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Once upon a time there was a man who lived in a dark hut under a willow
tree. His face, and his wife’s face, and the faces of their six
black-haired children, were as dark and gnarled as the willow trunk. But
when their seventh son was born, he was a light-haired boy, with clear
blue eyes, and a smile like golden sunshine.
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“This is not our child!” cried the black-eyed man and the black-eyed
woman; “this yellow-haired baby is a changeling; the dwarfs have put him
into the cradle!” So they called him Peter Dwarf. They were very unkind
to him, and when he grew older they made him do hard, ugly work, like
picking nettles and killing lambs. Peter liked to work, but he did not
at all like to kill poor little lambs.
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One day it happened that the cat got into the larder and ate a big piece
of meat. The black-eyed woman took her by the tail and flung her out of
the window at Peter Dwarf, telling him that he must get rid of her at
once. But when he had the lovely white cat in his arms, she looked at
him so pleadingly that tears came into his eyes, and he said: “Minka, I
cannot hurt you! But if I don’t obey, my father and mother will be very
angry.’” But the cat still looked at him so sorrowfully that he said:
“Minka, let us both run away. You shall not be harmed.”
They walked over many fields where corn and beans grew in rows and the
rabbits jumped away as they came. When night fell they had reached a
mountain, and there were no more fields, only roots and rocks and
shadowy trees.
“Let us go into a cave to sleep,” Peter Dwarf suggested. So they crept
into a deep cavern, which seemed to have no end. Peter spread his coat
and lay down; but Minka crept into all the dark crannies mewing and
scratching, and finally she disappeared. When Peter heard her come back
again, he could only see her eyes, shining like stars in the rocky
passage.
“Oho!” he cried, and the cavern echoed, “does this vault go on into the
mountain? I must see how far it goes.” So he took up his coat and
followed Minka. Presently they were in the heart of the hill. The caves
were cold and damp, and it was very dark. Then Peter, shuddering, turned
around to go back, but he was entirely lost among the winding passages,
and the white cat walked aimlessly from one cavern to another. At last,
after much wandering, they saw a light, and at the same time they heard
voices—little buzzing voices, that sounded like a copper dish when you
strike it and set it ringing.
“They are coming this way!” whispered Peter Dwarf. “Look, they have
lanterns—they will save us. But who are they?—Minka, they are the
Diggerfolk—the Dwarfs!”
Presently they came, and their lanterns made shadowy circles on the
walls. They were little men, in gay, patched clothes, and their faces
were brown and wrinkled like walnuts. They stopped, raised their arms,
and pointed at Peter, crying all together:
“Here is a mortal! Here is a child of mortals, in our own native
caverns!”
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Now Peter had gone many hours without anything to eat, and the darkness
and hunger had made him shaky. His knees gave way under him and he sank
down on the stone.
“Oh Diggerfolk, Diggerfolk, have mercy on us! We are lost, and hungry,
and have not a friend in the world!”
The little men all muttered and grunted; they did not look unkind.
“Who are you?” asked one of them who carried a great stone hammer.
“I am Peter Dwarf,” replied the boy, bowing his fair, bright head. “And
this”—he drew the white cat into his arms—“this is Minka.”
“Peter Dwarf!” exclaimed the one with the hammer, “why do they call you
Dwarf? You are as tall and well-shaped a boy as ever I have seen.”
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“Because I have blue eyes and yellow hair,” Peter replied, “I was so
different from my brothers, and so ugly that my mother said I was not
her own son, but a fairy changeling whom the dwarfs have put into the
cradle.”
“Ho, ho!” cried a big dwarf with a bunch of keys at his belt, “so they
have sent you back where you came from, have they? And do we look as
though we were your relatives? No, no, little boy; take up that purring
friend of yours and go home to your mother and tell her that this is no
place either for her child or her pussy-cat.”
Peter was still kneeling on the ground, and Minka sat between his knees.
Now he stretched his arms toward the little men, and implored:
“Oh good kind Diggerfolk, let me go with you and work for you! My mother
has not sent me; I ran away, because I would not hurt Minka, and they
would have been very angry with me. I will work for you from morning
until night, only let me stay!”
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“Work?” said the dwarf with the hammer, “how can such a slight and
princely creature work? Peter, let me see your hands.” He felt Peter’s
hands; they were thin and strong and callous. “Yes,” he said, “this boy
knows what it is to work, I think we had better let him stay with us.
And now, Peter, since you are coming with us, let us have a general
introduction. My name is Stroke,” and he bowed as best he could over his
round stomach. “I am a Swordsmith, and he with the pick-axe is a Miner,
Mushroom by name; he of the pointed ears is Berry, the Blacksmith; and
those three who are talking to the Lady Minka, are Hump, the Goldsmith,
Crow the Coppersmith, and Wisely, he that jingles the keys—a Locksmith.”
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Peter got up and bowed to the little men. They told him to follow, then
they led the way through winding passages down to the very center of the
earth.
“Now, if you will truly learn the trades,” they said, “you must work
with each one of us for a year. You shall be given plenty to eat, and
shall sleep beside the fire.”
So Peter worked for the first year with Mushroom, the Miner. They would
go into the shafts together and break the good ore out of the crags,
letting the pieces roll with a noise like thunder down into the cave
where Thorn, the Smelter, kept his furnace glowing.
The next year Peter worked for Thorn, the Smelter, and his face became a
ruddy brown from standing over the roaring furnaces; then he learned
from Berry, the Blacksmith, how to make hammers and axes and other
tools; and the next year he helped Stroke to fashion swords and armor.
He made gold chains and brooches and rings with Hump, and keys with
Wisely, the Locksmith. Before the seventh year was over, there was not a
lock in all Christendom which Peter could not open.
“Keys,” said Wisely, stroking his silken beard, “Keys are the most magic
things in all the world. You have learned your trades well, Peter Dwarf;
now we will let you go forth into the world and try your luck. And
because you have been faithful and sweet-natured, you shall have a gift
of magic. This gift shall be that whenever you stand in another person’s
shoes, you will be able to see what that person sees and know what that
person knows. Now use your magic as you will, and do not forget us.
Good-bye, Peter Dwarf, good-bye!”
All the little dwarfs waved their caps and their big brown hands, as
Peter and Minka went back to the sunny upper Earth, which they had not
seen for seven years.
They wandered for a long time, when finally they came to the hut where
Peter had been born, but strange people lived in it now—his wicked
black-eyed family had all died; the woman of a cat-bite, the man of a
dog-bite, and the six naughty boys of over-eating. So Peter and his
white Pussy walked on for many miles and came to a splendid palace where
a king lived with his queen.
“O Minka!” said Peter, quite breathlessly, “if one could only look
inside for one single moment! Wouldn’t you love to look inside?”
“Mew-ew,” said the cat, rubbing her head against his bare ankles. “Mew!”
Just then a fat gentleman, in blue and gold attire, came running down
the hillside, as fast as he could run. He stopped to catch his breath,
and then started again. He was the king’s chamberlain. Peter bowed and
spoke to him. “Sir, is there anything I can do for you? If it is an
errand, I am a swift runner!”
“Indeed you should be swifter than I,” groaned the chamberlain. “Oh what
a stitch I have; what a stitch! Yes, run if you will, and summon all the
doctors in the land, and all the wise philosophers; for the King is very
ill.”
So Peter ran, as fast as only a bare-foot boy can run; and soon he came
to a house that bore a sign:
[Illustration: DR. FAUSTUS PH.D]
He drummed on the door until the old magician came out, pipe in hand, to
ask what had happened.
“The King is very ill!” cried Peter. “Go swiftly to the palace, good
doctor, and find out what ails him.”
All afternoon Peter ran on and on, hunting up physicians and wise men
and sending them to the palace. At night he returned to the palace and
the blue-and-gold gentleman called him into the banquet hall. Peter’s
heart beat high as he entered the shining room which was lit by a
thousand candles. Timidly he stood in the doorway, his red pointed cap
in his hands and the white cat at his heels.
He almost lost his breath when the Queen stepped through the great
portal of gold. She was arrayed in crimson silk, with red roses in her
black hair, and tiny silver slippers on her feet.
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“Who is the little ragamuffin hiding behind the Lord Chamberlain?”
demanded the Queen, spying Peter Dwarf. “Send him here, I would speak
with him!”
Peter approached, frightened and dazed, and dropped upon one knee.
“Your Majesty,” he replied to her questioning, “I am Peter Dwarf; the
kind Lord Chamberlain has permitted me to enter the hall.”
“I like this boy,” said the Queen to the stout Lord Chamberlain. “Put
him into proper clothes and send him back to me; he shall be my page.”
So they took Peter through many snow-white rooms to a little room in the
back of the palace. In it were a bed and chairs made of rosewood, and
roses painted on the walls, and silver stars on the ceiling; so that
when you lay in bed you felt as though you were in a bower, looking up
at the starry sky.
“Here is your room,” said the servant who had brought him in. “And these
are the clothes you are to wear.”
Peter took off his leather apron and his red cap, and put on a doublet
and hose of light blue silk, and a mantle of dark blue velvet. But happy
as he was in his rich attire, he did not forget about the king who was
so ill. Every time he met somebody who might know, he asked:
“Is his Majesty any better?”
“No,” was always the answer, “He is very ill.”
At last the kind Lord Chamberlain told Peter what the doctors had said.
“Some wicked enemy of the King,” he reported, “is burning a waxen image
of his majesty over a slow fire; and as long as the image lasts the King
will live, but when it has all melted he will die.”
“Who can it be?” cried Peter. “Does no one know?”
“Nobody knows except the wicked person himself. We think—but say not
that I told you—we think it is someone in this very palace, for the good
King has no enemies among his neighbors.”
Suddenly Peter remembered the magic power that the dwarfs had given him.
“Let me try on everybody’s shoes,” he cried, “and when I come to the
shoes of the wicked person I shall know where the waxen image is
melting!”
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The Lord Chamberlain gave him permission to creep into every bedroom and
dressing room in the palace. Minka always went ahead, and when anyone
was in the room she waved her tail to warn Peter away, but when the
chamber was empty, she said, “Mew,” and then Peter went in and tried on
all the shoes he could find. But all the knowledge that came to him was
a lot of little foolish secrets—where the Lady Natalia kept her jewels,
and the Lord Richard had ridden over a chicken and had not paid the poor
farmer a penny for it, and that the little chambermaid Clarissa was in
love with a beggar-man. But he could not find out where the waxen image
was melting.
Meanwhile he hardly saw the Queen at all. She was always with the King,
bathing his forehead, smoothing his pillow, and getting his chicken
broth.
“See,” said the chamberlain and the doctors, “how much she loves him!”
One day the King was tired of having so many people about him, and sent
everybody away but the Queen and Peter who had come in to fill the
lamps. The Queen was stroking the poor King’s forehead. She had
forgotten that Peter was in the room. As soon as he was asleep she
doubled up her lovely white hand and shook her fist at him, whispering:
“Melt—melt—melt! Another night and you are done!”
Peter thought his heart would stand still. Had he really heard aright?
He crept out of the room as quietly as he had come, and hastened to the
Queen’s dressing room. Never had it occurred to him to try on _her_
shoes! He attempted to open the door; it was locked. So he turned sadly
to his own room, and sat down to think it over.
Presently a valet came in with a message.
“You are to wait on the Queen at dinner tonight,” it read. Peter obeyed,
and thought little more about it. But when the Queen was seated he stood
behind her chair and he noticed that she slipped her silver shoe off
under the table. Deftly he stepped out of his own, and while she was
helping herself to pink ice cream, he tried to push his foot into her
little shoe. But alas! the shoe was so small that he could not even get
his toes into it! He tried and tried, but in vain; he had to give it up.
That night he walked disconsolately with Minka in the garden. They were
just under the Queen’s window when suddenly, the casement was opened,
and something which looked like a fiery rocket or a shooting star flew
out into the air—over their heads.
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“A witch!” cried Peter, and then, “The Queen!” For at that very moment a
silver slipper fell beside him in the grass. When he had stepped into it
at dinner, trying to stand in it for just one moment, he had stretched
it so much that now it was too big for the Queen.
As it fell Minka made a leap for it and tapped it with her paws—but no
sooner was her little white foot inside the slipper then she began to
wave her tail violently. She too had the magic gift of the Dwarfs!
“I believe you know,” cried Peter, as he followed her down the garden
walks. “I believe you know where the waxen image is melting!” Peter took
the slipper from Minka and she ran ahead swiftly and quietly, and led
him over the fields and fences to a high, dark mountain. At the foot of
the mountain stood a tower of granite, with great iron doors.
“Mew-ew,” said Minka, as she came up against the iron doors. “Mew!”
Peter tried to force the door but it was strongly locked and would not
move. Then he peered through the key-hole, and saw a reddish light, like
the glow of a great fire. A voice that sounded like the Queen’s was
chanting a dismal verse and Peter knew from what she said that the image
would be melted by dawn.
“Come,” said Peter to his cat, “I know what we must do; but it must be
quick work! Oh Minka—one more dawn, and it will be too late!”
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He went into a cavern at the foot of the mountain. Here he called loudly
down the dark passage way—“O Mushroom, Thorn, Stroke, Wisely! Help
me—help me—help me!” And in another minute he saw little lights
approaching from all parts of the mountain, as the faithful Diggerfolk
came to his call.
Swiftly they set up a workshop, smelted the broken ore, hammered and
polished and labored as only Dwarfs can. As the first streaks of light
showed in the sky, they finished their work. Peter, who had taken off
his silken clothes and put on a leather apron, now changed to the new
suit of mail they had wrought and parted hastily from his friends with
grateful thanks. Besides the armor, they had made him a sword, and most
important of all a key to fit the iron doors. Soon he reached the tower
again and putting the key into the lock he used all his strength and
finally the great doors swung open.
Before him in the tower-chamber burned a mighty fire; the flames jumped
up around something that seemed like a human figure, stretched directly
above them—but if you looked twice you saw it was a statue of wax,
rapidly melting away. Over it the Queen was murmuring incantations while
she watched the figure grow smaller and smaller at every lick of the
cruel flames.
Suddenly the white cat leaped at the Queen and began to scratch her.
This gave Peter time to put out the fire and save the waxen image before
it was quite melted.
[Illustration: A wonderful lady stood before him in the shining dawn]
“I’m coming, Minka, I’m coming!” he cried, as the Queen seized her by
the throat and tried to choke her. Minka fought valiantly, until Peter
rushed forward and cut off the Queen’s head with a single stroke of his
sword. At that moment everything grew dark; a noise like thunder came
from the depth of the mountain and Peter clasped his hands over his
eyes, for he did not want to see any more.
When he looked up again, the sun had risen. Light flooded the room, and
a wonderful lady, clad in white samite as soft and pure as Minka’s fur,
stood before him in the shining dawn. She held out her hands, and
shaking back her golden hair said:
“Peter Dwarf, my good sweet Peter, I am the Princess Minka; don’t you
recognize me?” Then Peter looked into her starry eyes, and knew that his
beloved Minka must have been enchanted by the wicked Queen many years
ago, and that now the spell was broken.
So they returned swiftly to the royal palace, where they found everybody
rejoicing because the King was so much better that that morning he had
eaten four buckwheat cakes with syrup for his breakfast. And the King
dubbed Peter a knight and made him general of his army and for a wedding
present gave him a palace with a great rose-garden and a banquet hall.
Soon after this Peter and Minka were married. When the good King died,
many years later, they were made King and Queen, and ruled in peace and
happiness all the rest of their days.
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