more spiteful and envious; and so they went and told the coachman that their brother had said, if he chose, he was man enough to get the king the Troll’s bed-quilt, which had a gold patch and a silver patch, and a silver patch and a gold patch; and this time, too, the coachman was not slow in telling all this to the king. So the king said to the lad, how his brothers had said he was good to steal the Troll’s bed-quilt, with gold and silver patches; so now he must go and do it, or lose his life.

Boots answered, he had never thought or said any such thing; but when he found there was no help for it, he begged for three days to think over the matter.

So when the three days were gone, he rowed over in his kneading-trough, and went spying about. At last he saw those in the Troll’s cave come out and hang the quilt out to air, and as soon as ever they had gone back into the face of the rock, Boots pulled the quilt down, and rowed away with it as fast as he could.

And when he was half across, out came the Troll and set eyes on him, and roared out,—

“HALLOA! It is you who took my seven silver ducks?”

“AYE! AYE!” said the lad.

“And now, have you taken my bed-quilt, with silver patches and gold patches, and gold patches and silver patches?”

“Aye! aye!” said the lad.

“Shall you come back again?”

“Very likely,” said the lad.

But when he got back with the gold and silver patch-work quilt, every one was fonder of him than ever, and he was made the king’s body-servant.

At this, the other two were still more vexed, and to be revenged they went and told the coachman,—

“Now, our brother has said, he is man enough to get the king the gold harp which the Troll has, and that harp is of such a kind, that all who listen when it is played grow glad, however sad they may be.”

Yes! the coachman went and told the king, and he said to the lad,—

“If you have said this, you shall do it. If you do it, you shall have the Princess and half the kingdom. If you don’t, you shall lose your life.”

“I’m sure I never thought or said anything of the kind,” said the lad; “but if there’s no help for it, I may as well try; but I must have six days to think about it.”

Yes! he might have six days, but when they were over he must set out.

Then he took a tenpenny nail, a birch-pin, and a waxen taper-end in his pocket, and rowed across, and walked up and down before the Troll’s cave, looking stealthily about him. So when the Troll came out, he saw him at once.

“HO, HO!” roared the Troll; “is it you who took my seven silver ducks?”

“AYE! AYE!” said the lad.

“And it is you who took my bed-quilt, with the gold and silver patches?” asked the Troll.

“Aye! aye!” said the lad.

So the Troll caught hold of him at once, and took him off into the cave in the face of the rock.

“Now, daughter dear,” said the Troll, “I’ve caught the fellow who stole the silver ducks and my bed-quilt with gold and silver patches; put him into the fattening coop; and when he’s fat we’ll kill him, and make a feast for our friends.”

She was willing enough, and put him at once into the fattening coop, and there he stayed eight days, fed on the best, both in meat and drink, and as much as he could cram. So, when the eight days were over, the Troll said to his daughter to go down and cut him in his little finger, that they might see if he were fat. Down she came to the coop.

“Out with your little finger!” she said.

But Boots stuck out his tenpenny-nail, and she cut at it.

“Nay! nay! he’s as hard as iron still,” said the Troll’s daughter, when she got back to her father; “we can’t take him yet.”

After another eight days the same thing happened, and this time Boots stuck out his birchen pin.

“Well, he’s a little better,” she said, when she got back to the Troll; “but still he’ll be as hard as wood to chew.”

But when another eight days were gone, the Troll told his daughter to go down and see if he wasn’t fat now.

“Out with your little finger,” said the Troll’s daughter, when she reached the coop, and this time Boots stuck out the taper end.

“Now he’ll do nicely,” she said.

“Will he?” said the Troll. “Well, then, I’ll just set off and ask the guests; meantime you must kill him, and roast half and boil half.”

So when the Troll had been gone a little while, the daughter began to sharpen a great long knife.

“Is that what you’re going to kill me with?” asked the lad.

“Yes it is,” said she.

“But it isn’t sharp,” said the lad. “Just let me sharpen it for you, and then you’ll find it easier work to kill me.”

So she let him have the knife, and he began to rub and sharpen it on the whetstone.

“Just let me try it on one of your hair plaits; I think it’s about right now.”

So he got leave to do that; but at the same time that he grasped the plait of hair, he pulled back her head, and at one gash, cut off the Troll’s daughter’s head; and half of her he roasted and half of her he boiled, and served it all up.

After that he dressed himself in her clothes, and sat away in the corner.

So when the Troll came home with his guests, he called out to his daughter—for he thought all the time it was his daughter—to come and take a snack.

“No thank you,” said the lad, “I don’t care for food, I’m so sad and downcast.”

“Oh!” said the Troll, “if that’s all, you know the cure; take the harp and play a tune on it.”

“Yes!” said the lad; “but where has it got to; I can’t find it.”

“Why, you know well enough,” said the Troll; “you used it last; where should it be but over the door yonder?”

The lad did not wait to be told twice; he took down the harp, and went in and out playing tunes; but, all at once he shoved off the kneading trough, jumped into it, and rowed off, so that the foam flew around the trough.

After a while the Troll thought his daughter was a long while gone, and went out to see what ailed her; and then he saw the lad in the trough, far, far out on the lake.

“HALLOA! Is it you,” he roared, “that took my seven silver ducks?”

“AYE, AYE!” said the lad.

“Is it you that took my bed-quilt with the gold and silver patches?”

“Yes!” said the lad.

“And now you have taken off my gold harp?” screamed the Troll.

“Yes!” said the lad; “I’ve got it, sure enough.”

“And haven’t I eaten you up after all, then?”

“No, no! ’twas your own daughter you ate,” answered the lad.

But when the Troll heard that, he was so sorry, he burst; and then Boots rowed back, and took a whole heap of gold and silver with him, as much as the trough could carry. And so, when he came to the palace with the gold harp, he got the Princess and half the kingdom as the king had promised him; and, as for his brothers, he treated them well, for he thought they had only wished his good when they said what they had said.

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THE LAD WHO WENT TO THE NORTH WIND.

ONCE on a time there was an old widow who had one son; and as she was poorly and weak, her son had to go up into the safe to fetch meal for cooking; but when he got outside the safe and was just going down the steps, there came the North Wind, puffing and blowing, caught up the meal, and so away with it through the air. Then the lad went back into the safe for more; but when he came out again on the steps, if the North Wind didn’t come again and carry off the meal with a puff; and more than that, he did so the third time. At this the lad got very angry; and as he thought it hard that the North Wind should behave so, he thought he’d just look him up, and ask him to give up his meal.

So off he went, but the way was long, and he walked and walked; but at last he came to the North Wind’s house.

“Good day!” said the lad, “and thank you for coming to see us yesterday.”

“GOOD DAY!” answered the North Wind, for his voice was loud and gruff, “AND THANKS FOR COMING TO SEE ME. WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

“Oh!” answered the lad, “I only wished to ask you to be so good as to let me have back that meal you took from me on the safe steps, for we haven’t much to live on; and if you’re to go on snapping up the morsel we have, there’ll be nothing for it but to starve.”

“I haven’t got your meal,” said the North Wind; “but if you are in such need, I’ll give you a cloth which will get you everything you want, if you only say ‘Cloth, spread yourself, and serve up all kind of good dishes!’”

With this the lad was well content. But, as the way was so long he couldn’t get home in one day, so he turned into an inn on the way; and when they were going to sit down to supper he laid the cloth on a table which stood in the corner, and said,—

“Cloth, spread yourself, and serve up all kinds of good dishes.”

He had scarce said so before the cloth did as it was bid; and all who stood by thought it a fine thing, but most of all the landlady. So, when all were fast asleep, at dead of night, she took the lad’s cloth, and put another in its stead, just like the one he had got from the North Wind, but which couldn’t so much as serve up a bit of dry bread.

So, when the lad woke, he took his cloth and went off with it, and that day he got home to his mother.

“Now,” said he, “I’ve been to the North Wind’s house, and a good fellow he is, for he gave me this cloth, and when I only say to it, ‘Cloth, spread yourself, and serve up all kind of good dishes,’ I get any sort of food I please.”

“All very true, I dare say,” said his mother; “but seeing is believing, and I shan’t believe it till I see it.”

So the lad made haste, drew out a table, laid the cloth on it, and said,—

“Cloth, spread yourself, and serve up all kind of good dishes.”