Chapter VIII: Front Matter (8)

Yes! the lad did that; he cut holes in the corn-sacks, so that the rye and barley ran out on all sides. Then all the wild birds that were in the wood came flying round them so thick that the sunbeams grew dark; but as soon as they saw the corn, they couldn’t keep to their purpose, but flew down and began to pick and scratch at the rye and barley, and after that, they began to fight among themselves. As for Dapplegrim and the lad, they forgot all about them, and did them no harm.

So the lad rode on and on—far far over mountain and dale, over sand-hills and moor. Then Dapplegrim began to prick up his ears again, and at last he asked the lad if he heard anything?

“Yes! now I hear such an ugly roaring and howling in the wood all round, it makes me quite afraid.”

“Ah?” said Dapplegrim, “that’s all the wild beasts that range through the wood, and they’re sent out to stop us. But just cast out the twelve carcasses of the oxen, that will give them enough to do, and so they’ll forget us outright.”

Yes! the lad cast out the carcasses, and then all the wild beasts in the wood, both bears, and wolves, and lions—all fell beasts of all kinds—came after them. But when they saw the carcasses, they began to fight for them among themselves, till blood flowed in streams; but Dapplegrim and the lad they quite forgot.

So the lad rode far away, and they changed the landscape many, many times, for Dapplegrim didn’t let the grass grow under him, as you may fancy. At last Dapple gave a great neigh.

“Do you hear anything?” he said.

“Yes, I hear something like a colt neighing loud, a long, long way off,” answered the lad.

“That’s a full-grown colt then,” said Dapplegrim, “if we hear him neigh so loud such a long way off.”

After that they travelled a good bit, changing the landscape once or twice, maybe. Then Dapplegrim gave another neigh.

“Now listen, and tell me if you hear anything,” he said.

“Yes, now I hear a neigh like a full-grown horse,” answered the lad.

“Aye! aye!” said Dapplegrim, “you’ll hear him once again soon, and then you’ll hear he’s got a voice of his own.”

So they travelled on and on, and changed the landscape once or twice, perhaps, and then Dapplegrim neighed the third time; but before he could ask the lad if he heard anything, something gave such a neigh across the heathy hill-side, the lad thought hill and rock would surely be rent asunder.

“Now he’s here!” said Dapplegrim; “make haste, now, and throw the ox hides, with the spikes in them, over me, and throw down the tar-barrel on the plain; then climb up into that great spruce-fir yonder. When it comes, fire will flash out of both nostrils, and then the tar-barrel will catch fire. Now, mind what I say. If the flame rises, I win; if it falls, I lose; but if you see me winning, take and cast the bridle—you must take it off me—over its head, and then it will be tame enough.”

So just as the lad had done throwing the ox hides, with the spikes, over Dapplegrim, and had cast down the tar-barrel on the plain, and had got well up into the spruce-fir, up galloped a horse, with fire flashing out of his nostrils, and the flame caught the tar-barrel at once. Then Dapplegrim and the strange horse began to fight till the stones flew heaven high. They fought, and bit, and kicked, both with fore-feet and hind-feet, and sometimes the lad could see them, and sometimes he couldn’t; but at last the flame began to rise; for wherever the strange horse kicked or bit, he met the spiked hides, and at last he had to yield. When the lad saw that, he wasn’t long in getting down from the tree, and in throwing the bridle over its head, and then it was so tame you could hold it with a pack-thread.

And what do you think? that horse was dappled too, and so like Dapplegrim, you couldn’t tell which was which. Then the lad bestrode the new Dapple he had broken, and rode home to the palace, and old Dapplegrim ran loose by his side. So when he got home, there stood the king out in the yard.

“Can you tell me now,” said the lad, “which is the horse I have caught and broken, and which is the one I had before. If you can’t, I think your daughter is fairly mine.”

Then the king went and looked at both Dapples, high and low, before and behind, but there wasn’t a hair on one which wasn’t on the other as well.

“No,” said the king, “that I can’t; and since you’ve got my daughter such a grand horse for her wedding, you shall have her with all my heart. But still we’ll have one trial more, just to see whether you’re fated to have her. First, she shall hide herself twice, and then you shall hide yourself twice. If you can find out her hiding-place, and she can’t find out yours, why then you’re fated to have her, and so you shall have her.”

“That’s not in the bargain either,” said the lad; “but we must just try, since it must be so;” and so the Princess went off to hide herself first.

So she turned herself into a duck, and lay swimming on a pond that was close to the palace. But the lad only ran down to the stable, and asked Dapplegrim what she had done with herself.

“Oh, you only need to take your gun,” said Dapplegrim, “and go down to the brink of the pond, and aim at the duck which lies swimming about there, and she’ll soon show herself.”

So the lad snatched up his gun and ran off to the pond. “I’ll just take a pop at this duck,” he said, and began to aim at it.

“Nay, nay, dear friend, don’t shoot. It’s I,” said the Princess.

So he had found her once.

The second time the Princess turned herself into a loaf of bread, and laid herself on the table among four other loaves; and so like was she to the others, no one could say which was which.

But the lad went again down to the stable to Dapplegrim, and said how the Princess had hidden herself again, and he couldn’t tell at all what had become of her.

“Oh, just take and sharpen a good breadknife,” said Dapplegrim, “and do as if you were going to cut in two the third loaf on the left hand of those four loaves which are lying on the dresser in the king’s kitchen, and you’ll find her soon enough.”

Yes! the lad was down in the kitchen in no time, and began to sharpen the biggest breadknife he could lay hands on; then he caught hold of the third loaf on the left hand, and put the knife to it, as though he was going to cut it in two.

“I’ll just have a slice off this loaf,” he said.

“Nay, dear friend,” said the Princess, “don’t cut. It’s I.”

So he had found her twice.

Then he was to go and hide; but he and Dapplegrim had settled it all so well beforehand, it wasn’t easy to find him. First he turned himself into a tick, and hid himself in Dapplegrim’s left nostril; and the Princess went about hunting him everywhere, high and low; at last she wanted to go into Dapplegrim’s stall, but he began to bite and kick, so that she daren’t go near him, and so she couldn’t find the lad.

“Well,” she said, “since I can’t find you, you must show where you are yourself;” and in a trice the lad stood there on the stable floor.

The second time Dapplegrim told him again what to do; and then he turned himself into a clod of earth, and stuck himself between Dapple’s hoof and shoe on the near forefoot. So the Princess hunted up and down, out and in, everywhere; at last she came into the stable, and wanted to go into Dapplegrim’s loose-box. This time he let her come up to him, and she pried high and low, but under his hoofs she couldn’t come, for he stood firm as a rock on his feet, and so she couldn’t find the lad.

“Well; you must just show yourself, for I’m sure I can’t find you,” said the Princess, and as she spoke the lad stood by her side on the stable floor.

“Now you are mine indeed,” said the lad; “for now you can see I’m fated to have you.” This he said both to the father and daughter.

“Yes; it is so fated,” said the king; “so it must be.”

Then they got ready the wedding in right down earnest, and lost no time about it; and the lad got on Dapplegrim, and the Princess on Dapplegrim’s match, and then you may fancy they were not long on their way to the church.

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THE SEVEN FOALS
]

THE SEVEN FOALS.

ONCE on a time there was a poor couple who lived in a wretched hut, far, far away in the wood. How they lived I can’t tell, but I’m sure it was from hand to mouth, and hard work even then; but they had three sons, and the youngest of them was Boots, of course, for he did little else than lie there and poke about in the ashes.

So one day the eldest lad said he would go out to earn his bread, and he soon got leave, and wandered out into the world. There he walked and walked the whole day, and when evening drew in, he came to a king’s palace, and there stood the king out on the steps, and asked whither he was bound.

“Oh, I’m going about, looking after a place,” said the lad.

“Will you serve me?” asked the king, “and watch my seven foals. If you can watch them one whole day, and tell me at night what they eat and what they drink, you shall have the Princess to wife, and half my kingdom; but if you can’t, I’ll cut three red stripes out of your back. Do you hear?”

Yes! that was an easy task, the lad thought, he’d do that fast enough, never fear.

So next morning, as soon as the first peep of dawn came, the king’s coachman let out the seven foals. Away they went and the lad after them. You may fancy how they tore over hill and dale, through bush and bog. When the lad had run so a long time, he began to get weary, and when he had held on a while longer, he had more than enough of his watching, and just there, he came to a cleft in a rock, where an old hag sat and spun with a distaff. As soon as she saw the lad who was running after the foals till the sweat ran down his brow, this old hag bawled out,—

“Come hither, come hither, my pretty son, and let me comb your hair.”

Yes! the lad was willing enough; so he sat down in the cleft of the rock with the old hag, and laid his head on her lap, and she combed his hair all day whilst he lay there, and stretched his lazy bones.

So, when evening drew on, the lad wanted to go away.

“I may just as well toddle straight home now,” said he, “for it’s no use my going back to the palace.”

“Stop a bit till it’s dark,” said the old hag, “and then the king’s foals will pass by here again, and then you can run home with them, and then no one will know that you have lain here all day long, instead of watching the foals.”

So, when they came, she gave the lad a flask of water and a clod of turf. Those he was to show to the king, and say that was what his seven foals ate and drank.

“Have you watched true and well the whole day, now?” asked the King, when the lad came before him in the evening.

“Yes, I should think so,” said the lad.

“Then you can tell me what my seven foals eat and drink,” said the King.

“Yes!” and so the lad pulled out the flask of water and the clod of turf, which the old hag had given him.

“Here you see their meat, and here you see their drink,” said the lad.

But then the king saw plain enough how he had watched, and he got so wroth, he ordered his men to chase him away home on the spot; but first they were to cut three red stripes out of his back, and rub salt into them. So when the lad got home again, you may fancy what a temper he was in. He’d gone out once to get a place, he said, but he’d never do so again.

Next day the second son said he would go out into the world to try his luck. His father and mother said “No,” and bade him look at his brother’s back; but the lad wouldn’t give in; he held to his own, and at last he got leave to go, and set off. So when he had walked the whole day, he, too, came to the king’s palace. There stood the King out on the steps, and asked whither he was bound? and when the lad said he was looking about for a place, the King said he might have a place there, and watch his seven foals. But the king laid down the same punishment, and the same reward, as he had settled for his brother. Well, the lad was willing enough; he took the place at once with the King, for he thought he’d soon watch the foals, and tell the king what they ate and drank.

So, in the gray of the morning, the coachman let out the seven foals, and off they went again over hill and dale, and the lad after them. But the same thing happened to him as had befallen his brother. When he had run after the foals a long long time, till he was both warm and weary, he passed by the cleft in a rock, where an old hag sat and spun with a distaff, and she bawled out to the lad,—

“Come hither, come hither, my pretty son, and let me comb your hair.”

That the lad thought a good offer, so he let the foals run on their way, and sat down in the cleft with the old hag. There he sat, and there he lay, taking his ease, and stretching his lazy bones the whole day.

When the foals came back at nightfall, he too got a flask of water and clod of turf from the old hag to show to the king. But when the king asked the lad,—

“Can you tell me now, what my seven foals eat and drink?” and the lad pulled out the flask and the clod, and said,—

“Here you see their meat, and here you see their drink.”

Then the king got wroth again, and ordered them to cut three red stripes out of the lad’s back, and rub salt in, and chase him home that very minute. And so when the lad got home, he also told how he had fared, and said, he had gone out once to get a place, but he’d never do so any more.

The third day Boots wanted to set out; he had a great mind to try and watch the seven foals, he said. The others laughed at him, and made game of him, saying,—

“When we fared so ill, you’ll do it better—a fine joke; you look like it—you who have never done anything but lie there and poke about in the ashes.”

“Yes!” said Boots, “I don’t see why I shouldn’t go, for I’ve got it into my head, and can’t get it out again.”

And so, in spite of all the jeers of the others and the prayers of the old people, there was no help for it, and Boots set out.

So after he had walked the whole day, he too came at dusk to the king’s palace. There stood the king out on the steps, and asked whither he was bound.

“Oh,” said Boots, “I’m going about seeing if I can hear of a place.”

“Whence do you come, then?” said the King, for he wanted to know a little more about them before he took any one into his service.

So Boots said whence he came, and how he was brother to those two who had watched the king’s seven foals, and ended by asking if he might try to watch them next day.

“Oh, stuff!” said the King, for he got quite cross if he even thought of them; “if you’re brother to those two, you’re not worth much, I’ll be bound. I’ve had enough of such scamps.”

“Well,” said Boots; “but since I’ve come so far, I may just as well get leave to try, I too.”

“Oh, very well; with all my heart,” said the King, “if you _will_ have your back flayed, you’re quite welcome.”

“I’d much rather have the Princess,” said Boots.

So next morning, at gray of dawn, the coachman let out the seven foals again, and away they went over hill and dale, through bush and bog, and Boots behind them. And so, when he too had run a long while, he came to the cleft in the rock, where the old hag sat, spinning at her distaft. So she bawled out to Boots,—

“Come hither, come hither, my pretty son, and let me comb your hair.”

“Don’t you wish you may catch me,” said Boots. “Don’t you wish you may catch me,” as he ran along, leaping and jumping, and holding on by one of the foals’ tails. And when he had got well past the cleft in the rock, the youngest foal said,—

“Jump up on my back, my lad, for we’ve a long way before us still.”

So Boots jumped up on his back.

So they went on, and on, a long long way.

“Do you see anything now?” said the Foal.

“No,” said Boots.

So they went on a good bit farther.

“Do you see anything now?” asked the Foal.

“Oh no,” said the lad.

So when they had gone a great, great way farther—I’m sure I can’t tell how far—the Foal asked again,—

“Do you see anything now?”

“Yes,” said Boots; “now I see something that looks white—just like a tall, big birch trunk.”

“Yes,” said the Foal; “we’re going into that trunk.”

So when they got to the trunk, the eldest foal took and pushed it on one side, and then they saw a door where it had stood, and inside the door was a little room, and in the room there was scarce anything but a little fire-place and one or two benches; but behind the door hung a great rusty sword and a little pitcher.

“Can you brandish the sword?” said the Foals; “try.”

So Boots tried, but he couldn’t; then they made him take a pull at the pitcher; first once, then twice, and then thrice, and then he could wield it like anything.

“Yes,” said the Foals, “now you may take the sword with you, and with it you must cut off all our seven heads on your wedding-day, and then we’ll be princes again as we were before. For we are brothers of that Princess whom you are to have when you can tell the king what we eat and drink; but an ugly Troll has thrown this shape over us. Now mind, when you have hewn off our heads, to take care to lay each head at the tail of the trunk which it belonged to before, and then the spell will have no more power over us.”

Yes! Boots promised all that, and then on they went.

And when they had travelled a long long way, the Foal asked,—

“Do you see anything?”

“No,” said Boots.

So they travelled a good bit still.

“And now?” asked the Foal.

“No, I see nothing,” said Boots.

So they travelled many many miles again, over hill and dale.

“Now then,” said the Foal, “do you see anything now?”

“Yes,” said Boots, “now I see something like a blue stripe, far, far away.”

“Yes,” said the Foal, “that’s a river we’ve got to cross.”

Over the river was a long grand bridge; and when they had got over to the other side, they travelled on a long, long way. At last the Foal asked again,—

“If Boots didn’t see anything?”

“Yes, this time he saw something that looked black far, far away, just as though it were a church steeple.”

“Yes,” said the Foal, “that’s where we’re going to turn in.”

So when the foals got into the churchyard, they became men again, and looked like Princes, with such fine clothes that it glistened from them; and so they went into the church, and took the bread and wine from the priest who stood at the altar. And Boots he went in too; but when the priest had laid his hands on the Princes, and given them the blessing, they went out of the church again, and Boots went out too; but he took with him a flask of wine and a wafer. And as soon as ever the seven Princes came out into the churchyard, they were turned into foals again, and so Boots got up on the back of the youngest, and so they all went back the same way that they had come, only they went much, much faster. First they crossed the bridge, next they passed the trunk, and then they passed the old hag, who sat at the cleft and span, and they went by her so fast, that Boots couldn’t hear what the old hag screeched after him; but he heard so much as to know she was in an awful rage.

It was almost dark when they got back to the palace, and the King himself stood out on the steps and waited for them.

“Have you watched well and true the whole day?” said he to Boots.

“I’ve done my best,” answered Boots.

“Then you can tell me what my seven foals eat and drink,” said the King.

Then Boots pulled out the flask of wine and the wafer, and showed them to the King.

“Here you see their meat, and here you see their drink,” said he.

“Yes,” said the King, “you have watched true and well, and you shall have the Princess and half the kingdom.”

So they made ready the wedding-feast, and the King said it should be such a grand one, it should be the talk far and near.

But when they sat down to the bridal feast, the bridegroom got up and went down to the stable, for he said he had forgotten something, and must go to fetch it. And when he got down there, he did as the foals had said, and hewed their heads off all seven, the eldest first, and the others after him; and at the same time he took care to lay each head at the tail of the foal to which it belonged; and as he did this, lo! they all became Princes again.

So when he went into the bridal hall with the seven princes, the King was so glad he both kissed Boots and patted him on the back, and his bride was still more glad of him than she had been before.

“Half the kingdom you have got already,” said the King, “and the other half you shall have after my death; for my sons can easily get themselves lands and wealth, now they are princes again.”

And so, like enough, there was mirth and fun at that wedding. I was there too; but there was no one to care for poor me; and so I got nothing but a bit of bread and butter, and I laid it down on the stove, and the bread was burnt and the butter ran, and so I didn’t get even the smallest crumb. Wasn’t that a great shame?

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THE WIDOW’S SON.

ONCE on a time there was a poor, poor widow who had an only son. She dragged on with the boy till he had been confirmed, and then she said she couldn’t feed him any longer, he must just go out and earn his own bread. So the lad wandered out into the world, and when he had walked a day or so, a strange man met him.

“Whither away?” asked the man.

“Oh, I’m going out into the world to try and get a place,” said the lad.

“Will you come and serve me?” said the man.

“Oh yes; just as soon you as any one else,” said the lad.

“Well, you’ll have a good place with me,” said the man; “for you’ll only have to keep me company, and do nothing at all else beside.”

So the lad stopped with him, and lived on the fat of the land, both in meat and drink, and had little or nothing to do; but he never saw a living soul in that man’s house.

So one day the man said,—

“Now, I’m going off for eight days, and that time you’ll have to spend here all alone; but you must not go into any one of these four rooms here. If you do, I’ll take your life when I come back.”

“No,” said the lad,—he’d be sure not to do that. But when the man had been gone three or four days, the lad couldn’t bear it any longer, but went into the first room, and when he got inside he looked round, but he saw nothing but a shelf over the door where a bramble-bush rod lay.

Well, indeed! thought the lad; a pretty thing to forbid my seeing this.

So when the eight days were out, the man came home, and the first thing he said was,—

“You haven’t been into any of these rooms, of course.”

“No, no; that I haven’t,” said the lad.

“I’ll soon see that,” said the man, and went at once into the room where the lad had been.

“Nay, but you have been in here,” said he; “and now you shall lose your life.”

Then the lad begged and prayed so hard that he got off with his life, but the man gave him a good thrashing. And when it was over, they were as good friends as ever.

Some time after the man set off again, and said he should be away fourteen days; but before he went he forbade the lad to go into any of the rooms he had not been in before; as for that he had been in, he might go into that and welcome. Well, it was the same story over again, except that the lad stood out eight days before he went in. In this room, too, he saw nothing but a shelf over the door, and a big stone, and a pitcher of water on it. Well, after all, there’s not much to be afraid of my seeing here, thought the lad.

But when the man came back, he asked if he had been into any of the rooms. No, the lad hadn’t done anything of the kind.

“Well, well; I’ll soon see that,” said the man; and when he saw that the lad had been in them after all, he said,—

“Ah! now I’ll spare you no longer; now you must lose your life.”

But the lad begged and prayed for himself again, and so this time too he got off with stripes; though he got as many as his skin could carry. But when he got sound and well again, he led just as easy a life as ever, and he and the man were just as good friends.

So a while after the man was to take another journey, and now he said he should be away three weeks, and he forbade the lad anew to go into the third room, for if he went in there he might just make up his mind at once to lose his life. Then after fourteen days the lad couldn’t bear it, but crept into the room, but he saw nothing at all in there but a trap door on the floor; and when he lifted it up and looked down, there stood a great copper cauldron which bubbled and boiled away down there; but he saw no fire under it.

“Well, I should just like to know if it’s hot,” thought the lad, and stuck his finger down into the broth, and when he pulled it out again, lo! it was gilded all over. So the lad scraped and scrubbed it, but the gilding wouldn’t go off, so he bound a piece of rag round it; and when the man came back and asked what was the matter with his finger, the lad said he’d given it such a bad cut. But the man tore off the rag, and then he soon saw what was the matter with the finger. First he wanted to kill the lad outright, but when he wept and begged, he only gave him such a thrashing that he had to keep his bed three days. After that the man took down a pot from the wall, and rubbed him over with some stuff out of it, and so the lad was sound and fresh as ever.

So after a while the man started off again, and this time he was to be away a month. But before he went, he said to the lad, if he went into the fourth room he might give up all hope of saving his life.

Well, the lad stood out for two or three weeks, but then he couldn’t hold out any longer; he must and would go into that room, and so in he stole. There stood a great black horse tied up in a stall by himself, with a manger of red-hot coals at his head, and a truss of hay at his tail. Then the lad thought this all wrong, so he changed them about, and put the hay at his head. Then said the horse,—

“Since you are so good at heart as to let me have some food, I’ll set you free, that I will. For if the Troll comes back and finds you here, he’ll kill you outright. But now you must go up to the room which lies just over this, and take a coat of mail out of those that hang there; and mind, whatever you do, don’t take any of the bright ones, but the most rusty of all you see, that’s the one to take; and sword and saddle you must choose for yourself just in the same way.”

So the lad did all that; but it was a heavy load for him to carry them all down at once.

When he came back, the Horse told him to pull off his clothes and get into the cauldron which stood and boiled in the other room, and bathe himself there. “If I do,” thought the lad, “I shall look an awful fright;” but for all that, he did as he was told. So when he had taken his bath, he became so handsome and sleek, and as red and white as milk and blood, and much stronger than he had been before.

“Do you feel any change?” asked the Horse.

“Yes,” said the lad.

“Try to lift me then,” said the Horse.

Oh yes! he could do that, and as for the sword, he brandished it like a feather.

“Now saddle me,” said the Horse, “and put on the coat of mail, and then take the bramble-bush rod, and the stone, and the pitcher of water, and the pot of ointment, and then we’ll be off as fast as we can.”

So when the lad had got on the horse, off they went at such a rate, he couldn’t at all tell how they went. But when he had ridden awhile, the Horse said,

“I think I hear a noise; look round! can you see anything?”

“Yes; there are ever so many coming after us, at least a score,” said the lad.

“Aye, aye, that’s the Troll coming,” said the Horse; “now he’s after us with his pack.”

So they rode on a while, until those who followed were close behind them.

“Now throw your bramble-bush rod behind you, over your shoulder,” said the Horse; “but mind you throw it a good way off my back.”

So the lad did that, and all at once a close, thick bramble-wood grew up behind them. So the lad rode on a long, long time, while the Troll and his crew had to go home to fetch something to hew their way through the wood. But at last, the horse said again.

“Look behind you! can you see anything now?

“Yes, ever so many,” said the lad, “as many as would fill a large church.”

“Aye, aye, that’s the Troll and his crew,” said the Horse; “now he’s got more to back him; but now throw down the stone, and mind you throw it far behind me.”

And as soon as the lad did what the horse said, up rose a great black hill of rock behind him. So the Troll had to be off home to fetch something to mine his way through the rock; and while the Troll did that, the lad rode a good bit further on. But still the Horse begged him to look behind him, and then he saw a troop like a whole army behind him, and they glistened in the sunbeams.

“Aye, aye,” said the Horse, “that’s the Troll, and now he’s got his whole band with him, so throw the pitcher of water behind you, but mind you don’t spill any of it upon me.”

So the lad did that; but in spite of all the pains he took, he still spilt one drop on the horse’s flank. So it became a great deep lake; and because of that one drop, the horse found himself far out in it, but still he swam safe to land. But when the Trolls came to the lake, they lay down to drink it dry; and so they swilled and swilled till they burst.

“Now we’re rid of them,” said the Horse.

So when they had gone a long long while, they came to a green patch in a wood.

“Now strip off all your arms,” said the Horse, “and only put on your ragged clothes, and take the saddle off me, and let me loose, and hang all my clothing and your arms up inside that great hollow lime-tree yonder. Then make yourself a wig of fir-moss, and go up to the king’s palace which lies close here, and ask for a place. Whenever you need me, only come here and shake the bridle, and I’ll come to you.”

Yes! the lad did all his Horse told him, and as soon as ever he put on the wig of moss he became so ugly, and pale, and miserable to look at, no one would have known him again. Then he went up to the king’s palace, and begged first for leave to be in the kitchen, and bring in wood and water for the cook, but then the kitchen-maid asked him—

“Why do you wear that ugly wig? Off with it. I won’t have such a fright in here.”

“No, I can’t do that,” said the lad; “for I’m not quite right in my head.”

“Do you think, then, I’ll have you in here about the food,” cried the cook. “Away with you to the coachman; you’re best fit to go and clean the stable.”

But when the coachman begged him to take his wig off, he got the same answer, and he wouldn’t have him either.

“You’d best go down to the gardener,” said he; “you’re best fit to go about and dig in the garden.”

So he got leave to be with the gardener, but none of the other servants would sleep with him, and so he had to sleep by himself under the steps of the summer-house. It stood upon beams, and had a high staircase. Under that he got some turf for his bed, and there he lay as well as he could.

So, when he had been some time at the palace, it happened one morning, just as the sun rose, that the lad had taken off his wig, and stood and washed himself, and then he was so handsome, it was a joy to look at him.

So the Princess saw from her window the lovely gardener’s boy, and thought she had never seen any one so handsome. Then she asked the gardener why he lay out there under the steps.

“Oh,” said the gardener, “none of his fellow-servants will sleep with him; that’s why.”

“Let him come up to-night, and lie at the door inside my bed-room, and then they’ll not refuse to sleep with him any more,” said the Princess.

So the gardener told that to the lad.

“Do you think I’ll do any such thing?” said the lad. “Why they’d say next there was something between me and the Princess.”

“Yes,” said the gardener, “you’ve good reason to fear any such thing, you who are so handsome.”

“Well, well,” said the lad, “since it’s her will, I suppose I must go.”

So, when he was to go up the steps in the evening, he tramped and stamped so on the way, that they had to beg him to tread softly lest the King should come to know it. So he came into the Princess’ bed-room, lay down, and began to snore at once. Then the Princess said to her maid,—

“Go gently, and just pull his wig off;” and she went up to him.

But just as she was going to whisk it off, he caught hold of it with both hands, and said she should never have it. After that he lay down again, and began to snore. Then the Princess gave her maid a wink, and this time she whisked off the wig; and there lay the lad so lovely, and white and red, just as the Princess had seen him in the morning sun.

After that the lad slept every night in the Princess’ bed-room.

But it wasn’t long before the King came to hear how the gardener’s lad slept every night in the Princess’ bed-room; and he got so wroth he almost took the lad’s life. He didn’t do that, however, but threw him into the prison tower; and as for his daughter, he shut her up in her own room, whence she never got leave to stir day or night. All that she begged, and all that she prayed, for the lad and herself, was no good. The King was only more wroth than ever.

Some time after came a war and uproar in the land, and the king had to take up arms against another king who wished to take the kingdom from him. So when the lad heard that, he begged the gaoler to go to the king and ask for a coat of mail and a sword, and for leave to go to the war. All the rest laughed when the gaoler told his errand, and begged the king to let him have an old worn-out suit, that they might have the fun of seeing such a wretch in battle. So he got that, and an old broken-down hack besides, which went upon three legs, and dragged the fourth after it.

Then they went out to meet the foe; but they hadn’t got far from the palace before the lad got stuck fast in a bog with his hack. There he sat and dug his spurs in, and cried, “Gee up, gee up!” to his hack. And all the rest had their fun out of this, and laughed, and made game of the lad as they rode past him. But they were scarcely gone, before he ran to the lime-tree, threw on his coat of mail, and shook the bridle, and there came the horse in a trice, and said,—

“Do now your best, and I’ll do mine.”

But when the lad came up the battle had begun, and the king was in a sad pinch; but no sooner had the lad rushed into the thick of it than the foe was beaten back, and put to flight. The king and his men wondered and wondered who it could be who had come to help them, but none of them got so near him as to be able to talk to him, and as soon as the fight was over he was gone. When they went back, there sat the lad still in the bog, and dug his spurs into his three-legged hack, and they all laughed again.

“No! only just look,” they said; “there the fool sits still.”

The next day when they went out to battle, they saw the lad sitting there still, so they laughed again, and made game of him; but as soon as ever they had ridden by, the lad ran again to the lime-tree, and all happened as on the first day. Every one wondered what strange champion it could be that had helped them, but no one got so near him as to say a word to him; and no one guessed it could be the lad; that’s easy to understand.

So when they went home at night, and saw the lad still sitting there on his hack, they burst out laughing at him again, and one of them shot an arrow at him and hit him in the leg. So he began to shriek and to bewail; ’twas enough to break one’s heart; and so the king threw his pocket-handkerchief to him to bind his wound.

When they went out to battle the third day, the lad still sat there.

“Gee up! gee up!” he said to his hack.

“Nay, nay,” said the king’s men; “if he won’t stick there till he’s starved to death.”

And then they rode on, and laughed at him till they were fit to fall from their horses. When they were gone, he ran again to the lime, and came up to the battle just in the very nick of time. This day he slew the enemy’s king, and then the war was over at once.

When the battle was over, the king caught sight of his handkerchief, which the strange warrior had bound round his leg, and so it wasn’t hard to find him out. So they took him with great joy between them to the palace, and the Princess, who saw him from her window, got so glad, no one can believe it.

“Here comes my own true love,” she said.

Then he took the pot of ointment and rubbed himself on the leg, and after that he rubbed all the wounded, and so they all got well again in a moment.

So he got the Princess to wife; but when he went down into the stable where his horse was on the day the wedding was to be, there it stood so dull and heavy, and hung its ears down, and wouldn’t eat its corn. So when the young king—for he was now a king, and had got half the kingdom—spoke to him, and asked what ailed him, the Horse said,—

“Now I have helped you on, and now I won’t live any longer. So just take the sword, and cut my head off.”

“No, I’ll do nothing of the kind,” said the young king; “but you shall have all you want, and rest all your life.”

“Well,” said the Horse, “if you don’t do as I tell you, see if I don’t take your life somehow.”

So the king had to do what he asked; but when he swung the sword and was to cut his head off, he was so sorry he turned away his face, for he would not see the stroke fall. But as soon as ever he had cut off the head, there stood the loveliest Prince on the spot where the horse had stood.

“Why, where in all the world did you come from?” asked the king.

“It was I who was a horse,” said the Prince; “for I was king of that land whose king you slew yesterday. He it was who threw this Troll’s shape over me, and sold me to the Troll. But now he is slain I get my own again, and you and I will be neighbour kings, but war we will never make on one another.”

And they didn’t either; for they were friends as long as they lived, and each paid the other very many visits.

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BUSHY BRIDE.

ONCE on a time there was a widower, who had a son and a daughter by his first marriage.

Both were good children, and loved each other dearly. Some time after the man married a widow, who had a daughter by her first husband, and she was both ugly and bad, like her mother. So from the day the new wife came into the house there was no peace for her step-children in any corner; and at last the lad thought he’d best go out into the world, and try to earn his own bread. And when he had wandered a while he came to a king’s palace, and got a place under the coachman, and quick and willing he was, and the horses he looked after were so sleek and clean that their coats shone again.

But the sister who staid at home was treated worse than bad; both her step-mother and stepsister were always at her, and wherever she went, and whatever she did, they scolded and snarled so, the poor lassie hadn’t an hour’s peace. All the hard work she was forced to do, and early and late she got nothing but bad words, and little food besides.

So one day they had sent her to the burn to fetch water; and what do you think? up popped an ugly, ugly head out of the pool, and said,—

“Wash me, you lassie.”

“Yes, with all my heart I’ll wash you,” said the lassie.

So she began to wash and scrub the ugly head; but truth to say, she thought it nasty work.

“Well, as soon as she had done washing it, up popped another head out of the pool, and this was uglier still.

“Brush me, you lassie,” said the head.

“Yes, with all my heart I’ll brush you.”

And with that she took in hand the matted locks, and you may fancy she hadn’t very pleasant work with them.

But when she had got over that, if a third head didn’t pop out of the pool, and this was far more ugly and loathsome than both the others put together.

“Kiss me, you lassie.”

“Yes, I’ll kiss you,” said the lassie, and she did it too, though she thought it the worst work she had ever had to do in her life.

Then the heads began to chatter together, and each asked what they should do for the lassie who was so kind and gentle.

“That she be the prettiest lassie in the world, and as fair as the bright day,” said the first head.

“That gold shall drop from her hair, every time she brushes it,” said the second head.

“That gold shall fall from her mouth every time she speaks,” said the third head.

So when the lassie came home looking so lovely, and beaming as the bright day itself; her step-mother and her stepsister got more and more cross, and they got worse still when she began to talk, and they saw how golden guineas fell from her mouth. As for the step-mother, she got so mad with rage, she chased the lassie into the pig-sty. That was the right place for all her gold stuff, but as for coming into the house, she wouldn’t hear of it.

Well, it wasn’t long before the step-mother wished her own daughter to go to the burn to fetch water. So when she came to the water’s edge with her buckets, up popped the first head.

“Wash me, you lassie,” it said.

“The Deil wash you,” said the stepdaughter. So the second head popped up.

“Brush me, you lassie,” it said.

“The Deil brush you,” said the stepdaughter.

So down it went to the bottom, and the third head popped up.

“Kiss me, you lassie,” said the head.

“The Deil kiss you, you pig’s-snout,” said the girl.

Then the heads chattered together again, and asked what they should do to the girl who was so spiteful and cross-grained; and they all agreed she should have a nose four ells long, and a snout three ells long, and a pine bush right in the midst of her forehead, and every time she spoke, ashes were to fall out of her mouth.

So when she got home with her buckets, she bawled out to her mother—

“Open the door.”

“Open it yourself, my darling child,” said the mother.

“I can’t reach it because of my nose,” said the daughter.

So, when the mother came out and saw her, you may fancy what a way she was in, and how she screamed and groaned; but, for all that, there were the nose and the snout and the pine bush, and they got no smaller for all her grief.

Now the brother, who had got the place in the King’s stable, had taken a little sketch of his sister, which he carried away with him, and every morning and every evening he knelt down before the picture and prayed to Our Lord for his sister, whom he loved so dearly. The other grooms had heard him praying, so they peeped through the key-hole of his room, and there they saw him on his knees before the picture. So they went about saying how the lad every morning and every evening knelt down and prayed to an idol which he had, and at last they went to the king himself and begged him only to peep through the key-hole, and then His Majesty would see the lad, and what things he did. At first the king wouldn’t believe it, but at last they talked him over, and he crept on tiptoe to the door and peeped in. Yes, there was the lad on his knees before the picture, which hung on the wall, praying with clasped hands.

“Open the door!” called out the King; but the lad didn’t hear him.

So the King called out in a louder voice, but the lad was so deep in his prayers he couldn’t hear him this time either.

“OPEN THE DOOR, I SAY!” roared out the King; “It’s I the King who want to come in.”

Well, up jumped the lad and ran to the door and unlocked it, but in his hurry he forgot to hide the picture.

But when the King came in and saw the picture, he stood there as if he were fettered, and couldn’t stir from the spot, so lovely he thought the picture.

“So lovely a woman there isn’t in all the wide world,” said the King.

But the lad told him she was his sister whom he had drawn, and if she wasn’t prettier than that, at least she wasn’t uglier.

“Well, if she’s so lovely,” said the King, “I’ll have her for my queen;” and then he ordered the lad to set off home that minute, and not be long on the road either. So the lad promised to make as much haste as he could, and started off from the King’s palace.

When the brother came home to fetch his sister, the step-mother and stepsister said they must go too. So they all set out, and the good lassie had a casket in which she kept her gold, and a little dog, whose name was “Little Flo;” those two things were all her mother left her. And when they had gone a while, they came to a lake which they had to cross; so the brother sat down at the helm, and the step-mother and the two girls sat in the bow forward, and so they sailed a long, long way.

At last they caught sight of land.

“There,” said the brother, “where you see the white strand yonder, there’s where we’re to land;” and as he said this he pointed across the water.

“What is it my brother says?” asked the good lassie.

“He says you must throw your casket overboard,” said the step-mother.

“Well, when my brother says it, I must do it,” said the lassie, and overboard went the casket,

When they had sailed a bit further, the brother pointed again across the lake.

“There you see the castle we’re going to.”

“What is it my brother says?” asked the lassie.