Chapter I: The Keg Moved as If It Had Legs (2)

He suddenly felt very tired and fell asleep with his head on the table. When he awoke he felt better, and his head was clearer. He considered what he had better do. He dared not return home as he knew what a warm welcome he would have! He could not stay in the inn as he had spent all his money, and innkeepers do not give credit. Although undecided, he was about to leave the inn, when the innkeeper, pleased to have a chat so early in the evening, told him that the countess who lived at the neighbouring castle had had a ring set with diamonds stolen.

The wealthy lady, who set great value on the ring, had promised a reward of a hundred crowns to the finder.

“Well, upon my soul,” thought Percy, contemplating his empty glass, “that would be a stroke of luck for me; if I could discover the thief, I should be saved.”

Without answering the innkeeper, he got up, went off at once to the castle, and introduced himself as a wizard.

The countess promised him a hundred crowns if in three days he succeeded in discovering the thief. If he failed to do so, he would be sent away in disgrace.

The first day he searched all the nooks and crannies in the garden for the lost jewel. He ferreted in every bush and ditch, turned over every mole-hill, but in vain. Quite by chance, while he was feeling in the moss and the grass, he saw three servants talking excitedly together. Very ashamed at the thought that these men should have witnessed his useless and ridiculous search, Snail passed by them still in a bent position, but at the same time glanced defiantly at them.

Now a strange thing happened. He had hardly turned his back on the three men when one of them whispered to the others, so low that Percy was unable to hear what they were saying, “Beware, my friends, be careful what you say. This strange wizard looked at us as though he were watching us; has he already discovered the thief?”

In the evening, after Percy Snail had had his supper, the countess ordered a valet to show him to his room. Percy was very depressed; one day had passed without his having discovered a single clue. He sank into a chair with a deep sigh, and as the servant was leaving the room, muttered under his breath, “Poor fellow! That is one of the three.”

When the servant heard this he was very frightened. He rushed downstairs and said to his comrades, “My friends, we are lost, this stranger has discovered everything.” He told them what he had heard. From that moment they avoided Percy.

The second day he searched in the attics and cellars of the castle, but could not find the ring. As chance would have it, in the evening the countess ordered another valet to show Percy Snail to his room. He was more depressed than ever, and flung himself down on the bed, saying to himself, “Poor fellow, you are to be pitied! That is already the second, and still nothing.”

The valet, who listened attentively, repeated these words to his accomplices. “The wretch has certainly discovered all. I bet my life that to-morrow he will tell the countess everything. We shall then be imprisoned as well as lose our good places.”

After a long discussion, they decided to confess all to the wizard, to implore him not to betray them to the countess, and to offer him part of their savings.

This was done. They explained their position to Percy Snail, handed him the diamond ring, and the sum of money agreed on between them.

“Are you convinced now,” said Snail, taking leave of them, “that your sin will always find you out? I discovered your villainy during the first hour I passed in the castle. I will keep silence this time, but beware if I find you out again.”

Percy Snail, full of cunning, procured a little lump of paste; in it he concealed the ring, and threw it to some geese and turkeys which were feeding near by.

“Ik, kih, ih-kih!” said a fat turkey, and “slok,” the little lump of paste was swallowed.

An hour or two afterwards Percy asked for the countess.

“Noble lady,” he said, “disabuse your mind of all suspicion against your servants. That black turkey is the thief.”

The bird was promptly seized and killed.

You can imagine every one’s astonishment when the ring was discovered.

Snail thought he would immediately receive the promised reward of a hundred crowns, but he was rudely mistaken.

The countess suspected that she was dealing with a rogue. In order to be quite satisfied on this point she decided to put him to a second test.

“I am lost in admiration at your ability,” she said in a forced manner. “I beg you not to go without giving me another proof of your skill.”

Snail, who knew full well what she meant, was very ill at ease. However, he boldly replied, “Madam, I am yours to command, one proof more or less is nothing to me.”

In the evening, when seated at table for supper, the countess had two dishes placed before him, one on the top of the other.

They fitted so exactly that no one could suspect that a little snail had been placed between them.

“Wizard,” said the countess, “listen to me; if you can tell me what lies between these two dishes, I will give you fifty crowns over and above those you were promised! If, however, you do not know, you will be turned out of the castle, after receiving as many lashes with the whip as you would have received crowns.”

You can imagine how his heart sank within him. He was struck dumb, and could not hide his confusion. He was over an hour cudgelling his brains for an answer, but without success. He dared not open his lips for fear of guessing wrong.

He thought of his wife, and the whipping that awaited him, and his courage slipped away from him. He strained every nerve in his agitation.

“Well, poor Snail, poor Snail,” he sighed.

Imagine his surprise when the countess said, “I am beaten, my friend, I am beaten. It is a snail....”

She lifted off the top dish. The insect was lying dead on the lower dish.

Our wizard’s joy was boundless. He received the hundred and fifty crowns, and ran home with all speed.

For a whole week he continued to indulge himself with little glasses, and his wife ate hotchpotch every day to the honour and glory of the worthy Snail, who by a stroke of good fortune had become such a clever wizard.

SIMPLE JOHN

Simple John had served his master, a cowkeeper, for seven years, when the latter being overwhelmed by misfortunes was obliged to dismiss his servants. Having no money with which to reward John for his faithful service, he proposed to give him the one remaining horse in his stables.

John, who had sometimes driven in the horses from the field on Sunday evenings when the grooms were at the inn, jumped for joy at the suggestion. He thanked his master with all his heart, and led the beast from the stable. He set out on his journey home to his parents’ hut, singing:

“You set out on foot, you return on horseback.”

In about half an hour he reached a cross-road, where he saw a peasant with a cow harnessed to a plough working in his field.

“What a strange and useful beast,” thought John, as he pulled up his horse. “Tell me, man,” he cried to the peasant, “is that animal strong enough for such hard work?”

“If she chooses,” replied the other. “I wager she can pull as well as the best horse, and not only can she draw the plough, but she gives milk, which my wife churns into excellent cheeses,

that make one’s mouth water. If one day we wish to get rid of her we shall take her to the Brussels market, and any one will be pleased to give us a bag of silver for her.”

“Good gracious,” said John, “my mother should certainly have such a wonderful beast, but as it would cost a bag of silver, I am afraid we shall never have one. If only I could exchange my horse for one!--but no one would do so.”

“Oho,” thought the peasant, who already scented a bargain, “a horse in exchange for my old worn-out cow, that would be splendid. Listen to me, my friend,” he continued; “as you seem such a good fellow I am willing to give you my cow in exchange for your horse. Tell me you are not joking, and that the horse really belongs to you?”

“Certainly,” answered John, “to whom should it belong? I have served the same master for seven years, and have received this horse in lieu of wages.”

John was in the seventh heaven. “How pleased my mother will be,” he cried, and went on his way without further delay.

Soon after his path lay between two fields of ripe corn; suddenly a strange sound arrested him, “Ugh, ugh,” and immediately afterwards a farm hand came in sight with a willow twig in his hand, driving a pig down the winding path.

“Well, well,” said John, “what a pretty creature, what funny, roguish eyes, and what a curious corkscrew tail! Tell me what that pretty beast is called.”

“This one?” said the boy. “Tell me first what you call the animal you are leading, and then I will tell you what kind of pig mine is.”

“It is a cow,” said John. “She gives milk, which is churned into cheeses. I bought it for nothing. I only gave my horse, which I received as reward for seven years’ service.”

“Good,” replied the other. “You only gave a horse in exchange for your cow. Well, my beast makes its owner’s fortune, and is certainly worth more than a cow. If he finds something to nibble he rapidly becomes as fat as butter. Then he is slaughtered and cut open. It is incredible what comes out of him: liver, kidneys, ears, trotters, sausages, black-puddings, ham, bacon, and carbonades. You can make brushes with his bristles. Of course such an animal costs more than a foolish cow.”

“Oh, dear!” sighed John, when he heard this, “that is a lot of money. It is quite beyond the likes of me.”

“Listen,” said the other; “as you seem so anxious to have the animal--well, because it is you, and to give you pleasure, I will exchange it for your cow.”

“Hurrah!” cried John, “mother will be pleased.” He was more overjoyed than ever. Then he went on his way, driving the pig.

He soon reached the outskirts of the village, and was at once startled by a hoarse voice, which cried unceasingly:

“Any knives or scissors to grind.”

Whrr, whrrr. John drew near and was struck dumb with amazement when he saw a wonderful machine, whirring round, at which a man was seated, shouting as he worked.

“Well,” said the man, “you are looking so attentively at my grindstone; would you like to learn the trade?”

“Isn’t it too difficult?” said John.

“Not really difficult; a clever boy like you would learn in no time. Yes, yes, my lad, it is a merry trade, and pays well. If you know your job, your grindstone works unceasingly and turns merrily all day long. Ah, my lad, if grindstones were not so expensive, every one would be able to earn a living.”

“Oh,” said John, “are these stones so dear? What did the one you are using cost?”

“Half a dozen pigs would pay for it. If you would like one, I have another which I would give you for your pig, in which case your fortune is made.” He showed him a fine large grindstone which lay at the bottom of his cart.

“My fortune is made,” said John; “I will willingly give my pig in exchange for this stone.”

He shouldered the stone and walked on. Unfortunately it was very heavy, and being very hot, John stooped down to drink at a stream without putting down his load. He managed very well, when suddenly the stone slipped and fell into deep water.

“Everything considered,” said John, “it is just as well it has happened; the weight was breaking my back, and I shall be home all the sooner.”

He shouted joyously and ran towards the house.

“Little mother,” he cried, “I have had great luck; I exchanged a horse for a cow, a cow for a pig, and a pig for a grindstone. The stone was very heavy, and I lost it. Now I have nothing to carry, nothing to look after. Mother, I am the happiest John in the whole world.”

THE TWO CHICKENS OR THE TWO EARS

One day a parish priest had invited a relative to luncheon and wished to give him something nice to eat. He ordered two tender young chickens to be killed and plucked.

In the morning, before celebrating Mass, he said to his servant:

“Cook the two chickens for lunch and prepare them as nicely as possible, as my cousin is very fond of his food.”

“All right, your Reverence,” replied the servant.

When the chickens were roasted, wanting to know if they were done to a turn, she cut off a piece of the wing.

“It wants another five minutes,” she thought; she then took another little piece. That so whetted her appetite that she continued to take pickings until nearly all the chicken had disappeared.

“One is worse than useless,” she thought, so the second chicken disappeared after the other.

Crying bitterly she went to find the cousin.

“Oh, sir! oh, sir!” she cried.

“What is the matter, Catherine, a misfortune? Has his Reverence caught measles?” he asked.

“Worse than that, sir,” sighed Catherine. “I must tell you everything. The vicar has been so strange lately. Sometimes when he returns from the church and finds a visitor awaiting him, without saying a word he begins to sharpen his knife and then cuts off both his ears. You must be on your guard if he seizes his knife when he comes in.”

“He will not catch me napping,” replied the cousin.

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the priest appeared. The first thing he did was to take up his knife. He was very hungry and wanted his luncheon at once.

“I will be off,” thought the cousin, and he ran like a hare.

“Can you tell me why the wretched man has run away?” the priest asked the servant.

“He has stolen the two fat chickens and thought it wiser to disappear.”

“What! stolen my chickens!” cried the priest.

“Hallo! Hallo!” he shouted as loud as ever he could, “at least leave me one.”

Of course the priest meant one chicken, but his cousin, thinking that it was a question of his ears, shouted back:

“No, no, I prefer to keep them both.”

THE WONDERFUL FISH

THE WONDERFUL FISH

Amid the sand-hills in Flanders not far from La Panne there lived a fisherman named Tintelentyn. He was very poor; he worked from morning till night and very often spent half the night wading in the water with his shrimping-net.

He had not been able to save enough money to build a little house. Meanwhile he and his idle wife, Susie Grill, lived in an old bathing-machine which they had received in exchange for some shrimps.

Fisherman Tintelentyn was a good man and never complained of his hard lot. His wife, on the contrary, who considered she had married beneath her, lay in the grass in front of the machine day after day bemoaning her fate and reproaching the Almighty for not giving her the riches enjoyed by her friends and acquaintances.

Poor Tintelentyn received the full brunt of her bad temper. In spite of his hard work she reproached him with being stupid and lazy.

Susie Grill being in a temper, the good man, despite an unfavourable tide, took up his nets and went to the sea. He cast his nets in despair. He was doomed to disappointment, for on drawing in his nets he only found some shells, seaweed, and starfish; not a single shrimp nor even a little crab.

He was very downhearted and perplexed, when suddenly he saw something red shining in one of his nets. On closer examination he saw that the red thing was alive; it was a fish, which seemed to be looking at him with its silvery eyes.

“Poor little fish,” the good man said in pitying tones, “I am sorry to have caught you. You are too pretty and too rare to fry. However, I dare not throw you back into the sea, for Susie Grill will be so angry if I return empty-handed.”

Imagine Tintelentyn’s amazement when the pretty fish, which he held in the hollow of his hand, stood up on its tail and began to speak in a piping voice:

“Little fisherman Tintelentyn,
Do not fry my bright red skin.
I beg you throw me back into the sea,
And all you may wish you shall have from me.”

Without hesitation and with never a thought of reward, the fisherman threw the strange fish into the waves. He was about to cast his nets for the second time when he saw his wife coming towards him with her arms akimbo. She immediately began to rail against him:

“Tintelentyn, you stupid man,
What shall we put in the frying-pan
If you throw back into the sea
The only fish you caught for me;
If you prefer poverty all your life,
You can go and find another wife.”

At first the poor man was too much astonished to answer. When he recovered, he tried to excuse himself, telling her that the fish he had caught was no ordinary fish, that he had looked at him so sadly and had implored him so gently and with promises of reward to give him his freedom. His wife became still more furious. “What!” she cried, “that fish would have made our fortune. You had only to make a wish and we should have been saved from this misery. You have thrown this wonderful fish back into the sea without even asking for a good catch of shrimps. You are an ass! Cast back your nets and wish for a large and beautiful house with turrets, such as the wealthy live in. It must have marble steps and be well furnished. If you do not catch the fish again, I shall run away and you will never see me again.”

When the good man drew in his nets again, he found the red fish. When he let it wriggle in the palm of his hand, it again looked at him with pleading eyes and spoke in a very piping voice:

“Little fisherman Tintelentyn,
Do not fry my bright red skin.
I beg you throw me back into the sea,
And all you may wish you shall have from me.”

The fisherman cast a frightened glance towards his wife, who was seated on the dry sand. Then with much hesitation he said:

“O little fish so red and fine,
You shall live, O little fish mine;
But Susie Grill my wife desires
A lovely house with lofty towers,
Everything of the best must be,
O little fish, will you help me?”

The fish stood up on its tail and said:

“Susie Grill, she is neither mad nor shy,
What she has wished for is now close by.”

The fisherman threw the fish back into the sea and turned homewards. Oh! how wonderful! There on the highest sand-hill, where the bathing-machine had stood, was a beautiful house. He could hardly wait to collect his nets, he was so anxious to know whether this time his wife would receive him more amiably.

Proud as a peacock she awaited him on the marble steps:

“Well, Grilly,” he asked, “are you pleased with me?”

“Listen,” she replied, “it is true I now live in a beautiful house with turrets, a marble staircase and rooms exquisitely furnished, but I have no money. Go back to the sea ... catch the fish again and ask him to give us as much money as the richest man on the coast between Ostend and Dunkirk. Woe betide you if you return without it!”

The good man again returned to the sea, and when he had caught the fish and the latter again asked for his freedom, the fisherman answered, much embarrassed at asking yet another favour:

“O little fish so red and fine,
You shall live, O little fish mine;
But Susie Grill my wife
Wants to lead an easy life,
Heaps of silver and gold.
You will think her very bold.
But little fish, never mind,
O little fish to her be kind.”

Again the fish arose and replied:

“Susie Grill is neither shy nor bold,
She shall have riches and wealth untold.”

When Tintelentyn returned, he found his wife in her bedroom seated before a large chest overflowing with gold. She counted it without ceasing, arranging it in piles of a hundred on the table. Before the chest was another brimful of silver. She told her husband that she was going to Bruges the next morning to buy a coach and four and to engage a staff of servants. Her _chef_ was to be a master of his art, he must out-rival the Count of Flanders’ _chef_.

“Well, are you happy now, little wife?” Tintelentyn murmured.

“Well, to be truthful, no,” his wife replied. “I have mentioned the Count of Flanders’ _chef_. How foolish I am, as we can have anything we desire--why should I not wish to be the Countess of Flanders? Now I know for what purpose I was born. I shall sit on the throne. I shall be a queen. Go back as quickly as you can to the sea. Tell the fish what I wish, and do not forget to add that you will accept some high position at my court.”

When the fisherman cast his net, he noticed that the sky was overcast on the horizon. The waves became more angry than before and a strong breeze was blowing. However, he soon caught the fish and said to him:

“O little fish, so red and fine,
I’ll not harm you, little fish mine;
But Susie Grill, O little fish,
Has yet once more another wish.
Fish, dear little fish, I beg you help me,
Now Countess of Flanders she would be.”

Standing up on his tail the fish replied:

“If Susie Grill thinks it her destiny
Countess of Flanders she shall be.”

Tintelentyn could hardly believe his eyes, when instead of arriving at the house he lived in up to an hour ago he found himself in front of a palace, with pointed towers so high that they seemed to disappear into the clouds. He saw knights and ladies going in and coming out, and grooms in rich liveries. He dared not go in dressed in his ragged fisherman’s clothes. Suddenly his wife appeared at an open window with a crown on her head and a sceptre in her hand. She signed to him to approach:

“My man,” she said with great importance, “I am not dissatisfied with what you have done. I even feel disposed to reward you handsomely. I require a cup-bearer. Well, I will appoint you to this post on condition that you return

once again to the sea and obtain me yet another great honour.”

“Good gracious, wife,” exclaimed the good man, “are you not overwhelmed with honours? You are richer than the richest man between Ostend and Dunkirk, you hold the title of Countess of Flanders, you wear a crown and sceptre, what more can you possibly desire?”

“You are an innocent,” laughed Susie Grill. “Is there not a sky above my head, and is there not a God who reigns in the sky? Go quickly to the sea, catch the red fish. Ask him to make me as powerful as God. If you dare to return without obtaining my wish, you will be hanged.”

This time Tintelentyn did not hurry. He felt as though his legs were weighted with lead. He stumbled along as though he had been drinking. The sea was rougher than he had ever seen it. A storm was coming up from the west. The wind whistled among the sand-hills, driving the sand before it. Distant thunder rolled and lightning flashed. For the last time the red fish let himself be caught.

“Little Fisherman Tintelentyn,
Do not fry my bright red skin.”

He spoke roughly, as though in warning.

“O Tintelentyn, O Tintelentyn,
Do not commit this awful sin.”

But the poor fisherman, thinking of the rope which awaited him, said in a trembling voice:

“O little fish so red and fine,
Help once again, little fish mine.
My foolish wife, Susie Grill,
Bids me ask her latest will.
Little fish, I beg you pardon me,
Now powerful as God she wants to be.”

He had hardly uttered the words when the fish leaped out of his hand and in his place appeared a mighty sea-king accompanied by mermaids and strange sea-monsters. These words came from the sea-king’s mouth like a curse:

“Susie Grill, Susie Grill,
Nevermore shall have her will,
She loses all in committing such sin,
This night you will sleep in your old cabin.”

When Tintelentyn reached the sand-hill, Susie Grill, dressed in her old skirt and ragged blouse, was seated in front of the bathing-machine. She was grumbling about the hard times and the small profits to be drawn from shrimps.

THE FRYING-PAN

Once upon a time there lived a cobbler who was very fond of pancakes. His wife did not care for them at all. Every time he dared to mention his favourite dish, she replied:

“But, man, how can I make pancakes? You know quite well we have no frying-pan.”

“Well, borrow one from the neighbour,” he replied one day.

His wife dared not carry her objections any further. She fetched the frying-pan and she fried and fried as though she were frying for the whole village. She fried for so long that the pan became too hot and broke!

Neither of them wanted to return the frying-pan to their neighbour. This led to a dispute, and the little house, which was generally so peaceful, was in an uproar.

The man said that the person who had borrowed the frying-pan should return it.

His wife said that as it was borrowed for his benefit, he should undertake this unpleasant task.

“Listen,” said the cobbler, who was anxious to put an end to the quarrel; “I have an idea. We cannot keep our neighbour’s frying-pan for ever. Whichever of us speaks first, on no matter what subject, must take back the frying-pan.”

“Agreed,” said his wife. She pursed up her lips and clenched her teeth, as much as to say: “Wild horses will not drag a word out of me.”

The next day the neighbours knocked at the door and asked if they could have the frying-pan. Neither vouchsafed an answer. Then they asked the wife, and her only reply was to turn her spinning-wheel more vigorously. Not a word escaped her lips, except a sound which resembled the noise made by young chicks:

“Sjip, sjip, sjip, sjip, sjip.”

Then they asked the cobbler, who replied by hammering so loudly on a pair of soles that, unable to stand the noise, they shrugged their shoulders and went out.

The same thing happened to the customers.

The rumour soon spread in the village that the cobbler and his wife had been bewitched.

There was no time to be lost; their friends went to the exorcist to free them from the spell.

The charlatan, with incantations, prepared for the ceremony by crossing himself and sprinkling holy water.

In spite of all his efforts he was no more successful than the other villagers. He only heard the woman say, “Sjip, sjip, sjip,” and the man tapping with the hammer.

The exorcist, now at the end of his resources, took the pail of holy water and emptied the contents over the woman’s head, she being apparently the most obstinate case.

“Have you finished?” the woman burst out, while the water dripped from her body like snow melting off a snow-man.

“Dear little wife,” said the cobbler calmly, “you will take the frying-pan to our neighbour.”

The good man threw away the shoe he held in his hand and danced for joy.

FARMER BROOM, FARMER LEAVES, AND FARMER IRON

Once upon a time there were three peasants who lived in the same wood.

The first had a hut made of broom.

The second had a hut made of leaves.

The third had a hut made of iron.

That is why they were known as Farmer Broom, Farmer Leaves, and Farmer Iron.

One cold winter afternoon a wolf came stealthily into the clearing where the three farmers had built their huts. He hid himself behind a thick bush and hungrily watched the skaters as they glided over the polished surface of the ice. At twilight, just as Farmer Broom had returned home from the forest with a faggot of wood, the wolf knocked at his door, and cried, “Farmer Broom, Farmer Broom, open the door, my friend; my little hands are so cold, and my little feet are frozen.”

“I will not open the door,” Farmer Broom replied gruffly.

“Then I shall break it open.” The wolf hurled himself with such force against the door that he burst it open, went into the hut, and sat down by the fire.

Farmer Broom was about to peel potatoes, and the wolf

began to repeat in a hoarse voice, “Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs. Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs.”

“What are you muttering about?” Farmer Broom asked innocently.

“Well,” replied the wolf, “you will be the first! But give me a potato at once; I am as hungry as can be.”

Farmer Broom put a potato on the point of his knife, and held it out at arm’s length to the wolf, but the latter swallowed the potato, the knife, and the farmer at a gulp.

The next day the wolf knocked at Farmer Leaves’ door, just after the latter had returned with a basketful of dead leaves which he had collected from beneath the snow.

“Farmer Leaves, Farmer Leaves, open the door, my dear friend; my little feet are so cold, and my little hands are frozen.”

“I shall not open it,” replied Farmer Leaves.

“Then I shall burst it open,” said the wolf, and thereupon he threw his weight against the door, forced it open, went in and sat down by the fire.

Farmer Leaves was also about to peel potatoes, and the wolf said in a deep voice, “Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs. Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs.”

“What are you mumbling?” asked Farmer Leaves.

“Well,” said the wolf, “I was saying a little prayer for you, but, quick, give me a potato, I am dying of hunger.”

Farmer Leaves held out his knife with a potato stuck on the end, but again the wolf swallowed the potato, the knife, and the farmer at a gulp.

The third day he went to Farmer Iron. The latter had seen him coming in the distance, as he was entering his hut with a bucketful of water from the well. He placed a large cauldron full of dried peas in the attic. The wolf knocked, and cried, “Farmer Iron, Farmer Iron, open the door, my friend; my little feet are so cold, and my little hands are frozen.”

“I shall not open it,” said Farmer Iron.

“Then I shall burst it open.”

“All right, burst it open,” said Farmer Iron.

The wolf made a spring and charged at the door, and dashed himself against it until his paws were torn and bleeding. He lost so much blood that Farmer Iron ended by taking pity on him, and opened the door.

The wolf went in and sat down by the fire with Farmer Iron. Very soon he began to say in a sepulchral voice, “Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs. Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs.”

“What nonsense are you repeating?” asked Farmer Iron in a derisive tone.

“Well,” said the wolf, “it is a little prayer for you, but give me a potato, my stomach feels quite hollow and empty.”

Farmer Iron held out a potato. The wolf was about to swallow it when Farmer Iron suddenly pulled a string and upset the cauldron of dried peas, which made a great noise as they ran out on the attic floor.

“Whatever is it, whatever is it?” asked the frightened wolf.

“The police who are tracking you down,” answered Farmer Iron, laughing. “They want to hang you for eating Farmer Broom and Farmer Leaves.”

“Good heavens, Farmer Iron, my friend, tell me where I can hide,” begged the wolf.

“Quick, climb into the attic,” said Farmer Iron. “I will not betray you.”

The wolf rushed to the ladder. Farmer Iron took a large saucepan of boiling water off the fire and put it down at the foot of the ladder. The wolf was in such a hurry that he slipped and fell into the saucepan, and was terribly scalded. Farmer Iron pulled him out, cut him open, and, oh, what joy! Farmer Broom and Farmer Leaves came out alive, each carrying his knife with a potato on the end.

They all three lifted up the wolf and threw him outside, and each returned to his own hut.

This is what happened in that wonderful country where after you are dead you live happy ever after.

LITTLE LODEWYK AND ANNIE THE WITCH

Little Lodewyk built card houses, but Annie the witch always came to blow them down.

One day little Lodewyk grew tired of this and built himself a stone house. He put in a fireplace and a pump. Now if the witch came she could not blow it down.

Suddenly he heard a knock at the door!

“Who is there?” asked the little man.

“Annie the witch, open the door,” was the answer.

“What can Annie the witch want with me?”

“Very little, nothing but a little fire.”

“I have no fire.”

“You most certainly have, I saw smoke coming out of the chimney.”

“Then you must squint, my chimney cannot smoke. I have never lighted the fire; you must have seen the smoke from my neighbour’s chimney.”

“No, no, I am not to be taken in like that. My eyes are quite straight,” and she went off in a huff.

The next day she came back and again knocked at the door.

“Who is there?” asked little Lodewyk.

“It is I, my good man, Annie the witch.”

“What can Annie the witch want with me again?”

“Nothing much, only a pail of water.”

“You know very well I have no water.”

“Most certainly you have water, for I heard it gurgling in the pump.”

“Then you have very strange ears. I have never raised the pump-handle. No doubt the noise you heard came from my neighbour’s house.”

“I warn you that if you refuse to open the door I shall cut off your head.”

Little Lodewyk was terrified; he put the chain on the door and hid himself up the chimney.

In spite of this the witch went in and searched for him everywhere, but she could not find him. However, at last she discovered him seated in the chimney, and dragged him down by the hair of his head.

“Put your head on the table that I may cut it off,” commanded the witch, opening wide her red eyes.

“Willingly Annie, but tell me how,” said Lodewyk, who had a scheme in his head. “Show what I am to do.”

“Very well, place your head like this!” cried Annie the witch, and she placed her large and hideous head quite unsuspectingly on the table.

Lodewyk quickly seized his axe and cut off the witch’s head.

Then little Lodewyk calmly fried a herring for his supper and smoked a pipe.

And then there came a pig with a long snout.

And the little story has run out.

THE GIANT OF THE CAUSEWAY

In olden days there was a feudal castle on the site where now stand the Causeway and Giant’s Mount, in the town of Brussels.

A giant lived in this castle who is reputed to have been over nine feet high.

This noble giant was generally beloved and esteemed, for in spite of his capricious and brusque character, he was ever ready to exert his superhuman strength in the defence of the weak. He rebuked the powerful, exterminated brigands and robbers, and cleared the roads of highwaymen.

From the tower of his castle, which he had built on high ground, he had a commanding view of the surrounding country.

He never left his castle except to inflict punishment on the wicked, or in order to protect the weak.

He consecrated all his leisure to his dear and beautiful daughter Helen. She was his only child by his beloved wife, who died in giving her birth.

From her childhood Helen was accustomed to a secluded life and had never left the castle grounds. In summer she amused herself with her sewing on the top of the tower.

One day, when her father was scouring the country, she ventured to take a little walk in the Valley of the Brook. She had only taken a few steps outside the castle grounds when, on turning the corner of a little path, she found herself face to face with a knight in armour, of comely appearance.

As soon as the latter saw Helen, he stood still, spellbound by the youth and beauty of the young girl. He loved her at first sight, and bewitched by her shy, maidenly demeanour, flung himself at her feet. Helen, for her part, stood bewildered at these demonstrations of respect and adoration.

Suddenly her father appeared, followed by four prisoners he had captured. He was leading them by a cord. He took in the situation at a glance, and said to the knight, who was lost in contemplation of the young maiden, “How dare you kneel at my daughter’s feet?”

“Sire,” replied the knight, “pardon me, I pray you. I love your daughter, and love has drawn me to her feet.”

Helen trembled, for she had also fallen in love.

“Who are you?” asked the giant.

He questioned the knight in such a severe manner that the maiden shivered, and blushing with shame took her father’s hand, murmuring words only intelligible to him.

“I am Harry of Housestone,” replied the young man; “I was knighted by Lothario.”

“That is sufficient; be quite frank with me.”

“I see your gentle daughter for the first time. The sight of her fills me with a happiness which radiates through all my being. I feel that without her life is not worth living. If, sire, I am fortunate enough to have won her favour, I pray you to give me her hand.”

“You are worthy to be my son-in-law,” replied the giant. “However, I have sworn that I will only give her in marriage to whoever shall be able to construct a paved roadway in a single night. The next day at dawn he must be able to take her on horseback down the Causeway bordered by columns to St. George’s Chapel.”

After this speech he glanced ironically at the knight, and taking Helen by the hand led her home. As she was about to cross the threshold the young maiden cast a sad and tender glance at the Knight of Housestone, who was completely disheartened by the giant’s impossible demands.

“Let me consider,” said the young lover, suddenly raising his head, “if there is a way to perform this task.”

But by the time he had estimated the length of the ground and the depth of the ravine on which he had to construct a paved way in a single night, and had realized the impossibility of carting the necessary stones for the colonnade, he groaned and sighed in dire despair.

“Night is falling,” he cried; “I will try my last resource. I will go and see if the miners who work in my uncle’s copper-mines could do this work before dawn.”

He at once started off to the Sunny Wood; he summoned the overseers and asked them if they could build a paved roadway from the Giant’s Castle to the town gates in a single night.

The overseers answered him that it would take at least a year, employing a thousand workmen a day, to execute such a work.

Harry, in deep dismay, took his homeward road, completely overwhelmed by his misfortunes. On the way he saw a little black-haired man, with a tall green hat and white pointed beard, leaning against a tree. He was not more than three feet high. He looked at the young knight with flaming eyes.

“You look sorrowful, Knight of Housestone; no mortal power can help you in your distress ... but if you like I can overcome your difficulties.”

“Oh, whoever you may be, you are very welcome,” replied the knight, holding out his hand. “But who are you?”

“I am the spirit of the copper-mines your uncle is working. I live in the underground caves, and his excavations are a source of great annoyance to me. If you will promise that the mining shall cease, that the galleries and shafts shall be filled in, in order that I and my companions may live in peace in the bowels

of the earth, we will this night construct the road and the colonnade demanded by the giant. To-morrow you will marry Helen.”

“I can promise no such thing, for my uncle has a son who is heir to all he possesses.”

“His son, who was a good-for-nothing, was killed this morning by a man-at-arms whom he had had flogged yesterday. You are now your uncle’s sole heir.”

After saying a prayer for the repose of the soul of his cousin, Harry placed his left hand on the hilt of his sword, and holding out the other to the dwarf, he said, “I swear to do as you request immediately after my uncle’s death.”

“Enough,” replied the dwarf, “to-morrow at dawn repair to the spot where the road should begin, and all you will have to do is to fetch your bride.”

About midnight a terrible storm arose, the wind rooted up the tall trees, and the thunder rolled.

Helen, aroused by these alarming sounds, shaking with fear, got up and sought protection in her father’s room.

“Do not be alarmed, my child,” the giant said softly, “it is the devil chasing some wild beast of the forest.”

“But do you not hear the sound of hammers, the rumbling of wheelbarrows, and confused noises, as though a crowd of men were at work?”

“It is possible,” replied the giant, looking out of the window; “but if Housestone is attempting to perform the task I set him, he must be mad.”

As he shut the window again a puff of wind blew out the lamp. At the same moment the storm abated, and all was calm and still as on other nights.

Helen had not a moment’s rest. At daybreak she ran up to the tower. Her surprise and joy were boundless when she saw a magnificent archway glittering in front of the castle, and beyond it stretched a splendid road, at the end of which she saw Harry of Housestone mounted on a black horse, followed by a beautiful white ambling nag, led by two pages.

On hearing her joyous cries her father appeared. All the giant had demanded was done. The Knight of Housestone was married to Helen the same day, and on his uncle’s death he faithfully fulfilled his promise to the dwarf of the underworld. He ordered the shafts and galleries to be filled up in the copper-mines, and to this day no one has been able to discover where they are.

THE KEY-FLOWER

In Flanders the cowslip is called the key-flower. The story I am about to tell you will explain why it is so named.

A little child died. Its little soul was as innocent and pure as freshly fallen snow. As a dove freed after long captivity flies straight into the blue sky, so the little soul flew into God’s Heaven and knocked at the gate.

St. Peter with his large golden key drew back the heavy lock, half opened the door and looked through the crack.

On seeing who was there, he opened the door wide and welcomed in the new little angel.

But behold, when the Saint was about to close the door, he let fall the bunch of keys with a thud on the golden threshold. Before he was able to pick them up they had slipped from the threshold into the fathomless blue.

They fell through space for two or three days and landed in a cemetery at the entrance to a little village.

Scarcely had they touched the earth, where they sparkled amidst the grass and the flowers, when a beautiful new flower sprang to life which had never been seen on earth before and was therefore without a name.

Early next morning a little orphan girl went to the cemetery to put flowers on her mother’s grave. She soon discovered this strange flower poised so proudly on its stalk. She was very surprised to find the pretty little bell flowers, which were certainly not growing there the day before, and which she had never seen.

She stooped down to examine the plant more closely and was amazed to find in the bushes a bunch of golden keys held together by a gold ring on which she read the word “Heaven.”

The discovery of the new flower and the bunch of keys was fully discussed in the village, and the news spread far and wide. Every one came to see the new flower. They called it the Key of Heaven, by which name it has been known ever since.

THE OGRE

This time I am going to talk about myself, to tell you something that really happened to me. If you do not believe this you must not listen. I can only tell this story to children who are quite sure that I speak the truth.

I was between six and seven years old and still learning my letters at school. One fine Sunday afternoon in September I went with five or six of my schoolfellows into the Aulnes wood.

It was the nut season, and we knew there were a number of nut-trees in the wood.

After gathering nuts for some time on the edge of the wood, it happened that in going from tree to tree we gradually separated from each other. Before I became aware of it, I was deep in the wood. There I discovered a sort of hedge where the nuts grew so plentifully that I could hardly believe my eyes.

The spreading branches were weighed down with nuts in bunches of four, five, or even six ripe nuts in their yellow cups, hanging so temptingly.

At first I ate a good many and had a regular feast. I had never eaten such nuts! There were no bad ones and no empty shells. When I had eaten as many as I wanted, I filled my pockets, all my pockets. First the pockets of my Sunday coat, then my trouser pockets. I then filled my cap and tied some up in my handkerchief. Just as I was thinking that I could put in a few more I noticed that it was very still and lonely in the wood and that the nuts did not show up so plainly among the leaves.

High above my head the last rays of the sunset shone among the branches of the huge elms, oaks, and poplars. Here and there a bird chirped on its nest, and far away towards the sunset I heard the sound of wheels on the road.

I could not hear my companions, but no doubt they were within call, they could not be far off. I put my hands to my mouth and shouted: “Hallo! John! Peter Little Carrots! George!”

I called them all and shouted their names one after the other, shouting louder and louder in all directions. But only the echo answered me. When I shouted John, the echo mockingly replied “Ohn,” and when I shouted George, it replied “Orge.”

Suddenly my heart sank within me, the last rays of light disappeared above my head and with startling rapidity darkness fell among the trees and bushes. The darkness seemed to grow out of the ground. The birds were silent. A cold breeze shook the branches, and far, far away a little bell rang out the Angelus.

I recognized the bell, it was our village bell. I knew that the carriage I had heard was the post-cart which was returning from Ternath to Lennick.

It was in the direction of these two sounds that I had to find a road, however. I could not imagine how far I was from the edge of the wood, and it was imperative that I should reach the fields before darkness overtook me.

I started off with my cap full of nuts in one hand and my handkerchief full in the other.

After going a few steps, I shouted again, “John! Peter!” but this time even the echo made no reply and my voice sounded so strangely in my ears that I did not recognize it.

I ran for about an hour and a half, when all at once I felt as though I was bound with ropes and I fell. I was held fast by the long tendrils of a blackberry-bush which I had not noticed in the gathering darkness.

I dropped my handkerchief and could barely distinguish it in the darkness.

I then shouted again as loudly as ever I could until I lost courage and could shout no more. I dared not, I dared not, because of the terrible silence which seemed to close round me. The silence was so uncanny that I distinctly heard the blood coursing through my veins.

I was alone, alone in the vast never-ending forest, lost, strayed, and far from the road when night fell. I thought of home, of my gentle mother and my good father. I thought of the terrible anxiety they would be in when I did not return. Feeling my way I sat down on the roots of a tree and began to cry....

I then closed my eyes as tightly as ever I could in order to see nothing. I meant to sit there and see what would happen, but when I raised my eyes to say a short prayer, I saw a soft light piercing through the roof of branches above my head, which seemed to me like a smiling face trying to throw its silver rays upon me.

It was the moon; she was rising in the opposite direction to which I had seen the last rays of the sinking sun. As my eyes grew accustomed to the light I began to distinguish things around me. At first the tree-trunks, some as thick as my body, others as thick as my head, others as thick as my legs and arms. Then I saw the shrubs and bushes, the flowers in the grass, and the ferns.

Suddenly I saw something white--a little weasel--which approached very cautiously. Had I moved a little twig? Quick as lightning the little fellow darted off. I saw him disappearing like a white arrow.

Now I could see I was not so frightened. I got up, emptied my cap and put it on my head, determined to try once again to find a path. I started off in the same direction as the weasel had disappeared. I had walked for about a quarter of an hour when, my heart beating violently, I stopped--something like a star shone very low, low among the foliage--no, so low that it could not be a star--it must be either a light from a lantern or a window. Certainly some one must be passing with a light or living in a little house.