arches of flowers were erected in front of it, and grand lords and ladies,
and servants stood at the door to receive the guests who came.
Michael went as near as he dared, afraid lest he should be driven away by
the servants, and then he saw a little foot-page, and he went to him and
said,
"Please tell me where is the Princess Joan, and what she is doing."
"She is sitting with the King and Queen and King Lambert in the state-room,
to receive the guests and accept the presents they bring," said the page.
"I am a guest, and I bring a present for her," cried Michael; "Tell me how
I shall get into the palace that I may give it to her."
On hearing this the page burst out laughing, and told the other servants
what he said. And they were very angry, and seized Michael, and some would
have ducked him in the pond, and some would have taken him before the King,
but they said, "Not now--wait till the wedding is over to-morrow, and then
we will see how he will punish the beggar-man for his impertinence."
So they took him off to a stone tower outside the garden gates and thrust
him into it, and locked the door, and there was only one little window high
up and barred across with bars, and from it he could see the palace and the
gardens.
Then at last he gave way to despair. "Of what avail were all my years of
toil, and for what am I gray and old before my time," he cried, "if after
all, when I have earned that for which I worked so long, I may not give it
to Joan, but must remain a prisoner and see her pass by to marry some one
else?" and he threw himself on the ground and cried aloud.
At night as he lay and mourned, he heard sounds of merrymaking, and music
and laughter from the castle. Sometimes he called out, "Joan! Joan! I am
here--I who have worked for you for years, and brought home your stolen
heart, and now will you wed King Lambert in spite of all?" sometimes he
beat against the bars of the prison window, but all in vain, and at last,
when all sound had ceased from the castle, he lay silent upon the ground,
caring no more for life.
When the sun rose, and there was again a stir without, he got up and looked
from the window, and saw the old nurse who walked by herself in the garden,
and she looked very sad. Then Michael called out, "Do you not know me? You
at least, who bid me go, and praised me then, should remember me now." On
hearing this the old nurse drew near the prison window, and looked at him,
and said, "Who are you, and why are you here? My eyes are old, and my ears
are deaf, but I think I have seen you, and heard your voice before."
"Seven years ago," said Michael, "I too was a bridegroom, who came to wed
your Princess, and for seven long years have I worked, that I might bring
home to her the heart she had not. Go and ask your Queen, why she has
broken her pledge to wait for seven years, till Prince Michael should
return."
"Prince Michael! Is it really Prince Michael?" cried the old nurse
joyfully. "And you come in time, for our Princess is not married yet, and
she must pass by here, on her way to church. So you shall call to her as
she passes by, and speak for yourself."
"Then keep near and tell me when she comes," said Michael, "lest she go by
without seeing me."
Presently the whole castle was astir, and trumpets were sounding, and
clarions ringing. Then when the sun was high, Michael heard the tramping of
horses, and the sound of music, and the old nurse said to him, "Here she
is," and he looked between the bars of the prison window and saw a grand
procession, and his heart gave a bound, for in their midst, in a golden
gown, and seated on a white palfrey, was Princess Joan, and she looked just
as lovely as when he went away seven years before.
On one side of her rode her father and mother, and the Queen's face was
most mournful, and her eyes were red with crying. On the other rode an ugly
old man, whom Michael guessed to be King Lambert, and he smiled and bowed
to the people, but they muttered and grumbled, when they looked at him,
and saw how ugly and wicked, he looked.
When Michael saw them coming, he took from his bosom the little pink heart,
and stroked it fondly as he whispered over it,
"Heart of Joan
Lost and won
Fly back home,
Thy journey's done.
Take back joy
Take back pain
Heart of Joan,
Fly home again;"
and at once it spread its wings and fluttered through the bars of the
prison, and over the heads of the people, who shouted, "Look at the pink
bird!" For a moment it rested at the side of the Princess Joan, and then
disappeared. She gave a scream, and cried,
"My mother! My father! What has happened? Oh see, it is Michael who has
returned!" and ere they could stop her she had turned her palfrey's head
towards the prison window, and pushed her white arms through the bars to
clasp the Prince.
[Illustration: ----and ere they could stop her she had turned her palfrey's
head towards the prison window, and pushed her white arms through the bars
to clasp the Prince."--P. 128.]
"Michael, my love!" she cried, "How gray and worn you are now. How hard you
must have laboured for me through these long years. Now, how shall I pay
you, save by loving you all my life!" and she tried to beat down the bars
of the prison window.
When the people heard her, they cried, "It is Prince Michael, who went
seven years ago, and who we all thought was dead, and he is returned in
time to marry our Princess. Now will we indeed have a wedding, and she
shall marry the Prince who has toiled so long for her;" and King and Queen
and people laughed for joy. 'Twas in vain for King Lambert to rage, and cry
that the Princess was betrothed to him.
"Nay!" said the Queen, "She has been pledged to Prince Michael for seven
years. We are grieved for your sake, King Lambert, but we cannot break our
royal word."
Then the people burst into the prison and brought out Michael, all torn and
gray as he was, and Princess Joan kissed him before them all, and begged
that he would marry her at once, that every one might see how well she
loved him and how grateful she was. So they brought a fine white horse with
a grand gold saddle, and jewelled bridle, and placed Michael upon it, and
he rode to church beside the Princess, and married her, and the people
threw flowers before them, and bells rang and trumpets sounded, and all
were glad.
And when it was done Michael was dressed in purple and gold, and messengers
were sent to his father and mother and the old wizard, that they might come
and see how he had come home victorious, and rejoicings filled the whole
country.
"For now we are sure of a good King," the people said. "See, he has already
shown what he can do. Surely no one else could ever have found the heart of
Princess Joan."
[Illustration]
[Illustration: "Good-day, friend," said he. "If you have nothing to do,
perhaps you would not mind carrying my load for me for a little."--P.
131.]
THE PEDLAR'S PACK
[Illustration]
A pedlar was toiling along a dusty road carrying his pack on his back, when
he saw a donkey grazing by the wayside.
"Good-day, friend," said he. "If you have nothing to do, perhaps you would
not mind carrying my load for me for a little."
"If I do so, what will you give me?" said the donkey.
"I will give you two pieces of gold," said the pedlar, but he did not speak
the truth, for he knew he had no gold to give.
"Agreed," said the donkey. So they journeyed on together in a very
friendly manner, the donkey carrying the pedlar's pack, and the pedlar
walking by his side. After a time they met a raven, who was looking for
worms in the roadside, and the donkey called out to him,
"Good-morrow, black friend. If you are going our way, you would do well to
sit upon my back and drive away the flies, which worry me sadly."
"And what will you pay me to do this?" asked the raven.
"Money is no object to me," said the donkey, "so I will give you three
pieces of gold." And he too knew he was making a false promise, for he had
no gold at all to give.
"Agreed," said the raven. So they went on in high good humour, the donkey
carrying the pedlar's wares, and the raven sitting on the donkey's back
driving away the flies.
After a time they met a hedge-sparrow, and the raven called out to it,
"Good-day, little cousin. Do you want to earn a little money? If so, bring
me some worms from the bank as we go along, for I had no breakfast, and am
very hungry."
"What will you give me for it?" asked the hedge-sparrow.
"Let us say four pieces of gold," said the raven grandly; "for I have saved
more during my long life than I know how to spend." But he knew this was
not true, for he had not saved any gold at all.
"Very well," said the hedge-sparrow, and so on they went, the donkey
carrying the pedlar's pack, and the raven keeping the flies away from the
donkey, and the hedge-sparrow bringing worms to the raven.
Presently they saw in the distance a good-sized town, and the pedlar took
out from his pack, some shawls and stuffs and hung them over the donkey's
back that the passers-by might see, and buy if they were so disposed. On
the top of the other goods lay a small scarlet blanket, and when he saw it
the hedge-sparrow said to the pedlar,
"What will you take for that little blanket? It seems to be a good one.
Name your price and you shall have it whatever it is, for I am badly in
want of a blanket just now;" but as the hedge-sparrow had not a penny in
the world, he knew he could not pay for it.
"The price of the blanket is five pieces of gold," said the pedlar.
"That seems to me to be very dear," said the hedge-sparrow. "I don't mind
giving you four pieces of gold for it, but five is too much."
"Agreed," said the pedlar, and he chuckled to himself and thought, "Now I
shall be able to pay the donkey, otherwise I might have had some trouble in
getting rid of him."
The hedge-sparrow flew to the raven's side and whispered in his ear,
"Please to pay me the four pieces of gold you owe me, for we are coming to
a town, and I must be turning back."
"Four pieces of gold is really too much for bringing a few worms," said the
raven. "It is absurd to expect such payment, but I will give you three, and
you shall have them almost immediately," and he bent down over the donkey's
ear and whispered,
"My friend, it is time you paid me the three pieces of gold which you
promised, for the pedlar will stop at this town, and you will not have to
go farther with him."
"On thinking it over," said the donkey, "I have come to the conclusion that
three pieces of gold are really a great deal too much to give for having a
few flies driven away. You must have known that I was only joking when I
said it, but I will let you have two, though I consider that it is much
more than the job was worth;" and the donkey turned again to the pedlar,
saying, "Now, good sir, your two pieces of gold, if you please."
"In a moment," said the pedlar, and turning to the hedge-sparrow, said, "I
really must have the money for the blanket at once."
"So you shall," answered the hedge-sparrow, and cried angrily to the raven,
"I want my money now, and cannot wait."
"In an instant," answered the raven, and again whispered to the donkey,
"Why can't you pay me honestly? I should be ashamed of trying to slip out
of my debts in such a way."
"I won't keep you waiting a second," said the donkey, and he turned once
more to the pedlar and cried, "Come, give me my money. For shame! a man
like you trying to cheat a poor beast like me."
Then the pedlar said to the hedge-sparrow, "Pay me for my blanket, or I'll
wring your neck."
And the hedge-sparrow cried to the raven, "Give me my money or I'll peck
out your eyes."
And the raven croaked to the donkey, "If you don't pay me, I'll bite off
your tail."
And the donkey again cried to the pedlar, "You dishonest wretch, pay me my
money or I'll kick you soundly."
And they made such an uproar outside the walls of the town, that the beadle
came out to see what it was all about. Each turned to him and began to
complain of the other loudly.
"You are a set of rogues and vagabonds," said the beadle, "and you shall
all come before the mayor, and he'll settle your quarrels pretty quickly,
and treat you as you deserve."
At this they all begged to be allowed to go away, each one saying he did
not care about being paid at all. But the beadle would not listen to them,
and led them straight away to the market-place, where the mayor sat judging
the people.
"Now, whom have we here?" cried he. "A pedlar, a donkey, a raven, and a
hedge-sparrow. A set of worthless vagabonds, I'll be bound! Let us hear
what they have to say for themselves."
On this the pedlar began to complain of the hedge-sparrow, and the
hedge-sparrow of the raven, and the raven of the donkey, and the donkey of
the pedlar.
The mayor did not heed them much, but he eyed the pedlar's pack, and at
length interrupted them, and said,
"I am convinced that you are a set of good-for-nothing fellows, and one is
quite as bad as the other, so I order that the pedlar be locked up in the
prison, that the donkey be soundly well thrashed, and that the raven and
the hedge-sparrow both have their tail-feathers pulled out, and then be
turned out of the town. As for the blanket, it seems to me to be the only
good thing in the whole matter, and as I cannot allow you to keep the cause
of such a disturbance, I will take it for myself. Beadle, lead the
prisoners away."
So the beadle did as he was told, and the pedlar was locked up for many
days in the prison.
"It is very sad to think to what straits an honest man may be brought," he
sighed to himself as he sat lamenting his hard fate. "In future this will
be a warning to me to keep clear of hedge-sparrows. If the hedge-sparrow
had paid me as he ought, I should not be here now."
Meantime the donkey was being soundly well thrashed, and after each blow he
cried,
"Alas! alas! See what comes to an innocent quadruped for having to do with
human beings. Had the pedlar given me the money he owed, I should not now
be beaten thus. In future I will never make a bargain with men."
The raven and the hedge-sparrow hopped out of the town by different roads,
and both were very sad, for they had lost all their tail feathers, which
the beadle had pulled out.
"Alas!" croaked the raven, "my fate is indeed a hard one. But it serves me
right for trusting a donkey who goes on his feet and cannot fly. It is
truly a warning to me never again to trust anything without a beak."
The hedge-sparrow was quite crestfallen, and could scarcely keep from
tears. "It all comes of my being so taken in by that raven," he sighed.
"But I should have known that these large birds are never honest. In future
I will be wise, and never make a bargain with anything bigger or stronger
than myself."
[Illustration]
THE BREAD OF DISCONTENT
[Illustration]
Once there was a baker who had a very bad, violent temper, and whenever a
batch of bread was spoiled he flew into such a rage, that his wife and
daughters dared not go near him. One day it happened that all his bread was
burnt, and on this he stamped and raved with anger. He threw the loaves all
about the floor, when one, burnt blacker than the rest, broke in half, and
out of it crept a tiny thin black man, no thicker than an eel, with long
arms and legs.
"What are you making all this fuss about, Master Baker?" said he. "If you
will give me a home in your oven I will see to the baking of your bread,
and will answer for it that you shall never have so much as a loaf
spoiled."
[Illustration: "If you will give me a home in your oven I will see to the
baking of your bread, and will answer for it that you shall never have so
much as a loaf spoiled."--P. 141.]
"And pray what sort of bread would it be, if you were in the oven, and
helped to bake it?" said the baker; "I think my customers might not like to
eat it."
"On the contrary," said the imp, "they would like it exceedingly. It is
true that it would make them rather unhappy, but that will not hurt you, as
you need not eat it yourself."
"Why should it make them unhappy?" said the baker. "If it is good bread it
won't do any one harm, and if it is bad they won't buy it."
"It will taste very good," replied the imp, "but it will make all who eat
it discontented, and they will think themselves very unfortunate whether
they are so or no; but this will not do you any harm, and I promise you
that you shall sell as much as you wish."
"Agreed!" said the baker. So the little imp crept into the oven and curled
himself into the darkness behind, and the baker saw no more of him.
But next day he made a great batch of bread, and though he took no heed of
the time when he put it in, and drew it out, just as he wanted it, it was
done quite right--neither too dark nor too light--and the baker was in high
good humour.
The first person who tasted the bread was the chief justice. He came down
to breakfast in high spirits, for he had just heard that an old aunt was
dead, and had left him a great deal of money. So he kissed his wife and
chucked his daughters under the chin, and told them that he had good news
for them. His old aunt had left him twenty thousand pounds in her will. On
this his wife clapped her hands for joy, and his daughters ran to him and
kissed him, and begged him to let them have some of it. So they all sat
down to breakfast in great glee, but no sooner had the justice tasted the
bread than his face fell.
"This is excellent bread," he said, taking a large slice; "I wish
everything else were as good;" and he heaved a deep sigh.
"Why?" cried his wife, who had not yet begun to eat. "This morning, I am
sure, there is nothing for you to complain of."
"Nay!" said the mayor; "it is very nice to have twenty thousand pounds, but
think how much nicer it would have been if it had been thirty. How much
more one could have done with that! Or even if it had been twenty-five
thousand pounds, or even twenty-one. Twenty-one thousand pounds is a very
nice sum of money, but twenty thousand pounds is no good at all. I am not
sure that it would not be better not to have had any."
"Nonsense!" cried his wife, who was now eating her breakfast also; "you are
very wicked to be so discontented; but one thing I do say. It would have
been much nicer if we had had it when we were young and better able to
enjoy it. Money is very little use to people at our time of life. It would
have been really nice if we had had it fifteen years ago. As it is, I can't
say I care much for it, and it makes me sad to think we did not get it
before."
"Nay," cried the daughters; "in that case how much better it would have
been for us to have it instead of you; we are young, and able to enjoy
ourselves, and we could have given you a little of it if you'd liked, but
we could have been very happy with the rest; as it is, it is no pleasure to
us."
So they fell to quarrelling about the money, and by the time breakfast was
done, they all had tears in their eyes, and felt discontented and unhappy.
The next person to eat the bread was the village doctor. All night long he
had been sitting up with a man who had broken his leg, and he had feared
lest he should die, but as morning came he saw he would live, so he
returned home to his wife in very good spirits, although he was sadly
tired. The wife had already had her breakfast, but she had made all ready
for her husband, with a loaf of the baker's new bread.
"See, dear husband," she said, "here is your breakfast, and some nice bread
quite new, because I know you like it. How glad we ought to be, that this
poor man is likely to live."
"Yes, indeed," said the doctor; "being up all night is tiring work, but I
don't grudge it when I know that it does some good," and then he began to
eat. "I am not sure, after all, that I have done such a good thing in
curing this man. It is true that his broken leg hurt him very much, but
perhaps when he is well again, he may break his back, and that would be
much worse. Perhaps I had better have left him to die. I daresay when he is
quite well, all kinds of misfortunes will befall him; I had much better
have let him alone."
"Why," cried his wife in surprise, "what are you saying, husband? Are you
not a doctor, and is it not your business to cure people? And when you
succeed ought you not to be glad?"
"I wish I were not a doctor," said the husband, sighing. "It would be much
better if there were no doctors at all;" and he sat and lamented, and
nothing his wife could say, could cheer him.
In a pretty little cottage near the doctor's house lived a young couple,
who were newly married, and were as happy as the day was long. Their
cottage was covered with roses, and filled with pretty things, and they
had everything their hearts could desire. This morning they both came down
smiling and happy, and the young wife kissed her husband, and sang for joy.
So they sat down to breakfast, chattering like two birds in a nest; but no
sooner had the husband tasted the bread than his face fell, and he was
silent for a time; then he said,
"It is a very terrible thing to think how happy we are, for it cannot last.
Something melancholy is sure to happen to us, and till it comes we shall
live in dread of it; for we know happiness never lasts, and this is a
thought that makes me very sad."
The wife had now also taken some bread.
"What is this you are saying?" she said. "How can you think such dreadful
things? I do not like you when you talk like that; and I think it is very
hard for me to be married to a man who wants to be unhappy."
"The best thing we can hope for," said the husband, sighing, "is for some
great misfortune to befall us; then we should be all right, for we should
know then, that we knew the worst that could come. As it is we shall live
in suspense all our days."
"Now," cried his wife, "I am indeed unfortunate. What could be worse than
to have a husband who does not like being happy? I wish I had married some
one else; or indeed had no husband at all."
So both began to grumble, and at last to quarrel, and finally both were
crying with anger.
Not far out of the village was a large pleasant farmhouse, standing amongst
fields, and the farmer was a hale, bright man, with a good wife and pretty
children. He was very busy just now getting in the corn, for it was autumn,
and he stood among his men, directing them as they worked in the fields. He
had not had time to have a proper breakfast before going to work, but his
wife sent some out to him with some of the baker's new bread, and he sat
down under a tree to eat it. As he did so he looked up at the farmhouse,
and thought, with pride, that it was the largest farm in all the country
round, and that it had belonged to his father, and his grandfather, and
his great-grandfather, before him.
"'Tis a fine old house, for sure," thought he, as he took a large piece of
bread, "'Tis so well built and strong;" but no sooner had he swallowed a
mouthful than his thoughts changed.
"What should I do if it were to fall down and crush me some day," he said
to himself. "After all, 'tis only built of brick, and might tumble any day.
How much stronger it would have been if it had been built of stone. Then it
would not have been nearly so likely to give way. Really when my
great-grandfather built it he should have thought of this. How selfish all
men are;" and he became quite unhappy lest his house should fall, and
lamented while he ate.
In the kitchen the farmer's wife was very busy cooking and cleaning, and
scarcely stopped to eat till near mid-day. Then she took up a piece of
bread and cheese, and leant against the window as she ate it, that she
might watch for her eldest girl and boy, Janey and Jimmy, who would now be
returning from school.
"Our baker really bakes very decent bread," said she; "'tis almost as good
as my own;" and she went on eating till she saw her two children coming
through the fields together.
"Here they come," said she; "How bonny they look. Really I ought to be very
proud of them. I don't know which is the prettier, Janey or Jimmy, but 'tis
a pity, for sure, that Janey is the eldest. It would be much better if
Jimmy were older than she. 'Tis a bad thing for the sister to be older than
the brother. Now, if he were her age, and she were his, that would be
really nice, for then he could take care of her and see after her; but, as
it is, she will try to direct him, and boys never like to obey their
sisters; I really almost think I had better not have had any children at
all," and the tears filled her eyes, and when her girl and boy ran in to
her, her face was very sad, and she seemed to be scarcely glad to see them.