Chapter IX: Front Matter (9)

“Alas!” said one to another, “one of us is drowned.” They went back to the brook where they had been fishing, and looked up and down for him that was drowned, and made great lamentation. A courtier came riding by, and he did ask what they were seeking, and why they were so sorrowful. “Oh,” said they, “this day we came to fish in this brook, and there were twelve of us, and one is drowned.”

“Why,” said the courtier, “count me how many of you there be,” and one counted eleven and did not count himself. “Well,” said the courtier, “what will you give me if I find the twelfth man?”

“Sir,” said they, “all the money we have.”

“Give me the money,” said the courtier; and he began with the first, and gave him a whack over the shoulders that he groaned, and said, “There is one,” and he served all of them that they groaned; but when he came to the last he gave him a good blow, saying, “Here is the twelfth man.”

“God bless you on your heart,” said all the company; “you have found our neighbor.”

_Henny-Penny_

One day Henny-penny was picking up corn in the corn-yard when—whack!—something hit her upon the head.

“Goodness gracious me!” says Henny-penny; “the sky’s a-going to fall; I must go and tell the king.”

So she went along, and she went along, and she went along till she met Cocky-locky. “Where are you going, Henny-penny?” says Cocky-locky. “Oh! I’m going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling,” says Henny-penny. “May I come with you?” says Cocky-locky. “Certainly,” says Henny-penny. So Henny-penny and Cocky-locky went to tell the king the sky was falling.

They went along, and they went along, and they went along till they met Ducky-daddles. “Where are you going to, Henny-penny and Cocky-locky?” says Ducky-daddles. “Oh! we’re going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling,” says Henny-penny and Cocky-locky. “May I come with you?” says Ducky-daddles. “Certainly,” says Henny-penny and Cocky-locky. So Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, and Ducky-daddles went to tell the king the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along till they met Goosey-poosey. “Where are you going to, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, and Ducky-daddles?” says Goosey-poosey. “Oh! we’re going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling,” says Henny-penny and Cocky-locky and Ducky-daddles. “May I come with you?” says Goosey-poosey. “Certainly,” says Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, and Ducky-daddles. So Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, and Goosey-poosey went to tell the king the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along till they met Turkey-lurkey. “Where are you going, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, and Goosey-poosey?” says Turkey-lurkey. “Oh! we’re going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling,” says Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, and Goosey-poosey. “May I come with you, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, and Goosey-poosey?” says Turkey-lurkey. “Oh, certainly, Turkey-lurkey,” says Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, and Goosey-poosey. So Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey all went to tell the king the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along till they met Foxy-woxy, and Foxy-woxy says to Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey: “Where are you going, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey?” And Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey says to Foxy-woxey: “We’re going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling.” “Oh! but this is not the way to the king, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey,” says Foxy-woxy; “I know the proper way; shall I show it you?” “Oh, certainly, Foxy-woxy,” says Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey. So Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, Turkey-lurkey, and Foxy-woxy all went to tell the king the sky was a-falling.

So they went along, and they went along, and they went along till they came to a narrow and dark hole. Now this was the door of Foxy-woxy’s cave. But Foxy-woxy says to Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey: “This is the short way to the king’s palace: you’ll soon get there if you follow me. I will go first and you come after, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey.” “Why, of course, certainly, without doubt, why not?” says Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey.

So Foxy-woxy went into his cave, and he didn’t go very far, but turned round to wait for Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey. So at last Turkey-lurkey went through the dark hole into the cave. He hadn’t got far when “Hrumph!” Foxy-woxy snapped off Turkey-lurkey’s head and threw his body over his left shoulder. Then Goosey-poosey went in, and “Hrumph!” off went her head and Goosey-poosey was thrown beside Turkey-lurkey. Then Ducky-daddles waddled down, and “Hrumph!” snapped Foxy-woxy, and Ducky-daddles’s head was off, and Ducky-daddles was thrown alongside Turkey-lurkey and Goosey-poosey. Then Cocky-locky strutted down into the cave, and he hadn’t gone far when “Snap, Hrumph!” went Foxy-woxy, and Cocky-locky was thrown alongside of Turkey-lurkey, Goosey-poosey, and Ducky-daddles.

But Foxy-woxy had made two bites at Cocky-locky, and when the first snap only hurt Cocky-locky, but didn’t kill him, he called out to Henny-penny. So she turned tail and off she ran home, and she never told the king the sky was a-falling.

_A Son of Adam_

A man was working one day. It was very hot, and he was digging. By and by he stopped to rest and wipe his face; and he grew very angry to think he had to work so hard just because of Adam’s sin. So he complained bitterly, and said some very hard words about Adam.

It happened that his master heard him, and he asked: “Why do you blame Adam? You’d ha’ done just like Adam, if you’d a-been in his place.”

“No, I shouldn’t,” says the man. “I should ha’ know’d better.”

“Well, I’ll try you,” says his master. “Come to me at dinner-time.”

So come dinner-time, the man came, and his master took him into a room where the table was a-set with good things of all sorts. And he said: “Now, you can eat as much as ever you like from any of the dishes on the table; but don’t touch the covered dish in the middle till I come back.” And with that the master went out of the room and left the man there all by himself. So the man began to taste some o’ this dish and some o’ that, and enjoyed himself finely. But after a while, as his master didn’t come back, he began to look at the covered dish, and to wonder whatever was in it. And he wondered more and more, and he says to himself: “It must be something very nice. Why shouldn’t I just look at it? I won’t touch it. There can’t be any harm in just peeping.” So at last he could hold back no longer, and he lifted up the cover a tiny bit; but he couldn’t see anything. Then he lifted it up a bit more, and out popped a mouse. The man tried to catch it; but it ran away and jumped off the table and he ran after it. It ran first into one corner, and then, just as he thought he’d got it, into another, and under the table, and all about the room. And the man made such a clatter, jumping and banging and running round after the mouse, a-trying to catch it, that at last his master came in.

“Ah!” he said; “never you blame Adam again, my man!”

_The Happy Family_

The largest green leaf in this country is certainly the burdock leaf. If you hold it in front of you, it is large enough for an apron; and if you hold it over your head, it is almost as good as an umbrella, it is so wonderfully large. A burdock never grows alone; where it grows, there are many more, and it is a splendid sight; and all this splendor is good for snails. Grand people in olden times used to have the great white snails made into fricassees; and when they had eaten them, they would say: “Oh, what a delicious dish!” for these people really thought them good. Such snails lived on burdock leaves, and for them the burdock was planted.

There was once an old estate where no one now lived to require snails; indeed, the owners had all died out, but the burdock still flourished; it grew over all the beds and walks of the garden—its growth had no check—till it became at last quite a forest of burdocks. Here and there stood an apple- or a plum-tree; but for this, nobody would have thought the place had ever been a garden. It was burdock from one end to the other; and here lived the last two surviving snails. They knew not themselves how old they were; but they could remember the time when there were a great many more of them, and that they were descended from a family which came from foreign lands, and that the whole forest had been planted for them and theirs. They had never been away from the garden; but they knew that another place once existed in the world, called the Duke’s Palace Castle, in which some of their relations had been boiled till they became black, and were then laid on a silver dish; but what was done afterward they did not know. Besides, they could not imagine exactly how it felt to be boiled and placed on a silver dish; but no doubt it was something very fine and highly genteel. Neither the cockchafer, nor the toad, nor the earthworm, whom they questioned about it, could give them the least information; for none of their relations had ever been cooked or served on a silver dish. The old white snails were the most aristocratic race in the world—they knew that. The forest had been planted for them, and the nobleman’s castle had been built solely that they might be cooked and laid on silver dishes.

They lived quite retired and very happily; and as they had no children of their own, they had adopted a little common snail, which they brought up as their own child. The little one would not grow, for he was only a common snail; but the old people, particularly the mother snail, declared that she could easily see how he grew; and when the father said he could not perceive it, she begged him to feel the little snail’s shell, and he did so, and found that the mother was right.

One day it rained very fast. “Listen, what a drumming there is on the burdock leaves; tum, tum, tum; tum, tum, tum,” said the father snail.

“There come the drops,” said the mother; “they are trickling down the stalks. We shall have it very wet here presently. I am very glad we have such good houses, and that the little one has one of his own. There has been really more done for us than for any other creature; it is quite plain that we are the most noble people in the world. We have houses from our birth, and the burdock forest has been planted for us. I should very much like to know how far it extends, and what lies beyond it.”

“There can be nothing better than we have here,” said the father snail; “I wish for nothing more.”

“Yes, but I do,” said the mother; “I should like to be taken to the palace, and boiled, and laid upon a silver dish, as was done to all our ancestors; and you may be sure it must be something very uncommon.”

“The nobleman’s castle, perhaps, has fallen to decay,” said the snail father, “or the burdock wood may have grown over it, so that those who live there cannot get out. You need not be in a hurry; you are always so impatient, and the youngster is getting just the same. He has been three days creeping to the top of that stalk. I feel quite giddy when I look at him.”

“You must not scold him,” said the mother snail; “he creeps so very carefully. He will be the joy of our home; and we old folks have nothing else to live for. But have you ever thought where we are to get a wife for him? Do you think that farther out in the wood there may be others of our race?”

“There may be black snails, no doubt,” said the old snail; “black snails without houses; though they are vulgar and conceited too. But we can give the ants a commission; they run here and there, as if they all had much business to get through. They, most likely, will know of a wife for our youngster.”

“I certainly know a most beautiful bride,” said one of the ants; “but I fear it would not do, for she is a queen.”

“That does not matter,” said the old snail. “Has she a house?”

“She has a palace,” replied the ant, “a most beautiful ant-palace with seven hundred passages.”

“Thank you,” said the mother snail; “but our boy shall not go to live in an ant-hill. If you know of nothing better, we will give the commission to the white gnats; they fly about in rain and sunshine; they know the burdock wood from one end to the other.”

“We have a wife for him,” said the gnats; “a hundred man-steps from here, there is a little snail with a house, sitting on a gooseberry-bush; she is quite alone, and old enough to be married. It is only a hundred man-steps from here.”

“Then let her come to him,” said the old people. “He has the whole burdock forest; she has only a bush.”

So they brought the little lady-snail. She took eight days to perform the journey; but that was just as it ought to be, for it showed her to be one of the right breeding. And then they had a wedding. Six glowworms gave as much light as they could; but in other respects it was all very quiet; for the old snails could not bear festivities or a crowd. But a beautiful speech was made by the mother snail. The father could not speak; he was too much overcome. Then they gave the whole burdock forest to the young snails as an inheritance, and repeated what they had so often said, that it was the finest place in the world, and that if they led upright and honorable lives, and their family increased, they and their children might some day be taken to the nobleman’s palace, to be boiled black, and laid on a silver dish. And when they had finished speaking, the old couple crept into their houses, and came out no more; for they slept.

The young snail pair now ruled in the forest, and had a numerous progeny. But as the young ones were never boiled or laid in silver dishes, they concluded that the castle had fallen into decay, and that all the people in the world were dead; and as nobody contradicted them, they thought they must be right. And the rain fell upon the burdock leaves, to play the drum for them, and the sun shone to paint colors on the burdock forest for them, and they were very happy; the whole family was entirely and perfectly happy.

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

_The Blind Man, the Deaf Man, and the Donkey_

A blind Man and a Deaf Man once entered into partnership. The Deaf Man was to see for the Blind Man, and the Blind Man was to hear for the Deaf Man.

One day both went to a nautch[6] together. The Deaf Man said: “The dancing is very good, but the music is not worth listening to”; and the Blind Man said: “On the contrary, I think the music very good, but the dancing is not worth looking at.”

Footnote 6:

Musical and dancing entertainment.

After this they went together for a walk in the jungle, and there found a Dhobee’s Donkey that had strayed away from its owner, and a great big chattee (such as Dhobees boil clothes in), which the Donkey was carrying with him.

The Deaf Man said to the Blind Man: “Brother, here are a Donkey and a Dhobee’s great big chattee, with nobody to own them! Let us take them with us—they may be useful to us some day.” “Very well,” said the Blind Man; “we will take them with us.” So the Blind Man and the Deaf Man went on their way, taking the Donkey and the great big chattee with them. A little farther on they came to an ant’s nest, and the Deaf Man said to the Blind Man: “Here are a number of very fine black ants, much larger than any I ever saw before. Let us take some of them home to show our friends.” “Very well,” answered the Blind Man; “we will take them as a present to our friends.” So the Deaf Man took a silver snuff-box out of his pocket, and put four or five of the finest black ants into it; which done, they continued their journey.

But before they had gone very far a terrible storm came on. It thundered and lightened and rained and blew with such fury that it seemed as if the whole heavens and earth were at war. “Oh dear! oh dear!” cried the Deaf Man, “how dreadful this lightning is! Let us make haste and get to some place of shelter.” “I don’t see that it’s dreadful at all,” answered the Blind Man; “but the thunder is very terrible; we had better certainly seek some place of shelter.”

Now, not far off was a lofty building, which looked exactly like a fine temple. The Deaf Man saw it, and he and the Blind Man resolved to spend the night there; and having reached the place, they went in and shut the door, taking the Donkey and the great big chattee with them. But this building, which they mistook for a temple, was in truth no temple at all, but the house of a very powerful Rakshas;[7] and hardly had the Blind Man, the Deaf Man, and the Donkey got inside and fastened the door, than the Rakshas, who had been out, returned home. To his surprise, he found the door fastened and heard people moving about inside his house. “Ho! ho!” cried he to himself, “some men have got in here, have they? I’ll soon make mince-meat of them.” So he began to roar in a voice louder than the thunder, and to cry: “Let me into my house this minute, you wretches; let me in, let me in, I say,” and to kick the door and batter it with his great fists. But though his voice was very powerful, his appearance was still more alarming, insomuch that the Deaf Man, who was peeping at him through a chink in the wall, felt so frightened that he did not know what to do. But the Blind Man was very brave (because he couldn’t see), and went up to the door and called out: “Who are you, and what do you mean by coming battering at the door in this way and at this time of night?”

Footnote 7:

A kind of ogre.

“I’m a Rakshas,” answered the Rakshas angrily, “and this is my house. Let me in this instant or I’ll kill you.” All this time the Deaf Man, who was watching the Rakshas, was shivering and shaking in a terrible fright, but the Blind Man was very brave (because he couldn’t see), and he called out again: “Oh, you’re a Rakshas, are you? Well, if you’re Rakshas, I’m Bakshas; and Bakshas is as good as Rakshas.” “Bakshas!” roared the Rakshas. “Bakshas! Bakshas! What nonsense is this? There is no such creature as a Bakshas!” “Go away,” replied the Blind Man, “and don’t dare to make any further disturbance, lest I punish you with a vengeance; for know that I’m Bakshas, and Bakshas is Rakshas’s father.” “My father?” answered the Rakshas. “Heavens and earth! Bakshas, and my father! I never heard such an extraordinary thing in my life. You my father; and in there! I never knew my father was called Bakshas!”

“Yes,” replied the Blind Man; “go away instantly, I command you, for I am your father Bakshas.” “Very well,” answered the Rakshas (for he began to get puzzled and frightened); “but if you are my father, let me first see your face.” (For he thought: “Perhaps they are deceiving me.”) The Blind Man and the Deaf Man didn’t know what to do; but at last they opened the door a very tiny chink and poked the Donkey’s nose out. When the Rakshas saw it he thought to himself: “Bless me, what a terribly ugly face my father Bakshas has!” He then called out: “O father Bakshas, you have a very big, fierce face; but people have sometimes very big heads and very little bodies. Pray let me see your body as well as head before I go away.” Then the Blind Man and the Deaf Man rolled the great, big Dhobee’s chattee with a thundering noise past the chink in the door, and the Rakshas, who was watching attentively, was very much surprised when he saw this great black thing rolling along the floor, and he thought: “In truth, my father Bakshas has a very big body as well as a big head. He’s big enough to eat me up altogether. I’d better go away.” But still he could not help being a little doubtful, so he cried: “O Bakshas, father Bakshas! you have indeed got a very big head and a very big body; but do, before I go away, let me hear you scream,” for all Rakshas scream fearfully. Then the cunning Deaf Man (who was getting less frightened) pulled the silver snuff-box out of his pocket, and took the black ants out of it, and put one black ant in the Donkey’s right ear, and another black ant in the Donkey’s left ear, and another and another. The ants pinched the poor Donkey’s ears dreadfully, and the Donkey was so hurt and frightened he began to bellow as loud as he could: “Eh augh! eh augh! eh augh! augh! augh!” and at this terrible noise the Rakshas fled away in a great fright, saying: “Enough, enough, father Bakshas! the sound of your voice would make the most refractory obedient.” And no sooner had he gone than the Deaf Man took the ants out of the Donkey’s ears, and he and the Blind Man spent the rest of the night in peace and comfort.

Next morning the Deaf Man woke the Blind Man early, saying: “Awake, brother, awake; here we are indeed in luck! The whole floor is covered with heaps of gold and silver and precious stones.” And so it was, for the Rakshas owned a vast amount of treasure, and the whole house was full of it. “That is a good thing,” said the Blind Man. “Show me where it is and I will help you to collect it.” So they collected as much treasure as possible and made four great bundles of it. The Blind Man took one great bundle, the Deaf Man took another, and, putting the other two great bundles on the Donkey, they started off to return home. But the Rakshas, whom they had frightened away the night before, had not gone very far off, and was waiting to see what his father Bakshas might look like by daylight. He saw the door of his house open and watched attentively, when out walked—only a Blind Man, a Deaf Man, and a Donkey, who were all three laden with large bundles of his treasure. The Blind Man carried one bundle, the Deaf Man carried another bundle, and two bundles were on the Donkey.

The Rakshas was extremely angry, and immediately called six of his friends to help him kill the Blind Man, the Deaf Man, and the Donkey, and recover the treasure.

The Deaf Man saw them coming (seven great Rakshas, with hair a yard long and tusks like an elephant’s), and was dreadfully frightened; but the Blind Man was very brave (because he couldn’t see), and said: “Brother, why do you lag behind in that way?” “Oh!” answered the Deaf Man, “there are seven great Rakshas with tusks like an elephant’s coming to kill us! What can we do?” “Let us hide the treasure in the bushes,” said the Blind Man; “and do you lead me to a tree; then I will climb up first, and you shall climb up afterward, and so we shall be out of their way.” The Deaf Man thought this good advice; so he pushed the Donkey and the bundles of treasure into the bushes, and led the Blind Man to a high soparee-tree that grew close by; but he was a very cunning man, this Deaf Man, and instead of letting the Blind Man climb up first and following him, he got up first and let the Blind Man clamber after, so that he was farther out of harm’s way than his friend.

When the Rakshas arrived at the place and saw them both perched out of reach in the soparee-tree, he said to his friends: “Let us get on each other’s shoulders; we shall then be high enough to pull them down.” So one Rakshas stooped down, and the second got on his shoulders, and the third on his, and the fourth on his, and the fifth on his, and the sixth on his; and the seventh and the last Rakshas (who had invited all the others) was just climbing up when the Deaf Man (who was looking over the Blind Man’s shoulder) got so frightened that in his alarm he caught hold of his friend’s arm, crying: “They’re coming, they’re coming!” The Blind Man was not in a very secure position, and was sitting at his ease, not knowing how close the Rakshas were. The consequence was, that when the Deaf Man gave him this unexpected push, he lost his balance and tumbled down on to the neck of the seventh Rakshas, who was just then climbing up. The Blind Man had no idea where he was, but thought he had got on to the branch of some other tree; and, stretching out his hand for something to catch hold of, caught hold of the Rakshas’s two great ears, and pinched them very hard in his surprise and fright. The Rakshas couldn’t think what it was that had come tumbling down upon him; and the weight of the Blind Man upsetting his balance, down he also fell to the ground, knocking down in their turn the sixth, fifth, fourth, third, second, and first Rakshas, who all rolled one over another, and lay in a confused heap at the foot of the tree together.

Meanwhile the Blind Man called out to his friend: “Where am I? What has happened? Where am I? Where am I?” The Deaf Man (who was safe up in the tree) answered: “Well done, brother! never fear! never fear! You’re all right, only hold on tight. I’m coming down to help you.” But he had not the least intention of leaving his place of safety. However, he continued to call out: “Never mind, brother; hold on as tight as you can. I’m coming, I’m coming,” and the more he called out, the harder the Blind Man pinched the Rakshas’s ears, which he mistook for some kind of palm branches.

The six other Rakshas, who had succeeded, after a good deal of kicking, in extricating themselves from their unpleasant position, thought they had had quite enough of helping their friend, and ran away as fast as they could; and the seventh, thinking from their going that the danger must be greater than he imagined, and being, moreover, very much afraid of the mysterious creature that sat on his shoulders, put his hands to the back of his ears and pushed off the Blind Man, and then (without staying to see who or what he was) followed his six companions as fast as he could.

As soon as all the Rakshas were out of sight, the Deaf Man came down from the tree, and, picking up the Blind Man, embraced him, saying: “I could not have done better myself. You have frightened away all our enemies, but you see I came to help you as fast as possible.” He then dragged the Donkey and the bundles of treasure out of the bushes, gave the Blind Man one bundle to carry, took the second himself, and put the remaining two on the Donkey, as before. This done, the whole party set off to return home. But when they had got nearly out of the jungle the Deaf Man said to the Blind Man: “We are now close to the village; but if we take all this treasure home with us, we shall run great risk of being robbed. I think our best plan would be to divide it equally; then you can take care of your half, and I will take care of mine, and each one can hide his share here in the jungle, or wherever pleases him best.” “Very well,” said the Blind Man; “do you divide what we have in the bundles into two equal portions, keeping one half yourself and giving me the other.” The cunning Deaf Man, however, had no intention of giving up half of the treasure to the Blind Man; so he first took his own bundle of treasure and hid it in the bushes, and then he took the two bundles off the Donkey and hid them in the bushes; and he took a good deal of treasure out of the Blind Man’s bundle, which he also hid. Then, taking the small quantity that remained, he divided it into two equal portions, and placing half before the Blind Man and half in front of himself, said: “There, brother, is your share to do what you please with.” The Blind Man put out his hand, but when he felt what a very little heap of treasure it was, he got very angry, and cried: “This is not fair—you are deceiving me; you have kept almost all the treasure for yourself and only given me a very little.” “Oh, oh! how can you think so?” answered the Deaf Man; “but if you will not believe me, feel for yourself. See, my heap of treasure is no larger than yours.”

The Blind Man put out his hands again to feel how much his friend had kept; but in front of the Deaf Man lay only a very small heap, no larger than what he had himself received. At this he got very cross, and said: “Come, come, this won’t do. You think you can cheat me in this way because I am blind; but I’m not so stupid as all that. I carried a great bundle of treasure, you carried a great bundle of treasure, and there were two great bundles on the Donkey. Do you mean to pretend that all that made no more treasure than these two little heaps! No, indeed; I know better than that.” “Stuff and nonsense!” answered the Deaf Man. “Stuff or no stuff,” continued the other, “you are trying to take me in, and I won’t be taken in by you.” “No, I’m not,” said the Deaf Man. “Yes, you are,” said the Blind Man; and so they went on bickering, scolding, growling, contradicting, until the Blind Man got so enraged that he gave the Deaf Man a tremendous box on the ear. The blow was so violent that it made the Deaf Man hear! The Deaf Man, very angry, gave his neighbor in return so hard a blow in the face that it opened the Blind Man’s eyes!

So the Deaf Man could hear as well as see, and the Blind Man could see as well as hear! This astonished them both so much that they became good friends at once. The Deaf Man confessed to having hidden the bulk of the treasure, which he thereupon dragged forth from its place of concealment, and, having divided it equally, they went home and enjoyed themselves.

_The Alligator and the Jackal_

A hungry Jackal once went down to the riverside in search of little crabs, bits of fish, and whatever else he could find for his dinner. Now it chanced that in this river there lived a great big Alligator, who, being also very hungry, would have been extremely glad to eat the Jackal.

The Jackal ran up and down, here and there, but for a long time could find nothing to eat. At last, close to where the Alligator was lying among some tall bulrushes under the clear, shallow water, he saw a little crab sidling along as fast as his legs could carry him. The Jackal was so hungry that when he saw this he poked his paw into the water to try and catch the crab, when snap! the old Alligator caught hold of him. “Oh dear!” thought the Jackal to himself, “what can I do? This great, big Alligator has caught my paw in his mouth, and in another minute he will drag me down by it under the water and kill me. My only chance is to make him think he has made a mistake.” So he called out in a cheerful voice: “Clever Alligator, clever Alligator, to catch hold of a bulrush root instead of my paw! I hope you find it very tender.” The Alligator, who was so buried among the bulrushes that he could hardly see, thought, on hearing this: “Dear me, how tiresome! I fancied I had caught hold of the Jackal’s paw; but there he is, calling out in a cheerful voice. I suppose I must have seized a bulrush root instead, as he says,” and he let the Jackal go.

The Jackal ran away as fast as he could, crying: “O wise Alligator, wise Alligator! So you let me go again!” Then the Alligator was very much vexed, but the Jackal had run away too far to be caught. Next day the Jackal returned to the riverside to get his dinner as before; but because he was very much afraid of the Alligator he called out: “Whenever I go to look for my dinner, I see the nice little crabs peeping up through the mud; then I catch them and eat them. I wish I could see one now.”

The Alligator, who was buried in the mud at the bottom of the river, heard every word. So he popped the little point of his snout above it, thinking: “If I do but just show the tip of my nose, the Jackal will take me for a crab and put in his paw to catch me, and as soon as ever he does I’ll gobble him up.”

But no sooner did the Jackal see the little tip of the Alligator’s nose than he called out: “Aha, my friend! there you are. No dinner for me in this part of the river, then, I think.” And so saying, he ran farther on and fished for his dinner a long way from that place. The Alligator was very angry at missing his prey a second time, and determined not to let him escape again.

So on the following day, when his little tormentor returned to the waterside, the Alligator hid himself close to the bank, in order to catch him if he could. Now the Jackal was rather afraid of going near the river, for he thought: “Perhaps the Alligator will catch me to-day.” But yet, being hungry, he did not wish to go without his dinner; so to make all as safe as he could, he cried: “Where are all the little crabs gone? There is not one here and I am so hungry; and generally, even when they are under water, one can see them going bubble, bubble, bubble, and all the little bubbles go pop! pop! pop!” On hearing this the Alligator, who was buried in the mud under the river bank, thought: “I will pretend to be a little crab.” And he began to blow, “Puff, puff, puff! Bubble, bubble, bubble!” and all the great bubbles rushed to the surface of the river and burst there, and the waters eddied round and round like a whirlpool; and there was such a commotion when the huge monster began to blow bubbles in this way that the Jackal saw very well who must be there, and he ran away as fast as he could, saying: “Thank you, kind Alligator, thank you; thank you! Indeed, I would not have come here had I known you were so close.”

This enraged the Alligator extremely; it made him quite cross to think of being so often deceived by a little Jackal, and he said to himself: “I will be taken in no more. Next time I will be very cunning.” So for a long time he waited and waited for the Jackal to return to the riverside; but the Jackal did not come, for he had thought to himself: “If matters go on in this way, I shall some day be caught and eaten by the wicked old Alligator. I had better content myself with living on wild figs,” and he went no more near the river, but stayed in the jungles and ate wild figs, and roots which he dug up with his paws.

When the Alligator found this out, he determined to try and catch the Jackal on land; so, going under the largest of the wild fig-trees, where the ground was covered with the fallen fruit, he collected a quantity of it together, and, burying himself under the great heap, waited for the Jackal to appear. But no sooner did the cunning little animal see this great heap of wild figs all collected together than he thought: “That looks very like my friend the Alligator.” And to discover if it were so or not, he called out: “The juicy little wild figs I love to eat always tumble down from the tree, and roll here and there as the wind drives them; but this great heap of figs is quite still; these cannot be good figs; I will not eat any of them.” “Ho, ho!” thought the Alligator, “is that all? How suspicious this Jackal is! I will make the figs roll about a little, then, and when he sees that, he will doubtless come and eat them.”

So the great beast shook himself, and all the heap of little figs went roll, roll, roll—some a mile this way, some a mile that, farther than they had ever rolled before or than the most blustering wind could have driven them.

Seeing this, the Jackal scampered away, saying: “I am so much obliged to you, Alligator, for letting me know you are there, for indeed I should hardly have guessed it. You were so buried under that heap of figs.” The Alligator, hearing this, was so angry that he ran after the Jackal, but the latter ran very, very fast away, too quickly to be caught.

Then the Alligator said to himself: “I will not allow that little wretch to make fun of me another time and then run away out of reach; I will show him that I can be more cunning than he fancies.” And early the next morning he crawled as fast as he could to the Jackal’s den (which was a hole in the side of a hill) and crept into it, and hid himself, waiting for the Jackal, who was out, to return home. But when the Jackal got near the place, he looked about him and thought: “Dear me! the ground looks as if some heavy creature had been walking over it, and here are great clods of earth knocked down from each side of the door of my den, as if a very big animal had been trying to squeeze himself through it. I certainly will not go inside until I know that all is safe there.” So he called out: “Little house, pretty house, my sweet little house, why do you not give an answer when I call? If I come, and all is safe and right, you always call out to me. Is anything wrong, that you do not speak?”

Then the Alligator, who was inside, thought: “If that is the case I had better call out, that he may fancy all is right in his house.” And in as gentle a voice as he could, he said: “Sweet little Jackal.”

At hearing these words the Jackal felt quite frightened, and thought to himself: “So the dreadful old Alligator is there. I must try to kill him if I can, for if I do not he will certainly catch and kill me some day.” He therefore answered: “Thank you, my dear little house. I like to hear your pretty voice. I am coming in in a minute, but first I must collect firewood to cook my dinner.” And he ran as fast as he could, and dragged all the dry branches and bits of stick he could find close up to the mouth of the den. Meantime, the Alligator inside kept as quiet as a mouse, but he could not help laughing a little to himself as he thought: “So I have deceived this tiresome little Jackal at last. In a few minutes he will run in here, and then won’t I snap him up!”

When the Jackal had gathered together all the sticks he could find and put them round the mouth of his den, he set them on fire and pushed them as far into it as possible. There was such a quantity of them that they soon blazed up into a great fire, and the smoke and flames filled the den and smothered the wicked old Alligator and burned him to death, while the little Jackal ran up and down outside dancing for joy and singing:

“How do you like my house, my friend? Is it nice and warm? Ding-dong! ding-dong! The Alligator is dying! ding-dong, ding-dong! He will trouble me no more. I have defeated my enemy! Ring-a-ting! ding-a-ting! ding-ding-dong!”

_Why the Fish Laughed_

As a certain fisherwoman passed by a palace crying her fish, the queen appeared at one of the windows and beckoned her to come near and show what she had. At that moment a very big fish jumped about in the bottom of the basket.

“Is it a he or a she?” inquired the queen. “I wish to purchase a she-fish.”

On hearing this the fish laughed aloud.

“It’s a he,” replied the fisherwoman, and proceeded on her rounds.

The queen returned to her room in a great rage; and on coming to see her in the evening, the king noticed that something had disturbed her.

“Are you indisposed?” he said.

“No; but I am very much annoyed at the strange behavior of a fish. A woman brought me one to-day, and on my inquiring whether it was a male or female, the fish laughed most rudely.”

“A fish laugh! Impossible! You must be dreaming.”

“I am not a fool. I speak of what I have seen with my own eyes and have heard with my own ears.”

“Passing strange! Be it so. I will inquire concerning it.”

On the morrow the king repeated to his vizier what his wife had told him, and bade him investigate the matter, and be ready with a satisfactory answer within six months, on pain of death. The vizier promised to do his best, though he felt almost certain of failure. For five months he labored indefatigably to find a reason for the laughter of the fish. He sought everywhere and from every one. The wise and learned, and they who were skilled in magic and in all manner of trickery, were consulted. Nobody, however, could explain the matter; and so he returned broken-hearted to his house, and began to arrange his affairs in prospect of certain death, for he had had sufficient experience of the king to know that his majesty would not go back from his threat. Among other things, he advised his son to travel for a time, until the king’s anger should have somewhat cooled.

The young fellow, who was both clever and handsome, started off whithersoever Kismet might lead him. He had been gone some days, when he fell in with an old farmer, who also was on a journey to a certain village. Finding the old man very pleasant, he asked him if he might accompany him, professing to be on a visit to the same place. The old farmer agreed, and they walked along together. The day was hot, and the way was long and weary.

“Don’t you think it would be pleasanter if you and I sometimes gave each other a lift?” said the youth.

“What a fool the man is!” thought the old farmer.

Presently they passed through a field of corn ready for the sickle, and looking like a sea of gold as it waved to and fro in the breeze.

“Is this eaten or not?” said the young man.

Not understanding his meaning, the old man replied: “I don’t know.”

After a little while the two travelers arrived at a big village, where the young man gave his companion a clasp-knife, and said: “Take this, friend, and get two horses with it; but mind and bring it back, for it is very precious.”

The old man, looking half amused and half angry, pushed back the knife, muttering something to the effect that his friend was either a fool himself, or else trying to play the fool with him. The young man pretended not to notice his reply, and remained almost silent till they reached the city, a short distance outside which was the old farmer’s house. They walked about the bazaar and went to the mosque, but nobody saluted them or invited them to come in and rest.

“What a large cemetery!” exclaimed the young man.

“What does the man mean,” thought the old farmer, “calling this largely populated city a cemetery?”

On leaving the city their way led through a graveyard where a few people were praying beside a tomb and distributing _chapatis_ and _kulchas_ to passers-by, in the name of their beloved dead. They beckoned to the two travelers and gave them as much as they would.

“What a splendid city this is!” said the young man.

“Now, the man must surely be demented!” thought the old farmer. “I wonder what he will do next? He will be calling the land water, and the water land; and be speaking of light where there is darkness, and of darkness when it is light.” However, he kept his thoughts to himself.

Presently they had to wade through a stream that ran along the edge of the cemetery. The water was rather deep, so the old farmer took off his shoes and pajamas and crossed over; but the young man waded through it with his shoes and pajamas on.

“Well! I never did see such a perfect fool, both in word and in deed,” said the old man to himself.

However, he liked the fellow; and thinking that he would amuse his wife and daughter, he invited him to come and stay at his house as long as he had occasion to remain in the village.

“Thank you very much,” the young man replied; “but let me first inquire, if you please, whether the beam of your house is strong.”

The old farmer left him in despair, and entered his house laughing.

“There is a man in yonder field,” he said, after returning their greetings. “He has come the greater part of the way with me, and I wanted him to put up here as long as he had to stay in this village. But the fellow is such a fool that I cannot make anything out of him. He wants to know if the beam of this house is all right. The man must be mad!” and saying this, he burst into a fit of laughter.

“Father,” said the farmer’s daughter, who was a very sharp and wise girl, “this man, whosoever he is, is no fool, as you deem him. He only wishes to know if you can afford to entertain him.”

“Oh, of course,” replied the farmer. “I see. Well, perhaps you can help me to solve some of his other mysteries. While we were walking together he asked whether he should carry me or I should carry him, as he thought that would be a pleasanter mode of proceeding.”

“Most assuredly,” said the girl; “he meant that one of you should tell a story to beguile the time.”

“Oh, yes. Well, we were passing through a corn-field, when he asked me whether it was eaten or not.”

“And didn’t you know the meaning of this, father? He simply wished to know if the man was in debt or not; because, if the owner of the field was in debt, then the produce of the field was as good as eaten to him; that is, it would have to go to his creditors.”

“Yes, yes, yes, of course! Then, on entering a certain village, he bade me take his clasp-knife and get two horses with it, and bring back the knife again to him.”

“Are not two stout sticks as good as two horses for helping one along on the road? He only asked you to cut a couple of sticks and be careful not to lose his knife.”

“I see,” said the farmer. “While we were walking over the city we did not see anybody that we knew, and not a soul gave us a scrap of anything to eat, till we were passing the cemetery; but there some people called to us and put into our hands some _chapatis_ and _kulchas_; so my companion called the city a cemetery, and the cemetery a city.”

“This also is to be understood, father, if one thinks of the city as the place where everything is to be obtained, and of inhospitable people as worse than the dead. The city, though crowded with people, was as if dead, as far as you were concerned; while, in the cemetery, which is crowded with the dead, you were saluted by kind friends and provided with bread.”

“True, true!” said the astonished farmer. “Then, just now, when we were crossing the stream, he waded through it without taking off his shoes and pajamas.”

“I admire his wisdom,” replied the girl. “I have often thought how stupid people were to venture into that swiftly flowing stream and over those sharp stones with bare feet. The slightest stumble and they would fall, and be wetted from head to foot. This friend of yours is a most wise man. I should like to see him and speak to him.”

“Very well,” said the farmer; “I will go and find him, and bring him in.”

“Tell him, father, that our beams are strong enough, and then he will come in. I’ll send on ahead a present to the man, to show him that we can afford to have him for our guest.”

Accordingly she called a servant and sent him to the young man with a present of a basin of _ghee_, twelve _chapatis_, and a jar of milk, and the following message: “O friend, the moon is full; twelve months make a year, and the sea is overflowing with water.”

Half-way the bearer of this present and message met his little son, who, seeing what was in the basket, begged his father to give him some of the food. His father foolishly complied. Presently he saw the young man, and gave him the rest of the present and the message.

“Give your mistress my salaam,” he replied, “and tell her that the moon is new, and that I can find only eleven months in the year, and the sea is by no means full.”

Not understanding the meaning of these words, the servant repeated them word for word, as he had heard them, to his mistress; and thus his theft was discovered, and he was severely punished. After a little while the young man appeared with the old farmer. Great attention was shown to him, and he was treated in every way as if he were the son of a great man, although his humble host knew nothing of his origin. At length he told them everything—about the laughing of the fish, his father’s threatened execution, and his own banishment—and asked their advice as to what he should do.

“The laughing of the fish,” said the girl, “which seems to have been the cause of all this trouble, indicates that there is a man in the palace who is plotting against the king’s life.”

“Joy, joy!” exclaimed the vizier’s son. “There is yet time for me to return and save my father from an ignominious and unjust death, and the king from danger.”

The following day he hastened back to his own country, taking with him the farmer’s daughter. Immediately on arrival he ran to the palace and informed his father of what he had heard. The poor vizier, now almost dead from the expectation of death, was at once carried to the king, to whom he repeated the news that his son had just brought.

“Never!” said the king.