CHAPTER XIV

CONCLUSION

And after this they filled the bottles with the ingredients for

pickling, and each couple jumped into a separate bottle; by which

effort, of course, they all died immediately, and became thoroughly

pickled in a few minutes, having previously made their wills (by the

assistance of the most eminent lawyers of the district), in which they

left strict orders that the stoppers of the seven bottles should be

carefully sealed up with the blue sealing-wax they had purchased; and

that they themselves, in the bottles, should be presented to the

principal museum of the city of Tosh, to be labeled with parchment or

any other anti-congenial succedaneum, and to be placed on a marble table

with silver-gilt legs, for the daily inspection and contemplation, and

for the perpetual benefit, of the pusillanimous public.

And if you ever happen to go to Gramble-blamble, and visit that museum

in the city of Tosh, look for them on the ninety-eighth table in the

four hundred and twenty-seventh room of the right-hand corridor of the

left wing of the central quadrangle of that magnificent building; for,

if you do not, you certainly will not see them.

EDWARD LEAR.

_Wee Robin’s Yule-Song_

There was an auld gray Pussie Baudrons, and she gaed awa’ down by a

waterside, and there she saw a Wee Robin Redbreast hoppin’ on a brier;

and Pussie Baudrons says: “Where’s tu gaun, Wee Robin?” And Wee Robin

says: “I’m gaun awa’ to the king to sing him a sang this guid Yule

morning.” And Pussie Baudrons says: “Come here, Wee Robin, and I’ll let

you see a bonny white ring round my neck.” But Wee Robin says: “Na, na!

gray Poussie Baudrons, na, na! Ye worry’t the wee mousie, but ye’se no

worry me.” So Wee Robin flew awa’ till he came to a fail fauld-dike

(_turf wall_), and there he saw a gray greedy gled (_hawk_) sitting. And

gray greedy gled says: “Where’s tu gaun, Wee Robin?” And Wee Robin says:

“I’m gaun awa’ to the king to sing him a sang this guid Yule morning.”

And gray greedy gled says: “Come here, Wee Robin, and I’ll let ye see a

bonny feather in my wing.” But Wee Robin says: “Na, na! gray greedy

gled, na, na! Ye pookit (_pecked_) a’ the wee lintie, but ye’se no pook

me.” So Wee Robin flew awa’ till he came to the cleuch (_hollow_) o’ a

craig, and there he saw slee Tod Lowrie (_sly fox_) sitting. And slee

Tod Lowrie says: “Where’s tu gaun, Wee Robin?” And Wee Robin says: “I’m

gaun awa’ to the king to sing him a sang this guid Yule morning.” And

slee Tod Lowrie says: “Come here, Wee Robin, and I’ll let ye see a bonny

spot on the tap o’ my tail.” But Wee Robin says: “Na, na! slee Tod

Lowrie, na, na! Ye worry’t the wee lammie, but ye’se no worry me.” So

Wee Robin flew awa’ till he came to a bonny burn-side, and there he saw

a wee callant sitting. And the wee callant says: “Where’s tu gaun, Wee

Robin?” And Wee Robin says: “I’m gaun awa’ to the king to sing him a

sang this guid Yule morning.” And the wee callant says: “Come here, Wee

Robin, and I’ll gie ye a wheen grand moolins (_crumbs_) out o’ my

pooch.” But Wee Robin says: “Na, na! wee callant, na, na! Ye speldert

(_knocked down_) the gowdspink (_goldfinch_), but ye’se no spelder me.”

So Wee Robin flew awa’ till he came to the king; and there he sat on a

winnock sole (_plowshare_), and sang the king a bonny sang. And the king

says to the queen: “What’ll we gie to Wee Robin for singing us this

bonny sang?” And the queen says to the king: “I think we’ll gie him the

wee wran to be his wife.” So Wee Robin and the wee wran were married,

and the king, and the queen, and a’ the court danced at the waddin’;

syne he flew awa’ home to his ain waterside, and hoppit on a brier.

_Attributed to_ ROBERT BURNS.

_The Giant’s Shoes_

Once upon a time there was a large giant who lived in a small castle; at

least he didn’t all of him live there, but he managed things in this

wise. From his earliest youth up, his legs had been of a surreptitiously

small size, unsuited to the rest of his body; so he sat upon the

southwest wall of the castle with his legs inside, and his right foot

came out of the east gate, and his left foot out of the north gate,

while his gloomy but spacious coat tails covered up the south and the

west gates; and in this way the castle was defended against all comers,

and was deemed impregnable by the military authorities. This, however,

as we shall soon see, was not the case, for the giant’s boots were

inside as well as his legs, but, as he had neglected to put them on in

the giddy days of his youth, he was never afterward able to do so,

because there was not enough room. And in this bootless but compact

manner he passed his time.

The giant slept for three weeks at a time, and two days after he woke

his breakfast was brought to him, consisting of bright brown horses

sprinkled on his bread and butter. Besides his boots, the giant had a

pair of shoes, and in one of them his wife lived when she was at home;

on other occasions she lived in the other shoe. She was a sensible,

practical kind of woman, with two wooden legs and a clothes-horse; but

in other respects not rich. The wooden legs were kept pointed at the end

in order that, if the giant were dissatisfied with his breakfast, he

might pick up any stray people that were within reach, using his wife as

a fork. This annoyed the inhabitants of the district, so that they built

their church in a southwestern direction from the castle behind the

giant’s back, that he might not be able to pick them up as they went in.

But those who stayed outside to play pitch-and-toss were exposed to

great danger and sufferings.

Now, in the village there were two brothers of altogether different

tastes and dispositions, and talents, and peculiarities, and

accomplishments, and in this way they were discovered not to be the same

person. The elder of them was most marvelously good at singing, and

could sing the Old Hundredth an old hundred times without stopping.

Whenever he did this, he stood on one leg and tied the other round his

neck to avoid catching cold and spoiling his voice, but the neighbors

fled. And he was also a rare hand at making guava dumplings out of three

cats and a shoe-horn, which is an accomplishment seldom met with. But

his brother was a more meager, magnanimous person, and his chief

accomplishment was to eat a wagon-load of hay overnight, and wake up

thatched in the morning.

The whole interest of this story depends upon the fact that the giant’s

wife’s clothes-horse broke in consequence of a sudden thaw, being made

of organ-pipes. So she took off her wooden legs and stuck them in the

ground, tying a string from the top of one to the top of the other, and

hung out her clothes to dry on that. Now, this was astutely remarked by

the two brothers, who therefore went up in front of the giant after he

had had his breakfast. The giant called out, “Fork! fork!” but his wife,

trembling, hid herself in the more recondite toe of the second shoe.

Then the singing brother began to sing, but he had not taken into

account the pious disposition of the giant, who instantly joined in the

psalm; and this caused the singing brother to burst his head off, but,

as it was tied by the leg, he did not lose it altogether.

But the other brother, being well thatched on account of the quantity of

hay he had eaten overnight, lay down between the great toe of the giant

and the next, and wriggled. So the giant, being unable to bear tickling

in the feet, kicked out in an orthopædal manner; whereupon the castle

broke, and he fell backward, and was impaled upon the sharp steeple of

the church. So they put a label on him on which was written: “Nudipes

Gigantens.”

That’s all.

WILLIAM KINGDON CLIFFORD.

_The Farmer and the Money-Lender_

There was once a Farmer who suffered much at the hands of a

Money-lender. Good harvests or bad the Farmer was always poor, the

Money-lender rich. At the last, when he hadn’t a farthing left, the

Farmer went to the Money-lender’s house and said: “You can’t squeeze

water from a stone, and, as you have nothing to get by me now, you might

tell me the secret of becoming rich.”

“My friend,” returned the Money-lender piously, “riches come from

Ram—ask _him_.”

“Thank you, I will!” replied the simple Farmer; so he prepared three

girdle-cakes to last him on the journey, and set out to find Ram.

First he met a Brahman, and to him he gave a cake, asking him to point

out the road to Ram; but the Brahman only took the cake, and went on his

way without a word. Next the Farmer met a yogi, or devotee, and to him

he gave a cake, without receiving any help in return. At last he came

upon a poor man sitting under a tree, and finding out he was hungry the

kindly Farmer gave him his last cake, and, sitting down to rest beside

him, entered into conversation.

“And where are you going?” asked the poor man, at length.

“Oh, I have a long journey before me, for I am going to find Ram!”

replied the Farmer. “I don’t suppose you could tell me which way to go?”

“Perhaps I can,” said the poor man, smiling, “for _I_ am Ram! What do

you want of me?”

Then the Farmer told the whole story, and Ram, taking pity on him, gave

him a conch-shell, and showed him how to blow it in a particular way,

saying: “Remember! whatever you wish for, you have only to blow the

conch that way, and your wish will be fulfilled. Only, have a care of

that Money-lender, for even magic is not proof against his wiles!”

The Farmer went back to his village rejoicing. In fact, the Money-lender

noticed his high spirits at once, and said to himself: “Some good

fortune must have befallen the stupid fellow, to make him hold his head

so jauntily.” Therefore he went over to the simple Farmer’s house, and

congratulated him on his good fortune in such cunning words, pretending

to have heard all about it, that before long the Farmer found himself

telling the whole story—all except the secret of blowing the conch, for,

with all his simplicity, the Farmer was not quite such a fool as to tell

that.

Nevertheless, the Money-lender determined to have the conch by hook or

by crook, and, as he was villain enough not to stick at trifles, he

waited for a favorable opportunity and stole the conch.

But, after nearly bursting himself with blowing the conch in every

conceivable way, he was obliged to give up the secret as a bad job.

However, being determined to succeed, he went back to the Farmer, and

said coolly: “Look here! I’ve got your conch, but I can’t use it; you

haven’t got it, so it’s clear you can’t use it either. Business is at a

standstill unless we make a bargain. Now, I promise to give you back

your conch, and never to interfere with your using it, on one condition,

which is this—whatever you get from it, I am to get double.”

“Never!” cried the Farmer; “that would be the old business all over

again!”

“Not at all!” replied the wily Money-lender; “you will have your share!

Now, don’t be a dog in the manger, for, if _you_ get all you want, what

can it matter to you if _I_ am rich or poor?”

At last, though it went sorely against the grain to be of any benefit to

a Money-lender, the Farmer was forced to yield, and from that time, no

matter what he gained by the power of the conch, the Money-lender gained

double. And the knowledge that this was so, preyed upon the Farmer’s

mind day and night, so that he had no satisfaction out of anything.

At last there came a very dry season—so dry that the Farmer’s crops

withered for want of rain. Then he blew his conch, and wished for a well

to water them, and lo! there was the well, _but the Money-lender had

two_!—two beautiful new wells! This was too much for any Farmer to

stand; and our friend brooded over it, and brooded over it, till at last

a bright idea came into his head. He seized the conch, blew it loudly,

and cried out: “Oh, Ram! I wish to be blind of one eye!” And so he was,

in a twinkling, but the Money-lender, of course, was blind of both, and

in trying to steer his way between the two new wells he fell into one,

and was drowned.

Now, this true story shows that a Farmer once got the better of a

Money-lender—but only by losing one of his eyes.

_How the Sun, the Moon, and the Wind Went Out to Dinner_

One day the Sun, the Moon, and the Wind went out to dine with their

uncle and aunt, the thunder and lightning. Their mother (one of the most

distant stars you see far up in the sky) waited alone for her children’s

return.

Now both the Sun and the Wind were greedy and selfish. They enjoyed the

great feast that had been prepared for them, without a thought of saving

any of it to take home to their mother; but the gentle Moon did not

forget her. Of every dainty dish that was brought round, she placed a

small portion under one of her beautiful long finger-nails, that the

Star might also have a share in the treat.

On their return, their mother, who had kept watch for them all night

long with her little bright eye, said: “Well, children, what have you

brought home for me?” Then the Sun (who was the eldest) said: “I have

brought nothing home for you. I went out to enjoy myself with my

friends, not to fetch a dinner for my mother!” And the Wind said:

“Neither have I brought anything home for you, mother. You could hardly

expect me to bring a collection of good things for you when I merely

went out for my own pleasure.” But the Moon said: “Mother, fetch a

plate; see what I have brought you.” And, shaking her hands, she

showered down such a choice dinner as never was seen before.

Then the Star turned to the Sun and spoke thus: “Because you went out to

amuse yourself with your friends, and feasted and enjoyed yourself

without any thought of your mother at home, you shall be cursed.

Henceforth, your rays shall ever be hot and scorching, and shall burn

all that they touch. And men shall hate you and cover their heads when

you appear.”

(And that is why the Sun is so hot to this day.)

Then she turned to the Wind and said: “You also, who forgot your mother

in the midst of your selfish pleasures, hear your doom. You shall always

blow in the hot, dry weather, and shall parch and shrivel all living

things. And men shall detest and avoid you from this very time.”

(And that is why the Wind in the hot weather is still so disagreeable.)

But to the Moon she said: “Daughter, because you remembered your mother,

and kept for her a share in your own enjoyment, from henceforth you

shall be ever cool, and calm, and bright. No noxious glare shall

accompany your pure rays, and men shall always call you ‘blessed.’”

(And that is why the Moon’s light is so soft, and cool, and beautiful

even to this day.)

_Singh Rajah and the Cunning Little Jackals_

Once upon a time, in a great jungle, there lived a great lion. He was

rajah of all the country round, and every day he used to leave his den,

in the deepest shadow of the rocks, and roar with a loud, angry voice;

and when he roared, the other animals in the jungle, who were all his

subjects, got very much frightened and ran here and there; and Singh

Rajah would pounce upon them and kill them, and gobble them up for his

dinner.

This went on for a long, long time until, at last, there were no living

creatures left in the jungle but two little jackals—a Rajah Jackal and a

Ranee Jackal—husband and wife.

A very hard time of it the poor little jackals had, running this way and

that to escape the terrible Singh Rajah; and every day the little Ranee

Jackal would say to her husband: “I am afraid he will catch us to-day;

do you hear how he is roaring? Oh, dear! oh, dear!” And he would answer

her: “Never fear; I will take care of you. Let us run on a mile or two.

Come; come quick, quick, quick!” And they would both run away as fast as

they could.

After some time spent in this way, they found, however, one fine day,

that the lion was so close upon them that they could not escape. Then

the little Ranee Jackal said: “Husband, husband, I feel much frightened.

The Singh Rajah is so angry he will certainly kill us at once. What can

we do?” But he answered: “Cheer up; we can save ourselves yet. Come, and

I’ll show you how we may manage it.”

So what did these cunning little jackals do but they went to the great

lion’s den; and, when he saw them coming, he began to roar and shake his

mane, and he said: “You little wretches, come and be eaten at once! I

have had no dinner for three whole days, and all that time I have been

running over hill and dale to find you. Ro-a-ar! Ro-a-ar! Come and be

eaten, I say!” and he lashed his tail and gnashed his teeth, and looked

very terrible indeed. Then the Jackal Rajah, creeping quite close up to

him, said: “Oh, great Singh Rajah, we all know you are our master, and

we would have come at your bidding long ago; but, indeed, sir, there is

a much bigger rajah even than you in this jungle, and he tried to catch

hold of us and eat us up, and frightened us so much that we were obliged

to run away.”

“What do you mean?” growled Singh Rajah. “There is no king in this

jungle but me!” “Ah, sire,” answered the jackal, “in truth one would

think so, for you are very dreadful. Your very voice is death. But it is

as we say, for we, with our own eyes, have seen one with whom you could

not compete—whose equal you can no more be than we are yours—whose face

is as flaming fire, his step as thunder, and his power supreme.” “It is

impossible!” interrupted the old lion; “but show me this rajah of whom

you speak so much, that I may destroy him instantly!”

Then the little jackals ran on before him until they reached a great

well, and, pointing down to his own reflection in the water, they

said: “See, sire, there lives the terrible king of whom we spoke.”

When Singh Rajah looked down the well he became very angry, for he

thought he saw another lion there. He roared and shook his great mane,

and the shadow lion shook his and looked terribly defiant. At last,

beside himself with rage at the violence of his opponent, Singh Rajah

sprang down to kill him at once, but no other lion was there—only the

treacherous reflection—and the sides of the well were so steep that he

could not get out again to punish the two jackals, who peeped over the

top. After struggling for some time in the deep water, he sank to rise

no more. And the little jackals threw stones down upon him from above,

and danced round and round the well, singing: “Ao! Ao! Ao! Ao! The

king of the forest is dead, is dead! We have killed the great lion who

would have killed us! Ao! Ao! Ao! Ao! Ring-a-ting—ding-a-ting!

Ring-a-ting—ding-a-ting! Ao! Ao! Ao!”

_Harisarman_

There was a certain Brahman in a certain village, named Harisarman. He

was poor and foolish and in evil case for want of employment, and he had

very many children, that he might reap the fruit of his misdeeds in a

former life. He wandered about begging with his family, and at last he

reached a certain city, and entered the service of a rich householder

called Sthuladatta. His sons became keepers of Sthuladatta’s cows and

other property, and his wife a servant to him, and he himself lived near

his house, performing the duty of an attendant. One day there was a

feast on account of the marriage of the daughter of Sthuladatta, largely

attended by many friends of the bridegroom and merry-makers. Harisarman

hoped that he would be able to fill himself up to the throat with ghee

and flesh and other dainties, and get the same for his family, in the

house of his patron. While he was anxiously expecting to be fed, no one

thought of him.

Then he was distressed at getting nothing to eat, and he said to his

wife at night: “It is owing to my poverty and stupidity that I am

treated with such disrespect here; so I will pretend by means of an

artifice to possess a knowledge of magic, so that I may become an object

of respect to this Sthuladatta; so, when you get an opportunity, tell

him that I possess magical knowledge.” He said this to her, and after

turning the matter over in his mind, while people were asleep he took

away from the house of Sthuladatta a horse on which his master’s

son-in-law rode. He placed it in concealment at some distance, and in

the morning the friends of the bridegroom could not find the horse,

though they searched in every direction. Then, while Sthuladatta was

distressed at the evil omen, and searching for the thieves who had

carried off the horse, the wife of Harisarman came and said to him: “My

husband is a wise man, skilled in astrology and magical sciences; he can

get the horse back for you—why do you not ask him?” When Sthuladatta

heard that, he called Harisarman, who said, “Yesterday I was forgotten,

but to-day, now the horse is stolen, I am called to mind,” and

Sthuladatta then propitiated the Brahman with these words, “I forgot

you, forgive me,” and asked him to tell him who had taken away their

horse. Then Harisarman drew all kinds of pretended diagrams, and said:

“The horse has been placed by thieves on the boundary line south from

this place. It is concealed there, and before it is carried off to a

distance, as it will be at close of day, go quickly and bring it.” When

they heard that, many men ran and brought the horse quickly, praising

the discernment of Harisarman. Then Harisarman was honored by all men as

a sage, and dwelt there in happiness, honored by Sthuladatta.

Now, as days went on, much treasure, both of gold and jewels, had been

stolen by a thief from the palace of the king. As the thief was not

known, the king quickly summoned Harisarman on account of his reputation

for knowledge of magic. And he, when summoned, tried to gain time, and

said, “I will tell you to-morrow,” and then he was placed in a chamber

by the king and carefully guarded. And he was sad because he had

pretended to have knowledge. Now, in that palace there was a maid named

Jihva (which means Tongue), who, with the assistance of her brother, had

stolen that treasure from the interior of the palace. She, being alarmed

at Harisarman’s knowledge, went at night and applied her ear to the door

of that chamber in order to find out what he was about. And Harisarman,

who was alone inside, was at that very moment blaming his own tongue,

that had made a vain assumption of knowledge. He said: “Oh, tongue, what

is this that you have done through your greediness? Wicked one, you will

soon receive punishment in full.” When Jihva heard this, she thought, in

her terror, that she had been discovered by this wise man, and she

managed to get in where he was, and, falling at his feet, she said to

the supposed wizard: “Brahman, here I am, that Jihva whom you have

discovered to be the thief of the treasure, and after I took it I buried

it in the earth in a garden behind the palace, under a pomegranate tree.

So spare me, and receive the small quantity of gold which is in my

possession.”

When Harisarman heard that, he said to her proudly: “Depart, I know all

this; I know the past, present, and future, but I will not denounce you,

being a miserable creature that has implored my protection. But whatever

gold is in your possession you must give back to me.” When he said this

to the maid, she consented, and departed quickly. But Harisarman

reflected in his astonishment: “Fate brings about, as if in sport,

things impossible; for, when calamity was so near, who would have

thought chance would have brought us success? While I was blaming my

jihva, the thief Jihva suddenly flung herself at my feet. Secret crimes

manifest themselves by means of fear.” Thus thinking, he passed the

night happily in the chamber. And in the morning he brought the king, by

some skilful parade of pretended knowledge, into the garden and led him

up to the treasure, which was buried under the pomegranate tree, and

said that the thief had escaped with a part of it. Then the king was

pleased, and gave him the revenue of many villages.

But the minister, named Devajnanin, whispered in the king’s ear: “How

can a man possess such knowledge unattainable by men without having

studied the books of magic? You may be certain that this is a specimen

of the way he makes a dishonest livelihood, by having a secret

intelligence with thieves. It will be much better to test him by some

new artifice.” Then the king of his own accord brought a covered pitcher

into which he had thrown a frog, and said to Harisarman: “Brahman, if

you can guess what there is in this pitcher, I will do you great honor

to-day.” When the Brahman Harisarman heard that, he thought that his

last hour had come, and he called to mind the pet name of “Froggie,”

which his father had given him in his childhood in sport; and, impelled

by luck, he called to himself by his pet name, lamenting his hard fate,

and suddenly called out: “This is a fine pitcher for you, Froggie; it

will soon become the swift destroyer of your helpless self.” The people

there, when they heard him say that, raised a shout of applause, because

his speech chimed in so well with the object presented to him, and

murmured: “Ah! a great sage; he knows even about the frog!” Then the

king, thinking that this was all due to knowledge of divination, was

highly delighted, and gave Harisarman the revenue of more villages, with

gold, an umbrella, and state carriages of all kinds. So Harisarman

prospered in the world.

_It Is Quite True_

“What a dreadful story!” exclaimed a hen; “it so frightened me that I

did not dare to sleep alone in the hen-house all night. I was glad there

were so many of us.” And she began to relate to the other hens who were

on the roosting-perch above, the story she had heard, till their

feathers stood on end, and even the cock let his comb droop, it was so

dreadful.

But we will begin at the beginning, and discover what really had

happened in the hen-house on the other side of the town.

One evening just before sunset the hens as usual went early to roost,

and among them was a pretty hen with white feathers and short legs, who

laid regularly such fine eggs that she was very valuable, and much

esteemed by all her relations.

As this hen was flying up in the hen-house to the roosting-perch, she

either pecked or scratched herself with her beak till one of her

feathers fell off.

“There goes another,” she said good humoredly; “how beautiful I shall

look if one falls off every time I scratch myself.” This white hen was

not only very much esteemed, but also the merriest of all the hens in

the hen-house.

But she forgot all about the fallen feather, and was soon asleep.

It became quite dark. The hens were seated side by side near each other

on the perch, but one of them could not sleep, for she had partly heard

what the white hen said.

The wakeful hen stayed and thought, and then said to her next neighbor:

“Have you heard? I name no one, but a hen has plucked out all her

feathers, and is not fit to be seen. If I were the cock, I should

despise her.”

The gossiping hen soon after left the hen-house, and went to visit an

owl who lived just opposite with her husband and children. The owl

families have very sharp ears, and they heard every word that their

neighbor the hen said, and the little ones rolled their eyes about while

the mother owl fanned herself with her wings.

“To repeat just what you have been told is nothing,” continued the hen,

“but I really and truly heard what was said with my own ears, and people

must hear a great deal, even if they do disapprove. It is about a hen

who has forgotten what was due to herself in her high position; she has

pulled out all her feathers, and then allowed the world to see her in

that bare condition.”

“_Prenez garde aux enfants_,” said the owl father, “all this is not fit

for the children to hear.”

“I will just fly over and tell my neighbor,” said the mother owl; “she

is a very highly esteemed owl, and worthy of our acquaintance.”

“Hu! hu! uhu!” howled the children, as the mother flew away and passed

by her neighbors, the pigeons, who were in the pigeon-house.

“Have you heard—have you heard about the hen that has plucked off all

her feathers, and is going about quite bare? She will freeze to death,

if she is not dead already.”

“Ooo! Ooo!” cooed the pigeons.

“I heard of it in the neighboring farm-yard,” said another; “I have as

good as seen it with my own eyes. The story is really so improper that

no one cares to relate it, but it is certainly true.”

“We believe it, we believe every word,” said the pigeons, and they flew

down cooing to the farm-yard, and exclaimed:

“Have you heard about the hen?”

“The hen! why, people now say there are two hens who have plucked off

all their feathers; yet one of them is not like the first, who did not

wish to be seen, for she has positively tried to attract the attention

of everybody.”

“It was a daring game; however, they caught cold, and are both dead from

a fever.”

“Wake up! wake up!” crowed the cock as he flew out of the hen-house to

the palings. Sleep was still in his eyes, yet he stood and crowed

lustily.

“Listen,” said the hen. “There is a cock in the next farm who has

unluckily lost three of his wives; they had plucked off all their

feathers, and died of cold.”

“Go away!” he exclaimed. “I will not hear it—it is an ugly story. Send

it away!”

“Send it away!” hissed the bat, while the hens cackled and the cock

crowed.

“Send it away! send it away!” and so the story flew from one farm-yard

to another, until it came back at last to the place where the original

circumstance occurred.

“There are five hens,” thus _now_ ran the story, “who have plucked off

all their feathers, at least so they say; and it made the cock so

unhappy that he became quite thin. And he has pecked himself so

dreadfully ever since from indignation and shame that at last he has

fallen down and died, covered with blood. For these hens had not only

disgraced his family, but occasioned a great loss to his owner.”

And the hen who had really lost the one feather naturally could not

recognize her own story, but she was a sensible, worthy hen, and she

said:

“I despise these cackling hens; however, there shall be no more

tittle-tattle of this sort. When people have a secret among themselves

to gossip about in future, I will find it out, and send it to the

newspapers, so that it may travel through the whole land and be heard of

by everybody.

“This will just serve these cackling hens and their families right.”

And the newspapers took it up and so altered the wonderful story that at

the last “it _was_ actually true”—“ONE LITTLE FEATHER HAD BECOME FIVE

HENS!”

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

_Manabozho and his Toe_

Manabozho, the great wizard of the Indians, was so powerful that he

began to think there was nothing he could not do. Very wonderful were

many of his feats, and he grew more conceited day by day. Now, it

chanced that one day he was walking about amusing himself by exercising

his extraordinary powers, and at length he came to an encampment where

one of the first things he noticed was a child lying in the sunshine,

curled up with its toe in its mouth.

Manabozho looked at the child for some time, and wondered at its

extraordinary posture.

“I have never seen a child before lie like that,” said he to himself,

“but I could lie like it.”

So saying, he put himself down beside the child, and, taking his right

foot in his hand, drew it toward his mouth. When he had brought it as

near as he could, it was yet a considerable distance away from his lips.

“I will try the left foot,” said Manabozho. He did so, and found that he

was no better off; neither of his feet could he get to his mouth. He

curled and twisted, and bent his large limbs, and gnashed his teeth in

rage to find that he could not get his toe to his mouth. All, however,

was vain.

At length he rose, worn out with his exertions and passion, and walked

slowly away in a very ill humor, which was not lessened by the sound of

the child’s laughter, for Manabozho’s efforts had awakened it.

“Ah, ah!” said Manabozho, “shall I be mocked by a child?”

He did not, however, revenge himself on his victor, but on his way

homeward, meeting a boy who did not treat him with proper respect, he

transformed him into a cedar-tree.

“At least,” said Manabozho, “I can do something.”

_The Most Frugal of Men_

A man who was considered the most frugal of all the dwellers in a

certain kingdom heard of another man who was the most frugal in the

whole world. He said to his son thereupon: “We, indeed, live upon

little, but if we were more frugal still, we might live upon nothing at

all. It will be well worth while for us to get instructions in economy

from the Most Frugal of Men.” The son agreed, and the two decided that

the son should go and inquire whether the master in economic science

would take pupils. An exchange of presents being a necessary preliminary

to closer intercourse, the father told the son to take the smallest of

coins, one farthing, and to buy a sheet of paper of the cheapest sort.

The boy, by bargaining, got two sheets of paper for the farthing. The

father put away one sheet, cut the other sheet in halves, and on one

half drew a picture of a pig’s head. This he put into a large covered

basket, as if it were the thing which it represented—the usual gift sent

in token of great respect. The son took the basket, and after a long

journey reached the abode of the most frugal man in the world.

The master of the house was absent, but his son received the traveler,

learned his errand, and accepted the offering. Having taken from the

basket the picture of the pig’s head, he said courteously to his

visitor: “I am sorry that we have nothing in the house that is worthy to

take the place of the pig’s head in your basket. I will, however,

signify our friendly reception of it by putting in four oranges for you

to take home with you.”

Thereupon the young man, without having any oranges at hand, made the

motions necessary for putting the fruit into the basket. The son of the

most frugal man in the kingdom then took the basket and went to his

father to tell of thrift surpassing his own.

When the most frugal man in the world returned home, his son told him

that a visitor had been there, having come from a great distance to take

lessons in economy. The father inquired what offering he brought as an

introduction, and the son showed the small outline of the pig’s head on

thin brown paper. The father looked at it, and then asked his son what

he had sent as a return present. The son told him he had merely made the

motions necessary for transferring four oranges, and showed how he had

clasped the imaginary fruit and deposited it in the visitor’s basket.

The father immediately flew into a terrible rage and boxed the boy’s

ears, exclaiming: “You extravagant wretch! With your fingers thus far

apart you appeared to give him large oranges. Why didn’t you measure out

small ones?”

_The Moon-Cake_

A little boy had a cake that a big boy coveted. Designing to get the

cake without making the little boy cry so loud as to attract his

mother’s attention, the big boy remarked that the cake would be prettier

if it were more like the moon. The little boy thought that a cake like

the moon must be desirable, and on being assured by the big boy that he

had made many such, he handed over his cake for manipulation. The big

boy took out a mouthful, leaving a crescent with jagged edge. The little

boy was not pleased by the change, and began to whimper; whereupon the

big boy pacified him by saying that he would make the cake into a

half-moon. So he nibbled off the horns of the crescent, and gnawed the

edge smooth; but when the half-moon was made, the little boy perceived

that there was hardly any cake left, and he again began to snivel. The

big boy again diverted him by telling him that, if he did not like so

small a moon, he should have one that was just the size of the real orb.

He then took the cake, and explained that, just before the new moon is

seen, the old moon disappears. Then he swallowed the rest of the cake

and ran off, leaving the little boy waiting for the new moon.

_The Ladle that Fell from the Moon_

Once there was an old woman who lived on what she got by wile from her

relatives and neighbors. Her husband’s brother lived alone with his only

son, in a house near hers, and when the son brought home a wife the old

woman went to call on the bride. During the call she inquired of the

bride whether she had not, since her arrival in the house, heard a

scratching at night among the boxes containing her wedding outfit. The

bride said she had not. A few days later the old woman came again, and

during the visit the bride remarked that, before the matter was

mentioned, she had heard no scratching among her boxes, but that since

that time she had listened for it, and had heard it every night. The old

woman advised her to look carefully after her clothing, saying that

there were evidently many mice in the house, and that she would be

likely at any time to find her best garments nibbled into shreds. The

old woman knew there was no cat in the house, but she inquired whether

there was one, and on hearing that there was not, she offered to lend

the young woman her own black-and-white cat, saying that it would soon

extirpate all the mice. The bride accepted the loan, and the old woman

brought the cat, and left it in the bride’s apartment. After a few hours

the cat disappeared, and the bride, supposing it to have gone home, made

no search for it. It did, indeed, go home, and the old woman secretly

disposed of it; but several days later she came to the young woman and

said that, when she lent the cat, her house had been free from mice, but

that, as soon as the cat was gone, the mice came and multiplied so fast

that now everything was overrun by them, and she would be obliged to

take the cat home again. The young woman told her that the cat went away

the same day that it came, and she had supposed it had gone home. The

old woman said it had not, and that nothing could compensate her for the

loss of it, for she had reared it herself; that there was never before

seen such a cat for catching mice; that a cat, spotted as that one was,

was seldom found; and that it was of the rare breed which gave rise to

the common saying:

A coal-black cat, with snowy loins,

Is worth its weight in silver coins.

and that the weight of her cat was two hundred ounces.

The young woman was greatly surprised by this estimate of the value of

the lost cat, and went to her father-in-law and related all that had

occurred. The father-in-law, knowing the character of the old woman,

could neither eat nor sleep, so harassed was he by the expectation that

she would worry his daughter-in-law till the two hundred ounces of

silver should be paid. The young woman, being a new-comer, thought but

lightly of the matter, till the old woman came again and again to make

mention of the cat. When it became apparent that she must defend

herself, the young woman asked her father-in-law if he had ever lent

anything to the old woman; and when he said he could not remember having

lent anything, she begged him to think carefully, and see if he could

not recall the loan of a tool, a dish, or a fagot. He finally

recollected that he had lent to her an old wooden ladle, but he said it

originally cost but a few farthings, and was certainly not worth

speaking about.

The next time the old woman came to dun for the amount due for her cat,

the young woman asked her to return the borrowed ladle. The old woman

said that the ladle was old and valueless; that she had allowed the

children to play with it, and that they had dropped it in the dirt,

where it had lain until she had picked it up and used it for kindlings.

The bride responded: “You expect to enrich yourself and your family by

means of your cat. I and my family also want money. Since you cannot

give back the ladle, we will both go before the magistrate and present

our cases. If your cat is adjudged to be worth more than my ladle, I

will pay you the excess; and if my ladle be worth more than your cat,

then you must pay me.” Being sure that the cat would, by any judge, be

considered of greater value than the ladle, the old woman agreed to the

proposition, and the two went before the magistrate. The young woman

courteously gave precedence to the elder, and allowed her to make the

accusation. The old woman set forth her case, and claimed two hundred

ounces of silver as a compensation for the loss of the cat. When she had

concluded her statement, the judge called on the young woman for her

defense. She said she could not disprove the statement, but that the

claim was offset by a ladle that had been borrowed by the plaintiff.

There was a common saying:

In the moon overhead, at its full, you can see

The trunk, branch, and leaf of a cinnamon tree.

A branch from this tree had one night been blown down before her

father-in-law’s door, and he had had a ladle made from the wood.

Whatever the ladle was put into never diminished by use. Whether wine,

oil, rice, or money, the bulk remained the same if no ladle beside this

one were used in dipping it. A foreign innkeeper, hearing of this ladle,

came and offered her father-in-law three thousand ounces of silver for

it, but the offer was refused. And this ladle was the one that the

plaintiff had borrowed and destroyed.

The magistrate, on hearing this defense, understood that the cat had

been a pretext for extortion, and decided that the two claims offset

each other, so that no payment was due from either one.

_The Young Head of the Family_

There was once a family consisting of a father, his three sons, and his

two daughters-in-law. The two daughters-in-law, wives of the two elder

sons, had but recently been brought into the house, and were both from

one village a few miles away. Having no mother-in-law living, they were

obliged to appeal to their father-in-law whenever they wished to visit

their former homes, and as they were lonesome and homesick they

perpetually bothered the old man by asking leave of absence.

Vexed by these constant petitions, he set himself to invent a method of

putting an end to them, and at last gave them leave in this wise: “You

are always begging me to allow you to go and visit your mothers, and

thinking that I am very hard-hearted because I do not let you go. Now

you may go, but only upon condition that when you come back you will

each bring me something I want. The one shall bring me some fire wrapped

in paper, and the other some wind in a paper. Unless you promise to

bring me these, you are never to ask me to let you go home; and if you

go, and fail to get these for me, you are never to come back.”

The old man did not suppose that these conditions would be accepted, but

the girls were young and thoughtless, and in their anxiety to get away

did not consider the impossibility of obtaining the articles required.

So they made ready with speed, and in great glee started off on foot to

visit their mothers. After they had walked a long distance, chatting

about what they should do and whom they should see in their native

village, the high heel of one of them slipped from under her foot, and

she fell down. Owing to this mishap both stopped to adjust the misplaced

footgear, and while doing this the conditions under which alone they

could return to their husbands came to mind, and they began to cry.

While they sat there crying by the roadside a young girl came riding

along from the fields on a water buffalo. She stopped and asked them

what was the matter, and whether she could help them. They told her she

could do them no good; but she persisted in offering her sympathy and

inviting their confidence, till they told her their story, and then she

at once said that if they would go home with her she would show them a

way out of their trouble. Their case seemed so hopeless to themselves,

and the child was so sure of her own power to help them, that they

finally accompanied her to her father’s house, where she showed them how

to comply with their father-in-law’s demand.

For the first a paper lantern only would be needed. When lighted it

would be a fire, and its paper surface would compass the blaze, so that

it would truly be “some fire wrapped in paper.” For the second a paper

fan would suffice. When flapped, wind would issue from it, and the “wind

wrapped in paper” could thus be carried to the old man.

The two young women thanked the wise child, and went on their way

rejoicing. After a pleasant visit to their old homes, they took a

lantern and a fan, and returned to their father-in-law’s house. As soon

as he saw them he began to vent his anger at their light regard for his

commands, but they assured him that they had perfectly obeyed him, and

showed him that what they had brought fulfilled the conditions

prescribed. Much astonished, he inquired how it was that they had

suddenly become so astute, and they told him the story of their journey,

and of the little girl who had so opportunely come to their relief. He

inquired whether the little girl was already betrothed, and, finding

that she was not, engaged a go-between to see if he could get her for a

wife for his youngest son.

Having succeeded in securing the girl as a daughter-in-law, he brought

her home, and told all the rest of the family that as there was no

mother in the house, and as this girl had shown herself to be possessed

of extraordinary wisdom, she should be the head of the household.

The wedding festivities being over, the sons of the old man made ready

to return to their usual occupations on the farm; but, according to

their father’s order, they came to the young bride for instructions. She

told them that they were never to go to or from the fields empty-handed.

When they went they must carry fertilizers of some sort for the land,

and when they returned they must bring bundles of sticks for fuel. They

obeyed, and soon had the land in fine condition, and so much fuel

gathered that none need be bought. When there were no more sticks,

roots, or weeds to bring, she told them to bring stones instead; and

they soon accumulated an immense pile of stones, which were heaped in a

yard near their house.

One day an expert in the discovery of precious stones came along, and

saw in this pile a block of jade of great value. In order to get

possession of this stone at a small cost, he undertook to buy the whole

heap, pretending that he wished to use them in building. The little head

of the family asked an exorbitant price for them, and, as he could not

induce her to take less, he promised to pay her the sum she asked, and

to come two days later to bring the money and to remove the stones. That

night the girl thought about the reason for the buyer’s being willing to

pay so large a sum for the stones, and concluded that the heap must

contain a gem. The next morning she sent her father-in-law to invite the

buyer to supper, and she instructed the men of her family in regard to

his entertainment. The best of wine was to be provided, and the

father-in-law was to induce him to talk of precious stones, and to

cajole him into telling in what way they were to be distinguished from

other stones.

The head of the family, listening behind a curtain, heard how the

valuable stone in her heap could be discovered. She hastened to find and

remove it from the pile; and, when her guest had recovered from the

effect of the banquet, he saw that the value had departed from his

purchase. He went to negotiate again with the seller, and she conducted

the conference with such skill that she obtained the price originally

agreed upon for the heap of stones, and a large sum besides for the one

in her possession.

The family, having become wealthy, built an ancestral hall of fine

design and elaborate workmanship, and put the words “No Sorrow” as an

inscription over the entrance. Soon after, a mandarin passed that way,

and, noticing this remarkable inscription, had his sedan-chair set down,

that he might inquire who were the people that professed to have no

sorrow. He sent for the head of the family, was much surprised on seeing

so young a woman thus appear, and remarked: “Yours is a singular family.

I have never before seen one without sorrow, nor one with so young a

head. I will fine you for your impudence. Go and weave me a piece of

cloth as long as this road.”

“Very well,” responded the little woman; “so soon as your Excellency

shall have found the two ends of the road, and informed me as to the

number of feet in its length, I will at once begin the weaving.”

Finding himself at fault, the mandarin added, “And I also fine you as

much oil as there is water in the sea.”

“Certainly,” responded the woman; “as soon as you shall have measured

the sea, and sent me correct information as to the number of gallons, I

will at once begin to press out the oil from my beans.”

“Indeed,” said the mandarin, “since you are so sharp, perhaps you can

penetrate my thoughts. If you can, I will fine you no more. I hold this

pet quail in my hand; now tell me whether I mean to squeeze it to death,

or to let it fly in the air.”

“Well,” said the woman, “I am an obscure commoner, and you are a famed

magistrate; if you are no more knowing than I, you have no right to fine

me at all. Now I stand with one foot on one side my threshold and the

other foot on the other side; tell me whether I mean to go in or come

out. If you cannot guess my riddle, you should not require me to guess

yours.”

Being unable to guess her intention the mandarin took his departure, and

the family lived long in opulence and good repute under its chosen head.

_A Dreadful Boar_

A poor old woman who lived with her one little granddaughter in a wood

was out gathering sticks for fuel, and found a green stalk of

sugar-cane, which she added to her bundle. She presently met an elf in

the form of a wild Boar, that asked her for the cane, but she declined

giving it to him, saying that, at her age, to stoop and to rise again

was to earn what she picked up, and that she was going to take the cane

home, and let her little granddaughter suck its sap. The Boar, angry at

her refusal, said that he would, during the coming night, eat her

granddaughter instead of the cane, and went off into the wood.

When the old woman reached her cabin she sat down by the door and

wailed, for she knew she had no means of defending herself against the

Boar. While she sat crying, a vender of needles came along and asked her

what was the matter. She told him, and he said that all he could do for

her was to give her a box of needles. This he did, and went on his way.

The old woman stuck the needles thickly over the lower half of her door,

on its outer side, and then she went on crying. Just then a man came

along with a basket of crabs, heard her lamentations, and stopped to

inquire what ailed her. She told him, and he said he knew no help for

her, but he would do the best he could for her by giving her half his

crabs. The old woman put the crabs in her water-jar, behind her door,

and again sat down and cried. A farmer soon came along from the fields,

leading his ox, and he also asked the cause of her distress and heard

her sad story. He said he was sorry he could not think of any way of

preventing the evil she expected, but that he would leave his ox to stay

all night with her, as it might be a sort of company for her in her

loneliness. She led the ox into her cabin, tied it to the head of her

bedstead, gave it some straw, and then cried again.

A courier, returning on horseback from a neighboring town, next passed

her door, and dismounted to inquire what troubled her. Having heard her

tale, he said he would leave his horse to stay with her, and make the ox

more contented. So she tied the horse to the foot of her bed, and,

thinking how surely evil was coming upon her with the night, she burst

out crying anew. A boy just then came along with a snapping-turtle that

he had caught, and stopped to ask what had happened to her. On learning

the cause of her weeping, he said it was of no use to contend against

sprites, but that he would give her his snapping-turtle as a proof of

his sympathy. She took the turtle, tied it in front of her bedstead, and

continued to cry.

Some men who were carrying mill-stones then came along, inquired into

her trouble, and expressed their compassion by giving her a mill-stone,

which they rolled into her back yard. A little later a man arrived

carrying hoes and pickax, and asked her why she was crying so hard. She

told him her grief, and he said he would gladly help her if he could,

but he was only a well-digger, and could do nothing for her other than

to dig her a well. She pointed out a place in the middle of her back

yard, and he went to work and quickly dug a well.

On his departure the old woman cried again, until a paper-seller came

and inquired what was the matter. When she had told him, he gave her a

large sheet of white paper, as a token of pity, and she laid it smoothly

over the mouth of the well.

Nightfall came; the old woman shut and barred her door, put her

granddaughter snugly on the wall-side of the bed, and then lay down

beside her, to await the foe.

At midnight the Boar came, and threw himself against the door to break

it in. The needles wounded him sorely, so that when he had gained an

entrance he was heated and thirsty, and went to the water-jar to drink.

When he thrust in his snout the crabs attacked him, clung to his

bristles and pinched his ears, till he rolled over and over to

disencumber himself. Then in a rage he approached the front of the bed,

but the snapping-turtle nipped his tail, and made him retreat under the

feet of the horse, who kicked him over to the ox, who tossed him back to

the horse; and thus beset, he was glad to escape to the back yard to

take a rest, and to consider the situation. Seeing a clean paper spread

on the ground, he went to lie upon it, and fell into the well. The old

woman heard the fall, rushed out, rolled the mill-stone down on him, and

crushed him.

_The Old Man and the Devils_

A long time ago there was an old man who had a big lump on the right

side of his face. One day he went into the mountain to cut wood, when

the rain began to pour and the wind to blow so very hard that, finding

it impossible to return home, and filled with fear, he took refuge in

the hollow of an old tree. While sitting there doubled up and unable to

sleep, he heard the confused sound of many voices in the distance

gradually approaching to where he was. He said to himself: “How strange!

I thought I was all alone in the mountain, but I hear the voices of many

people.” So, taking courage, he peeped out, and saw a great crowd of

strange-looking beings. Some were red, and dressed in green clothes;

others were black, and dressed in red clothes; some had only one eye;

others had no mouth; indeed, it is quite impossible to describe their

varied and strange looks. They kindled a fire, so that it became as

light as day. They sat down in two cross-rows, and began to drink wine

and make merry just like human beings. They passed the wine-cup around

so often that many of them soon drank too much. One of the young devils

got up and began to sing a merry song and to dance; so also many others;

some danced well, others badly. One said: “We have had uncommon fun

tonight, but I would like to see something new.”

Then the old man, losing all fear, thought he would like to dance, and

saying, “Let come what will, if I die for it, I will have a dance, too,”

crept out of the hollow tree and, with his cap slipped over his nose and

his ax sticking in his belt, began to dance. The devils in great

surprise jumped up, saying, “Who is this?” but the old man advancing and

receding, swaying to and fro, and posturing this way and that way, the

whole crowd laughed and enjoyed the fun, saying: “How well the old man

dances! You must always come and join us in our sport; but, for fear you

might not come, you must give us a pledge that you will.” So the devils

consulted together, and, agreeing that the lump on his face, which was a

token of wealth, was what he valued most highly, demanded that it should

be taken. The old man replied: “I have had this lump many years, and

would not without good reason part with it; but you may have it, or an

eye, or my nose either if you wish.” So the devils laid hold of it,

twisting and pulling, and took it off without giving him any pain, and

put it away as a pledge that he would come back. Just then the day began

to dawn, and the birds to sing, so the devils hurried away.

The old man felt his face and found it quite smooth, and not a trace of

the lump left. He forgot all about cutting wood, and hastened home. His

wife, seeing him, exclaimed in great surprise, “What has happened to

you?” So he told her all that had befallen him.

Now, among the neighbors there was another old man who had a big lump on

the left side of his face. Hearing all about how the first old man had

got rid of his misfortune, he determined that he would also try the same

plan. So he went and crept into the hollow tree, and waited for the

devils to come. Sure enough, they came just as he was told, and they sat

down, drank wine, and made merry just as they did before. The second old

man, afraid and trembling, crept out of the hollow tree. The devils

welcomed him, saying: “The old man has come; now let us see him dance.”

This old fellow was awkward, and did not dance as well as the other, so

the devils cried out: “You dance badly, and are getting worse and worse;

we will give you back the lump which we took from you as a pledge.” Upon

this, one of the devils brought the lump, and stuck it on the other side

of his face; so the poor old fellow returned home with a lump on each

side.

_The Wonderful Tea-Kettle_

A long, long time ago, at the temple of Morinji, in the province of

Kotsuke, there lived an old priest.

This old priest was very fond of the ceremonial preparing and drinking

of tea known as _Chanoyu_; indeed, it was his chief interest and

pleasure in life to conduct this ceremony.

One day he chanced to find in a second-hand shop a very nice-looking old

Tea-kettle, which he bought and took home with him, highly pleased by

its fine shape and artistic appearance.

Next day he brought out his new purchase, and sat for a long time

turning it round on this side and on that, and admiring it.

“You are a regular beauty, that’s what you are,” he said; “I shall

invite all my friends to the _Chanoyu_, and how astonished they will be

at finding such an exquisite kettle as this!”

He placed his treasure on the top of a box where he could see it to the

best advantage, and sat admiring it and planning how he should invite

his guests. After a while he became drowsy and began to nod, and at last

fell forward, his head on his desk, fast asleep.

Then a wonderful transformation took place. The Tea-kettle began to

move. From its spout appeared a hairy head; at the other side out came a

fine bushy tail; next, four feet made themselves visible, while fine fur

seemed gradually to cover the surface of the kettle. At last, jumping

off the box, it began capering about the room for all the world just

like a badger.

Three young novices, pupils of the priest, who were at study in the next

room, heard the noise; and, when one of them peeped through the sliding

doors, what was his astonishment to see the Tea-kettle on four feet

dancing up and down the room!

He cried out: “Oh! what a wonderful thing! The Tea-kettle is changed

into a badger!”

“What!” said the second novice. “Do you mean to say that the Tea-kettle

is turned into a badger? What nonsense!” So saying, he pushed his

companion to one side and peeped in, but he also was terrified by what

he saw, and screamed: “It’s a goblin! It’s coming at us; let us run

away!”

The third novice was not so easily frightened.

“Come, this is rather fun,” said he; “how the creature does jump, to be

sure! I will rouse the master, and let him see, too.”

So he went into the room and shook the priest, crying: “Wake! Master,

wake! A strange thing has happened.”

“What’s the matter?” said the old man, drowsily rubbing his eyes, “what

a noisy fellow you are!”

“Any one would be noisy when such a strange thing as this is going on,”

said the novice. “Only look, master, your Tea-kettle has got feet, and

is running about.”

“What! what! what! What’s that you say?” asked the priest again. “The

kettle got feet! What’s this! Let me see!”

But by the time the old man was thoroughly roused, the Tea-kettle had

turned into its ordinary shape, and stood quietly on its box again.

“What foolish young fellows you are!” said the priest. “There stands a

kettle on the top of a box; surely there is nothing very strange in

that. No, no, I have heard of the rolling-pin that grew a pair of wings

and flew away, but, long as I have lived, never have I heard before of a

tea-kettle walking about on its own feet. You will never make me believe

that.”

But for all that, the priest was a little uneasy in his mind, and kept

thinking of the incident all that day. When evening came, and he was

alone in his room, he took down the kettle, filled it with water, and

set it upon the embers to boil, intending to make some tea. But, as soon

as the water began to boil, “Hot! hot!” cried the kettle, and jumped off

the fire.

“Help! help!” cried the priest, terrified out of his wits. But when the

novices rushed to his help, the kettle at once resumed its natural form;

so one of them, seizing a stick, cried, “We’ll soon find out whether

it’s alive or not,” and began beating it with might and main. There was

evidently no life in the thing, and only a metallic clang! clang!

responded to his lusty blows.

Then the old priest heartily repented having bought the mischievous

Tea-kettle, and was debating in his own mind how he should get rid of it

when who should drop in but the tinker?

“Here’s the very man,” thought the priest. A bargain was soon struck;

the tinker bought the Tea-kettle for a few coppers, and carried it home,

well pleased with his purchase.

Before going to bed he took another look at it, and found it still

better than he had at first thought, so he went to sleep that night in

the best of spirits.

In the midst of a pleasant dream the tinker suddenly started up,

thinking he heard somebody moving in the room, but, when he opened his

eyes and looked about, he could see nobody.

“It was only a dream, I suppose,” said he to himself as he turned over

and went to sleep again.

But he was disturbed once more by some one calling: “Tinker! tinker! Get

up! get up!”

This time he sprang up, wide awake, and lo and behold! there was the

Tea-kettle, with the head, tail, feet, and fur of a badger strutting up

and down the room!

“Goblin! goblin!” shrieked the tinker. But the Tea-kettle laughed and

said:

“Don’t be frightened, my dear tinker. I am not a goblin, only a

wonderful tea-kettle. My name is _Bumbuku-Chagama_, and I will bring

good luck to any one who treats me well; but, of course, I don’t like to

be set on the fire, and then beaten with sticks, as happened to me up at

the temple yesterday.”

“How can I please you, then?” asked the tinker. “Shall I keep you in a

box?”

“Oh! no, no!” answered the Tea-kettle; “I like nice sweet things to eat,

and sometimes a little wine to drink, just like yourself. Will you keep

me in your house and feed me? And, as I would not be a burden upon you,

I will work for you in any way you like.”

To this the tinker agreed.

Next morning he provided a good feast for _Bumbuku_, who then spoke:

“I certainly am a wonderful and accomplished Tea-kettle, and my advice

is that you take me round the country as a show, with accompaniments of

singing and music.”

The tinker, thinking well of this advice, at once started a show, which

he named the _Bumbuku-Chagama_. The lucky Tea-kettle at once made the

affair a success, for not only did he walk about on four legs, but he

danced the tight rope, and went through all kinds of acrobatic

performances, ending by making a profound bow to the spectators, and

begging for their future patronage.

The fame of these performances soon spread abroad, and the theater was

filled daily to overflowing until, at length, even the princes of the

land sent to order the tinker and his kettle to come to them, and the

show would take place, to the great delight of the princesses and ladies

of the court.

At last the tinker grew so rich that he retired from business, and,

wishing his faithful kettle also to be at rest, he took it back,

together with a large share of his wealth, to the temple of Morinji,

where it was laid up as a precious treasure and, some say, even

worshiped as a saint.

_The Wonderful Mallet_

Once upon a time there were two brothers. The elder was an honest and

good man, but he was very poor, while the younger, who was dishonest and

stingy, had managed to pile up a large fortune. The name of the elder

was Kané, and that of the younger was Chô.

Now, one day Kané went to Chô’s house, and begged for the loan of some

seed-rice and some silkworms’ eggs, for last season had been

unfortunate, and he was in want of both.

Chô had plenty of good rice and excellent silkworms’ eggs, but he was

such a miser that he did not want to lend them. At the same time, he

felt ashamed to refuse his brother’s request, so he gave him some

worm-eaten musty rice and some dead eggs, which he felt sure would never

hatch.

Kané, never suspecting that his brother would play him such a shabby

trick, put plenty of mulberry leaves with the eggs, to be food for the

silkworms when they should appear. Appear they did, and throve and grew

wonderfully, much better than those of the stingy brother, who was angry

and jealous when he heard of it.

Going to Kané’s house one day, and finding his brother was out, Chô took

a knife and killed all the silkworms, cutting each poor little creature

in two; then he went home without having been seen by anybody.

When Kané came home he was dismayed to find his silkworms in this state,

but he did not suspect who had done him this bad trick, and tried to

feed them with mulberry leaves as before. The silkworms came to life

again, and doubled the number, for now each half was a living worm. They

grew and throve, and the silk they spun was twice as much as Kané had

expected. So now he began to prosper.

The envious Chô, seeing this, cut all his own silkworms in half, but,

alas! they did not come to life again, so he lost a great deal of money,

and became more jealous than ever.

Kané also planted the rice-seed which he had borrowed from his brother,

and it sprang up, and grew and flourished far better than Chô’s had

done.

The rice ripened well, and he was just intending to cut and harvest it

when a flight of thousands upon thousands of swallows came and began to

devour it. Kané was much astonished, and shouted and made as much noise

as he could in order to drive them away. They flew away, indeed, but

came back immediately, so that he kept driving them away, and they kept

flying back again.

At last he pursued them into a distant field, where he lost sight of

them. He was by this time so hot and tired that he sat down to rest. By

little and little his eyes closed, his head dropped upon a mossy bank,

and he fell fast asleep.

Then he dreamed that a merry band of children came into the field,

laughing and shouting. They sat down upon the ground in a ring, and one

who seemed the eldest, a boy of fourteen or fifteen, came close to the

bank on which he lay asleep, and, raising a big stone near his head,

drew from under it a small wooden Mallet.

Then in his dream Kané saw this big boy stand in the middle of the ring

with the Mallet in his hand, and ask the children each in turn, “What

would you like the Mallet to bring you?” The first child answered, “A

kite.” The big boy shook the Mallet, upon which appeared immediately a

fine kite with tail and string all complete. The next cried, “A

battledore.” Out sprang a splendid battledore and a shower of

shuttlecocks. Then a little girl shyly whispered, “A doll.” The Mallet

was shaken, and there stood a beautifully dressed doll. “I should like

all the fairy-tale books that have ever been written in the whole

world,” said a bright-eyed intelligent maiden, and no sooner had she

spoken than piles upon piles of beautiful books appeared. And so at last

the wishes of all the children were granted, and they stayed a long time

in the field with the things the Mallet had given them. At last they got

tired, and prepared to go home; the big boy first carefully hiding the

Mallet under the stone from whence he had taken it. Then all the

children went away.

Presently Kané awoke, and gradually remembered his dream. In preparing

to rise he turned round, and there, close to where his head had lain,

was the big stone he had seen in his dream. “How strange!” he thought,

expecting he hardly knew what; he raised the stone, and there lay the

Mallet!

He took it home with him, and, following the example of the children he

had seen in his dream, shook it, at the same time calling out, “Gold” or

“Rice,” “Silk” or “Saké.” Whatever he called for immediately flew out of

the Mallet, so that he could have everything he wanted, and as much of

it as he liked.

Kané being now a rich and prosperous man, Chô was of course jealous of

him, and determined to find a magic mallet which would do as much for

him. He came, therefore, to Kané and borrowed seed-rice, which he

planted and tended with care, being impatient for it to grow and ripen

soon.

It grew well and ripened soon, and now Chô watched daily for the

swallows to appear. And, to be sure, one day a flight of swallows came

and began to eat up the rice.

Chô was delighted at this, and drove them away, pursuing them to the

distant field where Kané had followed them before. There he lay down,

intending to go to sleep as his brother had done, but the more he tried

to go to sleep the wider awake he seemed.

Presently the band of children came skipping and jumping, so he shut his

eyes and pretended to be asleep, but all the time watched anxiously what

the children would do. They sat down in a ring, as before, and the big

boy came close to Chô’s head and lifted the stone. He put down his hand

to lift the Mallet, but no mallet was there.

One of the children said, “Perhaps that lazy old farmer has taken our

Mallet.” So the big boy laid hold of Chô’s nose, which was rather long,

and gave it a good pinch, and all the other children ran up and pinched

and pulled his nose, and the nose itself got longer and longer; first it

hung down to his chin, then over his chest, next down to his knees, and

at last to his very feet.

It was in vain that Chô protested his innocence; the children pinched

and pummeled him to their hearts’ content, then capered round him,

shouting and laughing, and making game of him, and so at last went away.

Now Chô was left alone, a sad and angry man. Holding his long nose

painfully in both hands, he slowly took his way toward his brother

Kané’s house. Here he related all that had happened to him from the very

day when he had behaved so badly about the seed-rice and silkworms’

eggs. He humbly begged his brother to pardon him, and, if possible, do

something to restore his unfortunate nose to its proper size.

The kind-hearted Kané pitied him, and said: “You have been dishonest and

mean, and selfish and envious, and that is why you have got this

punishment. If you promise to behave better for the future, I will try

what can be done.”

So saying, he took the Mallet and rubbed Chô’s nose with it gently, and

the nose gradually became shorter and shorter until at last it came back

to its proper shape and size. But ever after, if at any time Chô felt

inclined to be selfish and dishonest, as he did now and then, his nose

began to smart and burn, and he fancied he felt it beginning to grow. So

great was his terror of having a long nose again that these symptoms

never failed to bring him back to his good behavior.

_The Tongue-Cut Sparrow_

Once upon a time a cross old woman laid some starch in a basin,

intending to put it in the clothes in her washtub; but a Sparrow that a

woman, her neighbor, kept as a pet, ate it up. Seeing this, the cross

old woman seized the Sparrow and, saying “You hateful thing!” cut its

tongue and let it go.

When the neighbor woman heard that her pet Sparrow had got its tongue

cut for its offense, she was greatly grieved, and set out with her

husband over mountains and plains to find where it had gone, crying:

“Where does the tongue-cut Sparrow stay? Where does the tongue-cut

Sparrow stay?”

At last they found its home. When the Sparrow saw that its old master

and mistress had come to see it, it rejoiced, and brought them into its

house and thanked them for their kindness in old times. It spread a

table for them, and loaded it with _sake_ and fish till there was no

more room, and made its wife and children and grandchildren all serve

the table.

At last, throwing away its drinking-cup, it danced a jig called the

Sparrow’s dance, and thus they spent the day. When it began to grow

dark, and there was talk of going home, the Sparrow brought out two

wicker baskets and said: “Will you take the heavy one, or shall I give

you the light one?” The old people replied: “We are old, so give us the

light one; it will be easier to carry it.” The Sparrow then gave them

the light basket, and they returned with it to their home. “Let us open

and see what is in it,” they said. And when they had opened it and

looked, they found gold and silver and jewels and rolls of silk. They

never expected anything like this. The more they took out, the more they

found inside. The supply was inexhaustible, so that the house at once

became rich and prosperous. When the cross old woman who had cut the

Sparrow’s tongue saw this, she was filled with envy, and went and asked

her neighbor where the Sparrow lived, and all about the way. “I will go,

too,” she said, and at once set out on her search.

Again the Sparrow brought out two wicker baskets, and asked as before:

“Will you take the heavy one, or shall I give you the light one?”

Thinking the treasure would be great in proportion to the weight of the

basket, the old woman replied, “Let me have the heavy one.”

Receiving this, she started home with it on her back, the sparrows

laughing at her as she went. It was as heavy as a stone, and hard to

carry, but at last she got back with it to her house.

Then, when she took off the lid and looked in, a whole troop of

frightful creatures came bouncing out from the inside, and at once they

caught her up and flew away with her.

_Battle of the Monkey and the Crab_

A Monkey and a Crab once met when going round a mountain.

The Monkey had picked up a persimmon-seed, and the Crab had a piece of

toasted rice-cake. The Monkey, seeing this, and wishing to get something

that could be turned to good account at once, said, “Pray, exchange that

rice-cake for this persimmon-seed.” The Crab, without a word, gave up

his cake, and took the persimmon-seed and planted it. At once it sprung

up, and soon became a tree so high one had to look far up to see it. The

tree was full of persimmons, but the Crab had no means of climbing it,

so he asked the Monkey to scramble up and get the fruit for him. The

Monkey got up on a limb of the tree and began to eat the persimmons. The

unripe ones he threw at the Crab, but all the ripe and good ones he put

in his pouch. The Crab under the tree thus got his shell badly bruised,

and only by good luck escaped into his hole, where he lay distressed

with pain, and not able to get up. Now, when the relatives and household

of the Crab heard how matters stood, they were surprised and angry, and

declared war, and attacked the Monkey, who, leading forth a numerous

following, bade defiance to the other party. The crabs, finding

themselves unable to meet and cope with this force, became still more

exasperated and enraged, and retreated into their hole and held a

council of war. Then came a rice-mortar, a pestle, a bee, and an egg,

and together they devised a deep-laid plot to be avenged.

First, they requested that peace be made with the crabs; and thus they

induced the king of the monkeys to enter their hole unattended, and

seated him on the hearth. The Monkey, not suspecting any plot, took the

_hibashi_, or poker, to stir up the slumbering fire, when bang! went the

egg, which was lying hidden in the ashes, and burned the Monkey’s arm.

Surprised and alarmed, he plunged his arm into the pickle-tub in the

kitchen to relieve the pain of the burn. Then the bee which was hidden

near the tub stung him sharply in his face, already wet with tears.

Without waiting to brush off the bee, and howling bitterly, he rushed

for the back door; but just then some seaweed entangled his legs and

made him slip. Then down came the pestle, tumbling on him from a shelf,

and the mortar, too, came rolling down on him from the roof of the porch

and broke his back, and so weakened him that he was unable to rise up.

Then out came the crabs in a crowd, and brandishing on high their

pinchers they pinched the Monkey so sorely that he begged them for

forgiveness and promised never to repeat his meanness and treachery.

_The Cub’s Triumph_

Once upon a time there lived in a forest a badger and a mother fox with

one little Cub.

There were no other beasts in the wood, because the hunters had killed

them all with bows and arrows, or by setting snares. The deer, and the

wild boar, the hares, the weasels, and the stoats—even the bright little

squirrels—had been shot, or had fallen into traps. At last, only the

badger and the fox, with her young one, were left, and they were

starving, for they dared not venture from their holes for fear of the

traps.

They did not know what to do, or where to turn for food. At last the

badger said:

“I have thought of a plan. I will pretend to be dead. You must change

yourself into a man, and take me into the town and sell me. With the

money you get for me, you must buy food and bring it into the forest.

When I get a chance I will run away, and come back to you, and we will

eat our dinner together. Mind you wait for me, and don’t eat any of it

until I come. Next week it will be your turn to be dead, and my turn to

sell—do you see?”

The fox thought this plan would do very well; so, as soon as the badger

had lain down and pretended to be dead, she said to her little Cub:

“Be sure not to come out of the hole until I come back. Be very good and

quiet, and I will soon bring you some nice dinner.”

She then changed herself into a wood-cutter, took the badger by the

heels and swung him over her shoulders, and trudged off into the town.

There she sold the badger for a fair price, and with the money bought

some fish, some _tofu_,[8] and some vegetables. She then ran back to the

forest as fast as she could, changed herself into a fox again, and crept

into her hole to see if little Cub was all right. Little Cub was there,

safe enough, but very hungry, and wanted to begin upon the _tofu_ at

once.

Footnote 8: