Chapter VII: Front Matter (7)

But never a bit of dry bread did the cloth serve up.

“Well!” said the lad, “there’s no help for it but to go to the North Wind again;” and away he went.

So he came to where the North Wind lived late in the afternoon.

“Good evening!” said the lad.

“Good evening!” said the North Wind.

“I want my rights for that meal of ours which you took,” said the lad; “for, as for that cloth I got, it isn’t worth a penny.”

“I’ve got no meal,” said the North Wind; “but yonder you have a ram which coins nothing but golden ducats as soon as you say to it,—

“Ram, ram! make money!”

So the lad thought this a fine thing; but as it was too far to get home that day, he turned in for the night to the same inn where he had slept before.

Before he called for anything, he tried the truth of what the North Wind had said of the ram, and found it all right; but, when the landlord saw that, he thought it was a famous ram, and, when the lad had fallen asleep, he took another which couldn’t coin gold ducats, and changed the two.

Next morning off went the lad; and when he got home to his mother, he said,—

“After all, the North Wind is a jolly fellow; for now he has given me a ram which can coin golden ducats if I only say, ‘Ram, ram! make money.’”

“All very true, I daresay,” said his mother; “but I shan’t believe any such stuff until I see the ducats made.”

“Ram, ram! make money!” said the lad! but if the ram made anything it wasn’t money.

So the lad went back again to the North Wind and blew him up, and said the ram was worth nothing, and he must have his rights for the meal.

“Well!” said the North Wind; “I’ve nothing else to give up but that old stick in the corner yonder; but it’s a stick of that kind that if you say,—

“‘Stick, stick! lay on!’ it lays on till you say,—

“‘Stick, stick! now stop!’”

So, as the way was long, the lad turned in this night too to the landlord; but as he could pretty well guess how things stood as to the cloth and the ram, he lay down at once on the bench and began to snore as if he were asleep.

Now the landlord, who easily saw that the stick must be worth something, hunted up one which was like it, and when he heard the lad snore was going to change the two; but, just as the landlord was about to take it, the lad bawled out,—

“Stick, stick! lay on!”

So the stick began to beat the landlord, till he jumped over chairs, and tables, and benches, and yelled and roared,—

“Oh my! oh my! bid the stick be still, else it will beat me to death, and you shall have back both your cloth and your ram.”

When the lad thought the landlord had got enough, he said,

“Stick, stick! now stop.”

Then he took the cloth and put it into his pocket, and went home with his stick in his hand, leading the ram by a cord round its horns; and so he got his rights for the meal he had lost.

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THE BEST WISH.

ONCE on a time there were three brothers; I don’t quite know how it happened, but each of them had got the right to wish one thing, whatever he chose. So the two elder were not long a-thinking; they wished that every time they put their hands in their pockets they might pull out a piece of money; for, said they,—

“The man who has as much money as he wishes for is always sure to get on in the world.”

But the youngest wished something better still. He wished that every woman he saw might fall in love with him as soon as she saw him; and you shall soon hear how far better this was than gold and goods.

So, when they had all wished their wishes, the two elder were for setting out to see the world; and Boots, their youngest brother, asked if he mightn’t go along with them; but they wouldn’t hear of such a thing.

“Wherever we go,” they said, “we shall be treated as counts and kings; but you, you starveling wretch, who haven’t a penny, and never will have one, who do you think will care a bit about you?

“Well, but in spite of that, I’d like to go with you,” said Boots; “perhaps a dainty bit may fall to my share too off the plates of such high and mighty lords.”

At last, after begging and praying, he got leave to go with them, if he would be their servant, else they wouldn’t hear of it.

So when they had gone a day or so, they came to an inn, where the two who had the money alighted, and called for fish, and flesh, and fowl, and brandy and mead, and everything that was good; but Boots, poor fellow, had to look after their luggage and all that belonged to the two great people. Now, as he went to and fro outside, and loitered about in the inn-yard, the innkeeper’s wife looked out of window and saw the servant of the gentlemen up stairs; and, all at once, she thought she had never set eyes on such a handsome chap. So she stared and stared, and the longer she looked the handsomer he seemed.

“Why what, by the Deil’s skin and bones, is it that you are standing there gaping at out of the window?” said her husband. “I think ’twould be better if you just looked how the sucking pig is getting on, instead of hanging out of window in that way. Don’t you know what grand folk we have in the house to-day?”

“Oh!” said his old dame, “I don’t care a farthing about such a pack of rubbish; if they don’t like it they may lump it, and be off; but just do come and look at this lad out in the yard, so handsome a fellow I never saw in all my born days; and, if you’ll do as I wish, we’ll ask him to step in and treat him a little, for, poor lad, he seems to have a hard fight of it.”

“Have you lost the little brains you had Goody?” said the husband, whose eyes glistened with rage; “into the kitchen with you, and mind the fire; but don’t stand there glowering after strange men.”

So the wife had nothing left for it but to go into the kitchen, and look after the cooking; as for the lad outside, she couldn’t get leave to ask him in, or to treat him either; but just as she was about spitting the pig in the kitchen, she made an excuse for running out into the yard, and then and there she gave Boots a pair of scissors, of such a kind that they cut of themselves out of the air the loveliest clothes any one ever saw, silk and satin, and all that was fine.

“This you shall have because you are so handsome,” said the innkeeper’s wife.

So when the two elder brothers had crammed themselves with roast and boiled, they wished to be off again, and Boots had to stand behind their carriage, and be their servant; and so they travelled a good way, till they came to another inn.

There the two brothers again alighted and went in-doors, but Boots, who had no money, they wouldn’t have inside with them; no, he must wait outside and watch the luggage.

“And mind,” they said, “if any one asks whose servant you are, say we are two foreign Princes.”

But the same thing happened now as it happened before; while Boots stood hanging about out in the yard, the innkeeper’s wife came to the window and saw him, and she too fell in love with him, just like the first innkeeper’s wife; and there she stood and stared, for she thought she could never have her fill of looking at him. Then her husband came running through the room with something the two Princes had ordered.

“Don’t stand there staring like a cow at a barn-door, but take this into the kitchen, and look after your fish-kettle, Goody,” said the man; “don’t you see what grand people we have in the house to-day?”

“I don’t care a farthing for such a pack of rubbish,” said the wife; “if they don’t like what they get they may lump it, and eat what they brought with them. But just do come here, and see what you shall see! Such a handsome fellow as walks here, out in the yard, I never saw in all my born days. Shan’t we ask him in and treat him a little; he looks as if he needed it, poor chap?” and then she went on,—

“Such a love! such a love!”

“You never had much wit, and the little you had is clean gone, I can see,” said the man, who was much more angry than the first innkeeper, and chased his wife back, neck and crop, into the kitchen.

“Into the kitchen with you, and don’t stand glowering after lads,” he said.

So she had to go in and mind her fish-kettle, and she dared not treat Boots, for she was afraid of her old man; but as she stood there making up the fire, she made an excuse for running out into the yard, and then and there she gave Boots a table-cloth, which was such that it covered itself with the best dishes you could think of, as soon as it was spread out.

“This you shall have,” she said, “because you’re so handsome.”

So when the two brothers had eaten and drank of all that was in the house, and had paid the bill in hard cash, they set off again, and Boots stood up behind their carriage. But when they had gone so far that they grew hungry again, they turned into a third inn, and called for the best and dearest they could think of.

“For,” said they, “we are two kings on our travels, and as for our money, it grows like grass.”

Well, when the innkeeper heard that, there was such a roasting, and baking, and boiling; why! you might smell the dinner at the next neighbour’s house, though it wasn’t so very near; and the innkeeper was at his wit’s end to find all he wished to put before the two kings. But Boots, he had to stand outside here too, and look after the things in the carriage.

So it was the same story over again. The innkeeper’s wife came to the window and peeped out, and there she saw the servant standing by the carriage. Such a handsome chap she had never set eyes on before; so she looked and looked, and the more she stared the handsomer he seemed to the innkeeper’s wife. Then out came the innkeeper, scampering through the room, with some dainty which the travelling kings had ordered, and he wasn’t very soft-tongued when he saw his old dame standing and glowering out of the window.

“Don’t you know better than to stand gaping and staring there, when we have such great folk in the house,” he said; “back into the kitchen with you this minute, to your custards.”

“Well! well!” she said, “as for them, I don’t care a pin. If they can’t wait till the custards are baked, they may go without—that’s all. But do, pray, come here, and you’ll see such a lovely lad standing out here in the yard. Why, I never saw such a pretty fellow in my life. Shan’t we ask him in now, and treat him a little, for he looks as if it would do him good. Oh! what a darling! What a darling!”

“A wanton gadabout you’ve been all your days, and so you are still,” said her husband, who was in such a rage he scarce knew which leg to stand on; but if you don’t be off to your custards this minute, I’ll soon find out how to make you stir your stumps; see if I don’t.”

So the wife had off to her custards as fast as she could, for she knew that her husband would stand no nonsense; but as she stood there over the fire she stole out into the yard, and gave Boots a tap.

“If you only turn this tap,” she said; “you’ll get the finest drink of whatever kind you choose, both mead, and wine, and brandy; and this you shall have because you are so handsome.”

So when the two brothers had eaten and drunk all they could, they started from the inn, and Boots stood up behind again as their servant, and thus they drove far and wide till they came to a king’s palace. There the two elder gave themselves out for two emperor’s sons, and as they had plenty of money, and were so fine that their clothes shone again ever so far off, they were well treated. They had rooms in the palace, and the king couldn’t tell how to make enough of them. But Boots, who went about in the same rags he stood in when he left home, and who had never a penny in his pocket, he was taken up by the king’s guard, and put across to an island, whither they used to row over all the beggars and rogues that came to the palace. This the king had ordered, because he wouldn’t have the mirth at the palace spoilt by those dirty blackguards; and thither, too, only just as much food as would keep body and soul together was sent over every day. Now Boots’ brothers saw very well that the guard was rowing him over to the island, but they were glad to be rid of him, and didn’t pay the least heed to him.

But when Boots got over there, he just pulled out his scissors and began to snip and cut in the air; so the scissors cut out the finest clothes any one would wish to see; silk and satin both, and all the beggars on the island were soon dressed far finer than the king and all his guests in the palace. After that, Boots pulled out his table-cloth, and spread it out, and so they got food too, the poor beggars. Such a feast had never been seen at the king’s palace, as was served that day at the Beggar’s Isle.

“Thirsty, too, I’ll be bound you all are,” said Boots, and out with his tap, gave it a turn, and so the beggars got all a drop to drink; and such ale and mead the king himself had never tasted in all his life.

So, next morning, when those who were to bring the beggars their food on the island, came rowing over with the scrapings of the porridge-pots and cheese parings—that was what the poor wretches had—the beggars wouldn’t so much as taste them, and the king’s men fell to wondering what it could mean; but they wondered much more when they got a good look at the beggars, for they were so fine the guard thought they must be Emperors or Popes at least, and that they must have rowed to a wrong island; but when they looked better about them, they saw they were come to the old place.

Then they soon found out it must be he whom they had rowed out the day before who had brought the beggars on the island all this state and bravery; and as soon as they got back to the palace, they were not slow to tell how the man, whom they had rowed over the day before, had dressed out all the beggars so fine and grand that precious things fell from their clothes.

“And as for the porridge and cheese we took, they wouldn’t even taste them, so proud have they got,” they said.

One of them, too, had smelt out that the lad had a pair of scissors which he cut out the clothes with.

“When he only snips with those scissors up in the air he snips and cuts out nothing but silk and satin,” said he.

So, when the Princess heard that, she had neither peace nor rest till she saw the lad and his scissors that cut out silk and satin from the air; such a pair was worth having, she thought, for with its help she would soon get all the finery she wished for. Well, she begged the king so long and hard, he was forced to send a messenger for the lad who owned the scissors; and when he came to the palace, the Princess asked him if it were true that he had such and such a pair of scissors, and if he would sell it to her. Yes, it was all true he had such a pair, said Boots, but sell it he wouldn’t; and with that he took the scissors out of his pocket, and snipped and snipped with them in the air till strips of silk and satin flew all about him.

“Nay, but you must sell me these scissors,” said the Princess. “You may ask what you please for them, but have them I must.”

No! such a pair of scissors he wouldn’t sell at any price, for he could never get such a pair again; and while they stood and haggled for the scissors, the Princess had time to look better at Boots, and she too thought with the innkeepers’ wives that she had never seen such a handsome fellow before. So she began to bargain for the scissors over again, and begged and prayed Boots to let her have them; he might ask many, many hundred dollars for them, ’twas all the same to her, so she got them.

“No! sell them I won’t,” said Boots; “but all the same, if I can get leave to sleep one night on the floor of the Princess’ bed-room, close by the door, I’ll give her the scissors. I’ll do her no harm, but if she’s afraid, she may have two men to watch inside the room.”

Yes! the Princess was glad enough to give him leave, for she was ready to grant him anything if she only got the scissors. So Boots lay on the floor inside the Princess’ bed-room that night, and two men stood watch there too; but the Princess didn’t get much rest after all; for when she ought to have been asleep, she must open her eyes to look at Boots, and so it went on the whole night. If she shut her eyes for a minute, she peeped out at him again the next, such a handsome fellow he seemed to her to be.

Next morning Boots was rowed over to the Beggar’s Isle again; but when they came with the porridge scrapings and cheese parings from the palace, there was no one who would taste them that day either, and so those who brought the food were more astonished than ever. But one of those who brought the food contrived to smell out that the lad who had owned the scissors owned also a table-cloth, which he only needed to spread out, and it was covered with all the good things he could wish for. So when he got back to the palace, he wasn’t long before he said,—

“Such hot joints and such custards I never saw the like of in the king’s palace.”

And when the Princess heard that, she told it to the king, and begged and prayed so long, that he was forced to send a messenger out to the island to fetch the lad who owned the table-cloth; and so Boots came back to the palace. The Princess must and would have the cloth of him, and offered him gold and green woods for it, but Boots wouldn’t sell it at any price.

“But if I may have leave to lie on the bench by the Princess’ bed-side to night, she shall have the cloth; but if she’s afraid, she is welcome to set four men to watch inside the room.”

Yes! the Princess agreed to this, so Boots lay down on the bench by the bed-side, and the four men watched; but if the Princess hadn’t much sleep the night before, she had much less this, for she could scarce get a wink of sleep; there she lay wide awake looking at the lovely lad the whole night through, and after all, the night seemed too short.

Next morning Boots was rowed off again to the Beggars’ Island, though sorely against the Princess’ will, so happy was she to be near him; but it was past praying for; to the island he must go, and there was an end of it. But when those who brought the food to the beggars came with the porridge scrapings and cheese parings, there wasn’t one of them who would even look at what the king sent, and those who brought it didn’t wonder either; though they all thought it strange that none of them were thirsty. But just then one of the king’s guard smelled out that the lad who had owned the scissors and the table-cloth had a tap besides, which, if one only turned it a little, gave out the rarest drink, both ale, and mead, and wine. So when he came back to the palace, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut this time any more than before; he went about telling high and low about the tap, and how easy it was to draw all sorts of drink out of it.

“And as for that mead and ale, I’ve never tasted the like of them in the king’s palace; honey and syrup are nothing to them for sweetness.”

So when the Princess heard that, she was all for getting the tap, and was nothing loath to strike a bargain with the owner either. So she went again to the king, and begged him to send a messenger to the Beggars’ Isle after the lad who had owned the scissors and cloth, for now he had another thing worth having, she said; and when the king heard it was a tap, that was good to give the best ale and wine any one could drink, when one gave it a turn, he wasn’t long in sending the messenger, I should think.

So when Boots came up to the palace, the Princess asked whether it were true he had a tap which could do such and such things? “Yes! he had such a tap in his waistcoat pocket,” said Boots; but when the Princess wished with all her might to buy it, Boots said, as he had said twice before, he wouldn’t sell it, even if the Princess bade half the kingdom for it.

“But all the same,” said Boots; “if I may have leave to sleep on the Princess’ bed to-night, outside the quilt, she shall have my tap. I’ll not do her any harm; but, if she’s afraid, she may set eight men to watch in her room.”

“Oh, no!” said the Princess, “there was no need of that, she knew him now so well;” and so Boots lay outside the Princess’ bed that night. But if she hadn’t slept much the two nights before, she had less sleep that night; for she couldn’t shut her eyes the livelong night, but lay and looked at Boots, who lay alongside her outside the quilt.

So, when she got up in the morning, and they were going to row Boots back to the island, she begged them to hold hard a little bit; and in she ran to the king, and begged him so prettily to let her have Boots for a husband, she was so fond of him, and, unless she had him, she did not care to live.

“Well, well!” said the king, “you shall have him if you must; for he who has such things is just as rich as you are.”

So Boots got the Princess and half the kingdom—the other half he was to have when the king died; and so everything went smooth and well; but as for his brothers, who had always been so bad to him, he packed them off to the Beggars’ Island.

“There,” said Boots, “perhaps they may find out which is best off, the man who has his pockets full of money, or the man whom all women fall in love with.”

Nor, to tell you the truth, do I think it would help them much to wander about upon the Beggars’ Island pulling pieces of money out of their pockets; and so, if Boots hasn’t taken them off the island, there they are still walking about to this very day, eating cheese parings and the scrapings of the porridge-pots.

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THE THREE BILLY-GOATS GRUFF.

ONCE on a time there were three Billy-goats who were to go up to the hill-side to make themselves fat, and the name of all three was “Gruff.”

On the way up was a bridge over a burn they had to cross; and under the bridge lived a great ugly Troll, with eyes as big as saucers, and a nose as long as a poker.

So first of all came the youngest billy-goat Gruff to cross the bridge.

“Trip, trap; trip, trap!” went the bridge.

“WHO’S THAT tripping over my bridge?” roared the Troll.

“Oh! it is only I, the tiniest billy-goat Gruff; and I’m going up to the hill-side to make myself fat,” said the billy-goat, with such a small voice.

“Now, I’m coming to gobble you up,” said the Troll.

THE THREE BILLY-GOATS GRUFF
]

“Oh, no! pray don’t take me. I’m too little, that I am,” said the billy-goat; “wait a bit till the second billy-goat Gruff comes, he’s much bigger.”

“Well! be off with you,” said the Troll.

A little while after came the second billy-goat Gruff to cross the bridge.

“TRIP, TRAP! TRIP, TRAP! TRIP, TRAP!” went the bridge.

“WHO’S THAT tripping over my bridge?” roared the Troll.

“Oh! it’s the second billy-goat Gruff, and I’m going up to the hill-side to make myself fat,” said the billy-goat, who hadn’t such a small voice.

“Now, I’m coming to gobble you up,” said the Troll.

“Oh, no! don’t take me, wait a little till the big billy-goat Gruff comes, he’s much bigger.”

“Very well! be off with you,” said the Troll.

But just then up came the big billy-goat Gruff.

“TRIP, TRAP! TRIP, TRAP! TRIP, TRAP!” went the bridge, for the billy-goat was so heavy that the bridge creaked and groaned under him.

“WHO’S THAT tramping over my bridge?” roared the Troll.

“IT’S I! THE BIG BILLY-GOAT GRUFF,” said the billy-goat, who had an ugly hoarse voice of his own.

“Now, I’m coming to gobble you up,” roared the Troll.

“Well, come along! I’ve got two spears,
And I’ll poke your eyeballs out at your ears;
I’ve got besides two curling stones,
And I’ll crush you to bits, body and bones.”

That was what the big billy-goat said; and so he flew at the Troll and poked his eyes out with his horns, and crushed him to bits, body and bones, and tossed him out into the burn, and after that he went up to the hill-side. There the billy-goats got so fat they were scarce able to walk home again; and if the fat hasn’t fallen off them, why they’re still fat; and so,—

“Snip, snap, snout,
This tale’s told out.”

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WELL DONE AND ILL PAID.

ONCE on a time there was a man who had to drive his sledge to the wood for fuel. So a bear met him.

“Out with your horse,” said the Bear, “or I’ll strike all your sheep dead by summer.”

“Oh! heaven help me then,” said the man; “there’s not a stick of firewood in the house; you must let me drive home a load of fuel, else we shall be frozen to death. I’ll bring the horse to you to-morrow morning.”

Yes! on those terms he might drive the wood home, that was a bargain; but Bruin said, “if he didn’t come back, he should lose all his sheep by summer.”

So the man got the wood on the sledge and rattled homewards, but he wasn’t over pleased at the bargain you may fancy. So just then a fox met him.

“Why, what’s the matter?” said the Fox; “why are you so down in the mouth?”

“Oh, if you want to know,” said the man; “I met a bear up yonder in the wood, and I had to give my word to him to bring Dobbin back to-morrow, at this very hour; for if he didn’t get him, he said he would tear all my sheep to death by summer.”

“Stuff, nothing worse than that,” said the Fox; “if you’ll give me your fattest wether, I’ll soon set you free; see if I don’t.”

Yes! the man gave his word, and swore he would keep it too.

“Well, when you come with Dobbin to-morrow for the bear,” said the Fox, “I’ll make a clatter up in that heap of stones yonder, and so when the bear asks what that noise is, you must say ’tis Peter the Marksman, who is the best shot in the world; and after that you must help yourself.”

Next day off set the man, and when he met the Bear, something began to make a clatter up in the heap of stones.

“Hist! what’s that?” said the Bear.

“Oh! that’s Peter the Marksman, to be sure,” said the man; “he’s the best shot in the world. I know him by his voice.”

“Have you seen any bears about here, Eric?” shouted out a voice in the wood.

“Say, no!” said the Bear.

“No, I haven’t seen any,” said Eric.

“What’s that, then, that stands alongside your sledge?” bawled out the voice in the wood.

“Say it’s an old fir-stump,” said the Bear.

“Oh, it’s only an old fir-stump,” said the man.

“Such fir-stumps we take in our country and roll them on our sledges,” bawled out the voice; “if you can’t do it yourself, I’ll come and help you.”

“Say you can help yourself, and roll me up on the sledge,” said the Bear.

“No, thank ye, I can help myself well enough,” said the man, and rolled the Bear on to the sledge.

“Such fir-stumps we always bind fast on our sledges in our part of the world,” bawled out the voice; “shall I come and help you?”

“Say you can help yourself, and bind me fast, do,” said the Bear.

“No, thanks, I can help myself well enough,” said the man, who set to binding Bruin fast with all the ropes he had, so that at last the bear couldn’t stir a paw.

“Such fir-stumps we always drive our axes into, in our part of the world,” bawled out the voice; “for then we guide them better going down the steep pitches.”

“Pretend to drive your axe into me, do now,” said the bear.

Then the man took up his axe, and at one blow split the bear’s skull, so that Bruin lay dead in a trice, and so the man and the Fox were great friends, and on the best terms. But when they came near the farm, the Fox said,—

“I’ve no mind to go right home with you, for I can’t say I like your tykes; so I’ll just wait here, and you can bring the wether to me, but mind and pick out one nice and fat.

Yes! the man would be sure to do that, and thanked the Fox much for his help. So when he had put up Dobbin, he went across to the sheep-stall.

“Whither away, now?” asked his old dame.

“Oh!” said the man, “I’m only going to the sheep-stall to fetch a fat wether for that cunning Fox, who set our Dobbin free. I gave him my word I would.”

“Wether, indeed,” said the old dame; “never a one shall that thief of a Fox get. Haven’t we got Dobbin safe, and the bear into the bargain; and as for the Fox, I’ll be bound he’s stolen more of our geese than the wether is worth; and even if he hasn’t stolen them, he will. No, no; take a brace of your swiftest hounds in a sack, and slip them loose after him; and then perhaps we shall be rid of this robbing Reynard.”

Well, the man thought that good advice; so he took two fleet red hounds, put them into a sack and set off with them.

“Have you brought the wether?” said the Fox.

“Yes, come and take it,” said the man, as he untied the sack and let slip the hounds.

“HUF,” said the Fox, and gave a great spring; “true it is what the old saw says, ‘Well done is often ill paid;’ and now, too, I see the truth of another saying, ‘The worst foes are those of one’s own house.’” That was what the Fox said as he ran off, and saw the red foxy hounds at his heels.

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THE HUSBAND WHO WAS TO MIND THE HOUSE.

ONCE on a time, there was a man so surly and cross, he never thought his wife did anything right in the house. So, one evening, in hay-making time, he came home, scolding and swearing, and showing his teeth and making a dust.

“Dear love, don’t be so angry; there’s a good man,” said his goody; “to-morrow let’s change our work. I’ll go out with the mowers and mow, and you shall mind the house at home.”

Yes! the husband thought that would do very well. He was quite willing, he said.

So, early next morning, his goody took a scythe over her neck, and went out into the hayfield with the mowers, and began to mow; but the man was to mind the house, and do the work at home.

First of all, he wanted to churn the butter; but when he had churned a while, he got thirsty, and went down to the cellar to tap a barrel of ale. So, just when he had knocked in the bung, and was putting the tap into the cask, he heard overhead the pig come into the kitchen. Then off he ran up the cellar steps, with the tap in his hand, as fast as he could, to look after the pig lest it should upset the churn; but when he got up, and saw the pig had already knocked the churn over, and stood there, routing and grunting amongst the cream which was running all over the floor, he got so wild with rage that he quite forgot the ale-barrel, and ran at the pig as hard as he could. He caught it, too, just as it ran out of doors, and gave it such a kick, that piggy lay for dead on the spot. Then all at once he remembered he had the tap in his hand; but when he got down to the cellar, every drop of ale had run out of the cask.

Then he went into the dairy and found enough cream left to fill the churn again, and so he began to churn, for butter they must have at dinner. When he had churned a bit, he remembered that their milking cow was still shut up in the byre and hadn’t had a bit to eat or a drop to drink all the morning, though the sun was high. Then all at once he thought ’twas too far to take her down to the meadow, so he’d just get her up on the house-top—for the house, you must know, was thatched with sods, and a fine crop of grass was growing there. Now their house lay close up against a steep down, and he thought if he laid a plank across to the thatch at the back he’d easily get the cow up.

But still he couldn’t leave the churn, for there was his little babe crawling about on the floor, and “if I leave it,” he thought, “the child is safe to upset it.” So he took the churn on his back, and went out with it; but then he thought he’d better first water the cow before he turned her out on the thatch; so he took up a bucket to draw water out of the well; but as he stooped down at the well’s brink, all the cream ran out of the churn over his shoulders, and so down into the well.

Now it was near dinner-time, and he hadn’t even got the butter yet; so he thought he’d best boil the porridge, and filled the pot with water, and hung it over the fire. When he had done that, he thought the cow might perhaps fall off the thatch and break her legs or her neck. So he got up on the house to tie her up. One end of the rope he made fast to the cow’s neck, and the other he slipped down the chimney and tied round his own thigh; and he had to make haste, for the water now began to boil in the pot, and he had still to grind the oatmeal.

So he began to grind away; but while he was hard at it, down fell the cow off the house-top after all, and as she fell, she dragged the man up the chimney by the rope. There he stuck fast; and as for the cow, she hung half way down the wall, swinging between heaven and earth, for she could neither get down nor up.

And now the goody had waited seven lengths and seven breadths for her husband to come and call them home to dinner; but never a call they had. At last she thought she’d waited long enough, and went home. But when she got there and saw the cow hanging in such an ugly place, she ran up and cut the rope in two with her scythe. But as she did this, down came her husband out of the chimney; and so when his old dame came inside the kitchen, there she found him standing on his head in the porridge pot.

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DAPPLEGRIM.

ONCE on a time there was a rich couple who had twelve sons; but the youngest, when he was grown up, said he wouldn’t stay any longer at home, but be off into the world to try his luck. His father and mother said he did very well at home, and had better stay where he was. But no, he couldn’t rest; away he must and would go. So at last they gave him leave. And when he had walked a good bit, he came to a king’s palace, where he asked for a place, and got it.

Now the daughter of the king of that land had been carried off into the hill by a Troll, and the king had no other children; so he and all his land were in great grief and sorrow, and the king gave his word that any one who could set her free, should have the Princess and half the kingdom. But there was no one who could do it, though many tried.

DAPPLEGRIM
]

So when the lad had been there a year or so, he longed to go home again and see his father and mother, and back he went; but when he got home his father and mother were dead, and his brothers had shared all that the old people owned between them, and so there was nothing left for the lad.

“Shan’t I have anything at all, then, out of father’s and mother’s goods?” said the lad.

“Who could tell you were still alive, when you went gadding and wandering about so long?” said his brothers. “But all the same; there are twelve mares up on the hill, which we haven’t yet shared among us; if you choose to take them for your share, you’re quite welcome.”

Yes! the lad was quite content; so he thanked his brothers, and went at once up on the hill, where the twelve mares were out at grass. And when he got up there and found them, each of them had a foal at her side, and one of them had besides, along with her, a big dapple-gray foal, which was so sleek that the sun shone from its coat.

“A fine fellow you are, my little foal,” said the lad.

“Yes,” said the foal; “but if you’ll only kill all the other foals, so that I may run and suck all the mares one year more, you’ll see how big and sleek I’ll be then.”

Yes! the lad was ready to do that; so he killed all those twelve foals, and went home again.

So when he came back the next year to look after his foal and mares, the foal was so fat and sleek, that the sun shone from its coat, and it had grown so big, the lad had hard work to mount it. As for the mares, they had each of them another foal.

“Well, it’s quite plain I lost nothing by letting you suck all my twelve mares,” said the lad to the yearling, “but now you’re big enough to come along with me.”

“No,” said the colt, “I must bide here a year longer; and now kill all the twelve foals, that I may suck all the mares this year too, and you’ll see how big and sleek I’ll be by summer.”

Yes! the lad did that; and next year when he went up on the hill to look after his colt and the mares, each mare had her foal, but the dapple colt was so tall the lad couldn’t reach up to his crest when he wanted to feel how fat he was; and so sleek he was too, that his coat glistened in the sunshine.

“Big and beautiful you were last year, my colt,” said the lad, “but this year you’re far grander. There’s no such horse in the king’s stable. But now you must come along with me.”

“No,” said Dapple again, “I must stay here one year more. Kill the twelve foals as before, that I may suck the mares the whole year, and then just come and look at me when the summer comes.”

Yes! the lad did that; he killed the foals, and went away home.

But when he went up next year to look after Dapple and the mares, he was quite astonished. So tall, and stout, and sturdy, he never thought a horse could be; for Dapple had to lay down on all fours before the lad could bestride him, and it was hard work to get up even then, although he lay flat; and his coat was so smooth and sleek, the sunbeams shone from it as from a looking-glass.

This time Dapple was willing enough to follow the lad, so he jumped up on his back and when he came riding home to his brothers, they all clapped their hands and crossed themselves, for such a horse they had never heard of nor seen before.

“If you will only get me the best shoes you can for my horse, and the grandest saddle and bridle that are to be found,” said the lad, “you may have my twelve mares that graze up on the hill yonder, and their twelve foals into the bargain.” For you must know that this year too every mare had her foal.

Yes, his brothers were ready to do that, and so the lad got such strong shoes under his horse, that the stones flew high aloft as he rode away across the hills; and he had a golden saddle and a golden bridle, which gleamed and glistened a long way off.

“Now we’re off to the king’s palace,” said Dapplegrim—that was his name; “but mind you ask the king for a good stable and good fodder for me.”

Yes! the lad said he would mind; he’d be sure not to forget; and when he rode off from his brothers’ house, you may be sure it wasn’t long, with such a horse under him, before he got to the king’s palace.

When he came there the king was standing on the steps, and stared and stared at the man who came riding along.

“Nay, nay!” said he, “such a man and such a horse I never yet saw in all my life.”

But when the lad asked if he could get a place in the king’s household, the king was so glad he was ready to jump and dance as he stood on the steps.

Well, they said, perhaps he might get a place there.

“Aye,” said the lad, “but I must have good stable-room for my horse, and fodder that one can trust.”

Yes! he should have meadow-hay and oats, as much as Dapple could cram, and all the other knights had to lead their horses out of the stable that Dapplegrim might stand alone, and have it all to himself.

But it wasn’t long before all the others in the king’s household began to be jealous of the lad, and there was no end to the bad things they would have done to him, if they had only dared. At last they thought of telling the king he had said he was man enough to set the king’s daughter free—whom the Troll had long since carried away into the hill—if he only chose. The King called the lad before him, and said he had heard the lad said he was good to do so and so; so now he must go and do it. If he did it he knew how the king had promised his daughter and half the kingdom, and that promise would be faithfully kept; if he didn’t, he should be killed.

The lad kept on saying he never said any such thing; but it was no good,—the king wouldn’t even listen to him; and so the end of it was, he was forced to say he’d go and try.

So he went into the stable, down in the mouth and heavy-hearted, and then Dapplegrim asked him at once why he was in such dumps.

Then the lad told him all, and how he couldn’t tell which way to turn,—

“For as for setting the Princess free, that’s downright stuff.”

“Oh! but it might be done, perhaps,” said Dapplegrim. “I’ll help you through; but you must first have me well shod. You must go and ask for ten pound of iron and twelve pound of steel for the shoes, and one smith to hammer and another to hold.”

Yes, the lad did that, and got for answer “Yes!” He got both the iron and the steel, and the smiths, and so Dapplegrim was shod both strong and well, and off went the lad from the court-yard in a cloud of dust.

But when he came to the hill into which the Princess had been carried, the pinch was how to get up the steep wall of rock where the Troll’s cave was, in which the Princess had been hid. For you must know the hill stood straight up and down right on end, as upright as a house-wall, and as smooth as a sheet of glass.

The first time the lad went at it he got a little way up; but then Dapple’s forelegs slipped, and down they went again, with a sound like thunder on the hill.

The second time he rode at it he got some way further up; but then one foreleg slipped, and down they went with a crash like a landslip.

But the third time Dapple said,—

“Now we must show our mettle;” and went at it again till the stones flew heaven-high about them, and so they got up.

Then the lad rode right into the cave at full speed and caught up the Princess, and threw her over his saddle-bow, and out and down again before the Troll had time even to get on his legs; and so the Princess was freed.

When the lad came back to the palace, the king was both happy and glad to get his daughter back; that you may well believe; but some how or other, though I don’t know how, the others about the court had so brought it about that the king was angry with the lad after all.

“Thanks you shall have for freeing my Princess,” said he to the lad, when he brought the Princess into the hall, and made his bow.

“She ought to be mine as well as yours; for you’re a word-fast man, I hope,” said the lad.

“Aye, aye!” said the king, “have her you shall, since I said it; but first of all, you must make the sun shine into my palace hall.”

Now you must know there was a high steep ridge of rock close outside the windows, which threw such a shade over the hall that never a sunbeam shone into it.

“That wasn’t in our bargain,” answered the lad; “but I see this is past praying against; I must e’en go and try my luck, for the Princess I must and will have.”

So down he went to Dapple, and told him what the king wanted, and Dapplegrim thought it might easily be done, but first of all he must be new shod; and for that ten pound of iron, and twelve pound of steel besides, were needed, and two smiths, one to hammer and the other to hold, and then they’d soon get the sun to shine into the palace hall.

So when the lad asked for all these things, he got them at once—the king couldn’t say nay for very shame; and so Dapplegrim got new shoes, and such shoes! Then the lad jumped upon his back, and off they went again; and for every leap that Dapplegrim gave, down sank the ridge fifteen ells into the earth, and so they went on till there was nothing left of the ridge for the king to see.

When the lad got back to the king’s palace, he asked the king if the Princess were not his now; for now no one could say that the sun didn’t shine into the hall. But then the others set the king’s back up again, and he answered the lad should have her of course, he had never thought of any thing else; but first of all he must get as grand a horse for the bride to ride on to church as the bridegroom had himself.

The lad said the king hadn’t spoken a word about this before, and that he thought he had now fairly earned the Princess; but the king held to his own; and more, if the lad couldn’t do that he should lose his life; that was what the king said. So the lad went down to the stable in doleful dumps, as you may well fancy, and there he told Dapplegrim all about it; how the king had laid that task on him, to find the bride as good a horse as the bridegroom had himself, else he would lose his life.

“But that’s not so easy,” he said, “for your match isn’t to be found in the wide world.”

“Oh yes, I have a match,” said Dapplegrim; “but ’tisn’t so easy to find him, for he abides in Hell. Still, we’ll try. And now you must go up to the king and ask for new shoes for me, ten pound of iron, and twelve pound of steel; and two smiths, one to hammer and one to hold; and mind you see that the points and ends of these shoes are sharp; and twelve sacks of rye, and twelve sacks of barley, and twelve slaughtered oxen, we must have with us; and mind, we must have the twelve ox-hides, with twelve hundred spikes driven into each; and, let me see, a big tar-barrel;—that’s all we want.”

So the lad went up to the king and asked for all that Dapplegrim had said, and the king again thought he couldn’t say nay, for shame’s sake, and so the lad got all he wanted.

Well, he jumped up on Dapplegrim’s back, and rode away from the palace, and when he had ridden far far over hill and heath, Dapple asked,—

“Do you hear anything?”

“Yes, I hear an awful hissing and rustling up in the air,” said the lad; “I think I’m getting afraid.”

“That’s all the wild birds that fly through the wood. They are sent to stop us; but just cut a hole in the corn-sacks, and then they’ll have so much to do with the corn, they’ll forget us quite.”