Chapter II: Part 2

Out came the Rope and the Club, and the Rope bound all the horses until they could not move, and the Club beat them until they all fell down dead.

Then the Rope and the Club climbed back into the Blackbird’s ear, and they all went to sleep again.

The next morning the King said, “I am sure my wild horses have settled that Blackbird. Go out and bring in his corpse.”

The servants went out to the stable, and there was the Blackbird sitting on a stall, drumming away on his walnut shell, while all around him were the dead bodies of the horses. Now these horses had cost the King a great deal of money and to have them killed in this way was more than he could stand.

“That Blackbird shall not trick me again,” scolded the King. “I will kill him tonight. Put him in with my Elephants and they will crush the life out of him.”

So that night the servants shut the Blackbird up in the shed with all the big Elephants.

At midnight, when all the world was sound asleep, the Blackbird began to sing:

“Come out from my ear, you Ants,
Come and sting the Elephants.
Sting each trunk and sting each head!
Sting them till they fall down dead!”

Then out came the swarm of Ants from the Blackbird’s ear. They crawled inside the Elephants’ trunks; they burrowed into the Elephants’ brains; they bit them and stung them so sharply that the Elephants all went mad and trumpeted wildly as they pushed each other about tramping upon each other until they all fell down dead.

The next morning the King said to his servants, “Go and bring me the proof that the insolent Blackbird is dead.”

But, when the servants went out, there they found the Blackbird playing upon his drum, while about him all the dead Elephants were piled upon the ground.

When the King heard this he was furious, and he said, “I cannot imagine how he does this, but, tonight, you must tie him to my bed and I will watch to see what happens.”

So that night General Blackbird was escorted to the King’s bedroom, and there he was tied fast to the King’s bed.

The King would not go to sleep, but kept awake listening to find out what the Blackbird was doing.

At midnight the Blackbird began to sing:

“Come out, River, from my ear!
Flow about the King’s room here.
Pour yourself upon his bed!
Drown the King until he’s dead!”

Then out came the River, drip-drip-drip, pour-pour-pouring out of the Blackbird’s ear. It flooded the room; the chairs and tables began to float about; then the King’s bed began to float, and the King himself was wet. At last the King cried out:

“Oh, good General Blackbird, stop the River! I will give you back your wife if you will only be gone and leave me in peace.”

So the Blackbird stopped the River, took his wife and they went back to their home.

On the way, the Blackbird took all his helpers out of his ear and put each one back where he lived. Taking off his helmet, he said, with a low bow:

“My friends, my wife and I appreciate and thank you for your timely assistance. Without your aid, I should never have been able to overcome the enemy.”

Then the Blackbird threw off his frog-skin coat of armor, put aside his thorn sword, his walnut helmet and his drum, and he and his wife flew back to their home in the tall tree.

He sang her a sweet song, and they all lived happily ever after.

THE KID AND THE TIGER

Once upon a time there lived in the forest a mother goat who had four fat little kids, named Roley, Poley, Skipster and Jumpster.

Not far away from the home of the goats lived a mother tiger with her two little cubs.

Now the mother tiger always pretended to be a dear friend of the Nanny goat, but she really was jealous because Nanny had four little ones while she herself had only two.

One day the old tiger growled to herself, “If only I could find some way to eat up two of Nanny’s kids, then all things would be equal. But I must never let Nanny suspect me.” So the tricky tiger licked her striped coat until it fairly shone and she went to call on the Nanny goat.

“Dear friend Nanny,” she said with a sweet smile, “my little ones have gone out and I am very lonely at home. Do please let one of your dear little kids sleep with me.”

“Why, I shall be very glad to have one of them go,” answered the stupid goat, for she felt flattered that one of her children should be invited to visit the great tiger.

So Mother Goat went out to find her children. They were all having a frolic together. Roley and Poley were rolling over and over upon the ground, and Jumpster was jumping over Skipster.

“Come, children! Come, children!” called their mother. “A good, kind friend has invited one of you to come and spend the night in her house.”

“Ma—aa, Ma—aa,” bleated all the kids as they came running up and three of the little kids shouted, “Let me go! Let me! Oh, let me!”

But Roley, who was a wise little kid, said very quietly, “Who is the friend, Mammy?”

“Why, it is your dear Aunt Yellow-Stripe,” answered the Mother Goat.

Then all the little kids looked very sad, for they were afraid of the tiger. Although the Mother Tiger always smiled upon them, they could see her glistening teeth and when she tried to shake paws with them, they were afraid of her cruel claws; sometimes, when she rolled her eyes and looked at them, they felt that there was a gleam in her eyes which was not for their good.

“No-oo, thank you, Mammy! I would rather stay at home with you,” said Skipster.

“No-oo, No-oo, thank you, Mammy!” said Jumpster.

“No-oo, No-oo, thank you, Mammy!” said Poley.

They looked about at Roley to join in their frolic but, to their great surprise, Roley said, “Yes, Mammy, I will go, gladly.”

“Baa-ba-bad. Too bad-baa-baad!” bleated the other three kids. “Oh, don’t go, poor Roley, we do not trust that terrible tiger!”

But Roley would not heed their warning. He knew what he was about and he made up his mind that he would not let that terrible tiger trick him.

So Roley went home with the tiger, and although she purred over him and made a great fuss over him, he watched her very sharply.

When it was time to go to bed, Roley pretended to go to sleep, but he was watching all the time. At last he heard the old tiger snoring. He got up as softly as he could and went to the back of the den and found one of the baby tigers. They had not gone out as their mother had said, but were sleeping in a dark corner.

Roley took the little tiger-cub and put it down by the Mother Tiger, then he went and hid by the other little tiger.

About midnight the old Mother Tiger awoke and felt the little warm thing curled up by her side. Then she brought down her powerful paw with such force that she killed the little one at once, and gobbled him up. It was so pitchy black that she did not know, until morning, that she had eaten one of her own babies by mistake, for there was little Roley on the floor playing with her other little one.

When she realized what had happened she was wild with rage. Her eyes gleamed with a cruel light, but she managed to purr out sweetly, “Did you sleep well last night, Roley dear?”

“Yes, Auntie,” said Roley, “only a gnat stung me.”

“Well, never mind,” she murmured. “Just come again tonight and we shall see what we shall see.”

That night everything happened just as before; only Roley put a huge stone in his place, and then he ran for home as fast as he could go.

At midnight, when the tiger awoke, she brought down her paw upon the stone.

“My gracious,” she said, “but that is a strong kid. I must kill him now, or he will kill me when he grows up.” So she bit at the stone with all her might—and broke all her front teeth. Howling with rage and pain, she looked all about her den, but Roley was not to be found.

Mother Tiger lay awake all night with the pain in her teeth. She thought and thought, but she could not plan her revenge upon Roley. So, in the morning, she went to a wise old, one-eyed tiger, her friend and counsellor, and asked him how she could punish Roley.

They talked and they walked and they walked and they talked and when they came back to the den, there was the reckless Roley, rolling about with the little tiger cub.

“Ha, ha,” laughed the old tiger. “So here you are, you little rascal! Just sit down and I will tell you a nice story.”

“Oh, do, dear Uncle One-eye,” cried Roley.

So One-Eye began, “When I eat my dinner, I like to eat kids. Four little kids are just one mouthful for me, and today I’m very hungry. So I am coming to your house and I shall make one mouthful of you and your brothers and sisters.”

“Good, good!” cried Roley, clapping his paws. “What good stories you do tell. Now, listen, and I will tell you a story.

“When you come to eat us up, Skipster will hold you by the forelegs, and Jumpster will hold you by the hind legs, and Poley will hold your head, and Roley will chop it off. And our mother will have a big fire ready, and we will cook you. But I think first we will skin off your coat for it will make us such a nice striped rug for our floor.”

This story terrified the old tiger and he took to his heels and ran for home as fast as he could go.

On the way home, he met six other tigers and he said, “My dear friends, I know where there’s a fine kid for you to eat. I do not care for him, myself, but I will help you catch him, and I will watch you eat him.”

The six tigers were all so hungry that each one would have liked to eat the whole kid. As they followed One-Eye, each tiger was plotting how to make the others do the work so that he could get the kid.

They started toward the goat’s home and, sure enough, there was Roley, rolling along toward home. But the minute he saw the tigers he crawled up into a tall tree that grew near his house.

The first tiger gave a spring in the air, but could not reach the branch where Roley was sitting. Then the second tiger tried. And, one after another, each tiger jumped, but missed Roley. So he sat there on his perch, mocking them: “Baa-ba—too baad! too bad!”

At last the tigers had to give up and they all sat in a ring and took counsel together. Then One-Eye said, “I know how we can reach him. I will stand here against the tree trunk and the rest of you can climb on my back, one on top of the other. Then we can catch the rascal very easily.”

They all agreed that this was an excellent plan. So One-Eye propped himself against the tree, and the other tigers climbed one on top of the other, until the top tiger reached out his paw and almost touched Roley. As he did so, One-Eye cocked up his eye to see how they were getting along.

Roley called out, “Mother, oh, Mother, give me a lump of mud, and I will hit the old brute in his one eye, and that will finish him.”

When One-Eye heard this he was so frightened that he gave a great jump and down tumbled the whole seven tigers in a heap, and all fighting and biting and scratching and spitting at each other, for they imagined other beasts were fighting them, and so they fought with one another until they were quite worn out.

As soon as each of the seven tigers got his four legs to himself, off he went to his home.

Then Roley climbed down from the tree and all those joyous kids kicked up their heels and rejoiced together.

Although they never had a tiger skin rug for their floor, they were just as happy, for they did not care to be reminded of their tricky friend, Yellow-Stripe. And the terrible tigers were so frightened that they never again troubled Nanny Goat and her four frolicsome kids.

THE BRAHMIN AND THE TIGER

Once upon a time there lived in India a very good man. He was a Brahmin, or priest, and he had such a kind heart that he could not bear to see anything suffer. Everyone loved him, because he was so good to all the poor people and so gentle with the beasts.

One day, as the Brahmin was walking along the road, he saw a huge Tiger who had been caught by the villagers and put in an iron cage to punish him for his wickedness.

“Brother Brahmin, Brother Brahmin,” moaned the Tiger, “pray have pity on me and let me out of this cruel cage for one little minute, so that I may get a drink of water for I am dying of thirst.”

“Oh, no, Brother Tiger,” answered the Brahmin, “I could not do that, for you are being punished for your wickedness. Moreover if I should let you out of your cage, you would eat me up.”

“In truth, I would not,” answered the Tiger. “I would never do such an ungrateful thing. Have pity on me, kind Brother Brahmin, I pray!”

Then the Brahmin, feeling sorry for the Tiger, unlocked the cage door. But the moment he opened the door, the Tiger sprang out upon him, growling, “Gurr! gurr! gurr-r-r! Now I will eat you first and drink the water afterwards.”

“Why, Brother Tiger!” said the Brahmin, “do not kill me so hastily. You promised not to eat me, and now, when I set you free, you break your word. Is that fair, or just? Is that according to the law?”

“Gurr! gurr! gurr-r-r!” growled the Tiger. “I care not whether it is fair or just. I learned no law in the jungle. Man is the food for the beast.”

“But, Brother Tiger, you must listen to reason,” said the Brahmin. “We will ask six judges if you are keeping your word to me, and if each one of them says that you should kill me, then I am willing to die.”

“Very well,” agreed the Tiger, “we will ask the judgment of six and if they all say that you are to die, I shall kill you, but if anyone of them grants you your life, I will have to let you go.”

So the Brahmin and the Tiger walked to a Banyan tree, and the Brahmin said:

“Oh, Banyan tree, Banyan tree, hear and give judgment!”

“On what must I give judgment?” asked the Banyan tree.

“This Tiger was caught in a cruel cage,” said the Brahmin. “He was thirsty and begged piteously for a drink of water. He promised not to hurt me if I set him free. But when I did so, he sprang upon me to kill me. Do you think it fair and just for him to break his word?”

The Banyan tree rustled his leaves and whispered in a mournful voice, “Men take shelter under my boughs from the scorching rays of the sun. Yet when I have protected them and they are rested, they break my pretty branches and scatter my leaves and take my fruit. Men certainly are an ungrateful race! So I say let the Tiger eat the Brahmin.”

“Now, Brother Brahmin,” growled the Tiger, “I shall eat you.”

“One moment, Brother Tiger,” begged the Brahmin. “We agreed to ask six judges, and we have had the opinion of only one. You must not eat me yet.”

“Very well,” said the Tiger, and they went on till they met a Camel.

“Brother Camel, Brother Camel,” cried the Brahmin. “Hear and give judgment.” The Brahmin then told how he had opened the cage door for the Tiger and how the Tiger had broken his word. “Do you call that just, or right, Brother Camel?” asked the Brahmin.

“As just and right as I am treated by man,” snorted the Camel, gnashing his teeth in rage. “When I was young and strong and could carry a heavy load for my master, he took care of me and gave me food and shelter. Now I am old and have lost my strength in the service, and so he overloads me, starves me and beats me. Men are an unjust and cruel race. So I say let the Tiger eat the Brahmin.”

“Now, Brother Brahmin,” growled the Tiger, “I shall eat you.” And he sprang towards the Brahmin.

“Stop! Brother Tiger, stop!” said the Brahmin. “We have heard only the judgment of two.”

“Very well,” answered the Tiger.

At a little distance they found a poor old Bullock, lying by the side of the road.

“Brother Bullock, Brother Bullock,” said the Brahmin. “Hear and give judgment.” Then the Brahmin explained the whole story again and said, “Do you call that fair or just?”

“When I was able to work,” answered the Bullock, “my master fed me and treated me very carefully. Now I am old, he has forgotten all I ever did for him and has left me by the roadside to die. Men show no mercy to the beasts. So I say, let the Tiger eat the Brahmin.”

“You hear that, Brother Brahmin?” growled the Tiger. “Now I shall eat you up.”

“Pray, Brother Tiger, have patience! We have met only half of our judges. I still have three more to ask.”

“Very well,” answered the Tiger, and they went on together.

After a time they saw an Eagle flying through the air. “Brother Eagle, Brother Eagle,” shouted the Brahmin, “fly down here and give judgment.”

The Eagle came soaring slowly down and sat upon a rock. Then the Brahmin told his whole story and said, “Do you think that it is fair, or just of the Tiger to eat me after I set him free?”

“Well,” answered the Eagle, “men are not fair nor just to me. Whenever men see me, they try to shoot me and they climb the rocks to spoil my nest and steal my little ones. Men know no pity. They seek only to slay us. So I say let the Tiger eat the Brahmin.”

“Hear that, Brother Brahmin? Now I shall have to kill you,” growled the Tiger.

“Have patience, Brother Tiger,” answered the Brahmin. “We have yet two more judges to ask.”

“Very well,” said the Tiger, and they went on their way.

Presently they came to a river and in the mud they saw an old Alligator. The Brahmin told him the whole story hoping that the Alligator would give him a favorable answer. But the Alligator in great anger snorted out:

“Humph! I hunt no man, but, whenever I put my nose out of the water, men torment me and try to kill me. As long as men live, we shall have no peace. So I say let the Tiger eat the Brahmin.”

Then the Tiger, sprang toward the Brahmin. “This time I shall eat you up, for all are against you.”

“One moment!” said the Brahmin. “I still have one opinion of the sixth judge.”

So the Tiger was obliged to wait, and by and by they met a little Jackal who came gaily prancing down the road.

“Oh, Brother Jackal! dear little Brother Jackal,” called the Brahmin, “please do stop a minute and give judgment.”

“On what must I give judgment?” barked the little Jackal.

Again the Brahmin told his story and asked, “Do you think it just, or fair that the Tiger should eat me up after I set him free from that cruel cage?”

“Cage, cage, cage?” asked the little Jackal in a perplexed tone. “I don’t quite understand. What sort of cage was it?”

“Why, a big iron cage down in the village,” answered the Brahmin. “The men had caught the Tiger to punish him for his wickedness. When I came down the road he begged for a drink of water and promised he would not eat me, if I set him free. But when I opened the cage-door, he sprang upon me to kill me. Do you call that fair, or just?”

“Dear me, dear me!” said the little Jackal. “How can I decide who is right or wrong until I see the cage and the exact position you were in when the quarrel began? Show me the place and I will try to judge.”

So the Brahmin and the Tiger and the little Jackal went back to the place where the empty cage stood.

“Oh, is that the cage?” asked the Jackal.

“Yes, yes,” answered the Brahmin.

“Well, Brahmin, show me exactly where you stood,” said the Jackal.

“Here,” said the Brahmin. “I stood here in the road looking in the cage at the cruel Tiger.”

“Where were you, Tiger?” asked the Little Jackal.

“Why, I stood in the cage, so!” answered the Tiger jumping into the cage, “and my head was leaning against the iron bars, so!”

“Very good, very good!” said the little Jackal. “But I cannot give judgment until I understand a little more. Why did you not come out by yourself, Tiger? Was the cage-door open, or shut?”

“Why, the cage-door was shut and bolted!” answered the Brahmin.

“Then shut and bolt it,” said the Jackal, “for I must see how all this happened.”

The Brahmin shut and bolted the cage-door and, turning to the Jackal, he said, “Now give us your judgment, Brother Jackal.”

“Ha-ha-ha!” barked the little Jackal, joyously. “Leave it locked! Leave it locked, Brother Brahmin! Oh, you wicked and ungrateful Tiger! After the good Brahmin was kind enough to open the cage-door, was it fair, or just, for you to spring upon him to kill him? You may stay in that cage all the rest of your life. Goodbye, Brother Brahmin, goodbye,” said the little Jackal. “My way leads this way and your way leads that. Goodbye!”

And away ran the little Jackal in one direction while Brother Brahmin went on his way, rejoicing that he was safe. And shut up in the cage, the old Tiger roared in a rage.

THE BEAR’S BAD BARGAIN

Once upon a time there lived an old woodman and his wife in a tiny little hut near the edge of the forest. Now, a very rich man had his orchard near their home—so close, in fact, that the boughs of a big pear-tree hung right over their yard. The rich man was a generous neighbor, and he agreed to give the poor man and his wife the fruit that fell into their garden. So the old woodman and his wife watched with hungry eyes as the pears ripened in the sunshine.

“How I wish that a wind-storm would come and let those pears drop on our side of the fence,” said the old woman.

“Yes,” agreed the old man; “I wish that I dared to shake the tree a little and make some of the fruit fall this way, but our neighbor might see it, and then he would be angry and not give us any of them.”

Every day, the old woman grumbled more and more, because the pears did not drop on their side of the fence.

“I declare, we shall be beggars,” she groaned; and she insisted that her husband work harder and harder each day, while she would give him nothing to eat but a dry crust of bread.

The poor man grew thinner and thinner while he waited for the pears to ripen and fall into their yard; and every day he worked harder and harder, but he could not please his grumbling old wife. At last he turned around on her and, in great anger, said, “Wife, I will not do any more work unless you make some khichri for my dinner.”

“Khichri!” shrieked the wife; “khichri! Indeed I will not. Do you not know that khichri takes rice and pulse and butter and spices? Do you think that I am going to use all we have in the house on one meal for you?”

“Yes,” said the old man, “that is why I demand khichri. You have starved me quite long enough and now I will have the best dish you can make me.”

The cross old woman took the things out of the closet and began to cook a savory khichri. It smelt so good that the old man could hardly wait for it.

“Let me have a taste?” he begged.

“No, no,” scolded his wife, “you cannot have even a taste of it until you have brought me in another load of wood, and mind that it is a big one. You will have to work for your khichri.”

The old woodman took his axe and went out to the forest and began to hew and hack the trees with all his strength and soon he had a large load of wood.

Chop! chop! chop! At every blow of his axe he would think of the savory khichri he would soon enjoy.

Suddenly a big black bear came lumbering along through the forest with his long black nose tilted in the air and his little keen eyes peering all about him, for bears are always curious.

“Grr-rr-Grr-rr! Good-day to you, my friend,” growled the bear. “And may I ask what you are doing with that large bundle of wood?”

“I cut it for my wife,” answered the woodman. “You see, she would not cook me any dinner unless I brought her the wood. Today she has made me khichri for dinner and I know that when she sees this large load of wood, she will give me a generous portion. Oh, just smell that khichri; it is delicious!”

This made the bear very hungry and so he growled, “Do you think that your wife would give me some khichri, if I brought her some wood?”

“Maybe she might, if you brought her a very large load,” answered the man.

After a long discussion, the bear agreed to bring in half a cord of wood, if the man would save him some of the khichri.

“Half a cord is a very large load of wood,” grumbled the bear.

“But there is saffron and rice and pulse and butter in the khichri. It is a very expensive dish,” said the woodman.

The bear licked his chops at this and his bright little eyes gleamed with greed.

“It is a bargain,” he cried. “I will bring you half a cord of wood, so go home and tell your wife to keep the khichri hot, for I shall be with you soon.”

The woodman went home and told his wife about his bargain with the bear. “Half a cord of wood is good pay for a share of our dinner,” said the man.

Now the wife knew that her husband had made a good bargain with the bear, but she always found fault and grumbled about everything, so she began to scold the old man.

“You should have made a better bargain with the bear. Bears are always greedy,” she stormed. “You know that he will gobble up all the khichri, before we have had a mouthful.”

When the woodman heard this he grew quite pale. “Don’t you think that we had better begin now and have a fair start before the bear comes?” he asked.

So they squatted down upon the floor mat with the big brass pot of khichri placed between and began to eat and eat as fast as they could.

“Yum-mm, Yum-mm, YUMM, this khichri is good!” mumbled the man as he crammed his mouth full. “But we must remember to leave some for the bear, wife!”

“Yes, certainly, certainly!” replied the woman, helping herself to more. “We must leave some for that poor hungry bear!”

But they went right on eating and eating until there was not a single mouthful left in the pot.

“What shall we do now, when the bear comes?” cried the woodman. “It is all your fault, wife, for suggesting that the bear would eat it all.”

“My fault! my fault, indeed!” shrieked the wife. “You suggested that we begin to eat before the bear came in, and you ate twice as much as I did!”

“No, I did not!”

“Yes, you did so, and you know it!”

“Well, there is no good in quarrelling about it now,” said the woodman. “The bear will be here in a few moments and he will be furious when he finds the khichri all gone. He is very large and very hungry and he may eat us when he finds that we have gone back on our word.”

“Nonsense!” said the woman. “What a coward you are! All you think about is saving yourself! I do not care whether he is angry or not. I want to get that wood from him.”

“He will never give it to you, when he finds no dinner,” said the man. “Of course not, you stupid,” scolded the woman, “but I have thought of a plan. We must lock up everything in the house and leave the khichri pot by the fire, to look as though we were keeping it hot for him and then we must hide in the garret. When the bear comes and does not see us, he will think that we have gone out and left his dinner for him; then he will throw down his wood and come in. When he finds that the pot is empty, he will rampage about a little, but he cannot do very much damage. He will never bother to carry all that wood away again, for bears are as lazy as they are greedy.”

Now all this time the bear had been working hard in the forest and it took him much longer than he had expected to gather all that wood. However, at last he dragged half a cord of wood to the house of the old woodman. Seeing the brass khichri pot standing by the fire, he threw down his pile of wood and went at once for his dinner. And then when he saw that there was not even a grain of rice left in the pot, Me-oh-my! wasn’t he angry? He growled and he roared and he poked his head ’way down into the pot and licked the sides of it. But not even a tiny bit of pulse could he taste, though all the time he could smell how savory that khichri had been.

He sat on the floor and cried in his rage and disappointment, “Grr-rr! Grr! Grr-rr-rr! That is a fine way to keep a promise! Well, since you have eaten all the khichri, I will find something else to eat!” Then he upset everything in the house, but no food could he find.

“Grr! Grr-rr! Grr-rr!” growled the bear. “I will take all of this wood back to the forest again. They broke their bargain with me and they shall not have one of my sticks to burn.”

But just as the old woman had expected he was much too lazy to carry the heavy load back to the forest, even for revenge.

“I will not go away empty-handed,” he growled. “If they would not save me a taste, I can at least get the smell!” And he carried the brass pot away with him.

Now, as the bear left the cottage, he saw the beautiful golden pears hanging from the tree. These were the first pears of the season, and they looked very good to him. So he climbed up into the tree and began to eat the biggest, ripest pear that he could find. My! but it was good! The bear was so hungry, after his hard work in the forest, that he licked his chops and smacked his lips as he munched the pear. And then he thought of a plan.

“I shall take these pears home with me and sell them to the other bears in the forest and with the money I can buy all the khichri that I can eat! Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed the bear. “I shall have the best of the bargain after all! I will fool that old woodman and his wife, and they will not have even so much as a taste of one.”

Then the bear began to gather the ripe pears as fast as he could and put them into the big brass pot, but whenever he came to an unripe pear he would shake his head and say, “No one will buy this green one, yet it is a shame to waste it.” So he would pop the green pear into his own mouth and gobble it up, though he made wry faces as he ate.

Now all this time, the woodman and his wife had been hiding in the garret and the woodman’s wife was peeking through a little crevice watching the bear. When she saw how furious he was, she held her breath for fear he would discover them. When he climbed the tree and was eating the pears, she was angry at losing their share of the fruit, but she was too terrified to call out. At last from the excitement and the dust in her hiding place, she could hold in no longer, and just when the bear had filled the pot with ripe golden pears, out she came with a most tremendous sneeze: “A-h Che-u! Che-uu-uu!”

The bear was startled by this sound—so much like the explosion of a gun—and off he lumbered into the forest, dropping the khichri pot in the yard as he ran.

Now, as the pot had dropped into their yard, the woodman and his wife got all the pears, as well as the khichri they had eaten, and half a cord of wood, while the poor bear got nothing but a very bad stomachache from eating unripe fruit. So that was the end of the bear’s bad bargain.

THE MAN WHO RODE A TIGER

Once upon a time, in a terrible thunderstorm, a big Tiger crept for shelter close to the wall of an old woman’s hut. Now, this old woman was very poor. Her hut was a tumbledown old place, and the rain leaked through the holes in her roof.

“Drip-drip-drip,” fell the rain, and the poor old woman tried to drag her furniture away from the holes in the roof.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” she moaned. “What an awful storm! I’m sure I would not be nearly as afraid of a big tiger, or an elephant, or a lion, as I am of this perpetual dripping—dripping.” And she dragged her bed across the room to get it away from the dripping water.

The Tiger, crouching against the house, heard every word. “This perpetual dripping that frightens her more than a tiger, or an elephant, or a lion, must be very terrible,” he said. “What can this perpetual dripping be?”

And, then, as he heard her dragging the things about in the house, he said, “My, what a horrible noise! Surely that noise must be perpetual dripping.”

Now, at this moment, a Chattee-maker (potter) came down the road. The night was very cold. His donkey had strayed away, and the poor old man was so bewildered that he could not find the donkey. Suddenly there was a flash of lightning and the man saw a large beast lying by the wall of the old woman’s hut.

Mistaking the beast for his donkey, the Chattee-maker rushed at the Tiger, seized it by the ear and commenced beating and abusing it with all his might.

“You wretched old donkey, you, to run away and leave me to look for you in this frightful storm! Get up and carry me home, or I’ll break every bone in your lazy old body!” He kicked the poor beast and pounded him.

The Tiger did not know what to make of it. He was very much frightened. “This must be ‘Perpetual Dripping,’” he said to himself. “No wonder the old woman said she was more afraid of it than of a tiger, or an elephant, or a lion, for it gives so many hard blows.”

As soon as the poor Tiger got up, the Chattee-maker climbed on his back and forced the Tiger to carry him home. All the way he kicked and beat the Tiger, thinking it was his donkey. When he got home, the Chattee-maker tied the Tiger securely to the hitching-post in front of the house, and went in to bed.

Next morning, when the Chattee-maker’s wife got up and looked out of her window, she beheld a great Tiger tied up in front of the house. The Tiger looked as frightened and as meek as a lamb.

“Husband! Husband!” she called, loudly. “Wake up! Wake up! Do you know what animal you brought home, last night?”

“Why, yes—my donkey, to be sure,” he answered. “The donkey ran away from me, but I caught him just the same, and made him bring me home.”

“Come and see for yourself,” said his wife.

Here was the great Tiger tied to the post.

“Where is my donkey, then?” asked the man. “I rode him home, last night, and tied him to the post, myself.”

“No, you must have ridden on that Tiger,” said his wife.

Soon the news spread all over the village that the Chattee-maker had captured a great Tiger and had ridden home on his back, and that he had tied him to his hitching-post and trained him to be as meek as a lamb.

The report was even carried to the Rajah of the country, and he came, with his lords and attendants, to see this astonishing sight.

Now the Tiger was a very large one and had long been the terror of the whole country, and the Rajah was so pleased to have this terrible Tiger captured that he conferred all possible honor on the valiant Chattee-maker.

“You are a very brave man, my friend,” said the Rajah. “I will give you a new house and lands. You shall be a lord in my court and you shall be commander of a thousand horsemen.”

So the Chattee-maker gave up making pots and clay earthenware and he and his wife lived in the beautiful house given him by the Rajah, and they wore gorgeous raiment. And the Chattee-maker did, indeed, look like a lord of the court.

Wherever he went, people pointed him out and said, “There is the brave man who captured a hungry tiger and rode on his back.”

Now, not long after this, a Rajah from a neighboring country sent word that he was bringing a mighty army to wage war. When the people heard this, they were terrified; all the generals came to the Rajah and said, “We are not prepared for war! Who will be the Chief Commander?”

Then some of the people said, “You have just given the Chattee-maker command over a thousand horsemen. He is a brave and fearless man. Why do you not put him in command of your army?”

“That is a very good idea,” answered the Rajah. “I will make him Commander-in-Chief.”

So he sent for the valiant Chattee-maker. Said he, “My generals are afraid to take command for they say we are not prepared for war, but I know that you are brave and fearless, and into your hands I will place all the power in my kingdom. You must put our enemies to flight.”

“It shall be as you command,” said the Chattee-maker. “But before I lead the whole army, let me go out alone and find out something about the strength of the enemy, and examine their position.”

The Rajah consented to this and the Chattee-maker went home to his wife. “Oh, wife, wife, what shall I do?” he asked, in fright. “They have made me their Commander-in-Chief! It is a very hard place for me to fill. I shall have to ride at the head of my troops, and you know that I was never on a horse in my life. So I have asked the Rajah to let me go out alone first. We shall get a very quiet pony and I shall ride out before anyone sees me.”

But, early the next day, before the Chattee-maker had time to start, the Rajah sent to him a very spirited horse, all saddled and bridled, and requested that the Chattee-maker ride that horse out to meet the enemy.

The poor Chattee-maker was terrified, for the horse was a powerful animal that pranced about, champing his bit and rolling his eyes, and the Chattee-maker was sure that, if he ever mounted upon that horse, he would soon fall off. But he did not dare to refuse the horse sent by the Rajah. So he bowed politely to the messengers and said, “Tell the Rajah I am deeply grateful for his gift.”

But, when the messengers were gone, he said to his wife, “Oh, oh, what am I to do? How can I ever ride on this terrible horse?”

“Now, do not be so frightened,” said his wife. “I will tie you on the back of the big horse and, if you start at night, no one will see that you are tied on.”

That night his wife held the horse while her husband jumped and jumped, trying to get up into the saddle. At last, after many trials, he succeeded in getting on. He was so frightened that he called loudly to his wife, “Oh, wife, wife, hurry, hurry!”

So she wound him all about with strong ropes and tied his feet firmly in the stirrups, and she put one rope around his neck and shoulders and around his waist, and fastened them to the saddle.

“Wife, wife,” he screamed. “You forgot to tie my hands.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “It is better for you to have your hands free. Hold on by the mane!”

So he caught the horse’s mane as firmly as he could, and away and away went the horse, carrying the poor frightened Chattee-maker. Faster and faster, over hedges and rivers and ditches and plains, he galloped, and galloped, until they came in sight of the enemy’s camp.

When the poor old Chattee-maker saw the horse carrying him towards the enemy, he was more frightened than ever.

He made one last effort to save himself and, as the horse darted under a young banyan tree, he stretched out his hand and seized the tree with all his might, hoping that his ropes would break and the tree would pull him down from the horse. But the banyan tree was in very loose soil and the horse was plunging at such terrific speed that, when the Chattee-maker caught hold, up came the tree by the roots, and the Chattee-maker rode on, waving the banyan tree over his head and shrieking and screaming in his fright.

Now the soldiers of the enemy had heard that an army was coming out against them and when they saw the Chattee-maker they were sure he was the leader of a vanguard.

“Look! Look!” they cried in terror. “Here comes a man of gigantic stature, riding on a mighty horse! He rides at full speed over rocks and ditches and tears up the trees in his rage!”

And running to the Rajah, they cried out in fright, “Here comes the whole force of the enemy! Men of gigantic stature, mounted on mighty horses. As they gallop along, they tear up trees in their rage and brandish them about as war-clubs. We can fight men, but we cannot fight monsters!”

Now, the Chattee-maker was coming nearer and nearer and shrieking louder and louder in his terror, as he waved the tree wildly about his head and the horse plunged on.

So others rushed to the Rajah and said, “It is true! It is true! See, they are coming! Look, look! Let us fly for our lives!”

Then the whole panic-stricken crowd fled from their camp, for no one wanted to meet such an enemy. But, first, they made the Rajah write a note, begging for peace.

Soon after the enemy had fled from the camp, the horse carrying the Chattee-maker came galloping into it. As he reached the camp, the ropes broke and the Chattee-maker tumbled to the ground and the horse, worn out from his long run, stood still.

The Chattee-maker looked all about and was greatly surprised to find the whole camp deserted. In the tent of the Rajah he found the letter, and took it back home with him. He was afraid to mount the horse again, so he walked all the long journey back, leading his tired horse.

He did not get home until late that night, but his wife saw him coming, and ran out to meet him.

“Why, what is the matter, my good man?” she asked.

“Oh, wife! wife!” he groaned, “I am so weary! Every bone in my body aches. I have ridden all over the world since last night and I have had to walk all the way back today, and I am so tired and hungry. When I came to the camp of the enemy, no one was there, but I found this letter.” Then he told his wife the whole story of his wild ride.

“We must send a messenger to the Rajah with this letter and tell him that you will come in the morning and report for yourself,” she said. “We must send the horse, also, for I know that you never want to ride him again.”

So his good wife sent the horse and the letter to the Rajah, with the message that her husband would surely come, in the early morning.

And the next day, when the people saw the Chattee-maker walking to the royal palace, they said, “Why, this man is as modest as he is brave. He went out all alone, and put our enemy to flight, and now he walks simply to the door of the Rajah as though he had no pride.”

The Rajah came to the palace door to greet the Chattee-maker and, when the Chattee-maker bowed down before the Rajah, the Rajah lifted him to his feet and gave him every honor.

“You have saved our lives and shall be set over all the kingdom,” said the Rajah. “You shall be next to me in authority, for you are as modest and as humble as you are brave.”

So the Chattee-maker was rewarded for all that he had done by having twice as much rank and wealth given him.

But the Chattee-maker never would ride on a horse. He had his own beautiful coach in which to ride and he was often carried about on a litter so that no one ever knew that he was not a bold and brave rider. Had he not ridden on a tiger and had he not routed an army by rushing at them and pulling up trees to frighten them away? Yes, indeed, the people were all very proud of the valiant Chattee-maker, and he lived very happily, all the rest of his life.

_Volland Fairy Stories_

_AMERICAN INDIAN FAIRY TALES_
_by W. J. Larned_
_illustrated by John Rae_
_DEENIE FOLKS and FRIENDS of THEIRS_
_by Jo McMahon_
_illustrated by John Gee_
_FAIRY TALES from FRANCE_
_by W. J. Larned_
_illustrated by John Rae_
_THE LADDER of RICKETY RUNGS_
_by J. C. O’Donnell_
_illustrated by Janet Laura Scott_
_LITTLE PEACHLING_
_by Georgene Faulkner_
_illustrated by Frederick Richardson_
_REYNARD THE FOX and OTHER FABLES_
_by W. J. Larned_
_illustrated by John Rae_

Transcriber’s Notes

--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.

--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.

--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)