Chapter XI: Front Matter (11)

“Aye, so you say; but you won’t get me to believe it,” said the neighbor.

“Shall we have a wager on it?” said Gudbrand. “I have a hundred dollars in my chest at home. Will you lay the same?”

So they made the wager and Gudbrand remained there till the evening, when it began to get dark, and then they went together to the farm.

The neighbor was to remain outside the door and listen while Gudbrand went in to his wife.

“Good evening!” said Gudbrand when he came in.

“Good evening!” said the wife. “Heaven be praised you are back again.”

“Yes, here I am!” said the man. And then the wife asked him how he had got on in town.

“Oh, so-so,” answered Gudbrand. “Not much to brag of. When I came to town no one would buy the cow, so I changed it for a horse.”

“Oh, I’m so glad of that,” said the woman. “We are pretty well off and we ought to drive to church like other people, and when we can afford to keep a horse I don’t see why we should not have one. Run out, children, and put the horse in the stable.”

“Well, I haven’t got the horse, after all,” said Gudbrand; “for when I had got a bit on the way I changed it for a pig.”

“Dear me!” cried the woman, “that’s the very thing I should have done myself. I’m so glad of that, for now we can have some bacon in the house and something to offer people when they come to see us. What do we want with a horse? People would only say we had become so grand that we could no longer walk to church. Run out, children, and let the pig in.”

“But I haven’t got the pig either,” said Gudbrand, “for when I had got a bit farther on the road I changed it into a milch goat.”

“Dear! dear! how well you manage everything!” cried the wife. “When I really come to think of it, what do I want with the pig? People would only say: ‘Over yonder they eat up everything they have.’ No, now I have a goat I can have both milk and cheese and keep the goat into the bargain. Let in the goat, children.”

“But I haven’t got the goat either,” said Gudbrand. “When I got a bit on the way I changed the goat and got a fine sheep for it.”

“Well!” returned the woman, “you do everything just as I should wish it—just as if I had been there myself. What do we want with a goat? I should have to climb up hill and down dale to get it home at night. No, when I have a sheep I can have wool and clothes in the house and food as well. Run out, children, and let in the sheep.”

“But I haven’t got the sheep any longer,” said Gudbrand, “for when I had got a bit on the way I changed it for a goose.”

“Well, thank you for that!” said the woman; “and many thanks, too! What do I want with a sheep? I have neither wheel nor spindle, and I do not care either to toil and drudge making clothes; we can buy clothes now as before. Now I can have goose-fat, which I have so long been wishing for, and some feathers to stuff that little pillow of mine. Run, children, and let in the goose.”

“Well, I haven’t got the goose either,” said Gudbrand. “When I had got a bit farther on the way I changed it for a cock.”

“Well, I don’t know how you can think of it all!” cried the woman. “It’s just as if I had done it all myself. A cock! Why, it’s just the same as if you’d bought an eight-day clock, for every morning the cock will crow at four, so we can be up in good time. What do we want with a goose? I can’t make goose-fat and I can easily fill my pillow with some soft grass. Run, children, and let in the cock.”

“But I haven’t the cock either,” said Gudbrand; “for when I had got a bit farther I became so terribly hungry I had to sell the cock for sixpence and get some food to keep body and soul together.”

“Heaven be praised you did that!” cried the woman. “Whatever you do, you always do the very thing I could have wished. Besides, what did we want with the cock? We are our own masters and can lie as long as we like in the mornings. Heaven be praised! As long as I have got you back again, who manage everything so well, I shall neither want cock, nor goose, nor pig, nor cows.”

Gudbrand then opened the door. “Have I won the hundred dollars now?” he asked. And the neighbor was obliged to confess that he had.

_The Pancake_

Once on a time there was a goody who had seven hungry bairns, and she was frying a Pancake for them. It was a sweet-milk Pancake, and there it lay in the pan bubbling and frizzling so thick and good, it was a sight for sore eyes to look at. And the bairns stood round about, and the goodman sat by and looked on.

“Oh, give me a bit of Pancake, mother, dear; I am so hungry,” said one bairn.

“Oh, darling mother,” said the second.

“Oh, darling, good mother,” said the third.

“Oh, darling, good, nice mother,” said the fourth.

“Oh, darling, pretty, good, nice mother,” said the fifth.

“Oh, darling, pretty, good, nice, clever mother,” said the sixth.

“Oh, darling, pretty, good, nice, clever, sweet mother,” said the seventh.

So they begged for the Pancake all round, the one more prettily than the other; for they were so hungry and so good.

“Yes, yes, bairns, only bide a bit till it turns itself”—she ought to have said, “till I can get it turned”—“and then you shall all have some—a lovely sweet-milk Pancake; only look how fat and happy it lies there.”

When the Pancake heard that it got afraid, and in a trice it turned itself all of itself, and tried to jump out of the pan; but it fell back into it again t’other side up, and so when it had been fried a little on the other side, too, till it got firmer in its flesh, it sprang out on the floor, and rolled off like a wheel through the door and down the hill.

“Holloa! Stop, Pancake!” and away went the goody after it, with the frying-pan in one hand and the ladle in the other, as fast as she could, and her bairns behind her, while the goodman limped after them last of all.

“Hi! won’t you stop? Seize it. Stop, Pancake,” they all screamed out, one after the other, and tried to catch it on the run and hold it; but the Pancake rolled on and on, and in the twinkling of an eye it was so far ahead that they couldn’t see it, for the Pancake was faster on its feet than any of them.

So when it had rolled a while it met a man.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the man.

“God bless you, Manny-panny!” said the Pancake.

“Dear Pancake,” said the man, “don’t roll so fast; stop a little and let me eat you.”

“When I have given the slip to Goody-poody, and the goodman, and seven squalling children, I may well slip through your fingers, Manny-panny,” said the Pancake, and rolled on and on till it met a hen.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the hen.

“The same to you, Henny-penny,” said the Pancake.

“Pancake, dear, don’t roll so fast; bide a bit and let me eat you up,” said the hen.

“When I have given the slip to Goody-poody, and the goodman, and seven squalling children, and Manny-panny, I may well slip through your claws, Henny-penny,” said the Pancake, and so it rolled on like a wheel down the road.

Just then it met a cock.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the cock.

“The same to you, Cocky-locky,” said the Pancake.

“Pancake, dear, don’t roll so fast, but bide a bit and let me eat you up.”

“When I have given the slip to Goody-poody, and the goodman, and seven squalling children, and to Manny-panny, and Henny-penny, I may well slip through your claws, Cocky-locky,” said the Pancake, and off it set rolling away as fast as it could; and when it had rolled a long way it met a duck.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the duck.

“The same to you, Ducky-lucky.”

“Pancake, dear, don’t roll away so fast; bide a bit and let me eat you up.”

“When I have given the slip to Goody-poody, and the goodman, and seven squalling children, and Manny-panny, and Henny-penny, and Cocky-locky, I may well slip through your fingers, Ducky-lucky,” said the Pancake, and with that it took to rolling and rolling faster than ever; and when it had rolled a long, long while, it met a goose.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the goose.

“The same to you, Goosey-poosey.”

“Pancake, dear, don’t roll so fast; bide a bit and let me eat you up.”

“When I have given the slip to Goody-poody, and the goodman, and seven squalling children, and Manny-panny, and Henny-penny, and Cocky-locky, and Ducky-lucky, I can well slip through your feet, Goosey-poosey,” said the Pancake, and off it rolled.

So when it had rolled a long, long way farther, it met a gander.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the gander.

“The same to you, Gander-pander,” said the Pancake.

“Pancake, dear, don’t roll so fast; bide a bit and let me eat you up.”

“When I have given the slip to Goody-poody, and the goodman, and seven squalling children, and Manny-panny, and Henny-penny, and Cocky-locky, and Ducky-lucky, and Goosey-poosey, I may well slip through your feet, Gander-pander,” said the Pancake, and it rolled off as fast as ever.

So when it had rolled a long, long time, it met a pig.

“Good day, Pancake,” said the pig.

“The same to you, Piggy-wiggy,” said the Pancake, which, without a word more, began to roll and roll like mad.

“Nay, nay,” said the pig, “you needn’t be in such a hurry; we two can then go side by side and see each other over the wood; they say it is not too safe in there.”

The Pancake thought there might be something in that, and so they kept company. But when they had gone awhile, they came to a brook. As for Piggy, he was so fat he swam safely across, it was nothing to him; but the poor Pancake couldn’t get over.

“Seat yourself on my snout,” said the pig, “and I’ll carry you over.”

So the Pancake did that.

“Ouf, ouf,” said the pig, and swallowed the Pancake at one gulp; and then, as the poor Pancake could go no farther, why—this story can go no farther either.

_The Death of Chanticleer_

Once on a time there was a cock and a hen, who walked out into the field and scratched, and scraped, and scrabbled. All at once Chanticleer found a burr of hop, and Partlet found a barley-corn; and they said they would make malt and brew Yule ale.

“Oh, I pluck barley, and I malt malt, and I brew ale, and the ale is good,” cackled Dame Partlet.

“Is the wort strong enough?” crew Chanticleer; and as he crowed he flew up on the edge of the cask, and tried to have a taste; but just as he bent over to drink a drop he took to flapping his wings, and so he fell head over heels into the cask and was drowned. When Dame Partlet saw that, she clean lost her wits, and flew up into the chimney-corner, and fell a-screaming and screeching out. “Harm in the house! harm in the house!” she screeched out all in a breath, and there was no stopping her.

“What ails you, Dame Partlet, that you sit there sobbing and sighing?” said the handquern.

“Why not,” said Dame Partlet, “when Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the cask and drowned himself, and lies dead? That’s why I sigh and sob.”

“Well, if I can do naught else, I will grind and groan,” said the handquern; and so it fell to grinding as fast as it could.

When the chair heard that it said:

“What ails you, handquern, that you grind and groan so fast and oft?”

“Why not, when Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the cask and drowned himself, and Dame Partlet sits in the ingle and sighs and sobs? That’s why I grind and groan,” said the handquern.

“If I can do naught else I will crack,” said the chair; and with that he fell to creaking and cracking.

When the door heard that it said:

“What’s the matter? Why do you creak and crack so, Mr. Chair?”

“Why not?” said the chair. “Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the cask and drowned himself; Dame Partlet sits in the ingle sighing and sobbing, and the handquern grinds and groans. That’s why I creak and crackle, and croak and crack.”

“Well,” said the door, “if I can do naught else, I can rattle and bang, and whistle and slam”; and with that it began to open and shut, and bang and slam; it deaved one to hear, and all one’s teeth chattered.

All this the stove heard, and it opened its mouth and called out:

“Door! door! why all this slamming and banging?”

“Why not,” said the door, “when Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the cask and drowned himself; Dame Partlet sits in the ingle sighing and sobbing; the handquern grinds and groans, and the chair creaks and cracks. That’s why I bang and slam.”

“Well,” said the stove, “if I can do naught else, I can smolder and smoke”; and so it fell a-smoking and steaming till the room was all in a cloud.

The ax saw this as it stood outside, and peeped with its shaft through the window.

“What’s all this smoke about, Mrs. Stove?” said the ax in a sharp voice.

“Why not,” said the stove, “when Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the cask and drowned himself; Dame Partlet sits in the ingle sighing and sobbing; the handquern grinds and groans; the chair creaks and cracks, and the door bangs and slams. That’s why I smoke and steam.”

“Well, if I can do naught else, I can rive and rend,” said the ax; and with that it fell to riving and rending all around about.

This the aspen stood by and saw.

“Why do you rive and rend everything so, Mr. Ax?” said the aspen.

“Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the ale-cask and drowned himself,” said the ax; “Dame Partlet sits in the ingle sighing and sobbing; the handquern grinds and groans; the chair creaks and cracks; the door slams and bangs, and the stove smokes and steams. That’s why I rive and rend all about.”

“Well, if I can do naught else,” said the aspen, “I can quiver and quake in all my leaves”; so it grew all of a quake.

The birds saw this, and twittered out:

“Why do you quiver and quake, Miss Aspen?”

“Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the ale-cask and drowned himself,” said the aspen, with a trembling voice; “Dame Partlet sits in the ingle sighing and sobbing; the handquern grinds and groans; the chair creaks and cracks; the door slams and bangs; the stove steams and smokes, and the ax rives and rends. That’s why I quiver and quake.”

“Well, if we can do naught else, we will pluck off all our feathers,” said the birds; and with that they fell a-pilling and plucking themselves till the room was full of feathers.

This the master stood by and saw; and, when the feathers flew about like fun, he asked the birds:

“Why do you pluck off all your feathers, you birds?”

“Oh, Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the ale-cask and drowned himself,” twittered out the birds; “Dame Partlet sits sighing and sobbing in the ingle; the handquern grinds and groans; the chair creaks and cracks; the door slams and bangs; the stove smokes and steams; the ax rives and rends, and the aspen quivers and quakes. That’s why we are pilling and plucking all our feathers off.”

“Well, if I can do nothing else, I can tear the brooms asunder,” said the man; and with that he fell tearing and tossing the brooms till the birch-twigs flew about east and west.

The goody stood cooking porridge for supper, and saw all this.

“Why, man!” she called out, “what are you tearing the brooms to bits for?”

“Oh,” said the man, “Goodman Chanticleer has fallen into the ale-vat and drowned himself; Dame Partlet sits sighing and sobbing in the ingle; the handquern grinds and groans; the chair cracks and creaks; the door slams and bangs; the stove smokes and steams; the ax rives and rends; the aspen quivers and quakes; the birds are pilling and plucking all their feathers off, and that’s why I am tearing the besoms to bits.”

“So, so!” said the goody; “then I’ll dash the porridge over all the walls,” and she did it; for she took one spoonful after the other, and dashed it against the walls, so that no one could see what they were made of for very porridge.

That was how they drank the burial ale after Goodman Chanticleer, who fell into the brewing-vat and was drowned; and, if you don’t believe it, you may set off thither and have a taste both of the ale and the porridge.

_Reynard Wants to Taste Horse-flesh_

One day as Bruin lay by a horse which he had slain, and was hard at work eating it, Reynard came along that way, and came up spying about and licking his lips, to see if he might get a taste of the horse-flesh. So he doubled and turned till he got just behind Bruin’s back, and then he jumped on the other side of the carcass and snapped a mouthful as he ran by. Bruin was not slow either, for he made a grab at Reynard and caught the tip of his red brush in his paw; and ever since then Reynard’s brush is white at the tip, as any one may see.

But that day Bruin was merry, and called out:

“Bide a bit, Reynard, and come hither, and I’ll tell you how to catch a horse for yourself.”

Yes, Reynard was ready enough to learn, but he did not for all that trust himself to go very close to Bruin.

“Listen,” said Bruin. “When you see a horse asleep, basking in the sunshine, you must mind and bind yourself fast by the hair of his tail to your brush, and then you must make your teeth meet in the flesh of his thigh.”

As you may fancy, it was not long before Reynard found out a horse that lay asleep in the sunshine, and then he did as Bruin had told him; for he knotted and bound himself well into the hair of his tail, and made his teeth meet in the horse’s thigh.

Up sprang the horse, and began to kick and rear and gallop, so that Reynard was dashed against stock and stone, and got battered black and blue, so that he was not far off losing both wit and sense. And while the horse galloped, they passed Jack Longears, the hare.

“Whither away so fast, Reynard?” cried Jack Longears.

“Post-haste, on business of life and death, dear Jack,” cried Reynard.

And with that Jack stood upon his hind-legs, and laughed till his sides ached and his jaws split right up to his ears. It was so funny to see Reynard ride post-haste.

But you must know, since that ride Reynard has never thought of catching a horse for himself. For that once at least it was Bruin who had the best of it in wit, though they do say he is nearly always as simple-minded as the trolls.

_Bruin and Reynard Partners_

Once on a time Bruin and Reynard were to own a field in common. They had a little clearing up in the wood, and the first year they sowed rye.

“Now we must share the crop as is fair and right,” said Reynard. “If you like to have the root, I’ll take the top.”

Yes, Bruin was ready to do that; but when they had threshed out the crop, Reynard got all the corn, but Bruin got nothing but roots and rubbish. He did not like that at all, but Reynard said it was how they had agreed to share it.

“This year I have the gain,” said Reynard; “next year it will be your turn. Then you shall have the top, and I shall have to put up with the root.”

But when the spring came, and it was time to sow, Reynard asked Bruin what he thought of turnips.

“Aye, aye!” said Bruin, “that’s better food than corn”; and so Reynard thought also. But when harvest came Reynard got the roots, while Bruin got the turnip-tops. And then Bruin was so angry with Reynard that he put an end at once to his partnership with him.

_Pork and Honey_

At dawn the other day, when Bruin came tramping over the bog with a fat pig, Reynard sat up on a stone by the moor-side.

“Good day, grandsire,” said the fox. “What’s that so nice that you have there?”

“Pork,” said Bruin.

“Well, I have got a dainty bit too,” said Reynard.

“What is that?” asked the bear.

“The biggest wild bee’s comb I ever saw in my life,” said Reynard.

“Indeed, you don’t say so,” said Bruin, who grinned and licked his lips, he thought it would be so nice to taste a little honey. At last he said: “Shall we swap our fare?”

“Nay, nay!” said Reynard, “I can’t do that.”

The end was that they made a bet, and agreed to name three trees. If the fox could say them off faster than the bear, he was to have leave to take one bite of the bacon; but if the bear could say them faster, he was to have leave to take one sup out of the comb. Greedy Bruin thought he was sure to sup out all the honey at one breath.

“Well,” said Reynard, “it’s all fair and right, no doubt, but all I say is, if I win, you shall be bound to tear off the bristles where I am to bite.”

“Of course,” said Bruin, “I’ll help you, as you can’t help yourself.”

So they were to begin and name the trees.

“FIR, SCOTCH FIR, SPRUCE,” growled out Bruin, for he was gruff in his tongue, that he was. But for all that he only named two trees, for fir and Scotch fir are both the same.

“_Ash_, _Aspen_, _Oak_,” screamed Reynard, so that the wood rang again.

So he had won the wager, and down he ran and took the heart out of the pig at one bite, and was just running off with it. But Bruin was angry because Reynard had taken the best bit out of the whole pig, and so he laid hold of his tail and held him fast.

“Stop a bit, stop a bit,” he said, and was wild with rage.

“Never mind,” said the fox, “it’s all right; let me go, grandsire, and I’ll give you a taste of my honey.”

When Bruin heard that, he let go his hold, and away went Reynard after the honey.

“Here, on this honeycomb,” said Reynard, “lies a leaf, and under this leaf is a hole, and that hole you are to suck.”

As he said this he held up the comb under the bear’s nose, took off the leaf, jumped up on a stone, and began to gibber and laugh, for there was neither honey nor honeycomb, but a wasp’s nest, as big as a man’s head, full of wasps, and out swarmed the wasps and settled on Bruin’s head, and stung him in his eyes and ears, and mouth and snout. And he had such hard work to rid himself of them that he had no time to think of Reynard.

And that’s why, ever since that day, Bruin is so afraid of wasps.

_How Reynard Outwitted Bruin_

Once on a time there was a bear, who sat on a hillside in the sun and slept. Just then Reynard came slouching by and caught sight of him.

“There you sit taking your ease, grandsire,” said the fox. “Now, see if I don’t play you a trick.” So he went and caught three field-mice and laid them on a stump close under Bruin’s nose, and then he bawled out into his ear, “Bo! Bruin, here’s Peter the Hunter, just behind this stump”; and as he bawled this out he ran off through the wood as fast as ever he could.

Bruin woke up with a start, and when he saw the three little mice, he was as mad as a March hare, and was going to lift up his paw and crush them, for he thought it was they who had bellowed in his ear.

But just as he lifted it he caught sight of Reynard’s tail among the bushes by the woodside, and away he set after him, so that the underwood crackled as he went, and, to tell the truth, Bruin was so close upon Reynard that he caught hold of his off hind-foot just as he was crawling into an earth under a pine-root. So there was Reynard in a pinch; but for all that he had his wits about him, for he screeched out, “SLIP THE PINE-ROOT AND CATCH REYNARD’S FOOT,” and so the silly bear let his foot slip and laid hold of the root instead. But by that time Reynard was safe inside the earth, and called out:

“I cheated you that time, too, didn’t I, grandsire?”

“Out of sight isn’t out of mind,” growled Bruin down the earth, and was wild with rage.

_Nanny Who Wouldn’t Go Home to Supper_

There was once upon a time a woman who had a son and a goat. The son was called Espen and the goat was called Nanny. But they were not good friends, and did not get on together, for the goat was perverse and wayward, as goats will be, and she would never go home at the right time for her supper. So it happened one evening that Espen went out to fetch her home, and when he had been looking for her awhile, he saw Nanny high, high up on a crag.

“My dear Nanny, you must not stay any longer up there; you must come home now, it is just supper-time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I sha’n’t,” said Nanny, “not before I have finished the grass on this tussock, and that tussock—and this and that tussock.”

“Then I’ll go and tell mother,” said the lad.

“That you may, and then I shall be left to eat in peace,” said Nanny.

So Espen went and told his mother.

“Go to the fox and ask him to bite Nanny,” said his mother.

The lad went to the fox. “My dear fox, bite Nanny, for Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry, and I want my supper,” said Espen.

“No, I don’t want to spoil my snout on pig’s bristles and goat’s beard,” said the fox.

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the wolf,” said his mother.

The lad went to the wolf. “My dear wolf, tear the fox, for the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry, and I want my supper.”

“No,” said the wolf, “I won’t wear out my paws and teeth on a skinny fox.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the bear and ask him to slay the wolf,” said the mother.

The lad went to the bear. “My dear bear, slay the wolf, for the wolf won’t tear the fox, and the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, that I won’t,” said the bear; “I don’t want to wear out my claws for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the Finn and ask him to shoot the bear.”

The lad went to the Finn. “My dear Finn, shoot the bear, for the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the Finn; “I am not going to shoot away my bullets for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the fir,” said his mother, “and ask it to crush the Finn.”

The lad went to the fir-tree. “My dear fir, crush the Finn, for the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the fir; “I am not going to break my boughs for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the fire,” said his mother, “and ask it to burn the fir.”

The lad went to the fire. “My dear fire, burn the fir, for the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the fire; “I am not going to burn myself out for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the water, and ask it to quench the fire,” she said.

The lad went to the water. “My dear water, quench the fire, for the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the water; “I am not going to waste myself for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the ox,” said she, “and ask him to drink up the water.”

The lad went to the ox. “My dear ox, drink up the water, for the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the ox; “I am not going to burst myself for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the yoke,” said she, “and ask it to throttle the ox.”

The lad went to the yoke. “My dear yoke, throttle the ox, for the ox won’t drink the water, the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the yoke; “I am not going to break myself in two for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the ax,” said she, “and tell it to split the yoke.”

The lad went to the ax. “My dear ax, split the yoke, for the yoke won’t throttle the ox, the ox won’t drink the water, the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time, I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the ax; “I am not going to blunt my edge for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the smith,” said she, “and ask him to hammer the ax.”

The lad went to the smith. “My dear smith, hammer the ax, for the ax won’t split the yoke, the yoke won’t throttle the ox, the ox won’t drink the water, the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the smith; “I’ll not burn my coals and wear out my sledge-hammers for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the rope,” said she, “and ask it to hang the smith.”

The lad went to the rope. “My dear rope, hang the smith, for the smith won’t hammer the ax, the ax won’t split the yoke, the yoke won’t throttle the ox, the ox won’t drink the water, the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the rope; “I am not going to break in two for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the mouse,” said she, “and ask her to gnaw the rope.”

The lad went to the mouse. “My dear mouse, gnaw the rope, for the rope won’t hang the smith, the smith won’t hammer the ax, the ax won’t split the yoke, the yoke won’t throttle the ox, the ox won’t drink the water, the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“No, I will not,” said the mouse; “I am not going to wear out my teeth for that.”

So the lad went and told his mother.

“Well, go to the cat,” said she, “and ask her to catch the mouse.”

The lad went to the cat. “My dear cat, catch the mouse, for the mouse won’t gnaw the rope, the rope won’t hang the smith, the smith won’t hammer the ax, the ax won’t split the yoke, the yoke won’t throttle the ox, the ox won’t drink the water, the water won’t quench the fire, the fire won’t burn the fir, the fir won’t crush the Finn, the Finn won’t shoot the bear, the bear won’t slay the wolf, the wolf won’t tear the fox, the fox won’t bite Nanny, and Nanny won’t come home in time. I am so hungry and want my supper.”

“Yes, but give me a drop of milk for my kittens and then—” said the cat.

Yes, that she should have. So the cat caught the mouse, and the mouse gnawed the rope, and the rope hanged the smith, and the smith hammered the ax, and the ax split the yoke, and the yoke throttled the ox, and the ox drank the water, and the water quenched the fire, and the fire burned the fir, and the fir crushed the Finn, and the Finn shot the bear, and the bear slew the wolf, and the wolf tore the fox, and the fox bit Nanny, and Nanny took to her heels, scampered home, and ran against the barn wall and broke one of her legs.

“M—a—h—a—h!” bleated the goat. There she lay, and if she isn’t dead she is still limping about on three legs. But Espen said it served her right, because she would not come home in time for supper that day.

_The Box With Something Pretty In It_

Once on a time there was a little boy who was out walking on the road, and when he had walked a bit he found a box.

“I am sure there must be something pretty in this box,” he said to himself; but however much he turned it, and however much he twisted it, he was not able to get it open.

But when he had walked a bit farther, he found a little tiny key. Then he grew tired and sat down, and all at once he thought what fun it would be if the key fitted the box, for it had a little keyhole in it. So he took the little key out of his pocket, and then he blew first into the pipe of the key, and afterward into the keyhole, and then he put the key into the keyhole and turned it. “Snap!” it went within the lock; and when he tried the hasp, the box was open.

But can you guess what there was in the box? Why, a cow’s tail; and if the cow’s tail had been longer, this story would have been longer too.

_The Farmer and the Troll_

A troll once lived in a little hill that stood in the corner of a farm. Thinking that the ground should not lie idle the Farmer came one day and began to plow it up. He had hardly begun, when the Troll appeared and asked:

“How dare you plow in the roof of my house?”

“I did not know it was the roof of your house,” returned the Farmer. “I thought it a pity to let such a good piece of land lie idle, and I think so still. Let me make an agreement with you.”

“What is your agreement?” said the Troll.

“Well, let me see. I will plow, sow, and reap the ground every year, and we will take the produce year and year about. One year you will take what grows above ground, and I will take what grows below. Then we can change around, and I will take what grows above ground, and you, what grows below. What do you say?”

“Very well,” answered the Troll; “that will satisfy me.”

The agreement was then made; but the crafty Farmer took care to sow carrots the year the Troll was to have what grew above ground, and corn the year the Troll was to have what grew below. So the poor elf got only carrot-tops and corn-roots. However, he was content, and the Farmer and he lived for years amicably under this arrangement.

_One’s Own Children Always Prettiest_

Once upon a time a man went out shooting in a forest, and there he met a woodcock.

“Pray, don’t shoot my children,” cried the woodcock.

“What are your children like?” asked the man.

“Mine are the prettiest children in the forest,” answered the woodcock.

“I suppose I mustn’t shoot them, then,” said the man.

When he came back he carried in his hand a whole string of young woodcocks which he had shot.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear! Why, you have shot my children after all!” wept the woodcock.

“Are these yours?” said the man. “Why, I shot the ugliest I could find.”

“Yes, yes,” answered the woodcock; “but don’t you know that every one thinks his own children the prettiest?”

_The Princess Whom Nobody Could Silence_

There was once upon a time a king, and he had a daughter who would always have the last word; she was so perverse and contrary in her speech that no one could silence her. So the king therefore promised that he who could outwit the Princess should have her in marriage and half the kingdom besides. There were plenty of those who wanted to try, I can assure you; for it isn’t every day that a princess and half a kingdom are to be had.

The gate to the palace hardly ever stood still. The suitors came in swarms and flocks from east and west, both riding and walking. But there was no one who could silence the Princess. At last the king announced that those who tried and did not succeed should be branded on both ears with a large iron; he would not have all this running about the palace for nothing.

So there were three brothers who had also heard about the Princess, and as they were rather badly off at home, they thought they would try their luck and see if they could win the Princess and half the kingdom. They were good friends, and so they agreed to set out together.

When they had got a bit on the way Ashiepattle found a dead magpie.

“I have found something! I have found something!” cried he.

“What have you found?” asked the brothers.

“I have found a dead magpie,” said he.

“Faugh! throw it away; what can you do with that?” said the other two, who always believed they were the wisest.

“Oh, I’ve nothing else to do. I can easily carry it,” said Ashiepattle.

When they had gone on a bit farther Ashiepattle found an old willow twig, which he picked up.

“I have found something! I have found something!” he cried.

“What have you found now?” said the brothers.

“I have found a willow twig,” said he.

“Pooh! what are you going to do with that? Throw it away,” said the two.

“I have nothing else to do. I can easily carry it with me,” said Ashiepattle.

When they had gone still farther he found a broken saucer, which he also picked up.

“Here lads, I have found something! I have found something!” said he.

“Well, what have you found now?” asked the brothers.

“A broken saucer,” said he.

“Pshaw! Is it worth while dragging that along with you too? Throw it away!” said the brothers.

“Oh, I’ve nothing else to do. I can easily carry it with me,” said Ashiepattle.

When they had gone a little bit farther he found a crooked goat-horn, and soon after he found the fellow to it.

“I have found something! I have found something, lads!” said he.

“What have you found now?” said the others.

“Two goat-horns,” answered Ashiepattle.

“Ugh! Throw them away! What are you going to do with them?” said they.

“Oh, I have nothing else to do. I can easily carry them with me,” said Ashiepattle.

In a little while he found a wedge.

“I say, lads, I have found something! I have found something!” he cried.

“You are everlastingly finding something! What have you found now?” asked the two eldest.

“I have found a wedge,” he answered.

“Oh, throw it away! What are you going to do with it?” said they.

“Oh, I have nothing else to do. I can easily carry it with me,” said Ashiepattle.

As he went across the king’s fields, which had been freshly manured, he stooped down and took up an old boot-sole.

“Hullo, lads! I have found something! I have found something!” said he.

“Heaven grant you may find a little sense before you get to the palace!” said the two. “What is it you have found now?”

“An old boot-sole,” said he.

“Is that anything worth picking up? Throw it away! What are you going to do with it?” said the brothers.

“Oh, I have nothing else to do. I can easily carry it with me, and—who knows?—it may help me to win the Princess and half the kingdom,” said Ashiepattle.

“Yes, you look a likely one, don’t you?” said the other two. So they went in to the Princess, the eldest first.

“Good day!” said he.

“Good day to you!” answered she, with a shrug.

“It’s terribly hot here,” said he.

“It’s hotter in the fire,” said the Princess. The branding-iron was lying waiting in the fire.

When he saw this he was struck speechless, and so it was all over with him.

The second brother fared no better.

“Good day!” said he.

“Good day to you,” said she, with a wriggle.

“It’s terribly hot here!” said he.

“It’s hotter in the fire,” said she. With that he lost both speech and wits, and so the iron had to be brought out.

Then came Ashiepattle’s turn.

“Good day!” said he.

“Good day to you!” said she, with a shrug and a wriggle.

“It is very nice and warm here!” said Ashiepattle.

“It’s warmer in the fire,” she answered. She was in no better humor now she saw the third suitor.

“Then there’s a chance for me to roast my magpie on it,” said he, bringing it out.

“I’m afraid it will sputter,” said the Princess.

“No fear of that! I’ll tie this willow twig round it,” said the lad.

“You can’t tie it tight enough,” said she.

“Then I’ll drive in a wedge,” said the lad, and brought out the wedge.

“The fat will be running off it,” said the Princess.

“Then I’ll hold this under it,” said the lad, and showed her the broken saucer.

“You are so crooked in your speech,” said the Princess.

“No, I am not crooked,” answered the lad; “but this is crooked”; and he brought out one of the goat-horns.

“Well, I’ve never seen the like!” cried the Princess.

“Here you see the like,” said he, and brought out the other horn.

“It seems you have come here to wear out my soul!” she said.

“No, I have not come here to wear out your soul, for I have one here which is already worn out,” answered the lad, and brought out the old boot-sole.

The Princess was so dumfounded at this that she was completely silenced.

“Now you are mine!” said Ashiepattle, and so he got her and half the kingdom into the bargain.

_The Money-box_

In a nursery where a number of toys lay scattered about, a Money-box stood on the top of a very high wardrobe. It was made of clay in the shape of a pig, and had been bought of the potter. In the back of the pig was a slit, and this slit had been enlarged with a knife, so that dollars, or crown pieces, might slip through; and, indeed, there were two crown pieces in the box, besides a number of pence. The money-pig was stuffed so full that it could no longer rattle, which is the highest state of perfection to which a money-pig can attain. There he stood upon the cupboard, high and lofty, looking down upon everything else in the room. He knew very well that he had enough inside him to buy up all the other toys, and this gave him a very good opinion of his own value. The rest thought of this fact also, although they did not speak of it, for there were so many other things to talk about. A large doll, still handsome, though rather old, for her neck had been mended, lay inside one of the drawers which was partly open. She called out to the others: “Let us have a game at being men and women; that is worth playing at.”

Upon this there was a great uproar; even the engravings, which hung in frames on the wall, turned round in their excitement, and showed that they had a wrong side to them, although they had not the least intention to expose themselves in this way, or to object to the game. It was late at night, but as the moon shone through the windows, they had light at a cheap rate, and as the game was now to begin, all were invited to take part in it, even the children’s wagon, which certainly belonged to the coarser playthings. “Each has its own value,” said the wagon; “we cannot all be noblemen; there must be some to do the work.”

The money-pig was the only one who received a written invitation. He stood so high that they were afraid he would not accept a verbal message. But in his reply he said that, if he had to take a part, he must enjoy the sport from his own home; they were to arrange for him to do so; and so they did. The little toy theater was therefore put up in such a way that the money-pig could look directly into it. Some wanted to begin with a comedy, and afterward to have a tea-party and a discussion for mental improvement, but they commenced with the latter first. The rocking-horse spoke of training and races; the wagon, of railways and steam-power, for these subjects belonged to each of their professions, and it was right they should talk of them. The clock talked politics—“tick, tick”; he professed to know what was the time of day, but there was a whisper that he did not go correctly. The bamboo cane stood by, looking stiff and proud—he was vain of his brass ferrule and silver top; and on the sofa lay two worked cushions, pretty but stupid. When the play at the little theater began, the rest sat and looked on; they were requested to applaud and stamp, and the whip to crack, when they felt gratified with what they saw. But the riding-whip said he never cracked for old people, only for the young who were not yet married. “I crack for everybody,” said the cracker.

“Yes, and a fine noise you make,” thought the audience, as the play went on.

It was not worth much, but it was very well played, and all the characters turned their painted sides to the audience, for they were made only to be seen on one side. The acting was wonderful, excepting that sometimes they came out beyond the lamps, because the wires were a little too long. The doll, whose neck had been darned, was so excited that the place in her neck burst, and the money-pig declared he must do something for one of the players, as they had all pleased him so much. So he made up his mind to mention one of them in his will, as the one to be buried with him in the family vault, whenever that event should happen. They all enjoyed the comedy so much that they gave up all thoughts of the teaparty, and only carried out their idea of intellectual amusement, which they called playing at men and women; and there was nothing wrong about it, for it was only play. All the while, each one thought most of himself, or of what the money-pig could be thinking. His thoughts were on (as he supposed) a very distant time—of making his will, and of his burial, and of when it might all come to pass. Certainly sooner than he expected—for all at once down he came from the top of the press, fell on the ground, and was broken to pieces. Then the pennies hopped and danced about in the most amusing manner. The little ones twirled round like tops, and the large ones rolled away as far as they could, especially one of the great silver crown pieces who had often wanted to go out into the world, and now he had his wish as well as all the rest of the money. The pieces of the money-pig were thrown into the dust-bin, and the next day there stood a new money-pig on the cupboard, but it had not a farthing in its inside yet, and therefore it could not rattle like the old one. This was the beginning with him, and we will make it the end of our story.

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

_The Darning-Needle_

Once upon a time there was a Darning-needle which thought itself so fine and grand it ought to have been a sewing-needle.

“Be careful,” it said to the fingers which held it. “Be sure you don’t let me fall, for I am so thin you will never find me again.”

“That’s what you think,” said the fingers, as they closed firmly round its body.

“Look out! I am followed by my train,” said the Darning-needle, and a long thread came trailing behind it; but the thread had no knot in it.

The fingers guided the needle straight toward the cook’s slipper.

There was a little tear in the leather, and it must be mended.

“This sort of work is quite beneath me,” said the Needle; “I can never do it. I shall break—I know I shall!” And break it did. “Did not I tell you I was too slender for such a task?” asked the Darning-needle.

“There, now you are good for nothing,” said the fingers; but they still held the needle firmly, and soon they had fixed a ball of sealing-wax on the top.