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ENGLISH FAIRY-TALES
Retold by
FLORA ANNIE STEEL
Illustrated by Arthur Rackham
First published by Macmillan & Co. 1918
[Illustration: Mr. and Mrs. Vinegar at home (page 190).]
CONTENTS
ST. GEORGE OF MERRIE ENGLAND
THE STORY OF THE THREE BEARS
TOM-TIT-TOT
THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX
TATTERCOATS
THE THREE FEATHERS
LAZY JACK
JACK THE GIANT-KILLER
THE THREE SILLIES
THE GOLDEN BALL
THE TWO SISTERS
THE LAIDLY WORM
TITTY MOUSE AND TATTY MOUSE
JACK AND THE BEANSTALK
THE BLACK BULL OF NORROWAY
CATSKIN
THE THREE LITTLE PIGS
NIX NAUGHT NOTHING
MR. AND MRS. VINEGAR
THE TRUE HISTORY OF SIR THOMAS THUMB
HENNY-PENNY
THE THREE HEADS OF THE WELL
MR. FOX
DICK WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT
THE OLD WOMAN AND HER PIG
THE WEE BANNOCK
HOW JACK WENT OUT TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE
THE BOGEY-BEAST
LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD
CHILDE ROWLAND
THE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM
CAPORUSHES
THE BABES IN THE WOOD
THE RED ETTIN
THE FISH AND THE RING
LAWKAMERCYME
MASTER OF ALL MASTERS
MOLLY WHUPPIE AND THE DOUBLE-FACED GIANT
THE ASS, THE TABLE, AND THE STICK
THE WELL OF THE WORLD'S END
THE ROSE TREE
ILLUSTRATIONS
IN COLOUR
Mr. and Mrs. Vinegar at home
"Somebody has been at my porridge, and has eaten it all up!"
Tattercoats dancing while the gooseherd pipes
The giant Cormoran was the terror of all the country-side
Taking the keys of the castle, Jack unlocked all the doors
The giant Galligantua and the wicked old magician transform the
duke's daughter into a white hind
"Tree of mine! O Tree of mine! Have you seen my naughty little
maid?"
"Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman"
She went along, and went along, and went along
And that is the story of Mr. and Mrs. Vinegar
They thanked her and said good-bye, and she went on her journey
Many's the beating he had from the broomstick or the ladle
When Puss saw the rats and mice she didn't wait to be told
"Well!" she chuckled, "I am in luck!"
She sat down and plaited herself an overall of rushes and a cap
to match
The fisherman and his wife had no children, and they were just
longing for a baby
IN TEXT
Headpiece--St. George of Merrie England
When she came to St. George she started and laid her hand on
her heart
"Somebody has been lying in my bed,--and here she is!"
"What is that you are singing, my good woman?"
A small, little, black Thing with a long tail
Away That flew into the dark, and she never saw it no more
They brought the Castle of the golden pillars
Jack found it hard to hoist the donkey on his shoulders
"Odds splutter hur nails!" cried the giant, not to be outdone.
"Hur can do that hurself!"
"Ah! Cousin Jack! Kind cousin Jack! This is heavy news indeed"
Seated on a huge block of timber near the entrance to a dark
cave
On his way ... to be revenged
The country folk flying before him like chaff before the wind
Headpiece--The Three Sillies
Headpiece--The Golden Ball
He heard the bogles striving under the bed
Headpiece--The Laidly Worm
Tatty sat down and wept
As he spoke he drew out of his pocket five beans
Jack seized the axe and gave a great chop at the beanstalk
So he huffed and he puffed and he blew the house in
So he huffed and he puffed and he blew the house in
Well! he huffed and he puffed ... but he could _not_
blow the house down
At last he flew into a violent rage and flung his stick at the
bird
A spider one day attacked him
"I will go first and you come after, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky,
Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey"
So she escaped
The thorns closed in around her so that she was all scratched
and torn
Dick finds that the streets of London are not paved with gold
Dick Whittington hears Bow Bells
The old woman and her pig
Headpiece--How Jack went out to seek his Fortune
They both met together upon Nottingham bridge
"A vengeance on her!" said they. "We did not make our hedge
high enough"
He took out the cheeses and rolled them down the hill
And they left the eel to drown
The hare ran on along the country way
A courtier came riding by, and he did ask what they were
seeking
Headpiece--Lawkamercyme
A funny-looking old gentleman engaged her and took her home
White-faced simminy has got a spark of hot cockalorum on its
tail
[Illustration: Headpiece--St. George of Merrie England]
ST. GEORGE OF MERRIE ENGLAND
In the darksome depths of a thick forest lived Kalyb the fell
enchantress. Terrible were her deeds, and few there were who had the
hardihood to sound the brazen trumpet which hung over the iron gate that
barred the way to the Abode of Witchcraft. Terrible were the deeds of
Kalyb; but above all things she delighted in carrying off innocent
new-born babes, and putting them to death.
And this, doubtless, she meant to be the fate of the infant son of the
Earl of Coventry, who long long years ago was Lord High Steward of
England. Certain it is that the babe's father being absent, and his
mother dying at his birth, the wicked Kalyb, with spells and charms,
managed to steal the child from his careless nurses.
But the babe was marked from the first for doughty deeds; for on his
breast was pictured the living image of a dragon, on his right hand was
a blood-red cross, and on his left leg showed the golden garter.
And these signs so affected Kalyb, the fell enchantress, that she stayed
her hand; and the child growing daily in beauty and stature, he became
to her as the apple of her eye. Now, when twice seven years had passed
the boy began to thirst for honourable adventures, though the wicked
enchantress wished to keep him as her own.
But he, seeking glory, utterly disdained so wicked a creature; thus she
sought to bribe him. And one day, taking him by the hand, she led him to
a brazen castle and showed him six brave knights, prisoners therein.
Then said she:
"Lo! These be the six champions of Christendom. Thou shalt be the
seventh and thy name shall be St. George of Merrie England if thou wilt
stay with me."
But he would not.
Then she led him into a magnificent stable where stood seven of the most
beautiful steeds ever seen. "Six of these," said she, "belong to the six
Champions. The seventh and the best, the swiftest and the most powerful
in the world, whose name is Bayard, will I bestow on thee, if thou wilt
stay with me."
But he would not.
Then she took him to the armoury, and with her own hand buckled on a
corselet of purest steel, and laced on a helmet inlaid with gold. Then,
taking a mighty falchion, she gave it into his hand, and said: "This
armour which none can pierce, this sword called Ascalon, which will hew
in sunder all it touches, are thine; surely now thou wilt stop with me?"
But he would not.
Then she bribed him with her own magic wand, thus giving him power over
all things in that enchanted land, saying:
"Surely now wilt thou remain here?"
But he, taking the wand, struck with it a mighty rock that stood by; and
lo! it opened, and laid in view a wide cave garnished by the bodies of a
vast number of innocent new-born infants whom the wicked enchantress had
murdered.
Thus, using her power, he bade the sorceress lead the way into the place
of horror, and when she had entered, he raised the magic wand yet again,
and smote the rock; and lo! it closed for ever, and the sorceress was
left to bellow forth her lamentable complaints to senseless stones.
Thus was St. George freed from the enchanted land, and taking with him
the six other champions of Christendom on their steeds, he mounted
Bayard and rode to the city of Coventry.
Here for nine months they abode, exercising themselves in all feats of
arms. So when spring returned they set forth, as knights errant, to seek
for foreign adventure.
And for thirty days and thirty nights they rode on, until, at the
beginning of a new month, they came to a great wide plain. Now in the
centre of this plain, where seven several ways met, there stood a great
brazen pillar, and here, with high heart and courage, they bade each
other farewell, and each took a separate road.
Hence, St. George, on his charger Bayard, rode till he reached the
seashore where lay a good ship bound for the land of Egypt. Taking
passage in her, after long journeying he arrived in that land when the
silent wings of night were outspread, and darkness brooded on all
things. Here, coming to a poor hermitage, he begged a night's lodging,
on which the hermit replied:
"Sir Knight of Merrie England--for I see her arms graven on thy
breastplate--thou hast come hither in an ill time, when those alive are
scarcely able to bury the dead by reason of the cruel destruction waged
by a terrible dragon, who ranges up and down the country by day and by
night. If he have not an innocent maiden to devour each day, he sends a
mortal plague amongst the people. And this has not ceased for twenty and
four years, so that there is left throughout the land but one maiden,
the beautiful Sâbia, daughter to the King. And to-morrow must she die,
unless some brave knight will slay the monster. To such will the King
give his daughter in marriage, and the crown of Egypt in due time."
"For crowns I care not," said St. George boldly, "but the beauteous
maiden shall not die. I will slay the monster."
So, rising at dawn of day, he buckled on his armour, laced his helmet,
and with the falchion Ascalon in his hand, bestrode Bayard, and rode
into the Valley of the Dragon. Now on the way he met a procession of old
women weeping and wailing, and in their midst the most beauteous damsel
he had ever seen. Moved by compassion he dismounted, and bowing low
before the lady entreated her to return to her father's palace, since he
was about to kill the dreaded dragon. Whereupon the beautiful Sâbia,
thanking him with smiles and tears, did as he requested, and he,
re-mounting, rode on his emprise.
Now, no sooner did the dragon catch sight of the brave Knight than its
leathern throat sent out a sound more terrible than thunder, and
weltering from its hideous den, it spread its burning wings and prepared
to assail its foe.
Its size and appearance might well have made the stoutest heart tremble.
From shoulder to tail ran full forty feet, its body was covered with
silver scales, its belly was as gold, and through its flaming wings the
blood ran thick and red.
So fierce was its onset, that at the very first encounter the Knight was
nigh felled to the ground; but recovering himself he gave the dragon
such a thrust with his spear that the latter shivered to a thousand
pieces; whereupon the furious monster smote him so violently with its
tail that both horse and rider were overthrown.
Now, by great good chance, St. George was flung under the shade of a
flowering orange tree, whose fragrance hath this virtue in it, that no
poisonous beast dare come within the compass of its branches. So there
the valiant knight had time to recover his senses, until with eager
courage he rose, and rushing to the combat, smote the burning dragon on
his burnished belly with his trusty sword Ascalon; and thereinafter
spouted out such black venom, as, falling on the armour of the Knight,
burst it in twain. And ill might it have fared with St. George of Merrie
England but for the orange tree, which once again gave him shelter under
its branches, where, seeing the issue of the fight was in the Hands of
the Most High, he knelt and prayed that such strength of body should be
given him as would enable him to prevail. Then with a bold and
courageous heart, he advanced again, and smote the fiery dragon under
one of his flaming wings, so that the weapon pierced the heart, and all
the grass around turned crimson with the blood that flowed from the
dying monster. So St. George of England cut off the dreadful head, and
hanging it on a truncheon made of the spear which at the beginning of
the combat had shivered against the beast's scaly back, he mounted his
steed Bayard, and proceeded to the palace of the King.
Now the King's name was Ptolemy, and when he saw that the dreaded dragon
was indeed slain, he gave orders for the city to be decorated. And he
sent a golden chariot with wheels of ebony and cushions of silk to bring
St. George to the palace, and commanded a hundred nobles dressed in
crimson velvet, and mounted on milk-white steeds richly caparisoned, to
escort him thither with all honour, while musicians walked before and
after, filling the air with sweetest sounds.
Now the beautiful Sâbia herself washed and dressed the weary Knight's
wounds, and gave him in sign of betrothal a diamond ring of purest
water. Then, after he had been invested by the King with the golden
spurs of knighthood and had been magnificently feasted, he retired to
rest his weariness, while the beautiful Sâbia from her balcony lulled
him to sleep with her golden lute.
So all seemed happiness; but alas! dark misfortune was at hand.
Almidor, the black King of Morocco, who had long wooed the Princess
Sâbia in vain, without having the courage to defend her, seeing that the
maiden had given her whole heart to her champion, resolved to compass
his destruction.
So, going to King Ptolemy, he told him--what was perchance true--namely,
that the beauteous Sâbia had promised St. George to become Christian,
and follow him to England. Now the thought of this so enraged the King
that, forgetting his debt of honour, he determined on an act of basest
treachery.
Telling St. George that his love and loyalty needed further trial, he
entrusted him with a message to the King of Persia, and forbade him
either to take with him his horse Bayard or his sword Ascalon; nor would
he even allow him to say farewell to his beloved Sâbia.
St. George then set forth sorrowfully, and surmounting many dangers,
reached the Court of the King of Persia in safety; but what was his
anger to find that the secret missive he bore contained nothing but an
earnest request to put the bearer of it to death. But he was helpless,
and when sentence had been passed upon him, he was thrown into a loathly
dungeon, clothed in base and servile weeds, and his arms strongly
fettered up to iron bolts, while the roars of the two hungry lions who
were to devour him ere long, deafened his ears. Now his rage and fury at
this black treachery was such that it gave him strength, and with mighty
effort he drew the staples that held his fetters; so being part free he
tore his long locks of amber-coloured hair from his head and wound them
round his arms instead of gauntlets. So prepared he rushed on the lions
when they were let loose upon him, and thrusting his arms down their
throats choked them, and thereinafter tearing out their very hearts,
held them up in triumph to the gaolers who stood by trembling with fear.
After this the King of Persia gave up the hopes of putting St. George to
death, and, doubling the bars of the dungeon, left him to languish
therein. And there the unhappy Knight remained for seven long years, his
thoughts full of his lost Princess; his only companions rats and mice
and creeping worms, his only food and drink bread made of the coarsest
bran and dirty water.
At last one day, in a dark corner of his dungeon, he found one of the
iron staples he had drawn in his rage and fury. It was half consumed
with rust, yet it was sufficient in his hands to open a passage through
the walls of his cell into the King's garden. It was the time of night
when all things are silent; but St. George, listening, heard the voices
of grooms in the stables; which, entering, he found two grooms
furnishing forth a horse against some business. Whereupon, taking the
staple with which he had redeemed himself from prison, he slew the
grooms, and mounting the palfrey rode boldly to the city gates, where he
told the watchman at the Bronze Tower that St. George having escaped
from the dungeon, he was in hot pursuit of him. Whereupon the gates were
thrown open, and St. George, clapping spurs to his horse, found himself
safe from pursuit before the first red beams of the sun shot up into the
sky.
Now, ere long, being most famished with hunger, he saw a tower set on a
high cliff, and riding thitherward determined to ask for food. But as he
neared the castle he saw a beauteous damsel in a blue and gold robe
seated disconsolate at a window. Whereupon, dismounting, he called aloud
to her:
"Lady! If thou hast sorrow of thine own, succour one also in distress,
and give me, a Christian Knight, now almost famished, one meal's meat."
To which she replied quickly:
"Sir Knight! Fly quickly as thou canst, for my lord is a mighty giant, a
follower of Mahomed, who hath sworn to destroy all Christians."
Hearing this St. George laughed loud and long. "Go tell him then, fair
dame," he cried, "that a Christian Knight waits at his door, and will
either satisfy his wants within his castle or slay the owner thereof."
Now the giant no sooner heard this valiant challenge than he rushed
forth to the combat, armed with a hugeous crowbar of iron. He was a
monstrous giant, deformed, with a huge head, bristled like any boar's,
with hot, glaring eyes and a mouth equalling a tiger's. At first sight
of him St. George gave himself up for lost, not so much for fear, but
for hunger and faintness of body. Still, commending himself to the Most
High, he also rushed to the combat with such poor arms as he had, and
with many a regret for the loss of his magic sword Ascalon. So they
fought till noon, when, just as the champion's strength was nigh
finished, the giant stumbled on the root of a tree, and St. George,
taking his chance, ran him through the mid-rib, so that he gasped and
died.
After which St. George entered the tower; whereat the beautiful lady,
freed from her terrible lord, set before him all manner of delicacies
and pure wine with which he sufficed his hunger, rested his weary body,
and refreshed his horse.
So, leaving the tower in the hands of the grateful lady, he went on his
way, coming ere long to the Enchanted Garden of the necromancer
Ormadine, where, embedded in the living rock, he saw a magic sword, the
like of which for beauty he had never seen, the belt being beset with
jaspers and sapphire stones, while the pommel was a globe of the purest
silver chased in gold with these verses:
My magic will remain most firmly bound
Till that a knight from the far north be found
To pull this sword from out its bed of stone.
Lo! when he comes wise Ormadine must fall.
Farewell, my magic power, my spell, my all.
Seeing this St. George put his hand to the hilt, thinking to essay
pulling it out by strength; but lo! he drew it out with as much ease as
though it had hung by a thread of untwisted silk. And immediately every
door in the enchanted garden flew open, and the magician Ormadine
appeared, his hair standing on end; and he, after kissing the hand of
the champion, led him to a cave where a young man wrapped in a sheet of
gold lay sleeping, lulled by the songs of four beautiful maidens.
"The Knight whom thou seest here!" said the necromancer in a hollow
voice, "is none other than thy brother-in-arms, the Christian Champion
St. David of Wales. He also attempted to draw my sword but failed. Him
hast thou delivered from my enchantments since they come to an end."
Now, as he spoke, came such a rattling of the skies, such a lumbering of
the earth as never was, and in the twinkling of an eye the Enchanted
Garden and all in it vanished from view, leaving the Champion of Wales,
roused from his seven years' sleep, giving thanks to St. George, who
greeted his ancient comrade heartily.
After this St. George of Merrie England travelled far and travelled
fast, with many adventures by the way, to Egypt where he had left his
beloved Princess Sâbia. But, learning to his great grief and horror from
the same hermit he had met on first landing, that, despite her denials,
her father, King Ptolemy, had consented to Almidor the black King of
Morocco carrying her off as one of his many wives, he turned his steps
towards Tripoli, the capital of Morocco; for he was determined at all
costs to gain a sight of the dear Princess from whom he had been so
cruelly rent.
To this end he borrowed an old cloak of the hermit, and, disguised as a
beggar, gained admittance to the gate of the Women's Palace, where were
gathered together on their knees many others, poor, frail, infirm.
And when he asked them wherefore they knelt, they answered:
"Because good Queen Sâbia succours us that we may pray for the safety of
St. George of England, to whom she gave her heart."
Now when St. George heard this his own heart was like to break for very
joy, and he could scarce keep on his knees when, lovely as ever, but
with her face pale and sad and wan from long distress, the Princess
Sâbia appeared clothed in deep mourning.
In silence she handed an alms to each beggar in turn; but when she came
to St. George she started and laid her hand on her heart. Then she said
softly:
"Rise up, Sir Beggar! Thou art too like one who rescued me from death,
for it to be meet for thee to kneel before me!"
Then St. George rising, and bowing low, said quietly: "Peerless lady!
Lo! I am that very knight to whom thou did'st condescend to give this."
And with this he slipped the diamond ring she had given him on her
finger. But she looked not at it, but at him, with love in her eyes.
Then he told her of her father's base treachery and Almidor's part in
it, so that her anger grew hot and she cried:
"Waste no more time in talk. I remain no longer in this detested place.
Ere Almidor returns from hunting we shall have escaped."
[Illustration: When she came to St. George she started and laid her
hand on her heart]
So she led St. George to the armoury, where he found his trusty sword
Ascalon, and to the stable, where his swift steed Bayard stood ready
caparisoned.
Then, when her brave Knight had mounted, and she, putting her foot on
his, had leapt like a bird behind him, St. George touched the proud
beast lightly with his spurs, and, like an arrow from a bow, Bayard
carried them together over city and plain, through woods and forests,
across rivers, and mountains, and valleys, until they reached the Land
of Greece.
And here they found the whole country in festivity over the marriage of
the King. Now amongst other entertainments was a grand tournament, the
news of which had spread through the world. And to it had come all the
other Six Champions of Christendom; so St. George arriving made the
Seventh. And many of the champions had with them the fair lady they had
rescued. St. Denys of France brought beautiful Eglantine, St. James of
Spain sweet Celestine, while noble Rosalind accompanied St. Anthony of
Italy. St. David of Wales, after his seven years' sleep, came full of
eager desire for adventure. St. Patrick of Ireland, ever courteous,
brought all the six Swan-princesses who, in gratitude, had been seeking
their deliverer St. Andrew of Scotland; since he, leaving all worldly
things, had chosen to fight for the faith.
So all these brave knights and fair ladies joined in the joyful
jousting, and each of the Seven Champions was in turn Chief Challenger
for a day.
Now in the midst of all the merriment appeared a hundred heralds from a
hundred different parts of the Paynim world, declaring war to the death
against all Christians.
Whereupon the Seven Champions agreed that each should return to his
native land to place his dearest lady in safety, and gather together an
army, and that six months later they should meet, and, joining as one
legion, go forth to fight for Christendom.
And this was done. So, having chosen St. George as Chief General, they
marched on Tripoli with the cry:
"For Christendom we fight,
For Christendom we die."
Here the wicked Almidor fell in single combat with St. George, to the
great delight of his subjects, who begged the Champion to be King in his
stead. To this he consented, and, after he was crowned, the Christian
host went on towards Egypt where King Ptolemy, in despair of vanquishing
such stalwart knights, threw himself down from the battlements of the
palace and was killed. Whereupon, in recognition of the chivalry and
courtesy of the Christian Champions, the nobles offered the Crown to one
of their number, and they with acclaim chose St. George of Merrie
England.
Thence the Christian host journeyed to Persia, where a fearsome battle
raged for seven days, during which two hundred thousand pagans were
slain, beside many who were drowned in attempting to escape. Thus they
were compelled to yield, the Emperor himself happening into the hands of
St. George, and six other viceroys into the hands of the six other
Champions.
And these were most mercifully and honourably entreated after they had
promised to govern Persia after Christian rules. Now the Emperor, having
a heart fraught with despite and tyranny, conspired against them, and
engaged a wicked wizard named Osmond to so beguile six of the Champions
that they gave up fighting, and lived an easy slothful life. But St.
George would not be beguiled; neither would he consent to the
enchantment of his brothers; and he so roused them that they never
sheathed their swords nor unlocked their armour till the wicked Emperor
and his viceroys were thrown into that very dungeon in which St. George
had languished for seven long years.
Whereupon St. George took upon himself the government of Persia, and
gave the six other Champions the six viceroyalties.
So, attired in a beautiful green robe, richly embroidered, over which
was flung a scarlet mantle bordered with white fur and decorated with
ornaments of pure gold, he took his seat on the throne which was
supported by elephants of translucent alabaster. And the Heralds at
arms, amid the shouting of the people, cried:
"Long live St. George of Merrie England, Emperor of Morocco, King of
Egypt, and Sultan of Persia!"
Now, after that he had established good and just laws to such effect
that innumerable companies of pagans flocked to become Christians, St.
George, leaving the Government in the hands of his trusted counsellors,
took truce with the world and returned to England, where, at Coventry,
he lived for many years with the Egyptian Princess Sâbia, who bore him
three stalwart sons. So here endeth the tale of St. George of Merrie
England, first and greatest of the Seven Champions.
THE STORY OF THE THREE BEARS
Once upon a time there were three Bears, who lived together in a house
of their own, in a wood. One of them was a Little Wee Bear, and one was
a Middle-sized Bear, and the other was a Great Big Bear. They had each a
bowl for their porridge; a little bowl for the Little Wee Bear; and a
middle-sized bowl for the Middle-sized Bear; and a great bowl for the
Great Big Bear. And they had each a chair to sit in; a little chair for
the Little Wee Bear; and a middle-sized chair for the Middle-sized Bear;
and a great chair for the Great Big Bear. And they had each a bed to
sleep in; a little bed for the Little Wee Bear; and a middle-sized bed
for the Middle-sized Bear; and a great bed for the Great Big Bear.
One day, after they had made the porridge for their breakfast, and
poured it into their porridge-bowls, they walked out into the wood while
the porridge was cooling, that they might not burn their mouths by
beginning too soon, for they were polite, well-brought-up Bears. And
while they were away a little girl called Goldilocks, who lived at the
other side of the wood and had been sent on an errand by her mother,
passed by the house, and looked in at the window. And then she peeped in
at the keyhole, for she was not at all a well-brought-up little girl.
Then seeing nobody in the house she lifted the latch. The door was not
fastened, because the Bears were good Bears, who did nobody any harm,
and never suspected that anybody would harm them. So Goldilocks opened
the door and went in; and well pleased was she when she saw the porridge
on the table. If she had been a well-brought-up little girl she would
have waited till the Bears came home, and then, perhaps, they would have
asked her to breakfast; for they were good Bears--a little rough or so,
as the manner of Bears is, but for all that very good-natured and
hospitable. But she was an impudent, rude little girl, and so she set
about helping herself.
First she tasted the porridge of the Great Big Bear, and that was too
hot for her. Next she tasted the porridge of the Middle-sized Bear, but
that was too cold for her. And then she went to the porridge of the
Little Wee Bear, and tasted it, and that was neither too hot nor too
cold, but just right, and she liked it so well that she ate it all up,
every bit!
Then Goldilocks, who was tired, for she had been catching butterflies
instead of running on her errand, sate down in the chair of the Great
Big Bear, but that was too hard for her. And then she sate down in the
chair of the Middle-sized Bear, and that was too soft for her. But when
she sat down in the chair of the Little Wee Bear, that was neither too
hard nor too soft, but just right. So she seated herself in it, and
there she sate till the bottom of the chair came out, and down she came,
plump upon the ground; and that made her very cross, for she was a
bad-tempered little girl.
Now, being determined to rest, Goldilocks went upstairs into the
bedchamber in which the Three Bears slept. And first she lay down upon
the bed of the Great Big Bear, but that was too high at the head for
her. And next she lay down upon the bed of the Middle-sized Bear, and
that was too high at the foot for her. And then she lay down upon the
bed of the Little Wee Bear, and that was neither too high at the head
nor at the foot, but just right. So she covered herself up comfortably,
and lay there till she fell fast asleep.
By this time the Three Bears thought their porridge would be cool enough
for them to eat it properly; so they came home to breakfast. Now
careless Goldilocks had left the spoon of the Great Big Bear standing in
his porridge.
"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN AT MY PORRIDGE!"
said the Great Big Bear in his great, rough, gruff voice.
Then the Middle-sized Bear looked at his porridge and saw the spoon was
standing in it too.
"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN AT MY PORRIDGE!"
said the Middle-sized Bear in his middle-sized voice.
Then the Little Wee Bear looked at his, and there was the spoon in the
porridge-bowl, but the porridge was all gone!
"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN AT MY PORRIDGE, AND HAS EATEN IT ALL UP!"
said the Little Wee Bear in his little wee voice.
Upon this the Three Bears, seeing that some one had entered their house,
and eaten up the Little Wee Bear's breakfast, began to look about them.
Now the careless Goldilocks had not put the hard cushion straight when
she rose from the chair of the Great Big Bear.
"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR!"
said the Great Big Bear in his great, rough, gruff voice.
And the careless Goldilocks had squatted down the soft cushion of the
Middle-sized Bear.
"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR!"
said the Middle-sized Bear in his middle-sized voice.
"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR, AND HAS SATE THE BOTTOM
THROUGH!"
said the Little Wee Bear in his little wee voice.
Then the Three Bears thought they had better make further search in case
it was a burglar, so they went upstairs into their bedchamber. Now
Goldilocks had pulled the pillow of the Great Big Bear out of its place.
"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING IN MY BED!"
said the Great Big Bear in his great, rough, gruff voice.
And Goldilocks had pulled the bolster of the Middle-sized Bear out of
its place.
"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING IN MY BED!"
said the Middle-sized Bear in his middle-sized voice.
But when the Little Wee Bear came to look at his bed, there was the
bolster in its place!
And the pillow was in its place upon the bolster!
And upon the pillow----?
There was Goldilocks's yellow head--which was not in its place, for she
had no business there.
"SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING IN MY BED,--AND HERE SHE IS STILL!"
said the Little Wee Bear in his little wee voice.
[Illustration: "Somebody has been lying in my bed,--and here she is!"]
Now Goldilocks had heard in her sleep the great, rough, gruff voice of
the Great Big Bear; but she was so fast asleep that it was no more to
her than the roaring of wind, or the rumbling of thunder. And she had
heard the middle-sized voice of the Middle-sized Bear, but it was only
as if she had heard some one speaking in a dream. But when she heard the
little wee voice of the Little Wee Bear, it was so sharp, and so shrill,
that it awakened her at once. Up she started, and when she saw the Three
Bears on one side of the bed, she tumbled herself out at the other, and
ran to the window. Now the window was open, because the Bears, like
good, tidy Bears, as they were, always opened their bedchamber window
when they got up in the morning. So naughty, frightened little
Goldilocks jumped; and whether she broke her neck in the fall, or ran
into the wood and was lost there, or found her way out of the wood and
got whipped for being a bad girl and playing truant, no one can say. But
the Three Bears never saw anything more of her.
[Illustration: "Somebody has been at my porridge, and has eaten it all
up!"]
TOM-TIT-TOT
Once upon a time there was a woman and she baked five pies. But when
they came out of the oven they were over-baked, and the crust was far
too hard to eat. So she said to her daughter:
"Daughter," says she, "put them pies on to the shelf and leave 'em there
awhile. Surely they'll come again in time."
By that, you know, she meant that they would become softer; but her
daughter said to herself, "If Mother says the pies will come again, why
shouldn't I eat these now?" So, having good, young teeth, she set to
work and ate the lot, first and last.
Now when supper-time came the woman said to her daughter, "Go you and
get one of the pies. They are sure to have come again by now."
Then the girl went and looked, but of course there was nothing but the
empty dishes.
So back she came and said, "No, Mother, they ain't come again."
"Not one o' them?" asked the mother, taken aback like.
"Not one o' them," says the daughter, quite confident.
"Well," says the mother, "come again, or not come again, I will have one
of them pies for my supper."
"But you can't," says the daughter. "How can you if they ain't come? And
they ain't, as sure's sure."
"But I can," says the mother, getting angry. "Go you at once, child, and
bring me the best on them. My teeth must just tackle it."
"Best or worst is all one," answered the daughter, quite sulky, "for
I've ate the lot, so you can't have one till it comes again--so there!"
Well, the mother she bounced up to see; but half an eye told her there
was nothing save the empty dishes; so she was dished up herself and done
for.
So, having no supper, she sate her down on the doorstep, and, bringing
out her distaff, began to spin. And as she span she sang:
"My daughter ha' ate five pies to-day,
My daughter ha' ate five pies to-day,
My daughter ha' ate five pies to-day,"
for, see you, she was quite flabbergasted and fair astonished.
Now the King of that country happened to be coming down the street, and
he heard the song going on and on, but could not quite make out the
words. So he stopped his horse, and asked:
"What is that you are singing, my good woman?"
[Illustration: "What is that you are singing, my good woman?"]
Now the mother, though horrified at her daughter's appetite, did not
want other folk, leastwise the King, to know about it, so she sang
instead:
"My daughter ha' spun five skeins to-day,
My daughter ha' spun five skeins to-day,
My daughter ha' spun five skeins to-day."
"Five skeins!" cried the King. "By my garter and my crown, I never heard
tell of any one who could do that! Look you here, I have been searching
for a maiden to wife, and your daughter who can spin five skeins a day
is the very one for me. Only, mind you, though for eleven months of the
year she shall be Queen indeed, and have all she likes to eat, all the
gowns she likes to get, all the company she likes to keep, and
everything her heart desires, in the twelfth month she must set to work
and spin five skeins a day, and if she does not she must die. Come! is
it a bargain?"
So the mother agreed. She thought what a grand marriage it was for her
daughter. And as for the five skeins? Time enough to bother about them
when the year came round. There was many a slip between cup and lip,
and, likely as not, the King would have forgotten all about it by then.
Anyhow, her daughter would be Queen for eleven months. So they were
married, and for eleven months the bride was happy as happy could be.
She had everything she liked to eat, and all the gowns she liked to get,
all the company she cared to keep, and everything her heart desired. And
her husband the King was kind as kind could be. But in the tenth month
she began to think of those five skeins and wonder if the King
remembered. And in the eleventh month she began to dream about them as
well. But ne'er a word did the King, her husband, say about them; so she
hoped he had forgotten.
But on the very last day of the eleventh month, the King, her husband,
led her into a room she had never set eyes on before. It had one window,
and there was nothing in it but a stool and a spinning-wheel.
"Now, my dear," he said quite kind like, "you will be shut in here
to-morrow morning with some victuals and some flax, and if by evening
you have not spun five skeins, your head will come off."
Well she was fair frightened, for she had always been such a gatless
thoughtless girl that she had never learnt to spin at all. So what she
was to do on the morrow she could not tell; for, see you, she had no one
to help her; for, of course, now she was Queen, her mother didn't live
nigh her. So she just locked the door of her room, sat down on a stool,
and cried and cried and cried until her pretty eyes were all red.
Now as she sate sobbing and crying she heard a queer little noise at the
bottom of the door. At first she thought it was a mouse. Then she
thought it must be something knocking.
So she upped and opened the door and what did she see? Why! a small,
little, black Thing with a long tail that whisked round and round ever
so fast.
"What are you crying for?" said that Thing, making a bow, and twirling
its tail so fast that she could scarcely see it.
"What's that to you?" said she, shrinking a bit, for that Thing was very
queer like.
"Don't look at my tail if you're frightened," says That, smirking. "Look
at my toes. Ain't they beautiful?"
And sure enough That had on buckled shoes with high heels and big bows,
ever so smart.
[Illustration: A small, little, black Thing with a long tail]
So she kind of forgot about the tail, and wasn't so frightened, and
when That asked her again why she was crying, she upped and said, "It
won't do no good if I do."
"You don't know that," says That, twirling its tail faster and faster,
and sticking out its toes. "Come, tell me, there's a good girl."
"Well," says she, "it can't do any harm if it doesn't do good." So she
dried her pretty eyes and told That all about the pies, and the skeins,
and everything from first to last.
And then that little, black Thing nearly burst with laughing. "If that
is all, it's easy mended!" it says. "I'll come to your window every
morning, take the flax, and bring it back spun into five skeins at
night. Come! shall it be a bargain?"
Now she, for all she was so gatless and thoughtless, said, cautious
like:
"But what is your pay?"
Then That twirled its tail so fast you couldn't see it, and stuck out
its beautiful toes, and smirked and looked out of the corners of its
eyes. "I will give you three guesses every night to guess my name, and
if you haven't guessed it before the month is up, why"--and That twirled
its tail faster and stuck out its toes further, and smirked and
sniggered more than ever--"you shall be mine, my beauty."
Three guesses every night for a whole month! She felt sure she would be
able for so much; and there was no other way out of the business, so she
just said, "Yes! I agree!"
And lor! how That twirled its tail, and bowed, and smirked, and stuck
out its beautiful toes.
Well, the very next day her husband led her to the strange room again,
and there was the day's food, and a spinning-wheel and a great bundle of
flax.
"There you are, my dear," says he as polite as polite. "And remember! if
there are not five whole skeins to-night, I fear your head will come
off!"
At that she began to tremble, and after he had gone away and locked the
door, she was just thinking of a good cry, when she heard a queer
knocking at the window. She upped at once and opened it, and sure enough
there was the small, little, black Thing sitting on the window-ledge,
dangling its beautiful toes and twirling its tail so that you could
scarcely see it.
"Good-morning, my beauty," says That. "Come! hand over the flax, sharp,
there's a good girl."
So she gave That the flax and shut the window and, you may be sure, ate
her victuals, for, as you know, she had a good appetite, and the King,
her husband, had promised to give her everything she liked to eat. So
she ate to her heart's content, and when evening came and she heard that
queer knocking at the window again, she upped and opened it, and there
was the small, little, black Thing with five spun skeins on his arm!
And it twirled its tail faster than ever, and stuck out its beautiful
toes, and bowed and smirked and gave her the five skeins.
Then That said, "And now, my beauty, what is That's name?"
And she answered quite easy like:
"That is Bill."
"No, it ain't," says That, and twirled its tail.
"Then That is Ned," says she.
"No, it ain't," says That, and twirled its tail faster.
"Well," says she a bit more thoughtful, "That is Mark."
"No, it ain't," says That, and laughs and laughs and laughs, and twirls
its tail so as you couldn't see it, as away it flew.
Well, when the King, her husband, came in, he was fine and pleased to
see the five skeins all ready for him, for he was fond of his pretty
wife.
"I shall not have to order your head off, my dear," says he. "And I hope
all the other days will pass as happily." Then he said good-night and
locked the door and left her.
But next morning they brought her fresh flax and even more delicious
foods. And the small, little, black Thing came knocking at the window
and stuck out its beautiful toes and twirled its tail faster and faster,
and took away the bundle of flax and brought it back all spun into five
skeins by evening.
Then That made her guess three times what That's name was; but she could
not guess right, and That laughed and laughed and laughed as it flew
away.
Now every morning and evening the same thing happened, and every evening
she had her three guesses; but she never guessed right. And every day
the small, little, black Thing laughed louder and louder and smirked
more and more, and looked at her quite maliceful out of the corners of
its eyes until she began to get frightened, and instead of eating all
the fine foods left for her, spent the day in trying to think of names
to say. But she never hit upon the right one.
So it came to the last day of the month but one, and when the small,
little, black Thing arrived in the evening with the five skeins of flax
all ready spun, it could hardly say for smirking:
"Ain't you got That's name yet?"
So says she--for she had been reading her Bible:
"Is That Nicodemus?"
"No, it ain't," says That, and twirled its tail faster than you could
see.
"Is That Samuel?" says she all of a flutter.
"No, it ain't, my beauty," chuckles That, looking maliceful.
"Well--is That Methuselah?" says she, inclined to cry.
Then That just fixes her with eyes like a coal a-fire, and says, "No, it
ain't that neither, so there is only to-morrow night and then you'll be
mine, my beauty."
And away the small, little, black Thing flew, its tail twirling and
whisking so fast that you couldn't see it.
Well, she felt so bad she couldn't even cry; but she heard the King, her
husband, coming to the door, so she made bold to be cheerful, and tried
to smile when he said, "Well done, wife! Five skeins again! I shall not
have to order your head off after all, my dear, of that I'm quite sure,
so let us enjoy ourselves." Then he bade the servants bring supper, and
a stool for him to sit beside his Queen, and down they sat, lover-like,
side by side.
But the poor Queen could eat nothing; she could not forget the small,
little, black Thing. And the King hadn't eaten but a mouthful or two
when he began to laugh, and he laughed so long and so loud that at last
the poor Queen, all lackadaisical as she was, said:
"Why do you laugh so?"
"At something I saw to-day, my love," says the King. "I was out
a-hunting, and by chance I came to a place I'd never been in before. It
was in a wood, and there was an old chalk-pit there, and out of the
chalk-pit there came a queer kind of a sort of a humming, humming noise.
So I got off my hobby to see what made it, and went quite quiet to the
edge of the pit and looked down. And what do you think I saw? The
funniest, queerest, smallest, little, black Thing you ever set eyes
upon. And it had a little spinning-wheel and it was spinning away for
dear life, but the wheel didn't go so fast as its tail, and that span
round and round--_ho-ho-ha-ha!_--you never saw the like. And its little
feet had buckled shoes and bows on them, and they went up and down in a
desperate hurry. And all the time that small, little, black Thing kept
bumming and booming away at these words:
"Name me, name me not,
Who'll guess it's Tom-Tit-Tot."
Well, when she heard these words the Queen nearly jumped out of her
skin for joy; but she managed to say nothing, but ate her supper quite
comfortably.
And she said no word when next morning the small, little, black Thing
came for the flax, though it looked so gleeful and maliceful that she
could hardly help laughing, knowing she had got the better of it. And
when night came and she heard that knocking against the window-panes,
she put on a wry face, and opened the window slowly as if she was
afraid. But that Thing was as bold as brass and came right inside,
grinning from ear to ear. And oh, my goodness! how That's tail was
twirling and whisking!
"Well, my beauty," says That, giving her the five skeins all ready spun,
"what's my name?"
Then she put down her lip, and says, tearful like,
"Is--is--That--Solomon?"
"No, it ain't," laughs That, smirking out of the corner of That's eye.
And the small, little, black Thing came further into the room.
So she tried again--and this time she seemed hardly able to speak for
fright.
"Well--is That--Zebedee?" she says.
"No, it ain't," cried the impet, full of glee. And it came quite close
and stretched out its little black hands to her, and O-oh, ITS
TAIL...!!!
"Take time, my beauty," says That, sort of jeering like, and its small,
little, black eyes seemed to eat her up. "Take time! Remember! next
guess and you're mine!" Well, she backed just a wee bit from it, for it
was just horrible to look at; but then she laughed out and pointed her
finger at it and said, says she:
"Name me, name me not,
_Your_ name is
_Tom_
TIT
_TOT_."
And you never heard such a shriek as that small, little, black Thing
gave out. Its tail dropped down straight, its feet all crumpled up, and
away That flew into the dark, and she never saw it no more.
And she lived happy ever after with her husband, the King.
[Illustration: Away That flew into the dark, and she never saw it no
more]
THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX
Once upon a time, and a very good time too, though it was not in my
time, nor your time, nor for the matter of that in any one's time, there
lived a man and a woman who had one son called Jack, and he was just
terribly fond of reading books. He read, and he read, and then, because
his parents lived in a lonely house in a lonely forest and he never saw
any other folk but his father and his mother, he became quite crazy to
go out into the world and see charming princesses and the like.
So one day he told his mother he must be off, and she called him an
air-brained addle-pate, but added that, as he was no use at home, he had
better go seek his fortune. Then she asked him if he would rather take a
small cake with her blessing to eat on his journey, or a large cake with
her curse? Now Jack was a very hungry lad, so he just up and said:
"A big cake, if you please, 'm."
So his mother made a great big cake, and when he started she just off to
the top of the house and cast malisons on him, till he got out of
sight. You see she had to do it, but after that she sate down and cried.