Chapter II: One day the hare said suddenly, (1)

“I have just had something whispered in my ear!”

“What is it?” asked Hervé.

“The daughter of the king of England is about to be taken to a dragon to be devoured by him; shall we go and deliver her?”

“That would be a very perilous undertaking,” said Hervé.

“Pshaw!” said the bear, “I will undertake it: you will see.”

“All four of us,” said the fox, “can surely see it well put through.”

“Let us go, then,” said Hervé.

“Let us go,” they all repeated at once.

So they all four set out together.

But the road was long, and Hervé, overcome with fatigue, could not walk any farther. Then the bear took him on his back and they went on. At last they reached England, and when they came to the suburbs of London, they met the procession which was conducting the poor princess. All the people of the land were there, and they were grieved and weeping as though they were at a funeral. When they came to the edge of an immense plain, all bare and desolate, all the people turned back and left the poor princess to go on her way alone. The cavern of the dragon was in the midst of this plain, and twice a day he threw out fire from his seven mouths, and burned up all vegetation for several leagues around.

The poor princess, abandoned by all the world, went slowly on, sobbing and shedding great tears. Hervé, who was provided with a horse, joined her, followed by his three animals, and said to her,--

“Come with me in the croup, dear lady, and I will take you where you are going.”

“Alas!” she replied, “I shall get there only too soon, and I do not wish to run to my death.”

“Confide in me, mount to the croup on my horse, and I will save you from the monster, with the aid of my three companions whom you see.”

And he showed her the three animals who were following him.

The princess mounted, and immediately Hervé put his horse at a gallop, for already the dragon had begun to throw out fire.

The hare had told each one what to do. He had said to the bear,--

“You, bear, must drag the monster from his cavern; and you, fox, fill your stomach with water so as to extinguish the fire which he will throw on us, while I shall fight with my good saber.”

When they reached the opening of the cavern, the dragon said,--

“Here you are at last, daughter of the king of England! I was getting impatient, and you have done well to come, for I should have reduced your father’s whole kingdom to ashes if you had kept me waiting too long. But I see that you have not come alone; so much the better, for I shall eat you all.”

Then, addressing Hervé:--

“Throw me the princess first.”

“Come take her,” he replied.

“Throw her to me, I tell you, and at once!”

“Come take her, I tell you, if you want her.”

“Throw her to me, or I shall burn you to ashes.”

“Pshaw! I am not afraid of you.”

And addressing his companions:--

“Come, my friends, do your duty and work hard.”

Then the bear seized the monster and dragged him from his cave. Immediately he began to throw fire from his seven mouths; but the fox vomited over it torrents of water, and the hare, on his part, made such frequent and terrible thrusts with his sword, that at last they killed the seven heads. “Victory!” then cried Hervé and the princess.

They had conquered, in truth, but not without difficulty, and the hare, the fox, and the bear, had their skins all torn and burned, and they were overcome with fatigue. Hervé, himself, and the princess had suffered somewhat, though they kept at a distance. Moreover, night was approaching, and for many reasons they could not think of returning to the city. They resolved then to pass the night in the open plain, without shelter. Hervé, fearing the effect of a night spent in the open air upon the princess, whose constitution appeared delicate, was much troubled. Fortunately there were on the plain great masses of rocks to which they repaired, and when the bear had rolled together several bowlders so as to form quite a sheltering cavern, they all gathered there to wait for the morning, except the horse, who was fastened near by and slept on the sand. Then the hare served as a pillow for the princess, and the bear slept at her feet to keep them warm. The fox was a little indisposed from having drunk too much water, in spite of having thrown it all up.

Before going to sleep, though very much fatigued, they talked a little over the events of the struggle and their plans for the future. It was clearly understood that Hervé should marry the princess.

A charcoal-burner, who was passing by, heard a noise and stopped to listen. He drew near the rocks, heard all their conversation, and resolved to profit by it. When they were all fast asleep, he took away the rock which closed the entrance to the grotto, entered softly, cut off Hervé’s head, and carried off the princess. The hare, the fox, and the bear were so broken down by fatigue that they heard not a sound. When they woke next morning, and saw Hervé dead, with his head cut off, and the princess nowhere to be seen, their astonishment was great.

“How is it, bear, that you who were at the feet of the princess did not wake up?” said the hare.

“I was so weary,” replied the bear, “that I slept like a rock.”

“And you, fox, whose ear is so keen?”

“And you, yourself, hare, who served as a pillow for the princess?” replied the fox.

“The first thing to be done,” said the hare, “is to put our master’s head again upon his shoulders and bring him to life; then we will see what has become of the princess. Fortunately I know how to make an ointment which will bring the dead to life, but I shall need the assistance of you both to do this. You, bear, must find and bring to me the solitary worm which is hidden a thousand feet under the ground; and you, fox, bring me a blackbird and a gray raven to make my ointment.”

“But that is not easy,” said the bear, “a thousand feet under the ground.”

“Suppose you go look for them yourself,” said the fox.

“And would you know how to make the ointment? You wouldn’t, would you?”

“Go, then, each on your way, work, and do not return without bringing me what I have ordered.”

So the bear went in one direction, growling, and the fox took another road, grumbling.

The bear went all over the plain, with his nose to the earth, sniffing everywhere. He stopped at last and began to dig up the earth. He dug and dug till he came to the solitary worm, and he seized it eagerly and carried it to the hare.

The fox had run to a forest which he had perceived from a distance, mounting to it over a mass of rocks. He stretched himself on his back in the bottom of a ravine, where there was a little running brook, his four paws in the air and his mouth wide open, as if he were dead. Soon a blackbird flew down upon him from a tree, hoping to regale himself. But the make-believe snapped it up quickly and strangled it. He hid it in a bush, went a little farther, and stretched himself under an old oak, and pretended to be dead again. After a while a gray raven passed by, crying, _Oak! oak!_ and seeing a dead fox, lighted on him, and was caught like the blackbird.

Then the fox also took the fruit of his search to the hare, who immediately set about preparing the ointment. And when it was finished he said to the bear,--

“Come, bear, stand your master on his feet and keep him in that position.”

The bear stood Hervé’s body up.

“Now, then, put his head in its place.”

The bear took his head, and put it on facing the wrong way.

“Idiot! see what you are doing!”

Then the hare himself put it on in the right way, rubbed the wound and the whole body with his ointment, and the head grew again on the neck, life returned little by little to the whole body, Hervé opened his eyes, rubbed them as one does on awaking, and said, “How well I have slept!” Then looking round and seeing only the hare, the fox, and the bear,--

“Where is the princess?” he asked.

The hare told him all that had happened and he was greatly astonished. But the disappearance of the princess vexed him very much.

“Be comforted,” said the hare to him, “we will find her again.”

The charcoal-burner carried her back to her father, the king of England, and claimed to be her deliverer and the conqueror of the dragon. The old king had promised the hand of his daughter to the man who should deliver her from the monster, whoever he might be. But the princess, who knew the treachery of the charcoal-burner, refuses to take him for her husband, and declares it is not he to whom she owes her life, although the impostor shows the seven heads of the dragon which he has cut off and brought with him in a sack. He has the heads, but the heads have no tongues in them, for “I cut them out myself and here they are.” Then he showed them where he had put them in a corner of the grotto, adding: “In spite of the resistance of the princess, her father, finding the proofs quite sufficient, and wishing to keep his word, has fixed to-morrow for the wedding. We have then no time to lose, and we must set off at once.” So they all four started out on the road to London. Hervé was on horseback, having in the croup the tongues of the dragon in a bag; the hare, the fox, and the bear followed him.

They stopped in a small wood near the king’s palace, and the hare said to his companions, “You three remain here, and I will go and see what is going on in the king’s palace.”

Then he crept into the palace and went even into the dining-hall, where they were at table when he arrived. There had been feasting and rejoicing every day since the return of the king’s daughter; not only at the palace, but in the whole city.

The charcoal-burner was betrothed to the princess, and although she steadily refused to take him for her husband, the marriage was to take place the next day.

“Look! look! a hare!” cried the guests, astonished.

The servants went in pursuit of it and tried to catch it. About to be overtaken, he jumped into the princess’s lap, and said in a low voice,--

“It is I! Hervé is still alive and loves you always!”

“What! is it you, poor animal?”

And she embraced him and gave him some sweetmeats.

The charcoal-burner, seeing this, cried,--

“Drive it away, this ugly beast.”

“What harm has he done?” said the princess, wrapping the hare in the skirt of her gown.

“Drive it away quickly, I tell you; it is an infamous sorcerer.”

“A sorcerer?” cried the old king, much frightened.

“A sorcerer! put him out the door at once!”

And the servants, armed with brooms and sticks, set to work to drive away the hare.

But the latter leaped lightly through the window, and rejoined his companions in the woods.

The charcoal-burner urged the old king to have the marriage take place the next morning. But the princess cried and implored her father so constantly that the ceremony was deferred to the day after.

The hare had told Hervé, as well as the fox and the bear, what was going on at the palace.

“I, too, will go there to-morrow,” said the fox.

“Take care you are not caught,” said the hare.

“Fear nothing, and be sure that I shall not return without having had a taste of the feast and bringing you your share also.”

So the fox set out the next day, as he had said, at the hour for dinner. He also got well into the dining-hall; but as soon as the charcoal-burner saw him he rose and cried out,--

“See! the wicked sorcerer has come back again. Drive him out at once, or something dreadful will happen to us!”

Then all the servants hunted down the poor animal with brooms and sticks.

He leaped on the table, passed near the princess, and said to her, “To-morrow we will all come; Hervé, the hare, the bear, and I.” Then he jumped through the window. As he passed through the court he snapped up a hen and ran off with her to the wood.

The next day the whole little company, Hervé, the hare, the fox and the bear, went to the palace. The bear marched at the head, carrying Hervé on his back. The others followed, and thus made their way into the banquet hall.

Every one wished to escape from this sight, the charcoal-burner first of all. But Hervé, raising his hand, said,--

“Stay! let no one go out for a moment, or he will have to deal with my friend here.” And he pulled the bear’s ear, who growled.

“Do you believe, sire, that it is this ugly, charcoal-burner here, this impostor, who has delivered your daughter from the dragon, and are you willing to give him your daughter’s hand?”

“I am a man of my word,” said the king.

“Very well! the man who delivered your daughter from the monster is not this charcoal-burner; it is I who have done it with the aid of my friends;” and he pointed to his three animals.

The charcoal-burner was white as the cloth before him.

“He has given us his proofs,” replied the king; “he brought us the seven heads of the dragon.”

“Very well; let me see these heads and I will expose the fraud.”

The king ordered the dragon’s heads to be brought, and a servant emptied them from a bag on the flags of the hall.

“Open their mouths,” said Hervé then, “and see if they have tongues.”

The same servant opened the jaws of the seven heads, one after the other, and not one had a tongue; all had been cut out.

“Where are the tongues?” said the king.

“Here they are,” said Hervé, throwing them on the table.

“Yes, it is indeed he who is my deliverer, and who shall be my husband!” cried the princess, throwing herself on Hervé’s neck.

Seeing that everything was going against him, the charcoal-burner wanted to go out, but the bear stopped the way.

Then the old king, addressing his servants, said angrily,--

“Seize this impostor and let him be burned!”

And they built an enormous pile of fagots, set it on fire, and threw the charcoal-burner into the midst of the flames. Then Hervé married the princess and they had holidays and magnificent banquets.

Told by Margaret Philip, of Pluzunet, 1873.

F. M. LUZEL.

PAPA TIGER AND PAPA SHEEP

A CREOLE STORY

A long, long time ago the sheep was feared by all the animals on the savannas, and in the great forests. When he passed along the road, walking slowly, his face grave and stern, with his long white beard and his curved horns, it was frightful, and the animals who met him saluted him politely, then ran away as fast as their legs could carry them. Had he ever eaten any of his neighbors? The gossips of the country dared not say so positively, but he looked so terrible, that, as they say, it is better to believe it than to go to see. By degrees, from hearing it said that he was to be feared, he finally came to believe it entirely himself. Once when he was stooping over a brook to drink, he saw his image in the stream, and jumped three feet back, frightened at the sight of his beard and his horns.

A Tiger, which lived not far from Papa Sheep’s hut, plucked up all his courage one day, and determined to make a formal visit to his neighbor. He took with him his son, a little tiger already able to walk about. As far off as he could see Papa Sheep, he saluted him very humbly, and when he came near he asked after his family.

“Neighbor, I have come to pay my respects to you, and my wife would have been pleased to pay her compliments to Madam Sheep if she had not been kept at home by indisposition.”

Papa Sheep invited Papa Tiger to come into his house. While the two fathers conversed gravely on the affairs of the country, little Tiger went to play in the garden with little Sheep.

“Be very polite to little Sheep,” said his father to him, “or else he will eat you.”

So the two children began to play together; after a moment or so little Tiger jumped on little Sheep and threw him down head over heels. Then little Sheep laughed.

“Bless me! what little teeth you have!” said little Tiger to him.

“It is so with all my family; Papa’s are all like mine,” said little Sheep.

This remark made little Tiger reflect; and when the visit was over, and father and son had left their hosts, little Tiger scarcely waited for Papa Sheep to shut the door before he said to his father,--

“Papa, Papa, little Sheep has very small teeth, and he told me that his father’s were no longer than his own.”

“Hold your tongue, hold your tongue, you rascal; if Papa Sheep should hear us, he would eat us both up.”

Papa Tiger resolved, however, to know the truth of this matter. Certainly, Papa Sheep had seemed to him very fat, and only the thought of it made him lick his moustaches. But how could he see Papa Sheep’s teeth? This was not easy. Papa Sheep scarcely ever opened his mouth to speak, and his beard entirely covered his lower lip and chin. However, the opportunity came to the Tiger as it does to all those who know how to wait. The day that Papa Sheep and his son returned his visit, while the children were playing outside, he was exceedingly polite to Sheep, and gave him a bottle of his best wine, then a second, and a third. Papa Sheep became extremely gay, and losing his seriousness, he opened his mouth wide so as to enjoy his laugh. Then Papa Tiger saw his guest’s little teeth. Without hesitation he jumped on the Sheep and throttled him. Hearing his father scream, little Sheep ran off as fast as he could, and reached his home before the Tiger, excited over his first prey, had thought of following him.

All day long there were nothing but tears and groanings in the Sheep’s hut. Mamma Sheep and her son cried until it was a pity to hear them. Hearing the noise they made, the Queen of the Birds came flying from the great forest near by, and lighting on the roof of the hut, she asked Mamma Sheep the cause of her grief.

“Alas! kind lady, Papa Tiger has eaten up my poor husband! My child and I do not dare to go out, for he will come prowling around here to eat us also.”

Touched by her grief, the Queen of the Birds consoled her as well as she could, and promised her a complete revenge. Then with a few flaps of her wings she soon reached the neighboring forest. All the birds of the great forest responded to her appeal; the large Aras, with their brilliant plumage; the Cockatoos, with their white crests; thousands of emerald Paroquets, with coral beaks; little scarlet and green Humming-birds, looking like precious stones, to which God had given wings. The Queen told them of the death of Papa Sheep. “Let us swear to avenge our good neighbor,” cried she. “We swear it!” squalled, whistled, and screamed the birds, each in his own language.

At this deafening noise, the Alligators ran to hide themselves in the high grass, the Boas and Rattlesnakes ran hastily into the hollows of the trees.

“Be confident!” said the Queen of the Birds. “To-morrow is Sunday; I will give a great feast in the forest. As soon as high mass is over I wish all the birds of the forest to assemble. My pretty Paroquets, fly around and give the invitations. Get everything ready for the feast; be prompt at the appointed hour, and obey me in everything. I will fly over myself and invite Papa Tiger.”

Flattered by the visit of the Queen of the Birds, Papa Tiger promised to come to the great ball in the forest. He put on his finest clothes, curled his moustache, and before setting out he kissed his wife on her lips, and his son on his two cheeks.

As soon as they saw him come the Queen of the Birds cried to all her subjects,--

“Take your places quickly, form the quadrilles, and let each one of you begin to dance, hiding his head under his wing. Music, play!”

And the orchestra played,--

“Tig, tig, malinboin
La chelema che tango
Redjoum
La chelema che tango!”

The Queen of the Birds flew down before Papa Tiger, and bade him welcome. How splendid the feast was! Papa Tiger was dazzled by it! Long lines of birds with rich plumage placed themselves opposite each other. “The quadrille is beginning now,” said the Queen; “you shall be my cavalier.” Papa Tiger stood up beside his partner, and the orchestra played,--

“Tig, tig, malinboin
La chelema che tango
Redjoum
La chelema che tango!”

At once the birds, their heads under their wings, began to dance to the music. The Queen also hid her head, and when Papa Tiger, proud, and marching with his head high, was about to make the first turn, she cried,--

“But, Papa Tiger, you don’t understand! It is the custom at my court, that in order to take part in the dance, you must have no head. Look at all my invited guests; they would consider they had been wanting in the manners of distinguished society, indeed, in the simplest politeness, if they dared raise their heads before their sovereign. So, my friend, do as they do, and you will then be able to move with distinction in the quadrille of the Queen of the Birds.”

Papa Tiger blushed red with shame.

“My Queen,” he cried, “I beg your pardon humbly for this breach of etiquette. I am a wild hunter, accustomed to pass entire nights on the watch, and I am ignorant of the customs of courts. Kindly promise me a quadrille and I will return in a moment in the attitude that you require.”

With a few bounds Papa Tiger was at home. He said to his wife,--

“My wife, in order to have the honor of dancing with the Queen of the Birds, it is essential to have no head; I saw all the guests dancing in that condition. It is the etiquette of the court. Take this axe and cut off my head.”

“You have lost it already, my poor husband,” said Mamma Tiger. “Instead of dancing with Queens, you would do better to stay at home with your wife and children. I do not like husbands who leave their wives in the lurch and pass the night at balls.”

“If you do not obey me,” growled the Tiger, in a rage at being scolded by his wife, “I will strangle you this moment.”

Then Mamma Tiger seized the axe, and with one blow cut off her husband’s head. It killed him outright, as you may imagine.

Two Paroquets, waiting in ambush, flew off rapidly to carry the news of the Tiger’s death to the Queen of the Birds. Then the birds all took their heads from under their wings; all the beasts of the forest were brought in; each of them wished in his turn to embrace Mamma Sheep and her son. After that, they formed a line to dance and the orchestra began to play:--

“Tig, tig, malinboin
La chelema che tango
Redjoum
La chelema che tango!”

It would be impossible to tell you how they leaped, how they fluttered! At last it was necessary to go away, for everything comes to an end in this lower world; but before doing so, they took up a collection and gave the money to little Sheep and his mother.

Sheep, and you children who hear me, let the death of Papa Sheep be a lesson to you; it is better not to open your mouth than to laugh with people you know nothing about.

LOYS BRUYERE.

JOHN BIT-OF-A-MAN

A STORY OF THE DISTRICT OF METZ

Once there was a woman who had a little son who was extremely small; so very small that she named him John Bit-of-a-man. One day she called him to her and said,--

“Come, take this to your father who is working down there in the fields, and when you get to him, say: ‘See, father! here is your buttered roll!’”

“I will, mother,” said John Bit-of-a-man; and all along the way he repeated the words so as not to forget them: “See, father! here is your buttered roll; see, father! here is your buttered roll!”

When he reached his father, who was occupied in repairing the ditches, he took up his refrain: “See, father! here is your buttered roll.”

The good man, hearing some one speak, looked around him on every side, but saw no one; at last, however, he spied little John Bit-of-a-man in the grass at his feet.

“Ah!” said he, “it is you, is it? What do you want?”

“I have brought you a buttered roll,” said John Bit-of-a-man.

“You are very good, my child, to bring me this buttered roll;” and taking it in his hands he ate it all up, without offering John Bit-of-a-man a mite.

“The glutton! he did not give me any! The glutton! he did not give me any!” groaned John Bit-of-a-man.

Some time after that, a lord passed by. He called to the laborer. “You have a pretty little boy; will you sell him to me?”

“I will, gladly.”

“How much will you take?”

“A hundred crowns.”

“A hundred crowns you shall have.”

The bargain concluded, the lord put John Bit-of-a-man in his pocket and went on his way. At the end of an hour, the child put his head out of the pocket and begged his master to put him down on the ground for a moment as he felt faint. The lord was good enough to listen to him, and in a moment John Bit-of-a-man glided under a heap of leaves and his master could not find him. John Bit-of-a-man, being free once more, went back to his father.

A few days after that, the lord again passed by the laborer, who was still repairing the ditches. “You have a pretty little boy there,” said he; “will you sell him to me?”

“I will, gladly.”

“How much will you take?”

“A hundred crowns.”

“A hundred crowns you shall have.”

The bargain concluded, the lord clapped John Bit-of-a-man into his pocket. At the end of an hour the child put his head out of the pocket and begged his master to put him down on the ground awhile as he felt cramped.

“Well, stay in my pocket and be cramped!” said the lord, who remembered how he had been caught before.

When he reached his castle, he took John Bit-of-a-man out of his pocket and put him in a basket which he suspended from the kitchen ceiling, and told him to watch everything he saw going on, and tell him faithfully all that he saw.

John Bit-of-a-man agreed to do this, and each day he told his master all that he saw and heard.

One day our hero leaned his little head over the edge of the basket, so he could see around him, and a servant saw him and said to him,--

“So it is you who watch us, you little wretch! It is you who tell the master all that happens! Very well! you shall pay for it!”

Amid the applause of his companions, the servant took down the basket, seized the poor little fellow by the hair, and threw him into the horse-trough. That same day an ox went there to drink, and swallowed him whole.

At the end of a week, the lord had the ox killed for a great feast that he made; the entrails were thrown out into the road. An old woman passing by saw the entrails. “Oh! what splendid entrails! What a pity to throw them away!” and so saying, she clapped them into the basket which she carried on her back. She had not taken many steps, when she heard a noise that came from her basket saying,--

“Toc! toc!
The devil’s imp is in your basket!
Toc! toc!
The devil’s imp is in your basket!”

The old woman threw down her basket, and ran away frightened.

A hungry wolf came along who seized on the entrails with avidity, and John Bit-of-a-man was once more swallowed alive.

As the wolf was crossing the plain, he heard a voice which came from the inside of his body cry out,--

“Help! shepherd! help! here is the wolf that devours your sheep.”

“Be quiet! you cursed stomach; be quiet! cursed stomach!” said the wolf in desperation.

“I will not hold my tongue until you have put me down at my father’s door,” answered John Bit-of-a-man.

“Very well; I will go there,” said the wolf.

When they got there, John Bit-of-a-man got out of the wolf’s stomach, and ran quickly into the house, passing by the cat’s hole; at the same moment, seizing the wolf by the tail, he cried, “Come, father, come, I have got the wolf by the tail.” His father ran to him, killed the wolf with one stroke of his axe, and sold his skin.

Restored to his home again, John Bit-of-a-man lived ever after happy and peaceful.

Told by Madam Richet, aged 77, at Woippy, near Metz.

NÉRÉE QUEPAT.

LONG TIME

A STORY OF CARAYAC (QUERCY)

Once upon a time there was a man who was not rich, but by dint of hard work he had saved up a little sum. Every day when he went to his work, he said to his wife,--

“Take care of this money. It is for the long time.”

The woman, as soon as he was gone, would take pleasure in counting over the crowns and the sous. One day when she was alone in her house, counting her money as usual, a beggar came by and asked her for charity.

“Alas! poor man,” said she, “we are very poor; I have nothing to give you.”

“What!” said he, “and all those beautiful crowns and those sous that you have there! Could you not give me some of those for charity?”

“I wish I could,” said the woman, “but we are keeping this for the long time.”

“The long time?” said the beggar; “I am the long time.”

“Ah! if you are the long time, that is another thing. Take some, take some.”

The beggar, not at all ashamed, pocketed the whole sum, leaving not a farthing or a mite, and went away satisfied with his windfall, as you may imagine.

The husband returned. “Long Time came,” said the wife, “and I gave him the money that we saved for him.”

“Long Time? you miserable baggage!”

“Yes; a poor man who told me that he was Long Time. I have given him all.”

“Ah! poor dunce! you let him steal the savings from you. Come, there is nothing left for us to do, but take a wallet and go out ourselves and beg from village to village. Take your clothes and let us go forth.”

The husband had nothing but what he had on, the wife not much more. He went in front, she followed.

“Shut the door tight,” said the husband.

“Did you say carry it?”

“I said shut it.”

“Shall I carry it?”

“Yes, carry it.”

The obedient wife took the door off the hinges, put it on her shoulders, and followed her husband towards the neighboring wood.

Night came on. They heard the noise of a band of robbers, who were coming in their direction. “Let us climb up into a tree to hide,” said the husband.

“What shall I do with the door?” asked his wife.

“The door? Leave it there.”

“Shall I take it up?”

“Leave it there.”

“Shall I take it up?”

“Yes, take it up.”

She climbed up after her husband into a large old spreading oak-tree, dragging the door after her. They were scarcely settled in the branches when the robbers arrived at the foot of the tree, made a halt, opened their provisions, lighted a fire, prepared their supper, counted the booty they had taken during the day, and then began to eat and drink.

The wife, from the top branch, said in a low voice to her husband,--

“The door is going to fall!”

“Hold on to it, you miserable baggage, or we are lost.”

“Shall I let it go?”

“Hold on to it!”

“Shall I let it go?”

“Yes, let it go.”

The woman let go the door, which tumbled with a great crash from branch to branch, and fell into the midst of the robbers and frightened them so that they ran away as fast as they could, forgetting all their plunder and never looking behind them.

The husband and wife came down, picked up the jewels, the pieces of gold, and all the booty left by the robbers, and returned to their house, rich for the rest of their lives.

MARCEL DEVIC.

SKILFUL JOHN

A STORY OF PICARDY

One day a poor man sent his son, Skilful John, to carry some buttered rolls to his parents, who lived three miles off, telling him not to stop by the way. John sauntered along the road and lost his way. Seeing a light, he followed it and came to a little hut. He knocked at the door.

“Tap! tap!
Open to a poor lost boy.
Tap! tap!
God therefor will have great joy.”

The door opened; an old woman with a grinning face appeared and asked, “Who are you?”

“I am Skilful John; will you lodge me for the night?”

“If I lodge you, what will you pay me?”

“I will give you a piece of buttered roll.”

The old woman made him come in; he seated himself in a corner while the old woman made him some broth.

“I bet,” said she to him after a few moments, “that with my old legs I can reach my garden wall before you do. If I win, I will eat your buttered roll; and if I lose, you shall keep your roll, and have my broth into the bargain.”

“Very well,” said the child; and, darting out, he soon reached the garden wall. But the old woman, instead of running, shut and bolted her door and took possession of the buttered roll that John had left on his bench. John knocked in vain; the door was not opened for him a second time; and as it was raining very hard, he got into a bee-hive. In the middle of the night some thieves came to steal the hives. John heard a voice say,--

“Lift the hives, and take away the heaviest.”

As the hive in which John was, was one of the heaviest, it was taken away by the thieves, who put it in a bag.

When the thieves came to a wood, they put down their burdens, John took his knife, made a hole in the bag and escaped.

After wandering for some time, he met a shepherd who gave him a piece of bread, and took him afterwards to sleep in the barn of a farmhouse. During the night the floor fell in, and John woke up in a stable astride of an ox. Just at that moment the thieves were busy unfastening the oxen; seeing John, they took him and carried him away with them to the forest. Not wishing to kill him, they shut him up in an old cask and abandoned him to his unhappy fate. A pack of wolves came up to devour the remains of the thieves’ repast: one of them passed near the cask. John put his hand out of the bung-hole and seized him by his tail. The frightened wolf fled through the woods, dragging behind him the cask, which was soon broken into a thousand pieces. John, once more set free, went wandering around till he came to a hut. It was the same old woman’s hut. Its door was only latched. John entered softly; the old woman, who was asleep, did not hear him. He took his buttered roll and ate all there was left of the broth, then went out singing as loud as he could,--

“Old woman! old woman!
I have eaten your broth.
Old woman! old woman!
I am sharp enough!”

Told in Picardy by Narcisso Dufaux, aged 48 years, a cap-maker at Warloy-Baillon (Somme).

HENRI CARNOY.

THE TAILOR AND THE HURRICANE

A BRETON STORY

Once there was a tailor and his wife. Tailors’ wives are generally lazy, and this one was like the rest. Her name was Jeanne ar Balc’h and her husband’s name was Iann troad scarbet (John Cross-foot). In the morning, as soon as Jean had gone out to his work, Jeanne got back into bed, and when she rose again, about eleven or twelve o’clock, she went to gossip in the village, and chatted from door to door like a magpie. When Jean returned in the evening she was always at her spinning-wheel; so he thought she had not left it the whole day.

One morning Jean said to Jeanne,--

“I shall not go out to-day, wife, for a day’s work, and we will both go together to the market to sell the yarn; for you must have a great deal by this time.”

Jeanne was greatly embarrassed at this; what should she do? She had not three bobbins of yarn. She went to the house, of a neighboring gossip, and told how it was.

“Tell your husband,” said the gossip, “that after having washed your thread, you had put it to dry in the oven of the furnace, and that he, not knowing of it, lighted the fire as usual and burned up all the thread.”

Jeanne returned to her house, and told her husband, word for word, what the gossip said.

“Fool!” cried Jean angrily; “you must have lost the little sense you had, and I shall never be anything but poor with you. Now, to punish you, you shall sow in the garden the half-bushel of flaxseed that we have there; and this evening when I come home, the flax must be ripe, reaped, retted, dried, and put in bundles in the barn.”

“But my poor husband,” said Jeanne, “how can you talk in such a way? No one in the world can do this; and how can you expect me to do it?”

“You may manage it as you like,” answered Jean; “but it must be done when I come back this evening, or woe to you!”

Then he went away as usual. Jeanne, much disturbed, ran at once to the house of her gossiping neighbor.

“If you only knew, neighbor, what my husband has ordered me to do! He must have lost his senses completely.”

“What has he ordered you to do?”

“What has he ordered me to do? He says that this evening when he turns from his day’s work, I must have sown in our garden a half-bushel of flaxseed, and that, moreover, the flax must be ripe, reaped, retted, dried, and put in bundles in the barn! I should like to know if you do not think he must have lost his senses to ask such an impossible thing of me?” And she cried as she said this.

“Be comforted, neighbor,” said the other woman; “we will find out some way of deceiving Jean yet; he thinks himself cunning, but he is only a fool. This is what you must do. I have a little flax in my barn from last year. Take two or three bundles of it, and scatter it over the fields and meadows around, and hang some on the hedges and bushes, and when he returns in the evening, you can tell him that you have done all that he ordered you, but that a hurricane came while the flax was drying in the meadow, and carried it all away; and as a proof of this you can show him what is left hanging on the trees and bushes.”

This appeared to Jeanne to be an excellent plan; so she took three bundles of her neighbor’s dry flax, and went and scattered it over the fields and meadows, and hung it on the bushes and the branches of the trees.

When Jean returned in the evening he asked at once,--

“Well, wife, have you done what I told you, this morning?”

“Certainly, I did just exactly what you told me; but we have no luck, my poor husband.”

“Well, what has happened?”

“What has happened? Think of it! The flax, after being taken out of the pond where it had been retted, was drying in the meadow, and I was getting ready to pick it up and bind it in bundles to put it up in the barn, when a hurricane came which has carried it all away.”

“Tut, tut, tut! I do not believe any such stories,” said Jean.

“But, my husband, this is not a story at all; come with me and I will show you that it is the pure truth.”

And she led him to the field, where she pretended to have spread her flax to dry, and showed it to him, scattered all over the neighboring fields and meadows, or hanging on the bushes and branches of the trees.

Jean believed her then, and he exclaimed,--

“Very well! since it is the hurricane that has done all this damage, it is he that shall pay for it, and I will go this moment and complain to the master of the winds.”

Then he went into his house, took his _pennbaz_, a taste of barley bread and some buttered rolls, and started off. He traveled a long time; after going straight ahead, farther and farther off, he came, one day, to the foot of a hill on which there was seated an old woman as large as a giantess. Her white hair floated in the wind, and one long, black tooth, the only one she had left, shook in her mouth.

“Good morning, grandmother!” said Jean.

“Good morning, my son,” answered the old woman; “what do you want?”

“I am looking for the dwelling-place of the winds.”

“Then, my son, you are at the end of your journey, for this is the dwelling-place of the winds, and I am their mother. What do you want with them?”

“I want to complain of the damage they have caused me.”

“What damage have they caused you? Tell me, and I will repay you if it is possible.”

“Your son Hurricane has ruined me”; and he told the whole affair to the old woman.

She said to him, “Come into my house, my son, and when my son the Hurricane returns I will make him repay you.”

And she then descended the hill and took Jean to her house, which was at the foot of it. It was a hut built of branches and clods of earth, and the wind came in and blew through and through it. She gave him something to eat, and told him not to be afraid of her son, when he returned, although he might threaten to eat him up, for she would know very well how to manage him.

Soon a terrible noise was heard; the trees cracked, small stones flew through the air, and the wolves howled.

“That is my son the Hurricane, coming,” said the old woman.

Jean was so terribly frightened that he hid himself under the table. The Hurricane came in muttering, sniffing the air, and cried out,--

“I smell the blood of a Christian! There is a Christian here, and I must eat him up!”

“Do not think, my son, that I am going to let you eat up this pretty little Christian; think rather of repaying him for the damage you have done him,” said the old woman; and, taking Jean by the hand, she made him come out from under the table.

The Hurricane, as soon as he saw him, opened his enormous mouth, and sprang at him to swallow him. But his mother said to him, pointing with her finger to a bag which was hanging from one of the beams of the hut,--

“Do you want to be put in prison?” And he became calm immediately. Then the tailor grew bold and said to him,--

“Good morning, Mr. Hurricane; you have ruined me.”

“How is that, my good man?” answered the Hurricane gently.

“You carried away all my flax from the meadow where my wife had spread it to dry.”

“That is not true; and your wife is a liar and a good-for-nothing creature. But as you are an honest man and a good workman, and because in spite of all the trouble you take you will always be poor with such a wife, I will reward you for the trouble you have taken in coming here, and for your confidence in my justice. See! here is a mule, and when you are in want of silver and gold you have only to spread a white napkin under his mouth and say to him, ‘Mule, do your duty!’ and he will furnish you with gold and silver as much as you want. But take care not to let him be stolen from you, or you will find yourself poor as before.”

Then the Hurricane gave him a mule which was in a corner of a hut, and which was not at all different from an ordinary mule. The tailor thanked the Hurricane, bade farewell to him and also to his mother, and then went away, taking with him the precious animal.

When he had gone a considerable distance, as he was crossing a large field, he wished to assure himself that his mule really possessed the virtue which had been attributed to him. He spread his handkerchief under his mouth and said, “Mule, do your duty!” And immediately pieces of gold and silver fell in his handkerchief until it would not hold any more. He filled his pockets with them, then he started again on his way, singing, laughing, dancing, and jumping for joy, as if he were foolish.

Toward sunset he stopped to pass the night in an inn by the roadside. As he left his mule with the stable-boy, he charged him to take special care of it and never to say to it, “Do your duty.” Poor Jean, as we have seen, was none of the sharpest. After having supped comfortably, eaten and drunk of the best there was in the house, he went to bed and slept without anxiety till morning.

The stable-boy was astonished at Jean’s charging him not to say to the mule, “Do your duty”; no traveler had ever told him such a thing. “There is something back of this,” said he to himself.

This thought kept him from sleeping: he went to tell his master about it. When all the household was asleep, the inn-keeper, his wife, and the stable-boy, went to the stable, and going up to the mule the stable-boy said,--

“Mule, do your duty!”

And pieces of gold and silver fell at once, making a ringing sound. They were overcome with astonishment. After they had all three filled their pockets, they put another mule in place of the tailor’s and hid his in a room well fastened up, far from the stable.

The next day, Jean breakfasted well, paid his reckoning, and then set out again on his journey, taking with him the mule which the stable-boy brought him, and not dreaming of the trick that had been played on him.

As he had his pockets filled with gold and silver, he had no need, during the rest of his journey, to say to his mule, “Do your duty.”

When he reached his home, his wife and children were ready to die of hunger. On seeing him, Jeanne began to heap abuses upon him: “So here you are at last, wicked, heartless man; you run off, no one knows where, and leave your wife and children at home to die of hunger.”

And she shook her fist at him.

“Hold your tongue! wife,” said Jean, quietly, and with the air of a man sure of his powers; “you will never again want for bread or anything else; we are rich now, as you shall see! Take off your apron and spread it on the ground under the mule’s mouth.”

Jeanne spread her apron on the ground and Jean said,--

“Mule, do your duty!”

But to his astonishment nothing fell in the apron. He said, a second time, louder than before, thinking perhaps he had not heard,--

“Mule, do your duty!”

Still nothing; then a third time he cried still louder,--

“Mule, do your duty!”

But neither gold nor silver fell on the apron. Jeanne, now persuaded that her husband was mocking her, seized a stick and darted at him. Poor Jean, to get out of her way, ran out, and not daring to go into his house, and not knowing just where his mule had been stolen, he determined to go again to see the Hurricane.

When the latter saw him returning all cast down he said to him,--

“I know why you have come back; you let them steal your mule from you at the first inn where you lodged on your way home. Here is a napkin, and when you spread it on a table or even on the ground, saying to it, ‘Napkin, do your duty!’ it will furnish you immediately with all you want to eat and drink. But take care not to let this be stolen also.”

“Do not be anxious! they shall steal my life first.”

Then he bade farewell to the Hurricane and his mother and set out on his journey. He lodged, the first night, at the same inn as before. There was a wedding feast going on when he arrived. He was heartily welcomed and asked to sit at the table with the newly married pair, to which he agreed with pleasure. Finding the repast not much to his taste, or perhaps being anxious to excite the astonishment of the guests and to pass for a great scholar or a magician, he drew his napkin from his pocket, spread it on the table, and profoundly uttered the words, “Napkin, do your duty!”

Immediately there was a magnificent repast, delicious meats, such as are seen only on the tables of kings, and fine wines from all countries. Intoxicated, as much by the praises as by the wine, Jean let them steal away his napkin also, and the next day he was as poor and destitute as ever.

This time he dared not show himself before his wife in such a condition, and he thought that the only thing he could do was to go again to the home of the mother of the winds. So he went there again, but this time very much ashamed and cast down.

When the Hurricane saw him, he said to him,--

“You have let them steal away your napkin also, unfortunate man!”

“Have pity on me, Mr. Hurricane,” said the tailor, humbly; “my wife and my children are dying of hunger at home, and I cannot go back to them without taking them something.”

“I consent to come to your assistance one last time, for you are not a wicked man”; and handing him a stick--“Here is a stick, and when whoever has it in his hand says, ‘Stick, do your duty!’ he will immediately begin to beat his master’s enemies, and nothing can stop it until he cries, ‘Enough!’ With this stick, you can recover your mule and your napkin.”

Jean thanked him and departed. He lodged at the same inn as before. They welcomed him in the heartiest manner, in the hope of stealing some other talisman from him. He invited the inn-keeper and his wife and also the stable-boy to supper with him. When the repast was nearly over, he said to his stick, which he had held constantly in his hand, not being willing to be separated from it,--

“Stick, do your duty!”