There was once a little boy whose name was Lars, and because he was so
little he was called Little Lasse; he was a brave little man, for he
sailed round the world in a pea-shell boat.
It was summer time, when the pea shells grew long and green in the
garden. Little Lasse crept into the pea bed where the pea stalks rose
high above his cap, and he picked seventeen large shells, the longest
and straightest he could find.
Little Lasse thought, perhaps, that no one saw him; but that was
foolish, for God sees everywhere.
Then the gardener came with his gun over his shoulder, and he heard
something rustling in the pea bed.
‘I think that must be a sparrow,’ he said. ‘Ras! Ras!’ but no sparrows
flew out, for Little Lasse had no wings, only two small legs. ‘Wait! I
will load my gun and shoot the sparrows,’ said the gardener.
Then Little Lasse was frightened, and crept out on to the path.
‘Forgive me, dear gardener!’ he said. ‘I wanted to get some fine boats.’
‘Well, I will this time,’ said the gardener. ‘But another time Little
Lasse must ask leave to go and look for boats in the pea bed.’
‘I will,’ answered Lasse; and he went off to the shore. Then he opened
the shells with a pin, split them carefully in two, and broke small
little bits of sticks for the rowers’ seats. Then he took the peas which
were in the shells and put them in the boats for cargo. Some of the
shells got broken, some remained whole, and when all were ready Lasse
had twelve boats. But they should not be boats, they should be large
warships. He had three liners, three frigates, three brigs and three
schooners. The largest liner was called Hercules, and the smallest
schooner The Flea. Little Lasse put all the twelve into the water, and
they floated as splendidly and as proudly as any great ships over the
waves of the ocean.
And now the ships must sail round the world. The great island over there
was Asia; that large stone Africa; the little island America; the small
stones were Polynesia; and the shore from which the ships sailed out was
Europe. The whole fleet set off and sailed far away to other parts of
the world. The ships of the line steered a straight course to Asia, the
frigates sailed to Africa, the brigs to America, and the schooners to
Polynesia. But Little Lasse remained in Europe, and threw small stones
out into the great sea.
Now, there was on the shore of Europe a real boat, father’s own, a
beautiful white-painted boat, and Little Lasse got into it. Father and
mother had forbidden this, but Little Lasse forgot. He thought he should
very much like to travel to some other part of the world.
‘I shall row out a little way--only a very little way,’ he thought. The
pea-shell boats had travelled so far that they only looked like little
specks on the ocean. ‘I shall seize Hercules on the coast of Asia,’ said
Lasse, ‘and then row home again to Europe.’
He shook the rope that held the boat, and, strange to say, the rope
became loose. Ditsch, ratsch, a man is a man, and so Little Lasse manned
the boat.
Now he would row--and he could row, for he had rowed so often on the
step sat home, when the steps pretended to be a boat and father’s big
stick an oar. But when Little Lasse wanted to row there were no oars
to be found in the boat. The oars were locked up in the boat-house, and
Little Lasse had not noticed that the boat was empty. It is not so easy
as one thinks to row to Asia without oars.
What could Little Lasse do now? The boat was already some distance out
on the sea, and the wind, which blew from land, was driving it still
further out. Lasse was frightened and began to cry. But there was no
one on the shore to hear him. Only a big crow perched alone in the birch
tree; and the gardener’s black cat sat under the birch tree, waiting to
catch the crow. Neither of them troubled themselves in the least about
Little Lasse, who was drifting out to sea.
Ah! how sorry Little Lasse was now that he had been disobedient and got
into the boat, when father and mother had so often forbidden him to do
so! Now it was too late, he could not get back to land. Perhaps he would
be lost out on the great sea. What should he do?
When he had shouted until he was tired and no one heard him, he put
his two little hands together and said, ‘Good God, do not be angry with
Little Lasse.’ And then he went to sleep. For although it was daylight,
old Nukku Matti was sitting on the shores of the ‘Land of Nod,’ and was
fishing for little children with his long fishing rod. He heard the low
words which Little Lasse said to God, and he immediately drew the boat
to himself and laid Little Lasse to sleep on a bed of rose leaves.
Then Nukku Matti said to one of the Dreams, ‘Play with Little Lasse, so
that he does not feel lonesome.’
It was a little dream-boy, so little, so little, that he was less than
Lasse himself; he had blue eyes and fair hair, a red cap with a silver
band, and white coat with pearls on the collar. He came to Little Lasse
and said, ‘Would you like to sail round the world?’
‘Yes,’ said Lasse in his sleep, ‘I should like to.’
‘Come, then,’ said the dream-boy, ‘and let us sail in your pea-shell
boats. You shall sail in Hercules and I shall sail in The Flea.’
So they sailed away from the ‘Land of Nod,’ and in a little while
Hercules and The Flea were on the shores of Asia away at the other end
of the world, where the Ice Sea flows through Behring Straits into the
Pacific Ocean. A long way off in the winter mist they could see the
explorer Nordenskiold with his ship Vega trying to find an opening
between the ice. It was so cold, so cold; the great icebergs glittered
strangely, and the huge whales now lived under the ice, for they could
not make a hole through with their awkward heads. All around on the
dreary shore there was snow and snow as far as the eye could see; little
grey men in shaggy skins moved about, and drove in small sledges through
the snow drifts, but the sledges were drawn by dogs.
‘Shall we land here?’ asked the dream-boy.
‘No,’ said Little Lasse. ‘I am so afraid that the whales would swallow
us up, and the big dogs bite us. Let us sail instead to another part of
the world.’
‘Very well,’ said the dream-boy with the red cap and the silver band;
‘it is not far to America’--and at the same moment they were there.
The sun was shining and it was very warm. Tall palm trees grew in long
rows on the shore and bore coconuts in their top branches. Men red as
copper galloped over the immense green prairies and shot their arrows
at the buffaloes, who turned against them with their sharp horns. An
enormous cobra which had crept up the stem of a tall palm tree threw
itself on to a little llama that was grazing at the foot. Knaps! it was
all over the little llama.
‘Shall we land here?’ asked the dream-boy.
‘No,’ said Little Lasse. ‘I am so afraid that the buffaloes will butt
us, and the great serpent eat us up. Let us travel to another part of
the world.’
‘Very well,’ said the dream-boy with the white coat, ‘it is only a
little way to Polynesia’--and then they were there.
It was very warm there, as warm as in a hot bath in Finland. Costly
spices grew on the shores: the pepper plant, the cinnamon tree, ginger,
saffron; the coffee plant and the tea plant. Brown people with long ears
and thick lips, and hideously painted faces, hunted a yellow-spotted
tiger among the high bamboos on the shore, and the tiger turned on them
and stuck its claws into one of the brown men. Then all the others took
to flight.
‘Shall we land here?’ asked the dream-boy.
‘No,’ said Little Lasse. ‘Don’t you see the tiger away there by the
pepper plant? Let us travel to another part of the world.’
‘We can do so,’ said the dream-boy with the blue eyes. ‘We are not far
from Africa’--and as he said that they were there.
They anchored at the mouth of a great river where the shores were
as green as the greenest velvet. A little distance from the river an
immense desert stretched away. The air was yellow; the sun shone so hot,
so hot as if it would burn the earth to ashes, and the people were as
black as the blackest jet. They rode across the desert on tall camels;
the lions roared with thirst, and the great crocodiles with their grey
lizard heads and sharp white teeth gaped up out of the river.
‘Shall we land here?’ asked the dream-boy.
‘No,’ said Little Lasse. ‘The sun would burn us, and the lions and the
crocodiles would eat us up. Let us travel to another part of the world.’
‘We can travel back to Europe,’ said the dream-boy with the fair hair.
And with that they were there.
They came to a shore where it was all so cool and familiar and friendly.
There stood the tall birch tree with its drooping leaves; at the top sat
the old crow, and at its foot crept the gardener’s black cat. Not far
away was a house which Little Lasse had seen before; near the house
there was a garden, and in the garden a pea bed with long pea shells.
An old gardener with a green coat walked about and wondered if the
cucumbers were ripe. Fylax was barking on the steps, and when he saw
Little Lasse he wagged his tail. Old Stina was milking the cows in the
farmyard, and there was a very familiar lady in a check woollen shawl
on her way to the bleaching green to see if the clothes were bleached.
There was, too, a well-known gentleman in a yellow summer coat, with a
long pipe in his mouth; he was going to see if the reapers had cut the
rye. A boy and a girl were running on the shore and calling out, ‘Little
Lasse! Come home for bread-and-butter!’
‘Shall we land here?’ asked the dream-boy, and he blinked his blue eyes
roguishly.
‘Come with me, and I shall ask mother to give you some bread-and-butter
and a glass of milk,’ said Little Lasse.
‘Wait a little,’ said the dream-boy. And now Little Lasse saw that the
kitchen door was open, and from within there was heard a low, pleasant
frizzling, like that which is heard when one whisks yellow batter with a
wooden ladle into a hot frying-pan.
‘Perhaps we should sail back to Polynesia now?’ said the happy
dream-boy.
‘No; they are frying pancakes in Europe just now,’ said Little Lasse;
and he wanted to jump ashore, but he could not. The dream-boy had tied
him with a chain of flowers, so that he could not move. And now all
the little dreams came about him, thousands and thousands of little
children, and they made a ring around him and sang a little song:
The world is very, very wide,
Little Lasse, Lasse,
And though you’ve sailed beyond the tide,
You can never tell how wide
It is on the other side,
Lasse, Little Lasse.
You have found it cold and hot,
Little Lasse, Lasse;
But in no land is God not,
Lasse, Little Lasse.
Many men live there as here,
But they all to God are dear,
Little Lasse, Lasse.
When His angel is your guide,
Little Lasse, Lasse,
Then no harm can e’er betide,
Even on the other side
Where the wild beasts wander.
But tell us now,
Whene’er you roam,
Do you not find the best is home
Of all the lands you’ve looked upon,
Lasse, Little Lasse?
When the dreams had sung their song they skipped away, and Nukku Matti
carried Lasse back to the boat. He lay there for a long time quite
still, and he still heard the frying-pan frizzling at home of the fire,
the frizzling was very plain, Little Lasse heard it quite near him; and
so he woke up and rubbed his eyes.
There he lay in the boat, where he had fallen asleep. The wind had
turned, and the boat had drifted out with one wind and drifted in with
another while Little Lasse slept, and what Lasse thought was frizzling
in a frying-pan was the low murmur of the waves as they washed against
the stones on the shore. But he was not altogether wrong, for the clear
blue sea is like a great pan in which God’s sun all day makes cakes for
good children.
Little Lasse rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked around him.
Everything was the same as before; the crow in the birch tree, the cat
on the grass, and the pea-shell fleet on the shore. Some of the ships
had foundered, and some had drifted back to land. Hercules had come back
with its cargo from Asia, The Flea had arrived from Polynesia, and the
other parts of the world were just where they were before.
Little Lasse did not know what to think. He had so often been in that
grotto in the ‘Land of Nod’ and did not know what tricks dreams can
play. But Little Lasse did not trouble his head with such things; he
gathered together his boats and walked up the shore back to the house.
His brother and sister ran to meet him, and called out from the
distance, ‘Where have you been so long, Lasse? Come home and get some
bread-and-butter.’ The kitchen door stood open, and inside was heard a
strange frizzling.
The gardener was near the gate, watering the dill and parsley, the
carrots and parsnips.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘where has Little Lasse been so long?’
Little Lasse straightened himself up stiff, and answered: ‘I have sailed
round the world in a pea-shell boat.’
‘Oh!’ said the gardener.
He has forgotten Dreamland. But you have not forgotten it; you know that
it exists. You know the beautiful grotto and the bright silver walls
whose lustre never fades, the sparkling diamonds which never grow dim,
the music which never ceases its low, soft murmur through the sweet
evening twilight. The airy fairy fancies of happy Dreamland never grow
old; they, like the glorious stars above us, are always young. Perhaps
you have caught a glimpse of their ethereal wings as they flew around
your pillow. Perhaps you have met the same dream-boy with the blue eyes
and the fair hair, the one who wore the red cap with the silver band and
the white coat with pearls on the collar. Perhaps he has taken you to
see all the countries of the world and the peoples, the cold waste lands
and the burning deserts, the many coloured men and the wild creatures
in the sea and in the woods, so that you may earn many things, but come
gladly home again. Yes, who knows? Perhaps you also have sailed round
the wide world once in a pea-shell boat.
From Z. Topelius.
‘Moti’
Once upon a time there was a youth called Moti, who was very big and
strong, but the clumsiest creature you can imagine. So clumsy was he
that he was always putting his great feet into the bowls of sweet milk
or curds which his mother set out on the floor to cool, always smashing,
upsetting, breaking, until at last his father said to him:
‘Here, Moti, are fifty silver pieces which are the savings of years;
take them and go and make your living or your fortune if you can.’
Then Moti started off one early spring morning with his thick staff over
his shoulder, singing gaily to himself as he walked along.
In one way and another he got along very well until a hot evening when
he came to a certain city where he entered the travellers’ ‘serai’ or
inn to pass the night. Now a serai, you must know, is generally just a
large square enclosed by a high wall with an open colonnade along the
inside all round to accommodate both men and beasts, and with perhaps
a few rooms in towers at the corners for those who are too rich or too
proud to care about sleeping by their own camels and horses. Moti, of
course, was a country lad and had lived with cattle all his life, and
he wasn’t rich and he wasn’t proud, so he just borrowed a bed from the
innkeeper, set it down beside an old buffalo who reminded him of home,
and in five minutes was fast asleep.
In the middle of the night he woke, feeling that he had been disturbed,
and putting his hand under his pillow found to his horror that his bag
of money had been stolen. He jumped up quietly and began to prowl around
to see whether anyone seemed to be awake, but, though he managed to
arouse a few men and beasts by falling over them, he walked in the
shadow of the archways round the whole serai without coming across a
likely thief. He was just about to give it up when he overheard two men
whispering, and one laughed softly, and peering behind a pillar, he saw
two Afghan horsedealers counting out his bag of money! Then Moti went
back to bed!
In the morning Moti followed the two Afghans outside the city to the
horsemarket in which they horses were offered for sale. Choosing the
best-looking horse amongst them he went up to it and said:
‘Is this horse for sale? may I try it?’ and, the merchants assenting, he
scrambled up on its back, dug in his heels, and off they flew. Now Moti
had never been on a horse in his life, and had so much ado to hold on
with both hands as well as with both legs that the animal went just
where it liked, and very soon broke into a break-neck gallop and made
straight back to the serai where it had spent the last few nights.
‘This will do very well,’ thought Moti as they whirled in at the
entrance. As soon as the horse had arrived at its table it stopped of
its own accord and Moti immediately rolled off; but he jumped up at
once, tied the beast up, and called for some breakfast. Presently the
Afghans appeared, out of breath and furious, and claimed the horse.
‘What do you mean?’ cried Moti, with his mouth full of rice, ‘it’s my
horse; I paid you fifty pieces of silver for it--quite a bargain, I’m
sure!’
‘Nonsense! it is our horse,’ answered one of the Afghans beginning to
untie the bridle.
‘Leave off,’ shouted Moti, seizing his staff; ‘if you don’t let my horse
alone I’ll crack your skulls! you thieves! I know you! Last night you
took my money, so to-day I took your horse; that’s fair enough!’
Now the Afghans began to look a little uncomfortable, but Moti seemed so
determined to keep the horse that they resolved to appeal to the law, so
they went off and laid a complaint before the king that Moti had stolen
one of their horses and would not give it up nor pay for it.
Presently a soldier came to summon Moti to the king; and, when he
arrived and made his obeisance, the king began to question him as to why
he had galloped off with the horse in this fashion. But Moti declared
that he had got the animal in exchange for fifty pieces of silver,
whilst the horse merchants vowed that the money they had on them was
what they had received for the sale of other horses; and in one way and
another the dispute got so confusing that the king (who really thought
that Moti had stolen the horse) said at last, ‘Well, I tell you what
I will do. I will lock something into this box before me, and if he
guesses what it is, the horse is his, and if he doesn’t then it is
yours.’
To this Moti agreed, and the king arose and went out alone by a
little door at the back of the Court, and presently came back clasping
something closely wrapped up in a cloth under his robe, slipped it into
the little box, locked the box, and set it up where all might see.
‘Now,’ said the king to Moti, ‘guess!’
It happened that when the king had opened the door behind him, Moti
noticed that there was a garden outside: without waiting for the king’s
return he began to think what could be got out of the garden small
enough to be shut in the box. ‘Is it likely to be a fruit or a flower?
No, not a flower this time, for he clasped it too tight. Then it must
be a fruit or a stone. Yet not a stone, because he wouldn’t wrap a dirty
stone in his nice clean cloth. Then it is a fruit! And a fruit without
much scent, or else he would be afraid that I might smell it. Now what
fruit without much scent is in season just now? When I know that I shall
have guessed the riddle!’
As has been said before, Moti was a country lad, and was accustomed
to work in his father’s garden. He knew all the common fruits, so he
thought he ought to be able to guess right; but so as not to let it
seem too easy, he gazed up at the ceiling with a puzzled expression, and
looked down at the floor with an air or wisdom and his fingers pressed
against his forehead, and then he said, slowly, with his eyes on the
king,--
‘It is freshly plucked! It is round and it is red! It is a pomegranate!’
Now the king knew nothing about fruits except that they were good to
eat; and, as for seasons, he asked for whatever fruit he wanted whenever
he wanted it, and saw that he got it; so to him Moti’s guess was like
a miracle, and clear proof not only of his wisdom but of his innocence,
for it was a pomegranate that he had put into the box. Of course when
the king marvelled and praised Moti’s wisdom, everybody else did so too;
and, whilst the Afghans went off crestfallen, Moti took the horse and
entered the king’s service.
Very soon after this, Moti, who continued to live in the serai, came
back one wet and stormy evening to find that his precious horse had
strayed. Nothing remained of him but a broken halter cord, and no one
knew what had become of him. After inquiring of everyone who was likely
to know, Moti seized the cord and his big staff and sallied out to
look for him. Away and away he tramped out of the city and into the
neighbouring forest, tracking hoof-marks in the mud. Presently it
grew late, but still Moti wandered on until suddenly in the gathering
darkness he came right upon a tiger who was contentedly eating his
horse.
‘You thief!’ shrieked Moti, and ran up and, just as the tiger, in
astonishment, dropped a bone--whack! came Moti’s staff on his head with
such good will that the beast was half stunned and could hardly breathe
or see. Then Moti continued to shower upon him blows and abuse until the
poor tiger could hardly stand, whereupon his tormentor tied the end of
the broken halter round his neck and dragged him back to the serai.
‘If you had my horse,’ he said, ‘I will at least have you, that’s fair
enough!’ And he tied him up securely by the head and heels, much as he
used to tie the horse; then, the night being far gone, he flung himself
beside him and slept soundly.
You cannot imagine anything like the fright of the people in the
serai, when they woke up and found a tiger--very battered but still
a tiger--securely tethered amongst themselves and their beasts! Men
gathered in groups talking and exclaiming, and finding fault with the
innkeeper for allowing such a dangerous beast into the serai, and all
the while the innkeeper was just as troubled as the rest, and none dared
go near the place where the tiger stood blinking miserably on everyone,
and where Moti lay stretched out snoring like thunder.
At last news reached the king that Moti had exchanged his horse for a
live tiger; and the monarch himself came down, half disbelieving the
tale, to see if it were really true. Someone at last awaked Moti with
the news that his royal master was come; and he arose yawning, and was
soon delightedly explaining and showing off his new possession. The
king, however, did not share his pleasure at all, but called up a
soldier to shoot the tiger, much to the relief of all the inmates of the
serai except Moti. If the king, however, was before convinced that Moti
was one of the wisest of men, he was now still more convinced that he
was the bravest, and he increased his pay a hundredfold, so that our
hero thought that he was the luckiest of men.
A week or two after this incident the king sent for Moti, who on arrival
found his master in despair. A neighbouring monarch, he explained, who
had many more soldiers than he, had declared war against him, and he was
at his wits’ end, for he had neither money to buy him off nor soldiers
enough to fight him--what was he to do?
‘If that is all, don’t you trouble,’ said Moti. ‘Turn out your men, and
I’ll go with them, and we’ll soon bring this robber to reason.’
The king began to revive at these hopeful words, and took Moti off to
his stable where he bade him choose for himself any horse he liked.
There were plenty of fine horses in the stalls, but to the king’s
astonishment Moti chose a poor little rat of a pony that was used to
carry grass and water for the rest of the stable.
‘But why do you choose that beast?’ said the king.
‘Well, you see, your majesty,’ replied Moti, ‘there are so many chances
that I may fall off, and if I choose one of your fine big horses I shall
have so far to fall that I shall probably break my leg or my arm, if not
my neck, but if I fall off this little beast I can’t hurt myself much.’
A very comical sight was Moti when he rode out to the war. The only
weapon he carried was his staff, and to help him to keep his balance
on horseback he had tied to each of his ankles a big stone that nearly
touched the ground as he sat astride the little pony. The rest of the
king’s cavalry were not very numerous, but they pranced along in armour
on fine horses. Behind them came a great rabble of men on foot armed
with all sorts of weapons, and last of all was the king with his
attendants, very nervous and ill at ease. So the army started.
They had not very far to go, but Moti’s little pony, weighted with a
heavy man and two big rocks, soon began to lag behind the cavalry,
and would have lagged behind the infantry too, only they were not very
anxious to be too early in the fight, and hung back so as to give Moti
plenty of time. The young man jogged along more and more slowly for some
time, until at last, getting impatient at the slowness of the pony,
he gave him such a tremendous thwack with his staff that the pony
completely lost his temper and bolted. First one stone became untied
and rolled away in a cloud of dust to one side of the road, whilst Moti
nearly rolled off too, but clasped his steed valiantly by its ragged
mane, and, dropping his staff, held on for dear life. Then, fortunately
the other rock broke away from his other leg and rolled thunderously
down a neighbouring ravine. Meanwhile the advanced cavalry had barely
time to draw to one side when Moti came dashing by, yelling bloodthirsty
threats to his pony:
‘You wait till I get hold of you! I’ll skin you alive! I’ll wring your
neck! I’ll break every bone in your body!’ The cavalry thought that
this dreadful language was meant for the enemy, and were filled with
admiration of his courage. Many of their horses too were quite upset by
this whirlwind that galloped howling through their midst, and in a few
minutes, after a little plunging and rearing and kicking, the whole
troop were following on Moti’s heels.
Far in advance, Moti continued his wild career. Presently in his course
he came to a great field of castor-oil plants, ten or twelve feet high,
big and bushy, but quite green and soft. Hoping to escape from the back
of his fiery steed Moti grasped one in passing, but its roots gave
way, and he dashed on, with the whole plant looking like a young tree
flourishing in his grip.
The enemy were in battle array, advancing over the plain, their king
with them confident and cheerful, when suddenly from the front came a
desperate rider at a furious gallop.
‘Sire!’ he cried, ‘save yourself! the enemy are coming!’
‘What do you mean?’ said the king.
‘Oh, sire!’ panted the messenger, ‘fly at once, there is no time to
lose. Foremost of the enemy rides a mad giant at a furious gallop. He
flourishes a tree for a club and is wild with anger, for as he goes he
cries, “You wait till I get hold of you! I’ll skin you alive! I’ll wring
your neck! I’ll break every bone in your body!” Others ride behind, and
you will do well to retire before this whirlwind of destruction comes
upon you.’
Just then out of a cloud of dust in the distance the king saw Moti
approaching at a hard gallop, looking indeed like a giant compared with
the little beast he rode, whirling his castor-oil plant, which in the
distance might have been an oak tree, and the sound of his revilings and
shoutings came down upon the breeze! Behind him the dust cloud moved
to the sound of the thunder of hoofs, whilst here and there flashed the
glitter of steel. The sight and the sound struck terror into the king,
and, turning his horse, he fled at top speed, thinking that a regiment
of yelling giants was upon him; and all his force followed him as fast
as they might go. One fat officer alone could not keep up on foot with
that mad rush, and as Moti came galloping up he flung himself on the
ground in abject fear. This was too much for Moti’s excited pony, who
shied so suddenly that Moti went flying over his head like a sky rocket,
and alighted right on the top of his fat foe.
Quickly regaining his feet Moti began to swing his plant round his head
and to shout:
‘Where are your men? Bring them up and I’ll kill them. My regiments!
Come on, the whole lot of you! Where’s your king? Bring him to me. Here
are all my fine fellows coming up and we’ll each pull up a tree by the
roots and lay you all flat and your houses and towns and everything
else! Come on!’
But the poor fat officer could do nothing but squat on his knees with
his hands together, gasping. At last, when he got his breath, Moti sent
him off to bring his king, and to tell him that if he was reasonable his
life should be spared. Off the poor man went, and by the time the troops
of Moti’s side had come up and arranged themselves to look as formidable
as possible, he returned with his king. The latter was very humble and
apologetic, and promised never to make war any more, to pay a large sum
of money, and altogether do whatever his conqueror wished.
So the armies on both sides went rejoicing home, and this was really
the making of the fortune of clumsy Moti, who lived long and contrived
always to be looked up to as a fountain of wisdom, valour, and
discretion by all except his relations, who could never understand what
he had done to be considered so much wiser than anyone else.
A Pushto Story.