the earth trembled, the sky thundered, and with a great hissing
whistling sound a monster dragon flew out of the cavern. It was the old
king serpent whose seven years were up and who was now become a flying
dragon. From his huge mouth he breathed out fire and smoke. With his
long tail he swished right and left among the forest trees and these
snapped and broke like little twigs.
The wizard, still mumbling from his book, handed Batcha a bridle.
"Throw this around his neck!" he commanded.
Batcha took the bridle but was too terrified to act. The wizard spoke
again and Batcha made one uncertain step in the dragon's direction.
He lifted his arm to throw the bridle over the dragon's head, when the
dragon suddenly turned on him, swooped under him, and before Batcha
knew what was happening he found himself on the dragon's back and he
felt himself being lifted up, up, up, above the tops of the forest trees,
above the very mountains themselves.
[Illustration: _On, on, they went, whizzing through the stars of
heaven_]
For a moment the sky was so dark that only the fire, spurting from the
dragon's eyes and mouth, lighted them on their way.
The dragon lashed this way and that in fury, he belched forth great
floods of boiling water, he hissed, he roared, until Batcha, clinging to
his back, was half dead with fright.
Then gradually his anger cooled. He ceased belching forth boiling water,
he stopped breathing fire, his hisses grew less terrifying.
"Thank God!" Batcha gasped. "Perhaps now he'll sink to earth and let me
go."
But the dragon was not yet finished with punishing Batcha for breaking
his oath. He rose still higher until the mountains of the earth looked
like tiny ant-hills, still up until even these had disappeared. On, on
they went, whizzing through the stars of heaven.
At last the dragon stopped flying and hung motionless in the firmament.
To Batcha this was even more terrifying than moving.
"What shall I do? What shall I do?" he wept in agony. "If I jump down to
earth I'll kill myself and I can't fly on up to heaven! Oh, dragon,
have mercy on me! Fly back to earth and let me go and I swear before God
that never again until death will I offend you!"
Batcha's pleading would have moved a stone to pity but the dragon, with
an angry shake of his tail, only hardened his heart.
Suddenly Batcha heard the sweet voice of the skylark that was mounting
to heaven.
"Skylark!" he called. "Dear skylark, bird that God loves, help me, for I
am in great trouble! Fly up to heaven and tell God Almighty that Batcha,
the shepherd, is hung in midair on a dragon's back. Tell Him that Batcha
praises Him forever and begs Him to deliver him."
The skylark carried this message to heaven and God Almighty, pitying the
poor shepherd, took some birch leaves and wrote on them in letters of
gold. He put them in the skylark's bill and told the skylark to drop
them on the dragon's head.
So the skylark returned from heaven and, hovering over Batcha, dropped
the birch leaves on the dragon's head.
The dragon instantly sank to earth, so fast that Batcha lost
consciousness.
When he came to himself he was sitting before his own hut. He looked
about him. The dragon's cliff had disappeared. Otherwise everything was
the same.
It was late afternoon and Dunay, the dog, was driving home the sheep.
There was a woman coming up the mountain path.
Batcha heaved a great sigh.
"Thank God I'm back!" he said to himself. "How fine it is to hear
Dunay's bark! And here comes my wife, God bless her! She'll scold me, I
know, but even if she does, how glad I am to see her!"
CLEVER MANKA
THE STORY OF A GIRL WHO KNEW WHAT TO SAY
[Illustration]
CLEVER MANKA
There was once a rich farmer who was as grasping and unscrupulous as he
was rich. He was always driving a hard bargain and always getting the
better of his poor neighbors. One of these neighbors was a humble
shepherd who in return for service was to receive from the farmer a
heifer. When the time of payment came the farmer refused to give the
shepherd the heifer and the shepherd was forced to lay the matter before
the burgomaster.
The burgomaster, who was a young man and as yet not very experienced,
listened to both sides and when he had deliberated he said:
"Instead of deciding this case, I will put a riddle to you both and the
man who makes the best answer shall have the heifer. Are you agreed?"
The farmer and the shepherd accepted this proposal and the burgomaster
said:
"Well then, here is my riddle: What is the swiftest thing in the world?
What is the sweetest thing? What is the richest? Think out your answers
and bring them to me at this same hour tomorrow."
The farmer went home in a temper.
"What kind of a burgomaster is this young fellow!" he growled. "If he
had let me keep the heifer I'd have sent him a bushel of pears. But now
I'm in a fair way of losing the heifer for I can't think of any answer
to his foolish riddle."
"What is the matter, husband?" his wife asked.
"It's that new burgomaster. The old one would have given me the heifer
without any argument, but this young man thinks to decide the case by
asking us riddles."
When he told his wife what the riddle was, she cheered him greatly by
telling him that she knew the answers at once.
"Why, husband," said she, "our gray mare must be the swiftest thing in
the world. You know yourself nothing ever passes us on the road. As for
the sweetest, did you ever taste honey any sweeter than ours? And I'm
sure there's nothing richer than our chest of golden ducats that we've
been laying by these forty years."
The farmer was delighted.
"You're right, wife, you're right! That heifer remains ours!"
The shepherd when he got home was downcast and sad. He had a daughter,
a clever girl named Manka, who met him at the door of his cottage and
asked:
"What is it, father? What did the burgomaster say?"
The shepherd sighed.
"I'm afraid I've lost the heifer. The burgomaster set us a riddle and I
know I shall never guess it."
"Perhaps I can help you," Manka said. "What is it?"
So the shepherd gave her the riddle and the next day as he was setting
out for the burgomaster's, Manka told him what answers to make.
When he reached the burgomaster's house, the farmer was already there
rubbing his hands and beaming with self-importance.
The burgomaster again propounded the riddle and then asked the farmer
his answers.
The farmer cleared his throat and with a pompous air began:
"The swiftest thing in the world? Why, my dear sir, that's my gray mare,
of course, for no other horse ever passes us on the road. The sweetest?
Honey from my beehives, to be sure. The richest? What can be richer than
my chest of golden ducats!"
And the farmer squared his shoulders and smiled triumphantly.
"H'm," said the young burgomaster, dryly. Then he asked:
"What answers does the shepherd make?"
The shepherd bowed politely and said:
"The swiftest thing in the world is thought for thought can run any
distance in the twinkling of an eye. The sweetest thing of all is sleep
for when a man is tired and sad what can be sweeter? The richest thing
is the earth for out of the earth come all the riches of the world."
"Good!" the burgomaster cried. "Good! The heifer goes to the shepherd!"
Later the burgomaster said to the shepherd:
"Tell me, now, who gave you those answers? I'm sure they never came out
of your own head."
At first the shepherd tried not to tell, but when the burgomaster
pressed him he confessed that they came from his daughter, Manka. The
burgomaster, who thought he would like to make another test of Manka's
cleverness, sent for ten eggs. He gave them to the shepherd and said:
"Take these eggs to Manka and tell her to have them hatched out by
tomorrow and to bring me the chicks."
When the shepherd reached home and gave Manka the burgomaster's message,
Manka laughed and said: "Take a handful of millet and go right back to
the burgomaster. Say to him: 'My daughter sends you this millet. She
says that if you plant it, grow it, and have it harvested by tomorrow,
she'll bring you the ten chicks and you can feed them the ripe grain.'"
When the burgomaster heard this, he laughed heartily.
"That's a clever girl of yours," he told the shepherd. "If she's as
comely as she is clever, I think I'd like to marry her. Tell her to come
to see me, but she must come neither by day nor by night, neither riding
nor walking, neither dressed nor undressed."
When Manka received this message she waited until the next dawn when
night was gone and day not yet arrived. Then she wrapped herself in a
fishnet and, throwing one leg over a goat's back and keeping one foot on
the ground, she went to the burgomaster's house.
Now I ask you: did she go dressed? No, she wasn't dressed. A fishnet
isn't clothing. Did she go undressed? Of course not, for wasn't she
covered with a fishnet? Did she walk to the burgomaster's? No, she
didn't walk for she went with one leg thrown over a goat. Then did she
ride? Of course she didn't ride for wasn't she walking on one foot?
When she reached the burgomaster's house she called out:
"Here I am, Mr. Burgomaster, and I've come neither by day nor by night,
neither riding nor walking, neither dressed nor undressed."
The young burgomaster was so delighted with Manka's cleverness and so
pleased with her comely looks that he proposed to her at once and in a
short time married her.
"But understand, my dear Manka," he said, "you are not to use that
cleverness of yours at my expense. I won't have you interfering in any
of my cases. In fact if ever you give advice to any one who comes to me
for judgment, I'll turn you out of my house at once and send you home to
your father."
All went well for a time. Manka busied herself in her house-keeping and
was careful not to interfere in any of the burgomaster's cases.
Then one day two farmers came to the burgomaster to have a dispute
settled. One of the farmers owned a mare which had foaled in the
marketplace. The colt had run under the wagon of the other farmer and
thereupon the owner of the wagon claimed the colt as his property.
The burgomaster, who was thinking of something else while the case was
being presented, said carelessly:
"The man who found the colt under his wagon is, of course, the owner of
the colt."
As the owner of the mare was leaving the burgomaster's house, he met
Manka and stopped to tell her about the case. Manka was ashamed of her
husband for making so foolish a decision and she said to the farmer:
"Come back this afternoon with a fishing net and stretch it across the
dusty road. When the burgomaster sees you he will come out and ask you
what you are doing. Say to him that you're catching fish. When he asks
you how you can expect to catch fish in a dusty road, tell him it's just
as easy for you to catch fish in a dusty road as it is for a wagon to
foal. Then he'll see the injustice of his decision and have the colt
returned to you. But remember one thing: you mustn't let him find out
that it was I who told you to do this."
That afternoon when the burgomaster chanced to look out the window he
saw a man stretching a fishnet across the dusty road. He went out to
him and asked:
"What are you doing?"
"Fishing."
"Fishing in a dusty road? Are you daft?"
"Well," the man said, "it's just as easy for me to catch fish in a dusty
road as it is for a wagon to foal."
Then the burgomaster recognized the man as the owner of the mare and he
had to confess that what he said was true.
"Of course the colt belongs to your mare and must be returned to you.
But tell me," he said, "who put you up to this? You didn't think of it
yourself."
The farmer tried not to tell but the burgomaster questioned him until he
found out that Manka was at the bottom of it. This made him very angry.
He went into the house and called his wife.
"Manka," he said, "do you forget what I told you would happen if you
went interfering in any of my cases? Home you go this very day. I don't
care to hear any excuses. The matter is settled. You may take with you
the one thing you like best in my house for I won't have people saying
that I treated you shabbily."
Manka made no outcry.
"Very well, my dear husband, I shall do as you say: I shall go home to
my father's cottage and take with me the one thing I like best in your
house. But don't make me go until after supper. We have been very happy
together and I should like to eat one last meal with you. Let us have no
more words but be kind to each other as we've always been and then part
as friends."
The burgomaster agreed to this and Manka prepared a fine supper of all
the dishes of which her husband was particularly fond. The burgomaster
opened his choicest wine and pledged Manka's health. Then he set to, and
the supper was so good that he ate and ate and ate. And the more he ate,
the more he drank until at last he grew drowsy and fell sound asleep in
his chair. Then without awakening him Manka had him carried out to the
wagon that was waiting to take her home to her father.
The next morning when the burgomaster opened his eyes, he found himself
lying in the shepherd's cottage.
"What does this mean?" he roared out.
"Nothing, dear husband, nothing!" Manka said. "You know you told me I
might take with me the one thing I liked best in your house, so of
course I took you! That's all."
For a moment the burgomaster rubbed his eyes in amazement. Then he
laughed loud and heartily to think how Manka had outwitted him.
"Manka," he said, "you're too clever for me. Come on, my dear, let's go
home."
So they climbed back into the wagon and drove home.
The burgomaster never again scolded his wife but thereafter whenever a
very difficult case came up he always said:
"I think we had better consult my wife. You know she's a very clever
woman."
THE BLACKSMITH'S STOOL
THE STORY OF A MAN WHO FOUND THAT DEATH WAS NECESSARY
[Illustration]
THE BLACKSMITH'S STOOL
A long time ago when Lord Jesus and the blessed St. Peter walked about
together on earth, it happened one evening that they stopped at a
blacksmith's cottage and asked for a night's lodging.
"You are welcome," the blacksmith said. "I am a poor man but whatever I
have I will gladly share with you."
He threw down his hammer and led his guests into the kitchen. There he
entertained them with a good supper and after they had eaten he said to
them:
"I see that you are tired from your day's journey. There is my bed. Lie
down on it and sleep until morning."
"And where will you sleep?" St. Peter asked.
"I? Don't think of me," the blacksmith said. "I'll go out to the barn
and sleep on the straw."
The next morning he gave his guests a fine breakfast, and then sent them
on their way with good wishes for their journey.
As they were leaving, St. Peter plucked Lord Jesus by the sleeve and
whispered:
"Master, aren't you going to reward this man? He is poor but yet has
treated us most hospitably."
Lord Jesus answered Peter:
"The reward of this world is an empty reward. I was thinking to prepare
him a place in heaven. However, I will grant him something now."
Then he turned to the blacksmith and said:
"Ask what you will. Make three wishes and they will be fulfilled."
The blacksmith was overjoyed. For his first wish he said:
"I should like to live for a hundred years and always be as strong and
healthy as I am this moment."
Lord Jesus said:
"Very well, that will be granted you. What is your second wish?"
The blacksmith thought for a moment. Then he said:
"I wish that I may prosper in this world and always have as much as I
need. May work in my shop always be as plentiful as it is today."
"This, too, will be granted you," Lord Jesus said. "Now for your third
wish."
Our blacksmith thought and thought, unable at first to decide on a third
wish. At last he said:
"Grant that whoever sits on the stool where you sat last night at supper
may be unable to get up until I release him."
St. Peter laughed at this, but Lord Jesus nodded and said:
"This wish, too, will be fulfilled."
So they parted, Lord Jesus and blessed St. Peter going on their way, and
the blacksmith returning home to his forge.
Things came to pass as Lord Jesus had promised they should. Work in
plenty flowed into the blacksmith's shop. The years went by but they
made no impression on the blacksmith. He was as young as ever and as
vigorous. His friends grew old and one by one died. His children grew
up, married, and had children of their own. These in turn grew up. The
years brought youth and maturity and old age to them all. The blacksmith
alone remained unchanged.
A hundred years is a long time but at last even it runs out.
One night as the blacksmith was putting away his tools, there came a
knock at the door. The blacksmith stopped his singing to call out:
"Who's there?"
"It is I, Death," a voice answered. "Open the door, blacksmith. Your
time has come."
The blacksmith threw open the door.
"Welcome," he said to the woman standing there. "I'll be ready in a
moment when I put away my tools." He smiled a little to himself. "Won't
you sit down on this stool, dear lady, and rest you for a moment? You
must be weary going to and fro over the earth."
Death, suspecting nothing, seated herself on the stool.
The blacksmith burst into a loud laugh.
"Now I have you, my lady! Stay where you are until I release you!"
Death tried to stand up but could not. She squirmed this way and that.
She rattled her hollow bones. She gnashed her teeth. But do what she
would she could not arise from the stool.
Chuckling and singing, the blacksmith left her there and went about his
business.
But soon he found that chaining up Death had unexpected results. To
begin with, he wanted at once to celebrate his escape with a feast. He
had a hog which had been fattening for some time. He would slaughter
this hog and chop it up into fine spicy sausages which his neighbors
and friends would help him eat. The hams he would hang in the chimney to
smoke.
But when he tried to slaughter the animal, the blow of his axe had no
effect. He struck the hog on the head and, to be sure, it rolled over on
the ground. But when he stopped to cut the throat, the creature jumped
up and with a grunt went scampering off. Before the blacksmith could
recover from his surprise, the hog had disappeared.
Next he tried to kill a goose. He had a fat one which he had been
stuffing for the village fair.
"Since those sausages have escaped me," he said. "I'll have to be
satisfied with roast goose."
But when he tried to cut the goose's throat, the knife drew no blood. In
his surprise he loosened his hold and the goose slipped from his hands
and went cackling off after the hog.
"What's come over things today?" the blacksmith asked himself. "It seems
I'm not to have sausage or roast goose. I suppose I'll have to be
satisfied with a pair of pigeons."
He went out to the pigeon-house and caught two pigeons. He put them on
the chopping-block and with one mighty blow of his ax cut off both their
heads.
"There!" he cried in triumph. "I've got you!"
But even as he spoke the little severed heads returned to their bodies,
the heads and bodies grew together as if nothing had happened, and
cooing happily the two pigeons flew away.
Then at last the truth flashed upon the blacksmith's mind. So long as he
kept Death fastened to that stool, nothing could die! Of course not! So
no more spicy sausages, no more smoked hams, no more roast goose--not
even a broiled pigeon! The prospect was not a pleasing one, for the
blacksmith loved good things to eat. But what could he do? Release
Death? Never that! He would be her first victim! Well then, if he could
have no fresh meat, he would have to be content to live on peas and
porridge and wheaten cakes.
This actually was what he had to do and what every one else had to do
when their old provisions were exhausted.
Summer passed and winter followed. Then spring came bringing new and
unforeseen miseries. With the first breath of warm weather all the pests
and insects of the summer before revived, for not one of them had been
killed by the winter cold. And the eggs they had laid all hatched out
until the earth and the air and the water swarmed with living creatures.
Birds and rats and grasshoppers, insects and bugs and vermin of every
kind, covered the fields and ate up every green thing. The meadows
looked as if a fire had swept them clean. The orchards were stripped
bare of every leaf and blossom.
Such hordes of fish and frogs and water creatures filled the lakes and
the rivers that the water was polluted and it was impossible for man to
drink it.
Water and land alike were swarming with living creatures not one of
which could be killed. Even the air was thick with clouds of mosquitoes
and gnats and flies.
Men and women walked about looking like tormented ghosts. They had no
desire to live on but they had to live on for they could not die.
The blacksmith came at last to a realization of all the misery which his
foolish wish was bringing upon the world.
"I see now," he said, "that God Almighty did well when He sent Death to
the world. She has her work to do and I am wrong to hold her prisoner."
So he released Death from the stool and made no outcry when she put her
bony fingers to his throat.
A GULLIBLE WORLD
THE STORY OF A MAN WHO DIDN'T BEAT HIS WIFE
[Illustration]
A GULLIBLE WORLD
There was once a poor farm laborer, so poor that all he owned in the
world was a hen. He told his wife to take this hen to market and sell
it.
"How much shall I ask for it?" the woman wanted to know.
"Ask as much as they'll pay, of course," the laborer said.
So the woman took the hen by the feet and set out. Near the village she
met a farmer.
"Good day," the farmer said. "Where are you going with that hen?"
"I'm going to market to sell it for as much as they'll pay me."
The farmer weighed the hen in his hand, pursed his lips, thought a
moment, and said:
"You better sell it to me. I'll pay you three pennies for it."
"Three pennies? Are you sure that's as much as you'll pay?"
"Yes," the farmer said, "three pennies is as much as I'll pay."
So the laborer's wife sold the hen for three pennies. She went on to the
village and there she bought a pretty little paper bag with one of the
pennies and a piece of ribbon with another penny. She put the third
penny into the bag, tied the bag with the ribbon, slipped the ribbon on
a stick, put the stick over her shoulder, and then, feeling that she had
done a very good day's work, she tramped home to her husband.
When the laborer heard how stupidly his wife had acted, he flew into a
great rage and at first threatened to give her a sound beating.
"Was there ever such a foolish woman in the world?" he shouted angrily.
The poor woman, who by this time was snuffling and weeping, whimpered
out:
"I don't see why you find so much fault with me! I'm sure I'm not the
only gullible person in the world."
"Well," the laborer said, "I don't know. Perhaps there are people in the
world as gullible as you. I tell you what I'll do: I'll go out and see
if I can find them. If I do, I won't beat you."
So the laborer went out into the world to see if he could find any one
as gullible as his wife. He traveled several days until he reached a
countryside where he was unknown. Here he came to a fine castle at the
window of which stood the lady of the castle looking out.
"Now then, my lady," the laborer said to himself, "we'll see how
gullible you are."
He stood in the middle of the road, looked intently up at the sky, and
then reaching out his arms as if he were trying to catch hold of
something he began jumping up and down.
The lady of the castle watched him for a few moments and then dispatched
one of her servants to ask him what he was doing. The servant hurried
out and questioned him and this is the story the clever rascal made up:
"I'm trying to jump back into heaven. You see I live up there. I was
wrestling up there with one of my comrades and he pitched me out and now
I can't find the hole I fell through."
With his eyes popping out of his head, the servant hurried back to his
mistress and repeated the laborer's story word for word.
The lady of the castle instantly sent for the laborer.
"You say you were in heaven?" she asked him.
"Yes, my lady, that's where I live and I'm going back at once."
"I have a dear son in heaven," the lady said. "Do you know him?"
"Of course I know him. The last time I saw him he was sitting far back
in the chimney corner looking very sad and lonely."
"What! My son sitting far back in the chimney corner! Poor boy, he must
be in need of money! My good man, will you take him something from me?
I'd like to send him three hundred golden ducats and material for six
fine shirts. And tell him not to be lonely as I'll come to him soon."