saying she was too tired with cleaning pots and scraping saucepans. And
once more when she heard the fiddlers fiddling she said to herself, "I
must have one dance--just one with the young master: he dances so
beautifully." For she felt certain he would dance with her.
And sure enough, when she had upped and offed with her cap and robe of
rushes, there he was at the door waiting for her to come; for he had
determined to dance with no one else.
So he took her by the hand, and they danced down the ball-room. It was a
sight of all sights! Never were such dancers! So young, so handsome, so
fine, so gay!
But once again Caporushes kept her own counsel and just slipped away on
some excuse in time, so that when her fellow-servants came to their beds
they found her in hers, pretending to be fast asleep; but her cheeks
were all flushed and her breath came fast. So they said, "She is
dreaming. We hope her dreams are happy."
But next morning they were full of what she had missed. Never was such a
beautiful young gentleman as young master! Never was such a beautiful
young lady! Never was such beautiful dancing! Every one else had stopped
theirs to look on.
And Caporushes, with a twinkle in her eyes, said, "I should like to see
her; but I'm _sure_ I never shall!"
"Oh yes!" they replied. "If you come to-night you're sure to see her;
for young master has ordered another ball in hopes the beautiful
stranger will come again; for it's easy to see he is madly in love with
her."
Then Caporushes told herself she would not dance again, since it was not
fit for a gay young master to be in love with his scullery-maid; but,
alas! the moment she heard the fiddlers fiddling, she just upped and
offed with her rushes, and there she was fine and tidy as ever! She
didn't even have to brush her beautiful golden hair! And once again she
was in the ball-room in a trice, dancing away with young master, who
never took his eyes off her, and implored her to tell him who she was.
But she kept her own counsel and only told him that she never, never,
never would come to dance any more, and that he must say good-bye. And
he held her hand so fast that she had a job to get away, and lo and
behold! his ring came off his finger, and as she ran up to her bed there
it was in her hand! She had just time to put on her cap and robe of
rushes, when her fellow-servants came trooping in and found her awake.
"It was the noise you made coming upstairs," she made excuse; but they
said, "Not we! It is the whole place that is in an uproar searching for
the beautiful stranger. Young master he tried to detain her; but she
slipped from him like an eel. But he declares he will find her; for if
he doesn't he will die of love for her."
Then Caporushes laughed. "Young men don't die of love," says she. "He
will find some one else."
But he didn't. He spent his whole time looking for his beautiful dancer,
but go where he might, and ask whom he would, he never heard anything
about her. And day by day he grew thinner and thinner, and paler and
paler, until at last he took to his bed.
And the housekeeper came to the cook and said, "Cook the nicest dinner
you can cook, for young master eats nothing."
Then the cook prepared soups, and jellies, and creams, and roast
chicken, and bread sauce; but the young man would none of them.
And Caporushes cleaned the pots and scraped the saucepans and said
nothing.
Then the housekeeper came crying and said to the cook, "Prepare some
gruel for young master. Mayhap he'd take that. If not he will die for
love of the beautiful dancer. If she could see him now she would have
pity on him."
So the cook began to make the gruel, and Caporushes left scraping
saucepans and watched her.
"Let me stir it," she said, "while you fetch a cup from the
pantry-room."
So Caporushes stirred the gruel, and what did she do but slips young
master's ring into it before the cook came back!
Then the butler took the cup upstairs on a silver salver. But when the
young master saw it he waved it away, till the butler with tears begged
him just to taste it.
So the young master took a silver spoon and stirred the gruel; and he
felt something hard at the bottom of the cup. And when he fished it up,
lo! it was his own ring! Then he sate up in bed and said quite loud,
"Send for the cook!" And when she came he asked her who made the gruel.
"I did," she said, for she was half-pleased and half-frightened.
Then he looked at her all over and said, "No, you didn't! You're too
stout! Tell me who made it and you shan't be harmed!"
Then the cook began to cry. "If you please, sir, I _did_ make it; but
Caporushes stirred it."
"And who is Caporushes?" asked the young man.
"If you please, sir, Caporushes is the scullion," whimpered the cook.
Then the young man sighed and fell back on his pillow. "Send Caporushes
here," he said in a faint voice; for he really was very near dying.
And when Caporushes came he just looked at her cap and her robe of
rushes and turned his face to the wall; but he asked her in a weak
little voice, "From whom did you get that ring?"
Now when Caporushes saw the poor young man so weak and worn with love
for her, her heart melted, and she replied softly:
"From him that gave it me," quoth she, and offed with her cap and robe
of rushes, and there she was as fine and tidy as ever with her beautiful
golden hair all silvered over with pearls.
And the young man caught sight of her with the tail of his eye, and sate
up in bed as strong as may be, and drew her to him and gave her a great
big kiss.
So, of course, they were to be married in spite of her being only a
scullery-maid, for she told no one who she was. Now every one far and
near was asked to the wedding. Amongst the invited guests was
Caporushes' father, who, from grief at losing his favourite daughter,
had lost his sight, and was very dull and miserable. However, as a
friend of the family, he had to come to the young master's wedding.
Now the marriage feast was to be the finest ever seen; but Caporushes
went to her friend the cook and said:
"Dress every dish without one mite of salt."
"That'll be rare and nasty," replied the cook; but because she prided
herself on having let Caporushes stir the gruel and so saved the young
master's life, she did as she was asked, and dressed every dish for the
wedding breakfast without one mite of salt.
Now when the company sate down to table their faces were full of smiles
and content, for all the dishes looked so nice and tasty; but no sooner
had the guests begun to eat than their faces fell; for nothing can be
tasty without salt.
Then Caporushes' blind father, whom his daughter had seated next to her,
burst out crying.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
Then the old man sobbed, "I had a daughter whom I loved dearly, dearly.
And I asked her how much she loved me, and she replied, 'As fresh meat
loves salt.' And I was angry with her and turned her out of house and
home, for I thought she didn't love me at all. But now I see she loved
me best of all."
And as he said the words his eyes were opened, and there beside him was
his daughter lovelier than ever.
And she gave him one hand, and her husband, the young master, the other,
and laughed saying, "I love you both as fresh meat loves salt." And
after that they were all happy for evermore.
[Illustration: She sate down and plaited herself an overall of rushes
and a cap to match]
THE BABES IN THE WOOD
Now ponder well, you parents dear,
These words which I shall write;
A doleful story you shall hear,
In time brought forth to light.
A gentleman of good account
In Norfolk dwelt of late,
Who did in honour far surmount
Most men of his estate.
Sore sick he was and like to die,
No help his life could save;
His wife by him as sick did lie,
And both possest one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kind;
In love they lived, in love they died,
And left two babes behind:
The one a fine and pretty boy
Not passing three years old,
The other a girl more young than he,
And framed in beauty's mould.
The father left his little son,
As plainly did appear,
When he to perfect age should come,
Three hundred pounds a year;
And to his little daughter Jane
Five hundred pounds in gold,
To be paid down on marriage-day,
Which might not be controlled.
But if the children chanced to die
Ere they to age should come,
Their uncle should possess their wealth;
For so the will did run.
"Now, brother," said the dying man,
"Look to my children dear;
Be good unto my boy and girl,
No friends else have they here;
To God and you I recommend
My children dear this day;
But little while be sure we have
Within this world to stay.
"You must be father and mother both,
And uncle, all in one;
God knows what will become of them
When I am dead and gone."
With that bespake their mother dear:
"O brother kind," quoth she,
"You are the man must bring our babes
To wealth or misery.
"And if you keep them carefully,
Then God will you reward;
But if you otherwise should deal,
God will your deeds regard."
With lips as cold as any stone,
They kissed their children small:
"God bless you both, my children dear!"
With that the tears did fall.
These speeches then their brother spake
To this sick couple there:
"The keeping of your little ones,
Sweet sister, do not fear;
God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children dear
When you are laid in grave!"
The parents being dead and gone,
The children home he takes,
And brings them straight unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a day,
But, for their wealth, he did devise
To make them both away.
He bargained with two ruffians strong,
Which were of furious mood,
That they should take these children young.
And slay them in a wood.
He told his wife an artful tale
He would the children send
To be brought up in London town
With one that was his friend.
Away then went those pretty babes,
Rejoicing at that tide,
Rejoicing with a merry mind
They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly,
As they ride on the way,
To those that should their butchers be
And work their lives' decay:
So that the pretty speech they had
Made Murder's heart relent;
And they that undertook the deed
Full sore now did repent.
Yet one of them, more hard of heart,
Did vow to do his charge,
Because the wretch that hired him
Had paid him very large.
The other won't agree thereto,
So there they fall to strife;
With one another they did fight
About the children's life;
And he that was of mildest mood
Did slay the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;
The babes did quake for fear!
He took the children by the hand,
Tears standing in their eye,
And bade them straightway follow him,
And look they did not cry;
And two long miles he led them on,
While they for food complain:
"Stay here," quoth he, "I'll bring you bread,
When I come back again."
These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
Went wandering up and down;
But never more could see the man
Approaching from the town.
Their pretty lips with blackberries
Were all besmeared and dyed;
And when they saw the darksome night,
They sat them down and cried.
Thus wandered these poor innocents,
Till death did end their grief;
In one another's arms they died,
As wanting due relief:
No burial this pretty pair
From any man receives,
Till Robin Redbreast piously
Did cover them with leaves.
And now the heavy wrath of God
Upon their uncle fell;
Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell:
His barns were fired, his goods consumed,
His lands were barren made,
His cattle died within the field,
And nothing with him stayed.
And in a voyage to Portugal
Two of his sons did die;
And to conclude, himself was brought
To want and misery:
He pawned and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven years came about.
And now at last this wicked act
Did by this means come out.
The fellow that did take in hand
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judged to die,
Such was God's blessed will:
Who did confess the very truth,
As here hath been displayed:
The uncle having died in jail,
Where he for debt was laid.
You that executors be made,
And overseers eke,
Of children that be fatherless,
And infants mild and meek,
Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right,
Lest God with suchlike misery
Your wicked minds requite.
THE RED ETTIN
There was once a widow that lived on a small bit of ground, which she
rented from a farmer. And she had two sons; and by and by it was time
for the wife to send them away to seek their fortune. So she told her
eldest son one day to take a can and bring her water from the well, that
she might bake a cake for him; and however much or however little water
he might bring, the cake would be great or small accordingly, and that
cake was to be all that she could give him when he went on his travels.
The lad went away with the can to the well, and filled it with water,
and then came away home again; but the can being broken, the most part
of the water had run out before he got back. So his cake was very small;
yet small as it was, his mother asked him if he was willing to take the
half of it with her blessing, telling him that, if he chose rather to
take the whole, he would only get it with her curse. The young man,
thinking he might have to travel a far way, and not knowing when or how
he might get other provisions, said he would like to have the whole
cake, come of his mother's malison what might; so she gave him the
whole cake, and her malison along with it. Then he took his brother
aside, and gave him a knife to keep till he should come back, desiring
him to look at it every morning, and as long as it continued to be
clear, then he might be sure that the owner of it was well; but if it
grew dim and rusty, then for certain some ill had befallen him.
So the young man went to seek his fortune. And he went all that day, and
all the next day; and on the third day, in the afternoon, he came up to
where a shepherd was sitting with a flock of sheep. And he went up to
the shepherd and asked him to whom the sheep belonged; and he answered:
"To the Red Ettin of Ireland
Who lives in Ballygan,
He stole King Malcolm's daughter,
The king of fair Scotland.
He beats her, he binds her,
He lays her on a hand;
And every day he strikes her
With a bright silver wand.
'Tis said there's one predestinate
To be his mortal foe;
But sure that man is yet unborn,
And long may it be so!"
After this the shepherd told him to beware of the beasts he should next
meet, for they were of a very different kind from any he had yet seen.
So the young man went on, and by and by he saw a multitude of very
dreadful, terrible, horrible beasts, with two heads, and on every head
four horns! And he was sore frightened, and ran away from them as fast
as he could; and glad was he when he came to a castle that stood on a
hillock, with the door standing wide open to the wall. And he went in to
the castle for shelter, and there he saw an old wife sitting beside the
kitchen fire. He asked the wife if he might stay for the night, as he
was tired with a long journey; and the wife said he might, but it was
not a good place for him to be in, as it belonged to the Red Ettin, who
was a very terrible monster with three heads, who spared no living man
it could get hold of. The young man would have gone away, but he was
afraid of the two-headed four-horned beasts outside; so he beseeched the
old woman to hide him as best she could, and not tell the Ettin he was
there. He thought, if he could put over the night, he might get away in
the morning, without meeting with the dreadful, terrible, horrible
beasts, and so escape.
But he had not been long in his hiding-hole, before the awful Ettin came
in; and no sooner was he in, than he was heard crying:
"Snouk but! and snouk ben!
I find the smell of an earthly man;
Be he living, or be he dead,
His heart this night shall kitchen my bread."
Well, the monster began to search about, and he soon found the poor
young man, and pulled him from his hiding-place. And when he had got him
out, he told him that if he could answer him three questions his life
should be spared.
So the first head asked: "A thing without an end; what's that?"
But the young man knew not.
Then the second head said: "The smaller the more dangerous; what's
that?"
But the young man knew not.
And then the third head asked: "The dead carrying the living? riddle me
that."
But the young man knew not.
So the lad not being able to answer one of these questions, the Red
Ettin took a mallet from behind the door, knocked him on the head, and
turned him into a pillar of stone.
Now on the morning after this happened the younger brother took out the
knife to look at it, and he was grieved to find it all brown with rust.
So he told his mother that the time was now come for him to go away upon
his travels also. At first she refused to let him go; but at last she
requested him to take the can to the well for water, that she might make
a cake for him. So he went, but as he was bringing home the water, a
raven over his head cried to him to look, and he would see that the
water was running out. Now being a young man of sense, and seeing the
water running out, he took some clay and patched up the holes, so that
he brought home enough water to bake a large cake. And when his mother
put it to him to take the half cake with her blessing, he took it
instead of having the whole with her malison.
So he went away on his journey with his mother's blessing. Now after he
had travelled a far way, he met with an old woman who asked him if he
would give her a bit of his cake. And he said, "I will gladly do that";
so he gave her a piece of the cake. Then the old woman, who was a fairy,
gave him a magic wand, that might yet be of service to him, if he took
care to use it rightly; and she told him a great deal that would happen
to him, and what he ought to do in all circumstances; and after that,
she vanished in an instant, out of his sight. Then he went on his way
until he came up to the old man who was herding the sheep; and when he
asked him to whom the sheep belonged, the answer was:
"To the Red Ettin of Ireland
Who lives in Ballygan,
He stole King Malcolm's daughter,
The king of fair Scotland.
He beats her, he binds her,
He lays her on a band;
And every day he strikes her
With a bright silver wand.
But now I fear his end is near,
And death is close at hand;
For you're to be, I plainly see,
The heir of all his land."
So the younger brother went on his way; but when he came to the place
where the dreadful, terrible, horrible beasts were standing, he did not
stop nor run away, but went boldly through amongst them. One came up
roaring with open mouth to devour him, when he struck it with his wand,
and laid it in an instant dead at his feet. He soon came to the Ettin's
castle, where he found the door shut, but he knocked boldly, and was
admitted. Then the old woman who sat by the fire warned him of the
terrible Ettin, and what had been the fate of his brother; but he was
not to be daunted, and would not even hide.
Then by and by the monster came in, crying as before:
"Snouk but! and snouk ben!
I find the smell of an earthly man;
Be he living, or be he dead,
His heart this night shall kitchen my bread."
Well, he quickly espied the young man, and bade him stand forth on the
floor, and told him that if he could answer three questions his life
would be spared.
So the first head asked: "What's the thing without an end?"
Now the younger brother had been told by the fairy to whom he had given
a piece of his cake what he ought to say; so he answered:
"A bowl."
Then the first head frowned, but the second head asked:
"The smaller the more dangerous; what's that?"
"A bridge," says the younger brother, quite fast.
Then the first and the second heads frowned, but the third head asked:
"When does the dead carry the living? riddle me that."
At this the young man answered up at once and said:
"When a ship sails on the sea with men inside her."
When the Red Ettin found all his riddles answered, he knew that his
power was gone, so he tried to escape, but the young man took up an axe
and hewed off the monster's three heads. Then he asked the old woman to
show him where the king's daughter lay; and the old woman took him
upstairs, and opened a great many doors, and out of every door came a
beautiful lady who had been imprisoned there by the Red Ettin; and last
of all the ladies was the king's daughter. Then the old woman took him
down into a low room, and there stood a stone pillar; but he had only to
touch it with his wand, and his brother started into life.
So the whole of the prisoners were overjoyed at their deliverance, for
which they thanked the younger brother again and again. Next day they
all set out for the king's court, and a gallant company they made. Then
the king married his daughter to the young man who had delivered her,
and gave a noble's daughter to his brother.
So they all lived happily all the rest of their days.
THE FISH AND THE RING
Once upon a time there lived a Baron who was a great magician, and could
tell by his arts and charms everything that was going to happen at any
time.
Now this great lord had a little son born to him as heir to all his
castles and lands. So, when the little lad was about four years old,
wishing to know what his fortune would be, the Baron looked in his Book
of Fate to see what it foretold.
And, lo and behold! it was written that this much-loved, much-prized
heir to all the great lands and castles was to marry a low-born maiden.
So the Baron was dismayed, and set to work by more arts and charms to
discover if this maiden were already born, and if so, where she lived.
And he found out that she had just been born in a very poor house, where
the poor parents were already burdened with five children.
So he called for his horse and rode away, and away, until he came to the
poor man's house, and there he found the poor man sitting at his
doorstep very sad and doleful.
"What is the matter, my friend?" asked he; and the poor man replied:
"May it please your honour, a little lass has just been born to our
house; and we have five children already, and where the bread is to come
from to fill the sixth mouth, we know not."
"If that be all your trouble," quoth the Baron readily, "mayhap I can
help you: so don't be down-hearted. I am just looking for such a little
lass to companion my son, so, if you will, I will give you ten crowns
for her."
Well! the man he nigh jumped for joy, since he was to get good money,
and his daughter, so he thought, a good home. Therefore he brought out
the child then and there, and the Baron, wrapping the babe in his cloak,
rode away. But when he got to the river he flung the little thing into
the swollen stream, and said to himself as he galloped back to his
castle:
"There goes Fate!"
But, you see, he was just sore mistaken. For the little lass didn't
sink. The stream was very swift, and her long clothes kept her up till
she caught in a snag just opposite a fisherman, who was mending his
nets.
Now the fisherman and his wife had no children, and they were just
longing for a baby; so when the goodman saw the little lass he was
overcome with joy, and took her home to his wife, who received her with
open arms.
And there she grew up, the apple of their eyes, into the most beautiful
maiden that ever was seen.
Now, when she was about fifteen years of age, it so happened that the
Baron and his friends went a-hunting along the banks of the river and
stopped to get a drink of water at the fisherman's hut. And who should
bring the water out but, as they thought, the fisherman's daughter.
Now the young men of the party noticed her beauty, and one of them said
to the Baron, "She should marry well; read us her fate, since you are so
learned in the art."
Then the Baron, scarce looking at her, said carelessly: "I could guess
her fate! Some wretched yokel or other. But, to please you, I will cast
her horoscope by the stars; so tell me, girl, what day you were born?"
"That I cannot tell, sir," replied the girl, "for I was picked up in the
river about fifteen years ago."
Then the Baron grew pale, for he guessed at once that she was the little
lass he had flung into the stream, and that Fate had been stronger than
he was. But he kept his own counsel and said nothing at the time.
Afterwards, however, he thought out a plan, so he rode back and gave the
girl a letter.
"See you!" he said. "I will make your fortune. Take this letter to my
brother, who needs a good girl, and you will be settled for life."
Now the fisherman and his wife were growing old and needed help; so the
girl said she would go, and took the letter.
And the Baron rode back to his castle saying to himself once more:
"There goes Fate!"
For what he had written in the letter was this:
"DEAR BROTHER,
"Take the bearer and put her to death immediately."