Chapter I: The Keg Moved as If It Had Legs (1)

II. HE CARRIED IT HOME III. MOTHER AND SON ENJOYED THEMSELVES IV. SWALLOWED THE LITTLE FELLOW V. STUCK THE POINT INTO THE SOLDIER’S LEG VI. WAS PUSHED THROUGH THE VENTILATOR ]

“Lord have mercy, this place is haunted,” cried the poor woman, and, flinging away the bag, she ran for her life.

Hop-o’-my-Thumb was greatly pleased and crawled out of the piece of meat.

At that moment he saw a soldier who had had too much to drink staggering along, so he quickly hid himself in a mole-hole. The soldier fell down on the hole and went to sleep.

Hop-o’-my-Thumb pulled his knife out of his pocket and stuck the point into the soldier’s leg. The latter bounded on to his feet, stamped savagely on the hole, and returned home.

Hop-o’-my-Thumb was now a prisoner; the soldier had stamped the ground so hard that it was impossible to get out. He heard people coming down the road, and on overhearing their conversation, concluded they were robbers. He cried out, “Captain, if you will let me out of this hole, I will follow you and be your faithful servant.”

“What is this whispering I hear?” said the captain.

Every one listened attentively, and finally they were able to catch what little Hop-o’-my-Thumb was saying. They scraped the earth away, and Hop-o’-my-Thumb appeared. He was at once enrolled as a member of the band.

The same night the robbers went to a provision shop. Hop-o’-my-Thumb was pushed through the ventilator, and handed a number of cheeses through this opening. He then went to the cellar where the eggs were stored, but he made such a noise that the servant jumped out of bed to see what was happening. Quick as lightning, Hop-o’-my-Thumb crept under an egg. The servant was about to crush the egg with his foot, when the clock struck midnight. Hop-o’-my-Thumb felt himself lifted into the air. He was drawn out through the cellar window, and presently found himself at the door of his mother’s cottage. He knew that his fairy godmother had saved him, and from that day forward he never did anything to forfeit her protection.

THE EMPEROR’S PARROT

One day a parrot belonging to the Emperor Charlemagne escaped from its cage and could nowhere be found.

The Emperor, who was very fond of this parrot, which was a lovely bird, and could talk very well, promised a handsome reward for its recovery.

A peasant was fortunate enough to catch it one morning. “What luck to be able to see the Emperor,” he said, “and to be assured of being well received.”

Without further delay he talked the matter over with Caroline, his wife, in order to settle what he should wear and how he should behave at Court.

He decided to start on his journey the following Sunday.

He carefully brushed his wedding suit before putting it on, and thus in his Sunday best, with shining boots and chimney-pot hat, he set out for the Flemish town, carrying the parrot.

On his arrival at Ghent, he boldly entered the palace. Suddenly a loud voice cried, “Stop, peasant, do not approach a step nearer.”

It was the captain of the guard who tried to prevent our hero from entering.

The peasant was not to be so easily deterred and said determinedly, “I demand an audience with the Emperor.”

“What have you to say to him?” asked the captain.

“I am bringing back the Emperor’s parrot,” the peasant replied, and proudly drawing his coat-tails on one side he showed the cage containing the bird.

“Oh, that somewhat alters the case,” replied the captain, who knew that the Emperor was searching for the bird and would reward the finder handsomely. “Nevertheless,” he continued, “I shall not permit you to pass unless you promise to give me half the reward.”

“I agree,” said the peasant, and he went in.

When he was in the Emperor’s presence he gave him back the parrot as gallantly as he could. The Emperor was overjoyed to have his favourite bird again, and gave orders that the promised reward should be given to the peasant. But our hero said, “May I be allowed to make a suggestion?”

“Certainly,” said the Emperor; “ask what you will.”

“Very well, instead of giving me money, I beg you to give me a couple of blows.”

At first the Emperor and his courtiers were much astonished, and then they burst out laughing.

They naturally thought the man was joking, but seeing that he was quite serious and insisted, the Emperor gave him the two blows he desired.

The little peasant bowed respectfully and left the hall with a smile on his face. When a good distance away he could still hear the courtiers laughing. With an indifferent air he passed the gateway, having apparently quite forgotten his promise to the captain of the guard.

“Hallo! my good man,” cried the captain, “where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“I am going home,” he replied.

“Yes, but do you not remember that in order to gain an entrance you promised me half your reward?”

“It is true, you are right,” said the peasant, and turning round quite close to the captain, he gave him such a blow in the face that he saw stars. I leave you to imagine the captain’s anger.

“Scamp, good-for-nothing,” he cried. “I will pay you out for this. Arrest this vulgar person,” he ordered, “and lock him up in the prison.”

Our peasant, however, had no intention of being led like a lamb to the slaughter. He kicked and struggled violently, and made such an uproar in the guard-room that the Emperor heard it.

The latter soon arrived on the scene and was struck dumb on hearing that the peasant had had the effrontery to strike a

superior officer in the face. It was too much. The Emperor told the peasant what a very serious offence he had committed in flouting the military authority.

“Sir,” said the good man, “I have in no way flouted the authority of the guard.”

“Come, come,” said the Emperor, “how can you deny it, when you have even dared to strike the captain?”

“Sir, if I did it, it was at his own request,” replied the man coolly.

“What do you mean?”

“Sir, I could only obtain audience of your Majesty after having promised to give half my reward to the captain. Did I not receive two blows as reward, and ought I not to give him one of them? That is the whole matter; let your Majesty judge for himself.”

On hearing these words the Emperor turned to his courtiers and said, “I believe this peasant to be blessed with more than ordinary intelligence, and that he could render us great service in State affairs.”

Our hero returned home, and after a few days was summoned to the Court to take up an important office.

The captain of the guard, on the contrary, was dismissed in disgrace.

THE LITTLE BLACKSMITH VERHOLEN

The little blacksmith was seated on a low stool with his elbows on his anvil, a prey to gloomy thoughts.

Indeed, things were going very badly for him. He, who was formerly the merry wag of the village, scarcely dared to go out for fear of meeting his friends and acquaintances, whose indiscreet questions made him blush with shame.

Gone were the days when his anvil rang merrily under the blows of ten workmen from dawn till often far into the night. Gone also the days when the savoury smell of ham and sausages pervaded the house, and his cellar was well stocked with barrels of delightful Brussels beer. The workmen had all left; there was now barely enough work for one. There was dearth in the kitchen, and Smith’s brewer lived at the bottom of a brick well, under the walnut-tree in front of his door.

He had lost all his customers. It was useless to give him work, as he had no money with which to procure the necessary materials. Of iron there were a few rusty scraps in the corners. Of coal there was hardly enough to heat the oven for an hour, and he was unable to buy any more.

Yes! the village urchins spoke true when they sang outside his window in the evening:

Smith Verholen,
Smith Verholen,
Without wood and without coal,
Without iron and without lead,
Ah! is Smith Verholen dead?

Dead! No, he did not wish to die, however miserable he felt, for that would mean the end of all things, and one is dead such a long time!

He loved to live and to let live, and he still retained a grain of faith in the old proverb, “While there is life there is hope.”

When evening fell, Smith, who for obvious reasons had no thoughts of supper, was aroused from his dreams by a gentle knocking at the door.

No, that could not be an urchin playing him a trick, or a customer, as every one in the village knew of his distress. A stranger perhaps?

Smith got up, opened the door, and saw an old man carrying a carpenter’s bag and leading a donkey, on which sat a young woman, feeding her little baby. By force of habit, Smith said, “What can I do for you, my friend?”

“Smith,” replied the old man, “I know it is a late hour to trouble you; but we have come a very long way, and we have still a very long way to travel to-night. My donkey has cast a shoe; I beg you to shoe the beast at once, that we may continue our journey.”

“I would do so with pleasure, my friend,” said the blacksmith, “but I am very much afraid I have not a horseshoe left. You have no doubt noticed how poverty-stricken I am. However, come along.”

He immediately began to search right and left to see if he could discover a small piece of iron.

“Perhaps I shall find enough to shoe your donkey, and then I shall be very pleased to do what you ask.” He then turned to the young woman, who had dismounted, and said, “Rest yourself in the kitchen. If there is bread and milk in the larder, I pray you eat it. I possess very little, but what I have is at your service.”

Smith unearthed an old shoe from a heap of old iron; the donkey was soon tied up to the brake, and the fire was soon blazing with the help of the bellows. The shoe was tried on, put back into the fire, and then on to the anvil to round it with a stroke of the hammer, and everything was in order.

“What do I owe you, Smith?” asked the old man.

The blacksmith, who had noticed the stranger’s poor clothing and downtrodden shoes, shrugged his shoulders, and thought to himself, “Can I ask payment for such a small service from these poor creatures who have a long journey before them? I should be ashamed to do so, although I have not a penny to bless myself with.”

He answered, “You owe me nothing, my friend; I do it for you for pity’s sake.”

The old man’s eyes shone with a strange light, and in a solemn voice he said, “As you have helped me for the love of God, I grant you three wishes. Whatever you may ask of my wife, little child, and I, we will grant you.”

“Three wishes,” thought the smith; “no matter what I wish it will be granted. These poor creatures so miserably clothed have the power to grant them. Who can they be?”

Only half credulous, he wished that any one who sat in his chair should be unable to get up without his consent; that any one who had the audacity to climb up his walnut-tree should not come down unless he wished it; and, lastly, that anything that was in his purse should remain in it unless he wished otherwise.

“You might have wished for Heaven, and you wish for such childish things, but never mind, your wishes are granted. Adieu, and once again thank you for your kindness.”

In the darkening twilight, the trio set forth, and the smith standing at his threshold saw luminous circles shining round their heads. He then shut the door, locked it, and went to the kitchen to rest on the couch he had placed there. He had hardly taken off his coat when--tap, tap, tap--three short but loud knocks sounded at the door.

“Who is there?” asked the smith rather crossly.

No answer, but soon afterwards another knock.

“All right, who is there?” the smith cried louder.

“Rat-tat-tat.” Again the short hard blows rang on the wood, and only after asking “Who is it?” for the third time did Smith receive an answer.

“Open the door, Smith. He who is before your door brings you happiness and riches!”

As soon as the door was opened, the night air wafted in a strong smell of burning phosphorus, and a gentleman dressed in black from head to foot, limping heavily with one foot, came into the kitchen.

The gentleman had strange pointed ears, and a green light shone in his eyes.

“Smith,” began the stranger, “I know that poverty stares you in the face; you, who knew prosperity and plenty, must find life insupportable now that your larder is bare. You deserve a better fate. Solely out of compassion for you I have journeyed a hundred thousand miles. I bring you, if you will accept them at my hands, prosperity, riches, and happiness. Come”--so saying, the sombre man drew a piece of parchment from his pocket--“put your signature to this paper, and for seven years you will have as much iron and coal as you need to employ twenty workmen.”

Smith thought, “You are the Devil himself, or my name’s not Smith. It is not merely for the pleasure of possessing my signature that you will give me a seven years’ supply of iron and coal. You have something up your sleeve.”

In order to find out, he asked to read the document. There he found written in black and white, that after seven years the Devil would be master of Smith’s most treasured possession, his immortal soul.

However, our Smith was not unduly alarmed. “If I accept,” he thought, “I am saved and shall be able to laugh in the face of those who have despised me. If, on the other hand, I refuse, one day I shall kill myself in my despair, and I shall be in the

hands of the little black gentleman. The best thing to do is to sign the agreement. Later on I shall discover a means of saving my soul from Hell.”

Without further hesitation, he put his name to the paper, and even before the Devil departed, the miraculous took place.

His fire lighted itself, and a delicious joint of beef was roasting on the spit. On the table he found a large jug of foaming beer, all kinds of pastries, and, better than all, half a dozen carts drawn up at the door of the forge, from which about twenty workmen were silently unloading coal, wood, iron, lead, zinc, and even copper. They carried everything into the forge.

From early morning the forge again trembled under the strokes of the hammer. They often resounded even after the village slept.

Meanwhile the days flew by, days became weeks, weeks months, and months years. Before Smith had had time to think about it, the seven years had passed, and the Devil came to claim poor Smith’s soul.

“Hallo! Listen to me, Smith Verholen.

Don’t you remember that for seven years’ iron and coal
You sold to me your immortal soul?”

Smith was as unperturbed as though he were serving a customer. “Hallo! Good morning,” he cried, laughing. “How are you? You appear to be well fed, for you have a face like a butcher’s, and calves like a groom.”

The fallen angel was visibly impatient at this nonsense, and answered sharply, “You know what you sold to my master seven years ago. No more shuffling, follow me at once to Hell.”

“How should I have forgotten our agreement?” said Smith. “How could you think me guilty of such a thing? I am a man of honour, as I am about to convince you. Only I cannot go with you in my working clothes, and without washing my hands and brushing my hair. A moment’s patience. Rest a while in this chair. I shall be with you directly.”

The Devil, quite unsuspecting, sat down on the chair, and waited. A few minutes later Smith reappeared in his best clothes.

“Hallo! old fellow, have you rested long enough?” he asked. “I am quite ready to start.”

With a broad grin on his face, he watched the Devil’s vain efforts to rise.

“Oh, what has happened?” said the Devil. “It seems to me that black magic is also practised here. I cannot rise from this chair.”

“Yes, my friend,” said Smith, with the most innocent look, “it is a little joke of my own. Do you know what it means? That you will remain there at my pleasure.”

The Devil made frantic efforts to rise, but all in vain; he was at Smith’s mercy, and was as though screwed to the chair. This was hardly to his liking, and when he saw Smith heating an iron bar, and glancing at him significantly from time to time, he decided that his best course was to take it quietly.

“Smith,” he began in pleading tones, “listen to me. I will give you iron, wood, and coal for another seven years, but for the love of God let me get out of this chair.”

“I accept; you are free,” replied the other, rubbing his hands, and the Devil departed.

Now the blacksmith Verholen had as much iron and coal as he could wish. From dawn till evening the anvil shook under the strokes of the hammer. Again the days flew by, became weeks, months, then years, and one fine morning the same Devil came to Smith’s door, and cried in thundering tones, “Hallo! How now! Smith Verholen.

Don’t you remember that for seven years’ iron and coal
You sold to me your immortal soul?”

“Ha ha! there you are again,” said our friend, and he immediately took off his leather apron in preparation for a start. “You are a little later than the appointed time. I have such splendid walnuts, I should like to gather a little basketful to nibble on the way. I have heard that devils like nuts. Would you gather me a basketful, as you can climb so well? Come, will you do it?”

The Evil Spirit, seeing no cause for suspicion, climbed up the tree like a cat.

When Smith returned, he cried in jeering tones, “Hallo! are you coming down? Have you not gathered enough nuts? I am quite ready to start, you know.”

The little black gentleman, in spite of all his efforts, could not climb down from the branches. They closed round him as though they had taken root. Smith summoned his workmen and ordered them to burn the Devil’s feet with hot irons. When the martyrdom had continued some minutes, the Devil shouted to Smith:

“I implore you to make them stop. I will give you iron and coal for yet another seven years, if only you will let me climb down from this tree. Ooh! Ooh! my poor toes.”

“You are free as air,” answered Smith; and the Devil fled away as though pursued by a devil himself.

The years soon sped away, and this time Lucifer, accompanied by many other devils, came to fetch Smith’s soul. He was dressed in deep black, as though in mourning for his mother.

Smith greeted this important person very humbly, and exclaimed, “Bravo! bravo! I am very pleased at the prospective honour of travelling with such an august person. I am extremely sensible of this great favour.”

“Come, be quick; I have no time to waste in idle words,” the Devil replied. “You are awaited in my kingdom, where you will be treated with the honour you deserve! Ahem! If you think you can trick me as you did the other devil, you are very mistaken. Up you get, forward march!”

“Sire,” replied Smith very quietly, “I have heard say that you possess the power to make yourself as big as you like. I should like to know if it is true, as I never believe such foolish tales.”

“I most assuredly can,” said Satan with great dignity, “and to prove my words I will make myself as tall as the tower of the village church.”

He immediately grew so tall that he went through the roof, sparks darting from his eyes, and lighting up the countryside: houses, gardens, fields, and pasture land.

“I must admit it is truly marvellous, but could you make yourself small enough to go into my purse?”

“I can easily do that,” replied Satan, and in a trice he was in the little purse, the little enchanted purse, which was immediately shut and placed on the anvil.

“Ha ha! You did not bargain for that, did you, my friend?” said Smith. “Now you will receive a few gentle blows with the hammer.” Hearing this, all the devils flew away in disorder.

He summoned all his workmen, and each in turn pounded Lucifer with their hammer, so gently, so very gently, until the prisoner promised never to torment Smith again. On the other hand, he promised that he should always receive his supplies of coal, iron, and wood from Hell.

With a red-hot nail Smith burnt a little hole in the purse. “Sssst” it hissed, and the Devil made his escape and disappeared.

Again days became weeks, months, and years, and one day it was not a messenger from Hell who came to the forge, but Death, who is no respecter of persons, and Smith left the earth.

He was now in a strange land, the land up above. He found himself before a forked road. On the left he saw a wide, well-kept road with an avenue of trees and flowering shrubs. To the right a rough and narrow path overgrown with brambles and thorns. The wide road descended, and the narrow path seemed to ascend a mountain side in the direction of Heaven. Smith chose the wide road, and presently arrived before a high and gloomy gateway, on which was written in letters of fire, “Hell.”

“I am curious to see what it is like in there,” thought Smith, and he deliberately pulled the bell.

“Who is there?” said a voice from behind the door.

“Only a poor blacksmith who has just died.”

“What is your name?”

“John James Francis Lewis William Verholen.”

He had hardly uttered the word Verholen, when the door-keeper began to scream so loudly that all the devils, including Lucifer himself, ran to see what was the matter. All he could say was, “Smith Verholen is there; the terrible Smith Verholen.”

Then hundreds of evil spirits trembled and shivered so violently that the door creaked on its rusty hinges, and the windows of Hell rattled.

“If that is the state of things, I shall never succeed in getting inside,” said Smith, and he decided to retrace his steps, and to take the narrow path.

After walking some hours, he arrived before a splendid castle surmounted with high pointed turrets, and surrounded by a high wall, in which was a white carved doorway, on which was written in luminous letters, “This is the Gate of Paradise. Here enter the good and wise.”

Without hesitation, Smith decided to try his luck with the inhabitants of Heaven. He very carefully wiped his hands on his leather apron, and then knocked at the door. After a few minutes the grill in the door was opened, and an old man’s bearded face appeared. He asked in a pleasant but severe voice, “Your name?”

“John James Francis Lewis William Verholen,” our pilgrim replied, as he had done at the Gate of Hell.

“Smith Verholen,” cried St. Peter indignantly, “you are reckless boldness personified. How dare you come here? You sold your soul to the Devil. Your place is in the nethermost Hell.”

“That was my own idea, but they refused me admission. As I have come such a long way, I beseech you, good St. Peter, let me at least look through a crack in the door to catch a glimpse of the Divine radiance.”

“You shall never enter here,” said St. Peter, and he was about to close the grill, when a voice behind him said, “Little Peter, let that good fellow have a glimpse of Heaven.... I know him, he is very good-hearted. He gave shelter to Mary and me when we were fleeing into Egypt.”

St. Peter did not altogether approve, but dared not oppose St. Joseph’s wishes. He half opened the door, and Verholen put his head through the crack and looked in. As quick as thought our pilgrim threw his leather apron inside, and uttered all kinds of strange cries, such as “Ooh! boo! ooh! my poor head, you are crushing it. Ooh! ooh! my ear, my neck, my nose.” He pushed the door with his shoulder, and before St. Peter could stop him, he was seated on his leather apron, and cried, “Here I am, sitting on my own property, my friend. No one can turn me out.”

St. Joseph laughed heartily, and St. Peter himself was forced to acknowledge that Smith had played his part well.

So Smith remained in Heaven and had as much work to do as on earth. He had to repair the swords, breastplates, helmets, and shields which the archangels wore when they amused themselves by punishing the devils who became too bold.

This work was a pleasant pastime for Smith. In his spare moments he chatted a little with old friends he met in Paradise,

humble and simple folk like himself, such as the Girl without Hands, Hop-o’-my-Thumb, Little Red Riding Hood, the Babes in the Wood, Snowdrop, and Puss in Boots.

There was one thing which very much displeased Smith. He enjoyed the rice pudding with plenty of sugar, which was served in golden plates and eaten with silver spoons, and the heavenly scones with butter spread thickly. But he never had a drop to drink, never a hand at “whist” or “bridge.” He found that dull, so dull that sometimes he secretly wished himself back on earth, among his friends and acquaintances in his own village in Brabant.

It was Easter Eve, the bells of Heaven were ringing for the great feast. St. Peter came to Smith, and said to him, “As you are aware, Smith, to-morrow we fête the Lord’s Resurrection. On this occasion, the heavenly host goes forth in procession. All the saints and all the elect take part. I know you are very strong. Will you carry the large flag and walk at the head of the procession? You will go out by the principal gate, mount the fortifications, and continue straight ahead to the end of the Milk-and-Honey Avenue. Directly you hear the sound of the cannon, you will turn round. Every one in the procession will do the same, and, retracing their steps, re-enter Heaven.”

“Dear me,” thought Smith, “that may be my opportunity for returning to earth.” He placed himself in St. Peter’s hands and promised to do his best.

Easter dawned, High Mass was over, and the procession set forth. Right in front walked our Smith bearing the flag, then followed a countless host of cherubim, seraphim, and other angels led by St. Michael, seated on the flaming horse which drew Elisha’s chariot; then dressed in glittering armour, all mounted on flaming chargers, St. Martin, St. George, St. Victor, St. Maurice, St. Sebastian. All these had been warriors on earth. Then came the martyrs, confessors, hermits, and pilgrims--more than tongue could number; then followed the Blessed Virgin surrounded by seraphim; and, lastly, Our Lord Himself clothed in papal robes, under a golden canopy.

Smith did exactly as he was told; he went out by the Great Gate, mounted the fortifications of Heaven. He walked with great dignity and with measured tread until he reached the Milk-and-Honey Avenue. Then suddenly, “boom” the canon sounded, and was answered by all the echoes of Heaven. Smith turned round, all the procession did likewise and re-entered Paradise. When our standard-bearer found he was the last before the gate, he signed to an angel in front of him and begged him to hold the flag for a moment; he then turned round and disappeared to the left.

In a few hours he found himself on earth once more before the door of his smithy.

No one in Heaven grieved at his departure. Smith recommenced his happy life on earth, and from the words of the song which is still sung by Flemish children, one may conclude he is still alive.

Smith Verholen, Smith Verholen,
For seven years received wood and coal,
Iron, lead and copper,
From the devil Lucifer.
Smith Verholen may burn, may be knocked on the head,
But Smith Verholen is never dead.

BALTEN AND THE WOLF

Long, long ago, when the animals were able to speak, two brothers called Jack and Balten lived in a little hut in a dense and gloomy forest in Flanders.

Needless to say they were very poor or they would not have lived in this lonely wood.

One day, Jack was sitting at the window plaiting a whip, while Balten was at the fire preparing their supper. Suddenly a wolf rushed into the house with his mouth wide open and ran towards Jack. The latter, seeing his danger, looked to his brother for help. He had an inspiration and cried loudly: “Balten, pour! Balten, pour!” Balten understood what Jack meant. Quick as lightning he seized the saucepan and poured the boiling soup over the wolf.

The wolf fled out of the door howling with pain, for his back was terribly burnt, while Jack and Balten, having recovered from their fright, laughing heartily, watched him run off into the distance.

When the wolf, half dead with pain and shame, heard peals of laughter behind him, he turned round and shouted to them:

“Ah, ruffians, good-for-nothings and scoundrels, you are much amused, but wait; whichever one of you I see first I shall devour!” So saying he disappeared among the trees.

Shortly afterwards Jack went to gather acorns for their little pig. He was deep in the forest, when suddenly he saw a wolf a few yards in front of him, watching him from among the bushes.

Jack was very much frightened, especially as he saw scars on the wolf’s back, and thus immediately recognized him as the one they had so shamefully handled. The wolf stared at Jack, and on recognizing him sprang at him, crying:

“Oh, ruffian, good-for-nothing! You are one of the scoundrels who treated me so badly that I dare not show my face anywhere. Wait! I shall at once make mincemeat of you.”

The wolf was about to spring at Jack, but the latter, seeing that to fight would be useless, climbed like a cat up the nearest tree. There he was high and dry and out of his enemy’s reach, as he fondly imagined. But the wolf was not to be thwarted; smothering his rage he disappeared behind the bushes.

“I will stay quietly here,” thought Jack. “I must be on my guard against this wretch. I lose nothing by waiting.”

He was right, for in five minutes the wolf returned accompanied by a dozen wolves as bad as himself.

“Ha ha, scoundrel,” he cried, “you will not escape me this time! If you think you are safe you are greatly mistaken, you know. We shall have you down in no time.”

What did the wolf do?

He planted himself firmly near the tree trunk and formed the base of a ladder for his companions. They seemed quite accustomed to this trick, for another wolf immediately climbed on the shoulders of the first. Then a third and fourth followed his example.

At first Jack was very much amused at the idea of such a ladder and roared with laughter. But he soon realized that it was no joke, but a very serious matter. The ladder of wolves became so high that Jack, frightened out of his wits, had to climb into the topmost branches of the tree.

The ladder became yet higher!

“Have you caught him?” cried the first wolf.

“A little higher,” replied the topmost wolf.

“Do not let him escape,” shouted the first wolf, “for it is a tasty morsel and we shall enjoy it. It is such a long time since I have eaten any that I quite forget the taste of human flesh.”

“So do I,” said another wolf; whereupon they all laughed.

Jack was in no laughing mood; he was so frightened that he had cold shivers down his spine.

“Oh, heavens!” he thought, “what a terrible death to be eaten alive! What will my poor brother say when I fail to return? I have no means of defending myself, not even boiling soup.”

The wolf which was to reach him had already begun to ascend; he heard him grunting and panting. In his distress Jack had an inspiration and began to shout at the top of his voice: “Balten, pour! Balten, pour!”

This had a curious effect. The first wolf, who supported all the others on his shoulders and who knew by experience what “Balten, pour!” meant, believed that Balten was behind the tree ready to throw boiling soup on his back. He leapt aside as quick as lightning and ran like a hare. At the same time all the wolves fell down one on top of the other, howling fiercely. One had a paw broken, another a crushed foot, and a third had his head smashed in.

All swore at their cowardly comrade, who had organized the undertaking and then so treacherously deserted them. Those of them who were still able to run chased the coward and soon caught him.

“Oh! that is the way we were to help you get the man out of the tree. Your intention was to do us all a bad turn.”

They all set on to the unhappy wretch, who only made good his escape after having all his skin torn off and losing an ear.

Jack, now recovered from his fright, was a spectator of this scene and laughed long and loud. “What a curious result my crying ‘Balten, pour!’ had,” he thought, and he returned home.

More than a year passed and neither Jack nor Balten had met the famous wolf.

The time came when Jack had to take the little pig, now well fattened, to market. After selling it, he was on his way home, when he was attacked by robbers. They stole his money and knocked him about. Not satisfied with this, they put him into an empty barrel, which they found by the roadside, and nailed down the lid.

Poor Jack was now a prisoner and could not imagine how he could ever hope to escape. There was only one aperture, through which he could hardly squeeze his hand.

However, he did not despair. “Time cures everything,” he thought; “I have been in greater danger!”

For several hours he was thinking and meditating in the barrel. Suddenly he heard a sniff quite close to him. He looked out and saw the wolf, the famous wolf with scars on his back!

Jack watched him, and as soon as the animal’s tail was within his reach, he seized it through the hole in the barrel and cried as loud as ever he could:

“Balten, pour! Balten, pour!”

This shout again had the desired effect: the wolf, mad with fear, fled, dragging the barrel after him. Jack held tightly on to his tail, shouting all the time as loudly as before: “Balten pour! Balten, pour!”

The louder he shouted, the faster ran the wolf. The barrel crashed and banged against the trees, it cracked and finally broke. The ribs fell in and Jack found himself once more on his feet, none the worse except for a few bruises.

The wolf ran on and on. Perhaps he is running still?

THE MERMAID

Long ago, in a little hut by the seashore, there lived a fisherman’s widow with her only child.

The water had a wonderful fascination for the little girl. Nothing delighted her more than playing on the golden sands, where the tide washed up thousands of shells. She ran gaily with her small naked feet into the water, jumping over the little waves, which came rolling in from the deep like little white horses.

The mother, who still grieved in secret the loss of her husband, who had been snatched from her by the cruel sea, looked on sadly at her child’s play. She dreaded that the sea would steal from her her one and only remaining treasure.

“My child,” she besought her each morning, “do not go beyond the sand-hills. The sea is wicked and cunning, my darling. It swallowed up your dear father; do not go near the treacherous water.”

However, she was not able constantly to watch her little girl, and it so happened that one day she awaited her in vain. She searched for her everywhere, ran up and down the sand-hills, questioning all the fishermen she met, but in vain! No one could give her tidings of the little girl.

When evening fell, and the sun had sunk like a ball of fire into the sea, the poor mother returned to her home in the blackest despair.

Presently she heard a voice singing. The voice rose from the waves as they lashed the sand-hills. She looked up and saw a mermaid with plaited hair, and a crown of coral and pearls, standing waist-high in the water.

The words of her song were:

Under a roof of sparkling water
In a crystal palace,
My little loved ones play.

On hearing this, the widow thought that her child might be among the little loved ones. She fell on her knees, and implored the mermaid to tell her if she had seen the little girl who played on the sands every day. “Yes, I certainly know where she is,” replied the mermaid, “she grows and prospers with thousands of other children in my crystal palace at the bottom of the deep blue sea. She is happier than any child on earth.”

With a fresh outburst of weeping the mother begged the mermaid to restore to her her child. The water queen answered her that she was touched by her grief, but that the sea never returned alive the mortals it took away. The only thing she could do for the poor mother was to allow her to descend with her to her watery palace in order to see her child.

“Will you have the courage,” she added doubtfully, “to follow me on the mighty ocean for a hundred hours towards the West, and to dive with me where the sea is deepest, far down beneath the waves?”

“I have the courage,” answered the mother; “I am ready to follow you.”

Then the mermaid swam ashore near the sand-hill. She

told the widow to seat herself on her green and scaly fish’s tail, then she swam away faster than the fastest ship over the surface of the water. The boundless sea was soon plunged in the darkness of night as they continued their journey towards the West.

At length a ray of light was visible on the bosom of the ocean, and presently they came to an archway of coral, which they entered. “Here we are,” said the mermaid, “take a deep breath into your lungs; courage, we are going to dive.”

The dive was much quicker than the voyage over the ocean, and in a few seconds they found themselves in the most marvellous palace that mortal eyes have ever beheld. It was exactly as the mermaid had described it.

The roof was of sparkling water.

The building of crystal, flooded with a golden light.

The mother paid no heed to these splendours. She looked around on every side in the hope of discovering her beloved child. The mermaid led her into a hall framed with silver, to a glass door, behind which they saw a number of little girls and boys playing happily together. The mother was allowed to look as long as she pleased, but was forbidden to enter the room.

At first she could not see her child, but afterwards discovered her among a group of merry children. She was in blooming health, and was enjoying herself every bit as much as her companions.

The mother was very unhappy, and begged the mermaid to allow her to live in her palace, as she could not bear to be far away from her little girl. Her request was granted, and every day she would look with longing eyes through the glass door. She implored the mermaid daily on bended knee to allow her to return home with her child, but in vain.

One day she took pity on her, and said, “I will give you back your child, but on one condition.”

“Ask what you will,” said the mother; “I am willing to do anything possible.”

“You must weave me a cloak of your own hair,” said the mermaid. “Here is a pot of ointment which will make your hair grow again.”

The mother immediately set to work; she continued without a pause day and night.

Every morning the mermaid looked in at the window of her room to see what progress she had made. She could only make half a cloak, as she had used all her hair. She begged the mermaid to be satisfied with this, but in vain; she was immovable and demanded that the work should be completed.

At length, after sad years of waiting, the wonderful cloak was finished. The mermaid was delighted with it, and the little girl, now a young maiden, was restored to her mother.

The mermaid ordered a beautiful rounded barque, inlaid with shells, and with a brazen pelican as figure-head. Four mermaids were harnessed to it, and took the mother and her child across the mighty deep, back to their own home, where they lived happily ever after.

THE STORY OF THE LITTLE HALF-COCK

Johnny and Molly lived in a little hut in the forest. When their parents died they were left quite alone in the world, and had to divide their heritage between them. They were dreadfully poor and possessed nothing but two hens and a cock.

The puzzle was how to divide these animals into equal shares.

At last Molly said, “Let us cut the cock in two, and have half each.” This was done; Johnny had the part with the head, and Molly had the tail end.

Molly plucked her portion of the cock, and put it into the saucepan.

Suddenly Johnny’s godmother, who was a fairy, appeared down the chimney. “Listen,” she said to her godson, “you must not put your half into the saucepan; I will enchant him, and he will do anything you wish.”

On saying which the fairy thrust her wand in the cinders, murmured some strange words, and then touched the head of the Half-cock with her wand.

The clock struck midnight.

“Good-bye,” said the fairy, and she disappeared up the chimney.

“That is all very well,” said Johnny to his sister, “but what are we going to do with the Half-cock now?”

Molly, who was the cleverer of the two, thought to herself, “If we had money we should have everything we want.” She said, “Send him to Mr. Brauncastle’s to fetch three bags of silver.”

The cock started off immediately.

On the way he met two robbers, who were much surprised, and said to him, “Little Half-cock, where are you running to?”

“To Mr. Brauncastle’s,” he replied.

“May we go with you?”

“Yes, hide yourselves under my wings.”

The robbers settled themselves as comfortably as they could under the Half-cock’s wings.

A little farther on they overtook two foxes.

“Little Half-cock, where are you going?” they asked.

“To Mr. Brauncastle’s castle.”

“May we come with you?”

“Yes, hide yourselves under my wings.”

In less than a second the foxes had joined the robbers.

At length the Little Half-cock came to a large pond which was equally inquisitive.

“Little Half-cock, where are you running so quickly?” asked the water.

“To Mr. Brauncastle’s castle.”

“May I come with you?”

“Yes, hide under my wings.” Drip, drip--the water joined the other lodgers.

Ring-a-ding-ding! The Half-cock rang at the castle door.

“Tell your master that I want three bags of silver.”

“What an impertinent creature!” thought the servant who answered the door. He took the message to his master. The latter replied, “Put the Little Half-cock into the chicken-run with the hens.” This was done.

When night fell the Half-cock said to the foxes, “My good fellows, come out from under my wings, and eat all the hens.”

There was no need to tell them twice; they set to work with a will, feathers flew in all directions, and before you could count three they had eaten the lot. When the servant went to the chicken-run the next morning, he was horrified, and said to his master in a trembling voice, “All the hens have been eaten. The Little Half-cock is roosting on the rafters, crying, ‘Cock-a-doodle-do! Cock-a-doodle-do!’”

“Well, put him into the stable,” said his master. The servant did so, but the next night the Little Half-cock set the robbers at liberty. They immediately mounted two horses, and in the twinkling of an eye they galloped off.

“Now I know what to expect,” the servant said the next day, as he wiped the perspiration from his brow. “This time the wretched thief shall not escape me.”

The Little Half-cock was shut up in a red-hot oven. Now it was the water’s turn to escape, and the fire was immediately put out.

The next day the water had risen to the first story, and the Little Half-cock was swimming courageously on the surface, crowing as loudly as ever he could.

“Give him three bags of silver as quickly as ever you can,” said Mr. Brauncastle; “get rid of him or he will ruin me and all my family.”

The Little Half-cock went away and gave the money to his master.

Johnny and Molly were now rich, very rich.

They are very happy and get on well together; the Little Half-cock lives with them, and is their best friend.

THE DWARF AND THE BLACKSMITH

Once upon a time there was a poor blacksmith who had no possessions other than his wife and six children. He worked like a nigger from morn to night, and it was all he could do to make both ends meet at the end of each year.

One day he went to see a dying friend who lived some distance from the village, and it was very late when he returned home. On the way the road wound round a hill, at the foot of which lay a wood. As he turned the corner of the road he heard a strange sound. In front of him, surrounded by an embankment crowned with willow-trees, was a field flooded by moonlight, where several little men with long beards were disporting themselves. They were throwing their red caps in the air, and catching them very skilfully on their toes.

Our blacksmith, who was not the bravest of mortals, dared not go on, and hid himself behind a large tree among the bushes. After he had been there some time there was a sudden silence, and quick as lightning all the little dwarfs disappeared into the hill. On peering round him, the blacksmith discovered that one dwarf remained behind. He seemed to be looking for something. He saw him put his arm into a crack in the rock several times and draw it out.

“This little fellow cannot harm me,” thought the smith; “I should very much like to know what he is looking for.” Treading cautiously, he approached the dwarf. He discovered that the dwarf’s hat had fallen into the crack, and that his arm was not long enough to reach it. He immediately pulled it out and handed it to him.

The little fellow thanked the smith, and said, “You will be rewarded for what you have done for me to-day. We had a feast here to-day, during which we are obliged to wear our caps on our heads. If I had lost mine I should not have been able to attend the feasts for seven years.”

It goes without saying that the smith related his strange adventures to his wife, and they were very curious to know how the dwarf would reward them.

Every night before going to bed the blacksmith prepared the work which he and his apprentice would begin the first thing in the morning.

Picture his surprise the next day, when he found that the work had been done during the night, and by such skilled hands that there was no fault to find with it. His assistant, still serving his apprenticeship, was incapable of such work. Who the clever workman could be he failed to discover.

When the same thing happened the following night, the smith and his wife decided to keep watch. They wanted to find out how it was done.

The mystery was soon cleared up. Towards midnight, the smith, looking through the chinks in the boards of the attic, saw the little dwarf whose hat he had restored to him come in. The little fellow immediately set to work, and worked without a pause till morning. It was splendid to see how quickly he did it, and during this time he did more work than the smith and his assistant could do in half a day.

This went on for some time. The smith sent away his assistant, although his custom had increased, and he earned much money, so that he and his wife and children enjoyed good times, and saved a large sum.

The smith and his wife very often watched the dwarf at his work, and they consulted together to see in what way they could reward his kindness. One day his wife said, “I have an idea; didn’t you notice last time that his clothes looked rather shabby? I shall make him another set of very fine material.” This was done. The wife made the dwarf a set of clothes fit for a prince, and in the evening it was folded neatly and placed on a chair in the smithy. The smith and his wife went into the attic to see what would happen.

The dwarf was delighted with the clothes. He unfolded them and examined them one by one, and his smiling face showed how pleased he was. He put the garments on, and when he was dressed, he put on his little red hat decorated with a feather.

He was as proud as a peacock, and greatly pleased with

himself. At length he turned to the door and disappeared, this time without doing a stroke of work.

The blacksmith never saw the little imp again. The work prepared overnight was no longer finished in the morning. The smith was obliged to do the work himself, but his two eldest sons could help him now, and so, thanks to the dwarf, they were always able to keep the wolf from the door.

PERCY THE WIZARD NICKNAMED SNAIL

Long ago, when women spun at their spinning-wheels, there lived a man who was nicknamed Snail.

Snail was very fond of a glass, and his wife had a weakness for hotchpotch.

Every week Percy Snail took the thread his wife had spun to market. His wife never scolded him for losing a few pennies, or being muddle-headed on the way back, provided he brought all the necessary ingredients for a nice hotchpotch.

One day he sold the thread at a high price. He was in good spirits; all the way home he rattled the money in his pocket, thinking, “To-day I shall be able to have more than one glass.” He went into every little wayside inn he passed, in order to see where the best liquor was sold. Little by little his money began to disappear, until he had scarcely any left, and he realized at the same time that he was rather intoxicated. He stumbled along the road as well as he could, and on putting his hand in his pocket, found, to his great surprise, that he had only five farthings.

He counted them over and over again until he was forced to

believe his eyes. The worst of it was that he had quite forgotten his wife’s favourite dish. He continued his way meditating and calculating, and quite unconsciously entered another inn. In a second his last farthing was in the innkeeper’s pocket.