Popular Tales from the Norse by Sir George Webbe DasentWith a memoir by Arthur Irwin Dasent (page 8)

‘That gold shall fall from her mouth every time she speaks’, said the third head.

So when the lassie came home looking so lovely, and beaming as the bright day itself, her stepmother and her stepsister got more and more cross, and they got worse still when she began to talk, and they saw how golden guineas fell from her mouth. As for the stepmother, she got so mad with rage, she chased the lassie into the pigsty. That was the right place for all her gold stuff, but as for coming into the house, she wouldn’t hear of it.

Well, it wasn’t long before the stepmother wished her own daughter to go to the burn to fetch water. So when she came to the water’s edge with her buckets, up popped the first head.

‘Wash me, you lassie’, it said.

‘The Deil wash you’, said the stepdaughter.

So the second head popped up.

‘Brush me, you lassie’, it said.

‘The Deil brush you’, said the stepdaughter.

So down it went to the bottom, and the third head popped up.

‘Kiss me, you lassie’, said the head.

‘The Deil kiss you, you pig’s-snout’, said the girl.

Then the heads chattered together again, and asked what they should do to the girl who was so spiteful and cross-grained; and they all agreed she should have a nose four ells long, and a snout three ells long, and a pine bush right in the midst of her forehead, and every time she spoke, ashes were to fall out of her mouth.

So when she got home with her buckets, she bawled out to her mother:

‘Open the door.’

‘Open it yourself, my darling child’, said the mother.

‘I can’t reach it because of my nose’, said the daughter.

So, when the mother came out and saw her, you may fancy what a way she was in, and how she screamed and groaned; but, for all that, there were the nose and the snout and the pine bush, and they got no smaller for all her grief.

Now the brother, who had got the place in the King’s stable, had taken a little sketch of his sister, which he carried away with him, and every morning and every evening he knelt down before the picture and prayed to Our Lord for his sister, whom he loved so dearly. The other grooms had heard him praying, so they peeped through the key-hole of his room, and there they saw him on his knees before the picture. So they went about saying how the lad every morning and every evening knelt down and prayed to an idol which he had, and at last they went to the king himself and begged him only to peep through the key-hole, and then His Majesty would see the lad, and what things he did. At first the King wouldn’t believe it, but at last they talked him over, and he crept on tiptoe to the door and peeped in. Yes, there was the lad on his knees before the picture, which hung on the wall, praying with clasped hands.

‘Open the door!’ called out the King; but the lad didn’t hear him.

So the King called out in a louder voice, but the lad was so deep in his prayers he couldn’t hear him this time either. ‘OPEN THE DOOR, I SAY!’ roared out the King; ‘It’s I, the King, who want to come in.’

Well, up jumped the lad and ran to the door, and unlocked it, but in his hurry he forgot to hide the picture. But when the King came in and saw the picture, he stood there as if he were fettered, and couldn’t stir from the spot, so lovely he thought the picture.

‘So lovely a woman there isn’t in all the wide world’, said the King.

But the lad told him she was his sister whom he had drawn, and if she wasn’t prettier than that, at least she wasn’t uglier.

‘Well, if she’s so lovely’, said the King, ‘I’ll have her for my queen’; and then he ordered the lad to set off home that minute, and not be long on the road either. So the lad promised to make as much haste as he could, and started off from the King’s palace.

When the brother came home to fetch his sister, the step-mother and stepsister said they must go too. So they all set out, and the good lassie had a casket in which she kept her gold, and a little dog, whose name was ‘Little Flo’; those two things were all her mother left her. And when they had gone a while, they came to a lake which they had to cross; so the brother sat down at the helm, and the stepmother and the two girls sat in the bow foreward, and so they sailed a long, long way.

At last they caught sight of land.

‘There’, said the brother, ‘where you see the white strand yonder, there’s where we’re to land’; and as he said this he pointed across the water.

‘What is it my brother says?’ asked the good lassie.

‘He says you must throw your casket overboard’, said the stepmother.

‘Well, when my brother says it, I must do it’, said the lassie, and overboard went the casket.

When they had sailed a bit farther, the brother pointed again across the lake.

‘There you see the castle we’re going to.’

‘What is it my brother says?’ asked the lassie.

‘He says now you must throw your little dog overboard’, said the stepmother.

Then the lassie wept and was sore grieved, for Little Flo was the dearest thing she had in the world, but at last she threw him overboard.

‘When my brother says it, I must do it, but heaven knows how it hurts me to throw you over, Little Flo’, she said.

So they sailed on a good bit still.

‘There you see the King coming down to meet us’, said the brother, and pointed towards the strand.

‘What is it my brother says’, asked the lassie.

‘Now he says you must make haste and throw yourself overboard’, said the stepmother.

Well, the lassie wept and moaned; but when her brother told her to do that, she thought she ought to do it, and so she leapt down into the lake.

But when they came to the palace, and the King saw the loathly bride, with a nose four ells long, and a snout three ells long, and a pine- bush in the midst of her forehead, he was quite scared out of his wits; but the wedding was all ready, both in brewing and baking, and there sat all the wedding guests, waiting for the bride; and so the King couldn’t help himself, but was forced to take her for better for worse. But angry he was, that any one can forgive him, and so he had the brother thrown into a pit full of snakes.

Well, the first Thursday evening after the wedding, about midnight, in came a lovely lady into the palace-kitchen, and begged the kitchen-maid, who slept there, so prettily, to lend her a brush. That she got, and then she brushed her hair, and as she brushed, down dropped gold, A little dog was at her heel, and to him she said:

‘Run out, Little Flo, and see if it will soon be day.’

This she said three times, and the third time she sent the dog it was just about the time the dawn begins to peep. Then she had to go, but as she went she sung:

Out on you, ugly Bushy Bride,
Lying so warm by the King’s left side; While I on sand and gravel sleep,
And over my brother adders creep,
And all without a tear.

‘Now I come twice more, and then never again.’

So next morning the kitchen-maid told what she had seen and heard, and the King said he’d watch himself next Thursday night in the kitchen, and see if it were true, and as soon as it got dark, out he went into the kitchen to the kitchen-maid. But all he could do, and however much he rubbed his eyes and tried to keep himself awake, it was no good; for the Bushy Bride chaunted and sang till his eyes closed, and so when the lovely lady came, there he slept and snored. This time, too, as before, she borrowed a brush, and brushed her hair till the gold dropped, and sent her dog out three times, and as soon as it was gray dawn, away she went singing the same words, and adding:

‘Now I come once more, and then never again.’

The third Thursday evening the King said he would watch again; and he set two men to hold him, one under each arm, who were to shake and jog him every time he wanted to fall asleep; and two men he set to watch his Bushy Bride. But when the night wore on, the Bushy Bride began to chaunt and sing, so that his eyes began to wink, and his head hung down on his shoulders. Then in came the lovely lady, and got the brush and brushed her hair, till the gold dropped from it; after that she sent Little Flo out again to see if it would soon be day, and this she did three times. The third time it began, to get gray in the east; then she sang,

Out on you, ugly Bushy Bride,
Lying so warm by the King’s left side; While I on sand and gravel sleep,
And over my brother adders creep,
And all without a tear.

‘Now I come back never more’, she said, and went towards the door. But the two men who held the King under the arms, clenched his hands together, and put a knife into his grasp; and so, somehow or other, they got him to cut her in her little finger, and drew blood. Then the true bride was freed, and the King woke up, and she told him now the whole story, and how her stepmother and sister had deceived her. So the King sent at once and took her brother out of the pit of snakes, and the adders hadn’t done him the least harm, but the stepmother and her daughter were thrown into it in his stead.

And now no one can tell how glad the King was to be rid of that ugly Bushy Bride, and to get a Queen who was as lovely and bright as the day itself. So the true wedding was held, and every one talked of it over seven kingdoms; and then the King and Queen drove to church in their coach, and Little Flo went inside with them too, and when the blessing was given they drove back again, and after that I saw nothing more of them.

BOOTS AND HIS BROTHERS

Once on a time there was a man who had three sons, Peter, Paul, and John. John was Boots, of course, because he was the youngest. I can’t say the man had anything more than these three sons, for he hadn’t one penny to rub against another; and so he told his sons over and over again they must go out into the world and try to earn their bread, for there at home there was nothing to be looked for but starving to death.

Now, a bit off the man’s cottage was the king’s palace, and you must know, just against the king’s windows a great oak had sprung up, which was so stout and big that it took away all the light from the king’s palace. The King had said he would give many, many dollars to the man who could fell the oak, but no one was man enough for that, for as soon as ever one chip of the oak’s trunk flew off, two grew in its stead. A well, too, the King had dug, which was to hold water for the whole year; for all his neighbours had wells, but he hadn’t any, and that he thought a shame. So the King said he would give any one who could dig him such a well as would hold water for a whole year round, both money and goods; but no one could do it, for the King’s palace lay high, high up on a hill, and they hadn’t dug a few inches before they came upon the living rock.

But as the King had set his heart on having these two things done, he had it given out far and wide, in all the churches of his kingdom, that he who could fell the big oak in the king’s court-yard, and get him a well that would hold water the whole year round, should have the Princess and half the kingdom. Well! you may easily know there was many a man who came to try his luck; but for all their hacking and hewing, and all their digging and delving, it was no good. The oak got bigger and stouter at every stroke, and the rock didn’t get softer either. So one day those three brothers thought they’d set off and try too, and their father hadn’t a word against it; for even if they didn’t get the Princess and half the kingdom, it might happen they might get a place somewhere with a good master; and that was all he wanted. So when the brothers said they thought of going to the palace, their father said ‘yes’ at once. So Peter, Paul, and Jack went off from their home.

Well! they hadn’t gone far before they came to a fir wood, and up along one side of it rose a steep hill-side, and as they went, they heard something hewing and hacking away up on-the hill among the trees.

‘I wonder now what it is that is hewing away up yonder?’ said Jack.

‘You’re always so clever with your wonderings’, said Peter and Paul both at once. ‘What wonder is it, pray, that a woodcutter should stand and hack up on a hill-side?’

‘Still, I’d like to see what it is, after all’, said Jack; and up he went.

‘Oh, if you’re such a child, ’twill do you good to go and take a lesson’, bawled out his brothers after him.

But Jack didn’t care for what they said; he climbed the steep hill- side towards where the noise came, and when he reached the place, what do you think he saw? why, an axe that stood there hacking and hewing, all of itself, at the trunk of a fir.

‘Good day!’ said Jack. ‘So you stand here all alone and hew, do you?’

‘Yes; here I’ve stood and hewed and hacked a long long time, waiting for you’, said the Axe.

‘Well, here I am at last’, said Jack, as he took the axe, pulled it off its haft, and stuffed both head and haft into his wallet.

So when he got down again to his brothers, they began to jeer and laugh at him.

‘And now, what funny thing was it you saw up yonder on the hill- side?’ they said.

‘Oh, it was only an axe we heard’, said Jack.

So when they had gone a bit farther, they came under a steep spur of rock, and up there they heard something digging and shovelling.

‘I wonder now,’ said Jack, ‘what it is digging and shovelling up yonder at the top of the rock.’

‘Ah, you’re always so clever with your wonderings’, said Peter and Paul again, ‘as if you’d never heard a woodpecker hacking and pecking at a hollow tree.’

‘Well, well’, said Jack, ‘I think it would be a piece of fun just to see what it really is.’

And so off he set to climb the rock, while the others laughed and made game of him. But he didn’t care a bit for that; up he clomb, and when he got near the top, what do you think he saw? Why, a spade that stood there digging and delving.

‘Good day!’ said Jack. ‘So you stand here all alone, and dig and delve!’

‘Yes, that’s what I do’, said the Spade, ‘and that’s what I’ve done this many a long day, waiting for you.’

‘Well, here I am’, said Jack again, as he took the spade and knocked it off its handle, and put it into his wallet, and then down again to his brothers.

‘Well, what was it, so rare and strange’, said Peter and Paul, ‘that you saw up there at the top of the rock?’

‘Oh,’, said Jack, ‘nothing more than a spade; that was what we heard.’

So they went on again a good bit, till they came to a brook. They were thirsty, all three, after their long walk, and so they lay down beside the brook to have a drink.

‘I wonder now’, said Jack, ‘where all this water comes from.’

‘I wonder if you’re right in your head’, said Peter and Paul, in one breath. ‘If you’re not mad already, you’ll go mad very soon, with your wonderings. Where the brook comes from, indeed! Have you never heard how water rises from a spring in the earth?’

‘Yes! but still I’ve a great fancy to see where this brook comes from’, said Jack.

So up alongside the brook he went, in spite of all that his brothers bawled after him. Nothing could stop him. On he went. So, as he went up and up, the brook got smaller and smaller, and at last, a little way farther on, what do you think he saw? Why, a great walnut, and out of that the water trickled.

‘Good-day!’ said Jack again. ‘So you lie here, and trickle and run down all alone?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said the Walnut; ‘and here have I trickled and run this many a long day, waiting for you.’

‘Well, here I am’, said Jack, as he took up a lump of moss and plugged up the hole, that the water mightn’t run out. Then he put the walnut into his wallet, and ran down to his brothers.

‘Well now’, said Peter and Paul, ‘have you found out where the water comes from? A rare sight it must have been!’

‘Oh, after all, it was only a hole it ran out of’, said Jack; and so the others laughed and made game of him again, but Jack didn’t mind that a bit.

‘After all, I had the fun of seeing it’, said he. So when they had gone a bit farther, they came to the king’s palace; but as every one in the kingdom had heard how they might win the Princess and half the realm, if they could only fell the big oak and dig the king’s well, so many had come to try their luck that the oak was now twice as stout and big as it had been at first, for two chips grew for every one they hewed out with their axes, as I daresay you all bear in mind. So the King had now laid it down as a punishment, that if any one tried and couldn’t fell the oak, he should be put on a barren island, and both his ears were to be clipped off. But the two brothers didn’t let themselves be scared by that; they were quite sure they could fell the oak, and Peter, as he was eldest, was to try his hand first; but it went with him as with all the rest who had hewn at the oak; for every chip he cut out, two grew in its place. So the king’s men seized him, and clipped off both his ears, and put him out on the island.

Now Paul, he was to try his luck, but he fared just the same; when he had hewn two or three strokes, they began to see the oak grow, and so the king’s men seized him too, and clipped his ears, and put him out on the island; and his ears they clipped closer, because they said he ought to have taken a lesson from his brother.

So now Jack was to try.

‘If you _will_ look like a marked sheep, we’re quite ready to clip your ears at once, and then you’ll save yourself some bother’, said the King; for he was angry with him for his brothers’ sake.

‘Well, I’d like just to try first’, said Jack, and so he got leave. Then he took his axe out of his wallet and fitted it to its haft.

‘Hew away!’ said he to his axe; and away it hewed, making the chips fly again, so that it wasn’t long before down came the oak.

When that was done, Jack pulled out his spade, and fitted it to its handle.

‘Dig away!’ said he to the spade; and so the spade began to dig and delve till the earth and rock flew out in splinters, and so he had the well soon dug out, you may think.

And when he had got it as big and deep as he chose, Jack took out his walnut and laid it in one corner of the well, and pulled the plug of moss out.

‘Trickle and run’, said Jack; and so the nut trickled and ran, till the water gushed out of the hole in a stream, and in a short time the well was brimfull.

Then Jack had felled the oak which shaded the king’s palace, and dug a well in the palace-yard, and so he got the Princess and half the kingdom, as the King had said; but it was lucky for Peter and Paul that they had lost their ears, else they had heard each hour and day, how every one said, ‘Well, after all, Jack wasn’t so much out of his mind when he took to wondering.’

BIG PETER AND LITTLE PETER

Once on a time there were two brothers, both named Peter, and so the elder was called Big Peter, and the younger Little Peter. When his father was dead, Big Peter took him a wife with lots of money, but Little Peter was at home with his mother, and lived on her means till he grew up. So when he was of age he came into his heritage, and then Big Peter said he mustn’t stay any longer in the old house, and eat up his mother’s substance; ’twere better he should go out into the world and do something for himself.

Yes; Little Peter thought that no bad plan; so he bought himself a fine horse and a load of butter and cheese, and set off to the town; and with the money he got for his goods he bought brandy, and wine, and beer, and as soon as ever he got home again it was one round of holiday-keeping and merry-making; he treated all his old friends and neighbours, and they treated him again; and so he lived in fun and frolic so long as his money lasted. But when his last shilling was spent, and Little Peter hadn’t a penny in his purse, he went back home again to his old mother, and brought nothing with him but a calf. When the spring came he turned out the calf and let it graze on Big Peter’s meadow. Then Big Peter got cross and killed the calf at one blow; but Little Peter, he flayed the calf, and hung the skin up in the bath-room till it was thoroughly dry; then he rolled it up, stuffed it into a sack, and went about the country trying to sell it; but wherever he came, they only laughed at him, and said they had no need of smoked calfskin. So when he had walked on a long way, he came to a farm, and there he turned in and asked for a night’s lodging.

‘Nay, nay’, said the Goody, ‘I can’t give you lodging, for my husband is up at the shieling on the hill, and I’m alone in the house. You must just try to get shelter at our next neighbour’s; but still if they won’t take you in, you may come back, for you must have a house over your head, come what may.’

So as little Peter passed by the parlour window, he saw that there was a priest in there, with whom the Goody was making merry, and she was serving him up ale and brandy, and a great bowl of custard. But just as the priest had sat down to eat and drink, back came the husband, and as soon as ever the Goody heard him in the passage, she was not slow; she took the bowl of custard, and put it under the kitchen grate, and the ale and brandy into the cellar, and as for the priest, she locked him up in a great chest which stood there. All this Little Peter stood outside and saw, and as soon as the husband was well inside Little Peter went up to the door and asked if he might have a night’s lodging.

‘Yes, to be sure’, said the man, ‘we’ll take you in’; and so he begged Little Peter to sit down at the table and eat. Yes, Little Peter sat down, and took his calfskin with him, and laid it down at his feet.

So, when they had sat a while, Little Peter began to mutter to his skin:

‘What are you saying now? can’t you hold your tongue’, said Little Peter.

‘Who is it you’re talking with?’ asked the man.

‘Oh!’ answered Little Peter, ‘it’s only a spae-maiden whom I’ve got in my calfskin.’

‘And pray what does she spae?’ asked the man again.

‘Why, she says that no one can say there isn’t a bowl of custard standing under the grate’, said Little Peter.

‘She may spae as much as she pleases’, answered the man, ‘but we haven’t had custards in this house for a year and a day.’

But Peter begged him only to look, and he did so; and he found the custard-bowl. So they began to make merry with it, but just as they sat and took their ease, Peter muttered something again to the calfskin.

‘Hush!’ he said, ‘can’t you hold your jaw?’

‘And pray what does the spae-maiden say now?’ asked the man.

‘Oh! she says no one can say there isn’t brandy and ale standing just under the trap-door which goes down into the cellar’, answered Peter.

‘Well! if she never spaed wrong in her life, she spaes wrong now’, said the man. ‘Brandy and ale! why, I can’t call to mind the day when we had such things in the house!’

‘Just look’, said Peter; and the man did so, and there, sure enough, he found the drink, and you may fancy how merry and jolly he was.

‘What did you give for that spae-maiden?’ said the man, ‘for I must have her, whatever you ask for her.’

‘She was left me by my father’, said Peter, ‘and so she didn’t cost me much. To tell you the truth, I’ve no great mind to part with her, but, all the same, you may have her, if you’ll let me have, instead of her, that old chest that stands in the parlour yonder.’

‘The chest’s locked and the key lost’, screamed the old dame.

‘Then I’ll take it without the key, that I will’, said Peter. And so he and the man soon struck the bargain. Peter got a rope instead of the key, and the man helped him to get the chest up on his back, and then off he stumped with it. So when he had walked a bit he came on to a bridge, and under the bridge ran a river in such a headlong stream; it leapt, and foamed, and made such a roar, that the bridge shook again.

‘Ah!’ said Peter, ‘that brandy-that brandy! Now I can feel I’ve had a drop too much. What’s the good of my dragging this chest about? If I hadn’t been drunk and mad, I shouldn’t have gone and swopped away my spae-maiden for it. But now this chest shall go out into the river this very minute.’

And with that he began to untie the rope.

‘Au! Au! do for God’s sake set me free. The priest’s life is at stake; he it is whom you have got in the chest’, screamed out some one inside.

‘This must be the Deil himself’, said Peter, ‘who wants to make me believe he has turned priest; but whether he makes himself priest or clerk, out he goes into the river.’ ‘Oh no! oh no! ‘roared out the priest. ‘The parish priest is at stake. He was on a visit to the Goody for her soul’s health, but her husband is rough and wild, and so she had to hide me in the chest. Here I have a gold watch and a silver watch in my fob; you shall have them both, and eight hundred dollars beside, if you will only let me out.’

‘Nay, nay’, said Peter; ‘is it really your reverence after all’; and with that he took up a stone, and knocked the lid of the chest to pieces. Then the priest got out, and off he set home to his parsonage both fast and light, for he no longer had his watches and money to weigh him down.

As for Little Peter, he went home again, and said to Big Peter, ‘There was a good sale to-day for calfskins at the market.’

‘Why, what did you get for your tattered one, now?’ asked Big Peter.

‘Quite as much as it was worth. I got eight hundred dollars for it, but bigger and stouter calves-skins fetched twice as much’, said Little Peter, and showed his dollars.

”Twas well you told me this’, answered Big Peter, who went and slaughtered all his kine and calves, and set off on the road to town with their skins and hides. So when he got to the market, and the tanners asked what he wanted for his hides, Big Peter said he must have eight hundred dollars for the small ones, and so on, more and more for the big ones. But all the folk only laughed and made game of him, and said he oughtn’t to come there; he’d better turn into the madhouse for a better bargain, and so he soon found out how things had gone, and that Little Peter had played him a trick. But when he got home again, he was not very soft-spoken, and he swore and cursed; so help him, if he wouldn’t strike Little Peter dead that very night. All this Little Peter stood and listened to; and so, when he had gone to bed with his mother, and the night had worn on a little, he begged her to change sides with him, for he was well-nigh frozen, he said, and might be ’twas warmer next the wall. Yes, she did that, and in a little while came Big Peter with an axe in his hand, and crept up to the bedside, and at one blow chopped off his mother’s head.

Next morning, in went Little Peter into Big Peter’s sitting-room.

‘Heaven better and help you’, he said; ‘you who have chopped our mother’s head off. The Sheriff will not be over-pleased to hear that you pay mother’s dower in this way.’

Then Big Peter got so afraid, he begged Little Peter, for God’s sake, to say nothing about what he knew. If he would only do that, he should have eight hundred dollars.

Well, Little Peter swept up the money; set his mother’s head on her body again; put her on a hand-sledge, and so drew her to market. There he set her up with an apple-basket on each arm, and an apple in each hand. By and by came a skipper walking along; he thought she was an apple-woman, and asked if she had apples to sell, and how many he might have for a penny. But the old woman made no answer. So the skipper asked again. No! she hadn’t a word to say for herself.

‘How many may I have for a penny’, he bawled the third time, but the old dame sat bolt upright, as though she neither saw him, nor heard what he said. Then the skipper flew into such a rage that he gave her one under the ear, and so away rolled her head across the market- place. At that moment, up came Little Peter with a bound; he fell a- weeping and bewailing, and threatened to make the skipper smart for it, for having dealt his old mother her death blow.

‘Dear friend, only hold your tongue about what you know’, said the skipper, ‘and you shall have eight hundred dollars.’

And so they made it up.

When Little Peter got home again, he said to Big Peter:

‘Old women fetch a fine price at market to-day. I got eight hundred dollars for mother; just look’, and so he showed him the money.

”Twas well I came to know this’, said Big Peter.

Now, you must know he had an old stepmother, so he took and killed her out of hand, and strode off to sell her. But when they heard how he went about trying to sell dead bodies, the neighbours were all for handing him over to the Sheriff, and it was as much as he could do to get out of the scrape.

When Big Peter got home again, he was so wroth and mad against Little Peter, he threatened to strike him dead there and then; he needn’t hope for mercy, die he must.

‘Well! well!’ said Little Peter, ‘that’s the way we must all trudge, and betwixt to-day and to-morrow, there’s only a night to come. But if I must set off now, I’ve only one thing to ask; stuff me into that sack that hangs yonder, and take and toss me into the river.’

Well! Big Peter had nothing to say against that, he stuffed him into the sack and set off. But he hadn’t gone far on his way, before it came into his mind that he had forgotten something which he must go back to fetch; meanwhile, he set the sack down by the road side. Just then came a man driving a fine fat flock of sheep.

To Kingdom-come, to Paradise.
To Kingdom-come, to Paradise.

roared out Little Peter, who lay inside the sack, and that he kept bawling and bellowing out.

‘Mayn’t I get leave to go with you’, asked the man who drove the sheep.

‘Of course you may’, said Little Peter. ‘If you’ll only untie the sack, and creep into it in my stead, you’ll soon get there. As for me, I don’t mind biding here till next time, that I don’t. But you must keep on calling out the words I bawled out, else you’ll not go to the right place.’

Then the man untied the sack, and got into it in Little Peter’s place: Peter tied the sack up again and the man began to bawl out:

To Kingdom-come, to Paradise.
To Kingdom-come, to Paradise.

and to that text he stuck.

When Peter had got him well into the sack, he wasn’t slow; off he went with the flock of sheep, and soon put a good bit of the road behind him. Meantime, back came Big Peter, took the sack on his shoulders, and bore it across the country to the river, and all the while he went, the drover sat inside bawling out:

To Kingdom-come, to Paradise.
To Kingdom-come, to Paradise.

‘Aye, aye’, said Big Peter; ‘try now to find the way for yourself’; and with that, he tossed him out into the stream.

So when Big Peter had done that, and was going back home, whom should he overtake but his brother, who went along driving the flock of sheep before him. Big Peter could scarce believe his eyes, and asked how Little Peter had got out of the river, and whence the fine flock of sheep came.

‘Ah!’ said Little Peter, ‘that just was a good brotherly turn you did me, when you threw me into the river. I sank right down to the bottom like a stone, and there I just did see flocks of sheep; you’d scarce believe now, that they go about down there by thousands, one flock bigger than the other. And just look here! here are fleeces for you!’

‘Well’, said Big Peter, ‘I’m very glad you told me.’

So off he ran home to his old dame; made her come with him to the river; crept into a sack, and bade her make haste to tie it up, and toss him over the bridge.

‘I’m going after a flock of sheep’, he said, ‘but if I stay too long, and you think I can’t get along with the flock by myself, just jump over and help me; do you hear?’

‘Well, don’t stay too long’, said his wife, ‘for my heart is set on seeing those sheep.’

There she stood and waited a while, but then she thought, perhaps her husband couldn’t keep the flock well together, and so down she jumped after him.

And so Little Peter was rid of them all, and the farm and fields came to him as heir, and horses and cattle too; and, besides, he had money in his pocket to buy milch kine to tether in his byre.

TATTERHOOD

Once on a time there was a king and a queen who had no children, and that gave the queen much grief; she scarce had one happy hour. She was always bewailing and bemoaning herself, and saying how dull and lonesome it was in the palace.

‘If we had children there’d be life enough’, she said.

Wherever she went in all her realm she found God’s blessing in children, even in the vilest hut; and wherever she came she heard the Goodies scolding the bairns, and saying how they had done that and that wrong. All this the queen heard, and thought it would be so nice to do as other women did. At last the king and queen took into their palace a stranger lassie to rear up, that they might have her always with them, to love her if she did well, and scold her if she did wrong, like their own child.

So one day the little lassie whom they had taken as their own, ran down into the palace yard, and was playing with a gold apple. Just then an old beggar wife came by, who had a little girl with her, and it wasn’t long before the little lassie and the beggar’s bairn were great friends, and began to play together, and to toss the gold apple about between them. When the Queen saw this, as she sat at a window in the palace, she tapped on the pane for her foster-daughter to come up. She went at once, but the beggar-girl went up too; and as they went into the Queen’s bower, each held the other by the hand. Then the Queen began to scold the little lady, and to say:

‘You ought to be above running about and playing with a tattered beggar’s brat.’

And so she wanted to drive the lassie downstairs.

‘If the Queen only knew my mother’s power, she’d not drive me out’, said the little lassie; and when the Queen asked what she meant more plainly, she told her how her mother could get her children if she chose. The Queen wouldn’t believe it, but the lassie held her own, and said every word of it was true, and bade the Queen only to try and make her mother do it. So the Queen sent the lassie down to fetch up her mother.

‘Do you know what your daughter says?’ asked the Queen of the old woman, as soon as ever she came into the room.

No; the beggar wife knew nothing about it.

‘Well, she says you can get me children if you will’, answered the Queen.

‘Queens shouldn’t listen to beggar lassies’ silly stories’, said the old wife, and strode out of the room.

Then the Queen got angry, and wanted again to drive out the little lassie; but she declared it was true every word that she had said.

‘Let the Queen only give my mother a drop to drink,’ said the lassie; ‘when she gets merry she’ll soon find out a way to help you.’

The Queen was ready to try this; so the beggar wife was fetched up again once more, and treated both with wine and mead as much as she chose; and so it was not long before her tongue began to wag. Then the Queen came out again with the same question she had asked before.

‘One way to help you perhaps I know’, said the beggar wife. ‘Your Majesty must make them bring in two pails of water some evening before you go to bed. In each of them you must wash yourself, and afterwards throw away the water under the bed. When you look under the bed next morning, two flowers will have sprung up, one fair and one ugly. The fair one you must eat, the ugly one you must let stand; but mind you don’t forget the last.’

That was what the beggar wife said.

Yes; the Queen did what the beggar wife advised her to do; she had the water brought up in two pails, washed herself in them, and emptied them under the bed; and lo! when she looked under the bed next morning, there stood two flowers; one was ugly and foul, and had black leaves; but the other was so bright, and fair, and lovely, she had never seen its like; so she ate it up at once. But the pretty flower tasted so sweet, that she couldn’t help herself. She ate the other up too, for, she thought, ‘it can’t hurt or help one much either way, I’ll be bound’.

Well, sure enough, after a while the Queen was brought to bed. First of all, she had a girl who had a wooden spoon in her hand, and rode upon a goat; loathly and ugly she was, and the very moment she came into the world, she bawled out ‘Mamma’.

‘If I’m your mamma’, said the Queen, ‘God give me grace to mend my ways.’

‘Oh, don’t be sorry’, said the girl, who rode on the goat, ‘for one will soon come after me who is better looking.’

So, after a while, the Queen had another girl, who was so fair and sweet, no one had ever set eyes on such a lovely child, and with her you may fancy the Queen was very well pleased. The elder twin they called ‘Tatterhood’, because she was always so ugly and ragged, and because she had a hood which hung about her ears in tatters. The Queen could scarce bear to look at her, and the nurses tried to shut her up in a room by herself, but it was all no good; where the younger twin was, there she must also be, and no one could ever keep them apart.

Well, one Christmas eve, when they were half grown up, there rose such a frightful noise and clatter in the gallery outside the Queen’s bower. So Tatterhood asked what it was that dashed and crashed so out in the passage.

‘Oh!’ said the Queen, ‘it isn’t worth asking about.’

But Tatterhood wouldn’t give over till she found out all about it and so the Queen told her it was a pack of Trolls and witches who had come there to keep Christmas. So Tatterhood said she’d just go out and drive them away; and in spite of all they could say, and however much they begged and prayed her to let the Trolls alone, she must and would go out to drive the witches off; but she begged the Queen to mind and keep all the doors close shut, so that not one of them came so much as the least bit ajar. Having said this, off she went with her wooden spoon, and began to hunt and sweep away the hags; and all this while there was such a pother out in the gallery, the like of it was never heard. The whole Palace creaked and groaned as if every joint and beam were going to be torn out of its place. Now, how it was, I’m sure I can’t tell; but somehow or other one door did get the least bit ajar, then her twin sister just peeped out to see how things were going with Tatterhood, and put her head a tiny bit through the opening. But, POP! up came an old witch, and whipped off her head, and stuck a calf’s head on her shoulders instead; and so the Princess ran back into the room on all-fours, and began to ‘moo’ like a calf. When Tatterhood came back and saw her sister, she scolded them all round, and was very angry because they hadn’t kept better watch, and asked them what they thought of their heedlessness now, when her sister was turned into a calf.

‘But still I’ll see if I can’t set her free’, she said.

Then she asked the King for a ship in full trim, and well fitted with stores; but captain and sailors she wouldn’t have. No; she would sail away with her sister all alone; and as there was no holding her back, at last they let her have her own way.

Then Tatterhood sailed off, and steered her ship right under the land where the witches dwelt, and when she came to the landing-place, she told her sister to stay quite still on board the ship; but she herself rode on her goat up to the witches’ castle. When she got there, one of the windows in the gallery was open, and there she saw her sister’s head hung up on the window frame; so she leapt her goat through the window into the gallery, snapped up the head, and set off with it. After her came the witches to try to get the head again, and they flocked about her as thick as a swarm of bees or a nest of ants; but the goat snorted, and puffed, and butted with his horns, and Tatterhood beat and banged them about with her wooden spoon; and so the pack of witches had to give it up. So Tatterhood got back to her ship, took the calf’s head off her sister, and put her own on again, and then she became a girl as she had been before. After that she sailed a long, long way, to a strange king’s realm.

Now the king of that land was a widower, and had an only son. So when he saw the strange sail, he sent messengers down to the strand to find out whence it came, and who owned it; but when the king’s men came down there, they saw never a living soul on board but Tatterhood, and there she was, riding round and round the deck on her goat at full speed, till her elf locks streamed again in the wind. The folk from the palace were all amazed at this sight, and asked, were there not more on board? Yes, there were; she had a sister with her, said Tatterhood. Her, too, they wanted to see, but Tatterhood said ‘No’:

‘No one shall see her, unless the king comes himself’, she said; and so she began to gallop about on her goat till the deck thundered again.

So when the servants got back to the palace, and told what they had seen and heard down at the ship, the king was for setting out at once, that he might see the lassie that rode on the goat. When he got down, Tatterhood led out her sister, and she was so fair and gentle, the king fell over head and ears in love with her as he stood. He brought them both back with him to the Palace, and wanted to have the sister for his queen; but Tatterhood said ‘No’; the king couldn’t have her in any way, unless the king’s son chose to have Tatterhood. That you may fancy the prince was very loath to do, such an ugly hussy as Tatterhood was; but at last the king and all the others in the palace talked him over, and he yielded, giving his word to take her for his queen; but it went sore against the grain, and he was a doleful man.

Now they set about the wedding, both with brewing and baking; and when all was ready, they were to go to church; but the prince thought it the weariest churching he had ever had in all his life. First, the king drove off with his bride, and she was so lovely and so grand, all the people stopped to look after her all along the road, and they stared at her till she was out of sight. After them came the prince on horseback by the side of Tatterhood, who trotted along on her goat with her wooden spoon in her fist, and to look at him, it was more like going to a burial than a wedding, and that his own; so sorrowful he seemed, and with never a word to say.

‘Why don’t you talk?’ asked Tatterhood, when they had ridden a bit.

‘Why, what should I talk about?’ answered the prince.

‘Well, you might at least ask me why I ride upon this ugly goat’, said Tatterhood.

‘Why do you ride on that ugly goat?’ asked the prince.

‘Is it an ugly goat? why, it’s the grandest horse bride ever rode on’, answered Tatterhood; and in a trice the goat became a horse, and that the finest the prince had ever set eyes on.

Then they rode on again a bit, but the prince was just as woeful as before, and couldn’t get a word out. So Tatterhood asked him again why he didn’t talk, and when the Prince answered he didn’t know what to talk about, she said:

‘You can at least ask me why I ride with this ugly spoon in my fist.’

‘Why do you ride with that ugly spoon? ‘asked the prince.

‘Is it an ugly spoon? why, it’s the loveliest silver wand bride ever bore’, said Tatterhood; and in a trice it became a silver wand, so dazzling bright, the sunbeams glistened from it.

So they rode on another bit, but the Prince was just as sorrowful, and said never a word. In a little while, Tatterhood asked him again why he didn’t talk, and bade him ask why she wore that ugly grey hood on her head.

‘Why do you wear that ugly grey hood on your head?’ asked the Prince.

‘Is it an ugly hood? why, it’s the brightest golden crown bride ever wore’, answered Tatterhood, and it became a crown on the spot.

Now, they rode on a long while again, and the Prince was so woeful, that he sat without sound or speech just as before. So his bride asked him again why he didn’t talk, and bade him ask now, why her face was so ugly and ashen-grey?

‘Ah!’ asked the Prince, ‘why is your face so ugly and ashen-grey?’

‘I ugly’, said the bride; ‘you think my sister pretty, but I am ten times prettier’; and lo! when the Prince looked at her, she was so lovely, he thought there never was so lovely a woman in all the world. After that, I shouldn’t wonder if the Prince found his tongue, and no longer rode along hanging down his head.

So they drank the bridal cup both deep and long, and, after that, both Prince and King set out with their brides to the Princess’s father’s palace, and there they had another bridal feast, and drank anew, both deep and long. There was no end to the fun; and, if you make haste and run to the King’s palace, I dare say you’ll find there’s still a drop of the bridal ale left for you.

THE COCK AND HEN THAT WENT TO THE DOVREFELL

Once on a time there was a Hen that had flown up, and perched on an oak-tree for the night. When the night came, she dreamed that unless she got to the Dovrefell, the world would come to an end. So that very minute she jumped down, and set out on her way. When she had walked a bit she met a Cock.

‘Good day, Cocky-Locky’, said the Hen.

‘Good day, Henny-Penny’, said the Cock, ‘whither away so early.’

‘Oh, I’m going to the Dovrefell, that the world mayn’t come to an end’, said the Hen.

‘Who told you that, Henny-Penny’, said the Cock.

‘I sat in the oak and dreamt it last night’, said the Hen.

‘I’ll go with you’, said the Cock.

Well! they walked on a good bit, and then they met a Duck.

‘Good day, Ducky-Lucky’, said the Cock.

‘Good day, Cocky-Locky’, said the Duck, ‘whither away so early?’

‘Oh, I’m going to the Dovrefell, that the world mayn’t come to an end’, said the Cock.

‘Who told you that, Cocky-Locky?’

‘Henny-Penny’, said the Cock.

‘Who told you that, Henny-Penny?’ said the Duck.

‘I sat in the oak and dreamt it last night’, said the Hen.

‘I’ll go with you’, said the Duck.

So they went off together, and after a bit they met a Goose.

‘Good day, Goosey-Poosey’, said the Duck.

‘Good day, Ducky-Lucky’, said the Goose, ‘whither away so early?’

‘I’m going to the Dovrefell, that the world mayn’t come to an end’, said the Duck.

‘Who told you that, Ducky-Lucky?’ asked the Goose.

‘Cocky-Locky.’

‘Who told you that, Cocky-Locky?’

‘Henny-Penny.’

‘How you do know that, Henny-Penny?’ said the Goose.

‘I sat in the oak and dreamt it last night, Goosey-Poosey’, said the Hen.

‘I’ll go with you’, said the Goose.

Now when they had all walked along for a bit, a Fox met them.

‘Good day, Foxsy-Cocksy’, said the Goose.

‘Good day, Goosey-Poosey.’

‘Whither away, Foxy-Cocksy?’

‘Whither away yourself, Goosey-Poosey?’

‘I’m going to the Dovrefell that the world mayn’t come to an end’, said the Goose.

‘Who told you that, Goosey-Poosey?’ asked the Fox.

‘Ducky-Lucky.’

‘Who told you that, Ducky-Lucky?’

‘Cocky-Locky.’

‘Who told you that, Cocky-Locky?’

‘Henny-Penny.’

‘How do you know that, Henny-Penny?’

‘I sat in the oak and dreamt last night, that if we don’t get to the Dovrefell, the world will come to an end’, said the Hen.

‘Stuff and nonsense’, said the Fox; ‘the world won’t come to an end if you don’t get thither. No! come home with me to my earth. That’s far better, for it’s warm and jolly there.’

Well, they went home with the Fox to his earth, and when they got in, the Fox laid on lots of fuel, so that they all got very sleepy.

The Duck and the Goose, they settled themselves down in a corner, but the Cock and Hen flew up on a post. So when the Goose and Duck were well asleep, the Fox, took the Goose and laid him on the embers, and roasted him. The Hen smelt the strong roast meat, and sprang up to a higher peg, and said, half asleep:

Faugh, what a nasty smell!
What a nasty smell!

‘Oh, stuff’, said the Fox; ‘it’s only the smoke driven down the chimney; go to sleep again, and hold your tongue.’ So the Hen went off to sleep again.

Now the Fox had hardly got the Goose well down his throat, before he did the very same with the Duck. He took and laid him on the embers, and roasted him for a dainty bit. Then the hen woke up again, and sprung up to a higher peg still.

Faugh, what a nasty smell!
What a nasty smell!

She said again, and then she got her eyes open, and came to see how the Fox had eaten both the twain, goose and duck; so she flew up to the highest peg of all, and perched there, and peeped up through the chimney.

‘Nay, nay; just see what a lovely lot of geese flying yonder’, she said to the Fox.

Out ran Reynard to fetch a fat roast. But while he was gone, the Hen woke up the Cock, and told him how it had gone with Goosey-Poosey and Ducky-Lucky; and so Cocky-Lucky and Henny-Penny flew out through the chimney, and if they hadn’t got to the Dovrefell, it surely would have been all over with the world.

KATIE WOODENCLOAK

Once on a time there was a King who had become a widower. By his Queen he had one daughter, who was so clever and lovely, there wasn’t a cleverer or lovelier Princess in all the world. So the King went on a long time sorrowing for the Queen, whom he had loved so much, but at last he got weary of living alone, and married another Queen, who was a widow, and had, too, an only daughter; but this daughter was just as bad and ugly as the other was kind, and clever, and lovely, The stepmother and her daughter were jealous of the Princess, because she was so lovely; but so long as the King was at home, they daredn’t do her any harm, he was so fond of her.

Well, after a time, he fell into war with another King, and went out to battle with his host, and then the stepmother thought she might do as she pleased; and so she both starved and beat the Princess, and was after her in every hole and corner of the house. At last she thought everything too good for her, and turned her out to herd cattle. So there she went about with the cattle, and herded them in the woods and on the fells. As for food, she got little or none, and she grew thin and wan, and was always sobbing and sorrowful. Now in the herd there was a great dun bull, which always kept himself so neat and sleek, and often and often he came up to the Princess, and let her pat him. So one day when she sat there, sad, and sobbing, and sorrowful, he came up to her and asked her outright why she was always in such grief. She answered nothing, but went on weeping.

‘Ah!’ said the Bull, ‘I know all about it quite well, though you won’t tell me; you weep because the Queen is bad to you, and because she is ready to starve you to death. But food you’ve no need to fret about, for in my left ear lies a cloth, and when you take and spread it out, you may have as many dishes as you please.’

So she did that, took the cloth and spread it out on the grass, and lo! it served up the nicest dishes one could wish to have; there was wine too, and mead, and sweet cake. Well, she soon got up her flesh again, and grew so plump, and rosy, and white, that the Queen and her scrawny chip of a daughter turned blue and yellow for spite. The Queen couldn’t at all make out how her stepdaughter got to look so well on such bad fare, so she told one of her maids to go after her in the wood, and watch and see how it all was, for she thought some of the servants in the house must give her food. So the maid went after her, and watched in the wood, and then she saw how the stepdaughter took the cloth out of the Bull’s ear, and spread it out, and how it served up the nicest dishes, which the stepdaughter ate and made good cheer over. All this the maid told the Queen when she went home.

And now the King came home from war, and had won the fight against the other king with whom he went out to battle. So there was great joy throughout the palace, and no one was gladder than the King’s daughter. But the Queen shammed sick, and took to her bed, and paid the doctor a great fee to get him to say she could never be well again unless she had some of the Dun Bull’s flesh to eat. Both the king’s daughter and the folk in the palace asked the doctor if nothing else would help her, and prayed hard for the Bull, for every one was fond of him, and they all said there wasn’t that Bull’s match in all the land. But, no; he must and should be slaughtered, nothing else would do. When the king’s daughter heard that, she got very sorrowful, and went down into the byre to the Bull. There, too, he stood and hung down his head, and looked so downcast that she began to weep over him.

‘What are you weeping for?’ asked the Bull.

So she told him how the King had come home again, and how the Queen had shammed sick and got the doctor to say she could never be well and sound again unless she got some of the Dun Bull’s flesh to eat, and so now he was to be slaughtered.

‘If they get me killed first’, said the Bull, ‘they’ll soon take your life too. Now, if you’re of my mind, we’ll just start off, and go away to-night.’

Well, the Princess thought it bad, you may be sure, to go and leave her father, but she thought it still worse to be in the house with the Queen; and so she gave her word to the Bull to come to him.

At night, when all had gone to bed, the Princess stole down to the byre to the Bull, and so he took her on his back, and set off from the homestead as fast as ever he could. And when the folk got up at cockcrow next morning to slaughter the Bull, why, he was gone; and when the King got up and asked for his daughter, she was gone too. He sent out messengers on all sides to hunt for them, and gave them out in all the parish churches; but there was no one who had caught a glimpse of them. Meanwhile, the Bull went through many lands with the King’s daughter on his back, and so one day they came to a great copper-wood, where both the trees, and branches, and leaves, and flowers, and everything, were nothing but copper.

But before they went into the wood, the Bull said to the King’s daughter:

‘Now, when we get into this wood, mind you take care not to touch even a leaf of it, else it’s all over both with me and you, for here dwells a Troll with three heads who owns this wood.’

No, bless her, she’d be sure to take care not to touch anything. Well, she was very careful, and leant this way and that to miss the boughs, and put them gently aside with her hands; but it was such a thick wood, ’twas scarce possible to get through; and so, with all her pains, somehow or other she tore off a leaf, which she held in her hand.

‘AU! AU! what have you done now?’ said the Bull; ‘there’s nothing for it now but to fight for life or death; but mind you keep the leaf safe.’

Soon after they got to the end of the wood, and a Troll with three heads came running up:

‘Who is this that touches my wood?’ said the Troll.

‘It’s just as much mine as yours’, said the Bull.

‘Ah!’ roared the Troll, ‘we’ll try a fall about that.’

‘As you choose’, said the Bull.

So they rushed at one another, and fought; and the Bull he butted, and gored, and kicked with all his might and main; but the Troll gave him as good as he brought, and it lasted the whole day before the Bull got the mastery; and then he was so full of wounds, and so worn out, he could scarce lift a leg. Then they were forced to stay there a day to rest, and then the Bull bade the King’s daughter to take the horn of ointment which hung at the Troll’s belt, and rub him with it. Then he came to himself again, and the day after they trudged on again. So they travelled many, many days, until, after a long long time, they came to a silver wood, where both the trees, and branches, and leaves, and flowers, and everything, were silvern.

Before the Bull went into the wood, he said to the King’s daughter:

‘Now, when we get into this wood, for heaven’s sake mind you take good care; you mustn’t touch anything, and not pluck off so much as one leaf, else it is all over both with me and you; for here is a Troll with six heads who owns it, and him I don’t think I should be able to master.’

‘No’, said the King’s daughter; ‘I’ll take good care and not touch anything you don’t wish me to touch.’

But when they got into the wood, it was so close and thick, they could scarce get along. She was as careful as careful could be, and leant to this side and that to miss the boughs, and put them on one side with her hands, but every minute the branches struck her across the eyes, and in spite of all her pains, it so happened she tore off a leaf.

‘AU! AU! what have you done now?’ said the Bull. ‘There’s nothing for it now but to fight for life and death, for this Troll has six heads, and is twice as strong as the other, but mind you keep the leaf safe, and don’t lose it.’

Just as he said that, up came the Troll:

‘Who is this’, he said, ‘that touches my wood?’

‘It’s as much mine as yours’, said the Bull.

‘That we’ll try a fall about’, roared the Troll.

‘As you choose’, said the Bull, and rushed at the Troll, and gored out his eyes, and drove his horns right through his body, so that the entrails gushed out; but the Troll was almost a match for him, and it lasted three whole days before the Bull got the life gored out of him. But then he, too, was so weak and wretched, it was as much as he could do to stir a limb, and so full of wounds, that the blood streamed from him. So he said to the King’s daughter she must take the horn of ointment that hung at the Troll’s belt, and rub him with it. Then she did that, and he came to himself; but they were forced to stay there a week to rest before the Bull had strength enough to go on.

At last they set off again, but the Bull was still poorly, and they went rather slowly at first. So, to spare time, the King’s daughter said, as she was young and light of foot, she could very well walk, but she couldn’t get leave to do that. No; she must seat herself up on his back again. So on they travelled through many lands a long time, and the King’s daughter did not know in the least whither they went; but after a long, long time they came to a gold wood. It was so grand, the gold dropped from every twig, and all the trees, and boughs, and flowers, and leaves, were of pure gold. Here, too, the same thing happened as had happened in the silver wood and copper wood. The Bull told the King’s daughter she mustn’t touch it for anything, for there was a Troll with nine heads who owned it, and he was much bigger and stouter than both the others put together; and he didn’t think he could get the better of him. No; she’d be sure to take heed not to touch it; that he might know very well. But when they got into the wood, it was far thicker and closer than the silver wood, and the deeper they went into it, the worse it got. The wood went on, getting thicker and thicker, and closer and closer; and at last she thought there was no way at all to get through it. She was in such an awful fright of plucking off anything, that she sat, and twisted, and turned herself this way and that, and hither and thither, to keep clear of the boughs, and she put them on one side with her hands; but every moment the branches struck her across the eyes, so that she couldn’t see what she was clutching at; and lo! before she knew how it came about, she had a gold apple in her hand. Then she was so bitterly sorry, she burst into tears, and wanted to throw it away; but the Bull said, she must keep it safe and watch it well, and comforted her as well as he could; but he thought it would be a hard tussle, and he doubted how it would go.

Just then up came the Troll with the nine heads, and he was so ugly, the King’s daughter scarcely dared to look at him.

‘WHO IS THIS THAT TOUCHES MY WOOD?’ he roared.

‘It’s just as much mine as yours’, said the Bull.

‘That we’ll try a fall about’, roared the Troll again.

‘Just as you choose’, said the Bull; and so they rushed at one another, and fought, and it was such a dreadful sight, the King’s daughter was ready to swoon away. The Bull gored out the Troll’s eyes, and drove his horns through and through his body, till the entrails came tumbling out; but the Troll fought bravely; and when the Bull got one head gored to death, the rest breathed life into it again, and so it lasted a whole week before the Bull was able to get the life out of them all. But then he was utterly worn out and wretched. He couldn’t stir a foot, and his body was all one wound. He couldn’t so much as ask the King’s daughter to take the horn of ointment which hung at the Troll’s belt, and rub it over him. But she did it all the same, and then he came to himself by little and little; but they had to lie there and rest three weeks before he was fit to go on again.

Then they set off at a snail’s pace, for the Bull said they had still a little further to go, and so they crossed over many high hills and thick woods. So after awhile they got upon the fells.

‘Do you see anything?’ asked the Bull.

‘No, I see nothing but the sky, and the wild fell’, said the King’s daughter.

So when they clomb higher up, the fell got smoother, and they could see further off.

‘Do you see anything now?’ asked the Bull.

‘Yes, I see a little castle far, far away’, said the Princess.

‘That’s not so little though’, said the Bull.

After a long, long time, they came to a great cairn, where there was a spur of the fell that stood sheer across the way.

‘Do you see anything now?’ asked the Bull.

‘Yes, now I see the castle close by’, said the King’s daughter, ‘and now it is much, much bigger.’

‘Thither you’re to go’, said the Bull. ‘Right underneath the castle is a pig-sty, where you are to dwell. When you come thither you’ll find a wooden cloak, all made of strips of lath; that you must put on, and go up to the castle and say your name is “Katie Woodencloak”, and ask for a place. But before you go, you must take your penknife and cut my head off, and then you must flay me, and roll up the hide, and lay it under the wall of rock yonder, and under the hide you must lay the copper leaf, and the silver leaf, and the golden apple. Yonder, up against the rock, stands a stick; and when you want anything, you’ve only got to knock on the wall of rock with that stick.’

At first she wouldn’t do anything of the kind; but when the Bull said it was the only thanks he would have for what he had done for her, she couldn’t help herself. So, however much it grieved her heart, she hacked and cut away with her knife at the big beast till she got both his head and his hide off, and then she laid the hide up under the wall of rock, and put the copper leaf, and the silvern leaf, and the golden apple inside it.

So when she had done that, she went over to the pig-sty, but all the while she went she sobbed and wept. There she put on the wooden cloak, and so went up to the palace. When she came into the kitchen she begged for a place, and told them her name was Katie Woodencloak. Yes, the cook said she might have a place–she might have leave to be there in the scullery, and wash up, for the lassie who did that work before had just gone away.

‘But as soon as you get weary of being here, you’ll go your way too, I’ll be bound.’

No; she was sure she wouldn’t do that.

So there she was, behaving so well, and washing up so handily. The Sunday after there were to be strange guests at the palace, so Katie asked if she might have leave to carry up water for the Prince’s bath; but all the rest laughed at her, and said:

‘What should you do there? Do you think the Prince will care to look at you, you who are such a fright!’

But she wouldn’t give it up, and kept on begging and praying; and at last she got leave. So when she went up the stairs, her wooden cloak made such a clatter, the Prince came out and asked:

‘Pray who are you?’

‘Oh! I was just going to bring up water for your Royal Highness’s bath’, said Katie.

‘Do you think now’, said the Prince, ‘I’d have anything to do with the water you bring?’ and with that he threw the water over her.

So she had to put up with that, but then she asked leave to go to church; well, she got that leave too, for the church lay close by. But, first of all, she went to the rock, and knocked on its face with the stick which stood there, just as the Bull had said. And straightway out came a man, who said:

‘What’s your will?’

So the Princess said she had got leave to go to church and hear the priest preach, but she had no clothes to go in. So he brought out a kirtle, which was as bright as the copper wood, and she got a horse and saddle beside. Now, when she got to the church she was so lovely and grand, all wondered who she could be, and scarce one of them listened to what the priest said, for they looked too much at her. As for the Prince, he fell so deep in love with her, he didn’t take his eyes off her for a single moment.

So, as she went out of church, the Prince ran after her, and held the church door open for her; and so he got hold of one of her gloves, which was caught in the door. When she went away and mounted her horse, the Prince went up to her again, and asked whence she came.

‘Oh! I’m from Bath’, said Katie; and while the Prince took out the glove to give it to her, she said:

Bright before and dark behind,
Clouds come rolling on the wind;
That this Prince may never see
Where my good steed goes with me.

The Prince had never seen the like of that glove, and went about far and wide asking after the land whence the proud lady, who rode off without her glove, said she came; but there was no one who could tell where ‘Bath’ lay.

Next Sunday some one had to go up to the Prince with a towel.

‘Oh! may I have leave to go up with it?’ said Katie.

‘What’s the good of your going?’ said the others; ‘you saw how it fared with you last time.’

But Katie wouldn’t give in; she kept on begging and praying, till she got leave; and then she ran up the stairs, so that her wooden cloak made a great clatter. Out came the Prince, and when he saw it was Katie, he tore the towel out of her hand, and threw it into her face.

‘Pack yourself off, you ugly Troll’, he cried; ‘do you think I’d have a towel which you have touched with your smutty fingers?’

After that the Prince set off to church, and Katie begged for leave to go too. They all asked what business she had at church–she who had nothing to put on but that wooden cloak, which was so black and ugly. But Katie said the priest was such a brave man to preach, what he said did her so much good; and so she at last got leave. Now she went again to the rock and knocked, and so out came the man, and gave her a kirtle far finer than the first one; it was all covered with silver, and it shone like the silver wood; and she got besides a noble steed, with a saddle-cloth broidered with silver, and a silver bit.

So when the King’s daughter got to the church, the folk were still standing about in the churchyard. And all wondered and wondered who she could be, and the Prince was soon on the spot, and came and wished to hold her horse for her while she got off. But she jumped down, and said there was no need, for her horse was so well broke, it stood still when she bid it, and came when she called it. So they all went into church; but there was scarce a soul that listened to what the priest said, for they looked at her a deal too much; and the Prince fell still deeper in love than the first time.

When the sermon was over, and she went out of church and was going to mount her horse, up came the Prince again, and asked her whence she came.

‘Oh! I’m from Towelland’, said the King’s daughter; and as she said that, she dropped her riding-whip, and when the Prince stooped to pick it up, she said:

Bright before and dark behind,
Clouds come rolling on the wind;
That this Prince may never see
Where my good steed goes with me.

So away she was again; and the Prince couldn’t tell what had become of her. He went about far and wide asking after the land whence she said she came, but there was no one who could tell him where it lay; and so the Prince had to make the best he could of it.

Next Sunday some one had to go up to the Prince with a comb. Katie begged for leave to go up with it, but the others put her in mind how she had fared the last time, and scolded her for wishing to go before the Prince–such a black and ugly fright as she was in her wooden cloak. But she wouldn’t leave off asking till they let her go up to the Prince with his comb. So, when she came clattering up the stairs again, out came the Prince, and took the comb, and threw it at her, and bade her be off as fast as she could. After that the Prince went to church, and Katie begged for leave to go too. They asked again what business she had there, she who was so foul and black, and who had no clothes to show herself in. Might be the Prince or some one else would see her, and then both she and all the others would smart for it; but Katie said they had something else to do than to look at her; and she wouldn’t leave off begging and praying till they gave her leave to go.

So the same thing happened now as had happened twice before. She went to the rock and knocked with the stick, and then the man came out and gave her a kirtle which was far grander than either of the others. It was almost all pure gold, and studded with diamonds; and she got besides a noble steed, with a gold broidered saddle-cloth and a golden bit.

Now when the King’s daughter got to the church, there stood the priest and all the people in the churchyard waiting for her. Up came the Prince running, and wanted to hold her horse, but she jumped off, and said:

‘No; thanks–there’s no need, for my horse is so well broke, it stands still when I bid him.’

So they all hastened into church, and the priest got into the pulpit, but no one listened to a word he said; for they all looked too much at her, and wondered whence she came; and the Prince, he was far deeper in love than either of the former times. He had no eyes, or ears, or sense for anything, but just to sit and stare at her.

So when the sermon was over, and the King’s daughter was to go out of the church, the Prince had got a firkin of pitch poured out in the porch, that he might come and help her over it; but she didn’t care a bit–she just put her foot right down into the midst of the pitch, and jumped across it; but then one of her golden shoes stuck fast in it, and as she got on her horse, up came the Prince running out of the church, and asked whence she came.

‘I’m from Combland’, said Katie. But when the Prince wanted to reach her the gold shoe, she said,

Bright before and dark behind,
Clouds come rolling on the wind;
That this Prince may never see
Where my good steed goes with me.

So the Prince couldn’t tell still what had become of her, and he went about a weary time all over the world asking for ‘Combland’; but when no one could tell him where it lay, he ordered it to be given out everywhere that he would wed the woman whose foot could fit the gold shoe.

So many came of all sorts from all sides, fair and ugly alike; but there was no one who had so small a foot as to be able to get on the gold shoe. And after a long, long time, who should come but Katie’s wicked stepmother, and her daughter, too, and her the gold shoe fitted; but ugly she was, and so loathly she looked, the Prince only kept his word sore against his will. Still they got ready the wedding-feast, and she was dressed up and decked out as a bride; but as they rode to church, a little bird sat upon a tree and sang:

A bit off her heel,
And a bit off her toe;
Katie Woodencloak’s tiny shoe
Is full of blood–that’s all I know.

And, sure enough, when they looked to it the bird told the truth, for blood gushed out of the shoe.

Then all the maids and women who were about the palace had to go up to try on the shoe, but there was none of them whom it would fit at all.

‘But where’s Katie Woodencloak?’ asked the Prince, when all the rest had tried the shoe, for he understood the song of birds very well, and bore in mind what the little bird had said.

‘Oh! she think of that!’ said the rest; ‘it’s no good her coming forward. Why, she’s legs like a horse.’

‘Very true, I daresay’, said the Prince; ‘but since all the others have tried, Katie may as well try too.’

‘Katie’, he bawled out through the door; and Katie came trampling upstairs, and her wooden cloak clattered as if a whole regiment of dragoons were charging up.

‘Now, you must try the shoe on, and be a Princess, you too,’ said the other maids, and laughed and made game of her.

So Katie took up the shoe, and put her foot into it like nothing, and threw off her wooden cloak; and so there she stood in her gold kirtle, and it shone so that the sunbeams glistened from her; and, lo! on her other foot she had the fellow to the gold shoe.

So when the Prince knew her again, he grew so glad, he ran up to her and threw his arms round her, and gave her a kiss; and when he heard she was a King’s daughter, he got gladder still, and then came the wedding feast; and so,

Snip, snip, snover,
This story’s over.

THUMBIKIN

Once on a time there was a woman who had an only son, and he was no taller than your thumb; and so they called him Thumbikin.

Now, when he had come to be old enough to know right and wrong, his mother told him to go out and woo him a bride, for now she said it was high time he thought about getting a wife. When Thumbikin heard that, he was very glad; so they got their driving gear in order and set off, and his mother put him into her bosom. Now they were going to a palace where there was an awfully big Princess, but when they had gone a bit of the way, Thumbikin was lost and gone. His mother hunted for him everywhere, and bawled to him, and wept because he was lost, and she couldn’t find him again.

‘_Pip, Pip_’, said Thumbikin, ‘here I am’; and he had hidden himself in the horse’s mane.

So he came out, and had to give his word to his mother that he wouldn’t do so any more. But when they had driven a bit further on, Thumbikin was lost again. His mother hunted for him, and called him, and wept; but gone he was, and gone he stayed.

‘_Pip, Pip_’, said Thumbikin at last; and then she heard how he laughed and tittered, but she couldn’t find him at all for the life of her.

‘_Pip, Pip_, why, here I am now!’ said Thumbikin, and came out of the horse’s ear.

So he had to give his word that he wouldn’t hide himself again; but they had scarce driven a bit further before he was gone again. He couldn’t help it. As for his mother, she hunted, and wept, and called him by name; but gone he was, and gone he stayed; and the more she hunted, the less she could find him in any way.

‘_Pip, Pip_, here I am then’, said Thumbikin.

But she couldn’t make out at all where he was, his voice sounded so dull, and muffled.

So she hunted, and he kept on saying, ‘Pip, here I am’, and laughed and chuckled, but she couldn’t find him; but all at once the horse snorted, and it snorted Thumbikin out, for he had crept up one of his nostrils.

Then his mother took him and put him into a bag; she knew no other way, for she saw well enough he couldn’t help hiding himself.

So, when they came to the palace, the match was soon made, for the Princess thought him a pretty little chap, and it wasn’t long before the wedding came on too.

Now, when they were going to sit down to the wedding-feast, Thumbikin sat at the table by the Princess’s side; but he had worse than no seat, for when he was to eat he couldn’t reach up to the table; and so if the Princess hadn’t helped him up on to it, he wouldn’t have got a bit to eat.

Now it went good and well so long as he had to eat off a plate, but then there came a great bowl of porridge–that he couldn’t reach up to; but Thumbikin soon found out a way to help himself; he climbed up and sat on the lip of the bowl. But then there was a pat of melting butter right in the middle of the bowl, and that he couldn’t reach to dip his porridge into it, and so he went on and took his seat at the edge of the melting butter; but just then who should come but the Princess, with a great spoonful of porridge to dip it into the butter; and, alas! she went too near to Thumbikin, and tipped him over; and so he fell over head and ears, and was drowned in the melted butter.

DOLL I’ THE GRASS

Once on a time there was a King who had twelve sons. When they were grown big he told them they must go out into the world and win themselves wives, but these wives must each be able to spin, and weave, and sew a shirt in one day, else he wouldn’t have them for daughters-in-law.

To each he gave a horse and a new suit of mail, and they went out into the world to look after their brides; but when they had gone a bit of the way, they said they wouldn’t have Boots, their youngest brother, with them–he wasn’t fit for anything.

Well, Boots had to stay behind, and he didn’t know what to do or whither to turn; and so he grew so downcast, he got off his horse, and sat down in the tall grass to weep. But when he had sat a little while, one of the tufts in the grass began to stir and move, and out of it came a little white thing, and when it came nearer, Boots saw it was a charming little lassie, only such a tiny bit of a thing. So the lassie went up to him, and asked if he would come down below and see ‘Doll i’ the Grass’.

Yes, he’d be very happy, and so he went.

Now, when he got down; there sat Doll i’ the Grass on a chair; she was so lovely and so smart, and she asked Boots whither he was going, and what was his business.

So he told her how there were twelve brothers of them, and how the King had given them horses and mail, and said they must each go out into the world and find them a wife who could spin, and weave, and sew a shirt in a day.

‘But if you’ll only say at once you’ll be my wife, I’ll not go a step further’, said Boots to Doll i’ the Grass.

Well, she was willing enough, and so she made haste and span, and wove, and sewed the shirt, but it was so tiny, tiny little. It wasn’t longer than so——–long.

So Boots set off home with it, but when he brought it out he was almost ashamed, it was so small. Still the King said he should have her, and so Boots set off, glad and happy to fetch his little sweetheart. So when he got to Doll i’ the Grass, he wished to take her up before him on his horse; but she wouldn’t have that, for she said she would sit and drive along in a silver spoon, and that she had two small white horses to draw her. So off they set, he on his horse and she on her silver spoon, and the two horses that drew her were two tiny white mice; but Boots always kept the other side of the road, he was so afraid lest he should ride over her, she was so little. So, when they had gone a bit of the way, they came to a great piece of water. Here Boots’ horse got frightened, and shied across the road and upset the spoon, and Doll i’ the Grass tumbled into the water. Then Boots got so sorrowful because he didn’t know how to get her out again; but in a little while up came a merman with her, and now she was as well and full grown as other men and women, and far lovelier than she had been before. So he took her up before him on his horse, and rode home.

When Boots got home all his brothers had come back each with his sweetheart, but these were all so ugly, and foul, and wicked, that they had done nothing but fight with one another on the way home, and on their heads they had a kind of hat that was daubed over with tar and soot, and so the rain had run down off the hats on to their faces, till they got far uglier and nastier than they had been before. When his brothers saw Boots and his sweetheart, they were all as jealous as jealous could be of her; but the King was so overjoyed with them both, that he drove all the others away, and so Boots held his wedding-feast with Doll i’ the Grass, and after that they lived well and happily together a long long time, and if they’re not dead, why they’re alive still.

THE LAD AND THE DEIL

Once on a time there was a lad who was walking along a road cracking nuts, so he found one that was worm-eaten, and just at that very moment he met the Deil.

‘Is it true, now’, said the lad, ‘what they say, that the Deil can make himself as small as he chooses, and thrust himself in through a pinhole?’

‘Yes it is’, said the Deil.

‘Oh! it is, is it? then let me see you do it, and just creep into this nut’, said the lad.

So the Deil did it.

Now, when he had crept well in through the worm’s hole, the lad stopped it up with a pin.

‘Now, I’ve got you safe’, he said, and put the nut into his pocket.

So when he had walked on a bit, he came to a smithy, and he turned in and asked the smith if he’d be good enough to crack that nut for him.

‘Aye, that’ll be an easy job’, said the smith, and took his smallest hammer, laid the nut on the anvil, and gave it a blow, but it wouldn’t break.

So he took another hammer a little bigger, but that wasn’t heavy enough either.

Then he took one bigger still, but it was still the same story; and so the smith got wroth, and grasped his great sledge-hammer.

‘Now, I’ll crack you to bits’, he said, and let drive at the nut with all his might and main. And so the nut flew to pieces with a bang that blew off half the roof of the smithy, and the whole house creaked and groaned as though it were ready to fall.

‘Why! if I don’t think the Deil must have been in that nut’, said the smith.

‘So he was; you’re quite right’, said the lad, as he went away laughing.

THE COCK AND HEN A-NUTTING

Once on a time the cock and the hen went out into the hazel-wood to pick nuts; and so the hen got a nutshell in her throat, and lay on her back, flapping her wings.

Off went the cock to fetch water for her; so he came to the Spring and said:

‘Dear good friend Spring give me a drop of water, that I may give it to Dame Partlet, my mate, who lies at death’s door in the hazel- wood.’

But the Spring answered:

‘You’ll get no water from me until I get leaves from you.’

So the Cock ran to the Linden, and said:

‘Dear good friend Linden, give me some of your leaves, the leaves I’ll give to the Spring, and the Spring’ll give me water to give to Dame Partlet my mate, who lies at death’s door in the hazel-wood.’

‘You’ll get no leaves from me’, said the Linden, ‘until I get a red ribbon with a golden edge from you.’

So the Cock ran to the Virgin Mary.

‘Dear good Virgin Mary, give me a red ribbon with a golden edge, and I’ll give the red ribbon to the Linden, the Linden’ll give me leaves, the leaves I’ll give to the Spring, the Spring’ll give me water, and the water I’ll give to Dame Partlet my mate, who lies at death’s door, in the hazel-wood.’

‘You’ll get no red ribbon from me’, answered the Virgin Mary, ‘until I get shoes from you.’

So the Cock ran to the Shoemaker and said

‘Dear good friend Shoemaker, give me shoes, and I’ll give the shoes to the Virgin Mary, the Virgin Mary’ll give me a red ribbon, the red ribbon I’ll give to the Linden, the Linden’ll give me leaves, the leaves I’ll give to the Spring, the Spring’ll give me water, the water I’ll give to Dame Partlet my mate, who lies at death’s door in the hazel-wood.’

‘You’ll get no shoes from me’, said the Shoemaker, ‘until I get bristles from you.’

So the Cock ran to the Sow and said:

‘Dear good friend Sow, give me bristles, the bristles I’ll give to the Shoemaker, the Shoemaker’ll give me shoes, the shoes I’ll give to the Virgin Mary, the Virgin Mary’ll give me a red ribbon, the red ribbon I’ll give to the Linden, the Linden’ll give me leaves, the leaves I’ll give to the Spring, the Spring’ll give me water, the water I’ll give to Dame Partlet my mate, who lies at death’s door in the hazel-wood.’

‘You’ll get no bristles from me’, said the Sow, ‘until I get corn from you.’

So the Cock ran to the Thresher and said:

‘Dear good friend Thresher, give me corn, the corn I’ll give to the Sow, the Sow’ll give me bristles, the bristles I’ll give to the Shoemaker, the Shoemaker’ll give me shoes, the shoes I’ll give to the Virgin Mary, the Virgin Mary’ll give me a red ribbon, the red ribbon I’ll give to the Linden, the Linden’ll give me leaves, the leaves I’ll give to the Spring, the Spring’ll give me water, the water I’ll give to Dame Partlet my mate, who lies at death’s door in the hazel- wood.’

‘You’ll get no corn from me’, said the Thresher, ‘until I get a bannock from you.’

So the Cock ran to the Baker’s wife and said:

‘Dear good friend Mrs. Baker, give me a bannock, the bannock I’ll give to the Thresher, the Thresher’ll give me corn, the corn I’ll give to the Sow, the Sow’ll give me bristles, the bristles I’ll give to the Shoemaker, the Shoemaker’ll give me shoes, the shoes I’ll give to the Virgin Mary, the Virgin Mary’ll give me a red ribbon, the red ribbon I’ll give to the Linden, the Linden’ll give me leaves, the leaves I’ll give to the Spring, the Spring’ll give me water, the water I’ll give to Dame Partlet my mate, who lies at death’s door in the hazel-wood.’

‘You’ll get no bannock from me’, said the Baker’s wife, until I get wood from you.’

So the Cock ran to the Woodcutter and said:

‘Dear good friend Woodcutter, give me wood, the wood I’ll give to the Baker’s wife, the Baker’s wife’ll give me a bannock, the bannock I’ll give to the Thresher, the Thresher’ll give me corn, the corn I’ll give to the Sow, the Sow’ll give me bristles, the bristles I’ll give to the Shoemaker, the Shoemaker’ll give me shoes, the shoes I’ll give to the Virgin Mary, the Virgin Mary’ll give me a red ribbon, the red ribbon I’ll give to the Linden, the Linden’ll give me leaves, the leaves I’ll give to the Spring, the Spring’ll give me water, the water I’ll give to Dame Partlet my mate, who lies at death’s door in the hazel-wood.’

‘You’ll get no wood from me’, answered the Woodcutter, ‘until I get an axe from you.’

So the Cock ran to the Smith and said:

‘Dear good friend Smith, give me an axe, the axe I’ll give to the Woodcutter, the Woodcutter’ll give me wood, the wood I’ll give to the Baker’s wife, the Baker’s wife’ll give me a bannock, the bannock I’ll give to the Thresher, the Thresher’ll give me corn, the corn I’ll give to the Sow, the Sow’ll give me bristles, the bristles I’ll give to the Shoemaker, the Shoemaker’ll give me shoes, the shoes I’ll give to the Virgin Mary, the Virgin Mary’ll give me a red ribbon, the red ribbon I’ll give to the Linden, the Linden’ll give me leaves, the leaves I’ll give to the Spring, the Spring’ll give me water, the water I’ll give to Dame Partlet my mate, who lies at death’s door in the hazel-wood.’

‘You’ll get no axe from me’, answered the Smith, ‘until I get charcoal of you.’

So the Cock ran to the Charcoal-burner and said

‘Dear good friend Charcoal-burner, give me charcoal, the charcoal I’ll give to the Smith, the Smith’ll give me an axe, the axe I’ll give to the Woodcutter, the Woodcutter’ll give me wood, the wood I’ll give to the Baker’s wife, the Baker’s wife’ll give me a bannock, the bannock I’ll give to the Thresher, the Thresher’ll give me corn, the corn I’ll give to the Sow, the Sow’ll give me bristles, the bristles I’ll give to the Shoemaker, the Shoemaker’ll give me shoes, the shoes I’ll give to the Virgin Mary, the Virgin Mary’ll give me a red ribbon, the red ribbon I’ll give to the Linden, the Linden’ll give me leaves, the leaves I’ll give to the Spring, the Spring’ll give me water, the water I’ll give to Dame Partlet my mate, who lies at death’s door in the hazel-wood.

So the Charcoal-burner took pity on the Cock, and gave him a bit of charcoal, and then the Smith got his coal, and the Woodcutter his axe, and the Baker’s wife her wood, and the Thresher his bannock, and the Sow her corn, and the Shoemaker his bristles, and the Virgin Mary her shoes, and the Linden its red ribbon with a golden edge, and the Spring its leaves, and the Cock his drop of water, and he gave it to Dame Partlet, his mate, who lay there at death’s door in the hazel- wood, and so she got all right again.

THE BIG BIRD DAN

Once on a time there was a king who had twelve daughters, and he was so fond of them they must always be at his side; but every day at noon, while the king slept, the Princesses went out to take a walk. So once, while the king was taking his noontide nap, and the Princesses had gone to take their walk, all at once they were missing, and worse, they never came home again. Then there was great grief and sorrow all over the land, but the most sorry of all was the king. He sent messengers out throughout his own and other realms, and gave out their names in all the churches, and had the bells tolled for them in all the steeples; but gone the Princesses were, and gone they stayed, and none could tell what was become of them. So it was as clear as day that they must have been carried off by some witchcraft.

Well, it wasn’t long before these tidings spread far and wide, over land and town, aye, over many lands; and so the news came to a king ever so many lands off, who had twelve sons. So when these Princes heard of the twelve king’s daughters, they asked leave of their father to go out and seek them. They had hard work to get his leave, for he was afraid lest he should never see them again, but they all fell down on their knees before the king, and begged so long, at last he was forced to let them go after all.

He fitted out a ship for them, and gave them Ritter Red, who was