neighborhood came flocking from their houses to see the grand prince and
princess, who had done them so much honor. To their astonishment, the
chariot stopped directly in front of the miller's cottage, and out
sprang the beautiful princess, trailing her silks and satins along the
garden path, and, with a scream of delight, throwing her fair arms
around the poor old dusty miller, who sat mournfully upon his deserted
door-stone, rapt in thought. In a voice that all recognized, Dimple
cried:
"Father, don't you know me? I am your loving child."
Next to be astonished was Jim's mother, a lone widow, who sat at her
spinning-wheel as usual, thinking of the boy she had lost so many months
before. When Jim appeared before her in all his bravery, the poor old
thing nearly went into hysterics of delight--she had not hesitated for
one moment in recognizing the face that had never left her thoughts.
Directly afterward, all the villagers were requested to proceed in a
body to the church, where a splendid wedding was held. Everyone agreed
that Dimple made the prettiest bride that had ever stepped from the old
church porch, and no one could dispute the fact that Jim was the
proudest of bridegrooms.
The newly married pair built a superb palace in a park near their native
village, and also two smaller palaces for Jim's mother and Dimple's
father. A large share of their wealth was spent in beautifying the homes
of their friends; and, in time, the hamlet came to be known as the
"Happy Valley," so prosperous and fertile had it grown. No sickness came
near these fortunate villagers; and none of them ever died--thanks to
the free use made by Dimple of her inexhaustible ointment.
At last reports, neither Jim nor Dimple had confided to anyone the true
story of their life in the giant's castle. When people expressed
curiosity as to the source of such wonderful wealth, Jim always
roguishly said that Dimple had made it all by good cooking. This report,
getting abroad, had the effect of inducing the girls of that country,
far and wide, to go into their kitchens and learn all they could of the
most useful of arts; which, perhaps, had as much as Dimple's magic salve
to do with the health and contentment of the inhabitants of Happy
Valley!
MISS PEGGY AND THE FROG.
(_An old nursery tale told from memory._)
Once there lived a widow, whose only child was a pretty girl named
Peggy. Peggy loved to play by the water-side with her young companions,
and one day a large frog hopped out of the water and sat gazing at her
with a loving smile.
"What a queer frog!" cried Peggy.
"I _am_ a queer frog," he remarked, to her surprise. "Go back, Miss
Peggy, and tell your mother that I want to marry you."
Peggy ran to fetch her mother to see the talking frog. When the mother
came, the frog dived down into the water and brought up in his mouth a
rich gold chain and a jewelled ring.
"This will I give the mother, and much beside," he said, laying the
chain at the mother's feet; "and this ring with many like it is for my
bride, if Peggy will marry me."
"Say yes, Peggy," whispered the mother, who was a covetous woman. "Of
course you can't marry a frog, but you may get the gold and jewels all
the same."
Peggy burst out crying, but her mother nudged and poked her in the side
till she said "yes," in a very sobbing voice.
The frog bowed politely, laid the gold chain and the ring at their feet,
dived down, and immediately brought up gold cups and silver dishes, with
many rare jewels set into them. Peggy's mother gasped for joy as he
heaped all these riches on the grassy bank. She ran up to the house, and
found a basket which would hold them. While she was gone, the frog said
nothing, but stood looking at Peggy and sighing from time to time. Peggy
sat under a tree, and cried and sobbed. At last the frog spoke:
"Don't forget your bridegroom, Miss Peggy. This day year I shall come
to fetch you," and he hopped into the water with a splash.
Peggy's mother sold one of the cups for a large sum of money, and
furnished their house all new. She bought gay clothes for herself and
Peggy, and went to church quite regularly, since she had so much finery
to show. Peggy forgot all about her promise to the frog, and the year
passed by rapidly.
On the appointed day, however, the widow and Peggy were sitting at the
table when they heard a knock at the door. They peeped out, and saw, to
their dismay, the frog, dressed in a green and gold suit, and carrying a
jewelled sword. Peggy gave a scream, and ran and hid in the cupboard,
while the mother tripped to the door, and bade her strange guest good
morning.
"I am sorry, but Peggy is from home to-day," she said.
"Oh! never mind. I will come in and wait awhile," answered the frog; and
in he hopped cheerfully, and took a seat at the table. Peggy's mother
was too angry to offer him food, but the frog helped himself and ate out
of Peggy's plate. He stayed and he stayed, and all the time Peggy
crouched in the cupboard, cramped and hungry. He stayed till night came;
and at last poor Peggy, falling asleep, burst open the cupboard door,
and tumbled out upon the floor.
The frog ran to pick her up, before her mother could get there.
"You are a little late, my dear," he said politely. "But I can see very
well in the dark, so we may set out at once, for my palace in the pond."
In vain did the widow beg and plead. The frog would not give Peggy up,
until the poor girl herself went down on her knees and implored him to
let her off for another year. At length he promised to go, if she would
be ready to marry him that day year. Peggy said "yes," and off went her
suitor, after having laid a purse of gold in the widow's lap.
"It might have been worse, Peggy, so cheer up," said the woman, clapping
the purse in her pocket. "A year is a long time, and perhaps he will
forget you."
Vain hope! That day year, Peggy was spinning beside her mother, when the
frog knocked at the door. This time, he was dressed in blue and silver,
and his hat had a waving plume; but he looked more hideous than before.
Peggy gave a jump, and ran up the garret stairs, and thence out upon the
roof of the cottage, where she clung to the chimney in despair. The
mother opened the door, and said she was sorry Peggy was from home. The
frog replied that he did not mind, but would wait for Miss Peggy to
return.
He sat in Peggy's chair; and this time he would not eat, but only sighed
and sighed. Presently it began to rain and hail, and thunder and lighten
dreadfully; and poor Peggy on the roof was frightened out of her life.
She crept into the chimney, and soon a great clap of thunder sent her
flying down into the room where her frog-lover sat.
"You have an odd way of coming into the house, my dear," the frog said;
"but I don't mind, if you are ready to go now. It rains hard, but I am
used to water, and you must become so; so come along."
He offered her his arm, but Peggy cried and implored to be let off. She
went down on her knees to him, and at last he went away, giving her
another purse and another year of freedom.
Next year, the widow and Peggy barred and double-locked their doors. The
frog appeared, dressed in white and gold, but it was of no use for him
to knock and call. No answer came, and he went off sadly. Peggy and her
mother rejoiced at getting rid of the persistent suitor, and sat down to
supper merrily, without, however, unlocking their door.
Presently, they heard a noise, and looking out saw a great army of frogs
coming up the hill, The frogs formed themselves into a column and,
aiming for the window, jumped through the glass, and landed on the
floor. They seized Peggy, and very gently carried her out of the door
and down the hill. Peggy fainted, and knew nothing till they stopped on
the edge of the pond. The widow came running down the hill just in time
to see the frogs plunge into the water with her child.
Peggy sank--down, down--until she reached a beautiful grotto, where, on
a throne of coral and shells, sat her frog-lover. He looked at her
reproachfully, and said:
"If you had not three times deceived me, Peggy, I should not have
carried you off in this way. Now that you are here, try to be resigned
to me, and say that you will be my wife."
"Never, never," screamed Peggy; "you are so horrible to look at with
your goggle eyes."
The goggle eyes filled with tears as Peggy spoke, and the frog shook his
head mournfully.
"I see that it is of no use," he said sorrowfully, and ordered Peggy to
be taken to a beautiful sea-garden, where she lived and amused herself
for a long time, gradually forgetting all about her home on land. Every
evening the frog came and talked to Peggy through a wall of white coral;
and in time, she grew so fond of listening to his voice, that if he was
a minute late she would cry for him to come.
Once when it was rather dark, the frog asked Peggy if she could bear to
look at him again. Peggy said yes, and he appeared before her. Somehow
he did not seem so ugly as before, and when, in a trembling voice, he
invited her to sit upon his knee, she at once did so. Instantly his leg
broke with a loud snap; and, as poor Peggy sprang to her feet in great
remorse, she beheld, instead of her frog suitor, a beautiful young
prince, holding out his arms to her!
The prince told her he had been bewitched by a frog godmother, who
condemned him to remain in that horrid shape until a young girl could be
found who would either consent to marry him or sit upon his knee. Peggy
was very glad to have such an ending of her adventure. So they were
married at once, and were then very happy. When they went back for a
wedding visit to Peggy's mother, they found she had taken all the gold
and silver and moved away to a distant country; and they never saw the
wicked woman more.
THE LEPERHAUN: _A Legend of the Emerald Isle._
Once upon a time, by the glimmer of the nursery-fire, a little girl sat
listening to the tales told by her buxom Irish nurse. The details of
most of these--notably of one very thrilling legend of the Banshee, who
has ever since seemed to float upon the wind that blows after
nightfall--have passed from memory; but the good old story of Molly
Jones and the Leperhaun remains, and, as best I can, I reproduce it
here.
In a comfortable farm-house upon the outskirts of a small village in
Ireland, lived a farmer with his six sons. He was a prosperous man, and,
besides having better cows, pigs, and potatoes than any other man in the
county, was said to keep a tidy bit of money laid away in bank. Only one
maid-servant did the work of the house, and she had lived there for
many a year. At last she died, and the farmer looked about him for a
girl to take her place. The wages were high, and a strapping lass named
Mary Jones made up her mind that she was the right person for the
situation. The farmer liked her looks, and engaged her on the spot.
"Now, Molly, lass," said the master, when he had finished taking her
around the house, and showing her how neat and convenient everything
was; "you see what you've got to do, and that's the end of it. Nobody in
this house, who works well, has ever cause to want for encouragement,
for _there's hands to help them that aren't too curious_! The main thing
you'd better guard against is takin' notes and askin' questions."
Molly protested that she was innocent of the inheritance of Mother Eve;
and the farmer went on with his directions.
"On the first night of every month the family goes early to bed, and it
will be your business to see that the hearth is well swept, and fresh
turf laid upon the fire, and to collect around it all the worn or broken
shoes about the house. The last thing before you leave the room, be sure
to set before the fire a nice bowl of mealy potatoes bursting from their
jackets, a couple of herrings broiled to a turn, and a jug of sweet
buttermilk--and, whatever you do, never forget the salt!"
Molly, though burning with curiosity, courtesied, and said nothing. All
went well till the first night of the coming month. "When the family was
retiring, the farmer whispered:
"Remember, Molly! Be abed and asleep before the clock strikes twelve;
and _don't forget the salt_."
Molly tidied her kitchen, swept the hearth, arranged around it all the
worn and broken shoes in the house, her own Sunday pair included; and,
after setting a nice little meal, covered with a white cloth, near the
fire, wound up the clock and went to bed. Next morning what was her
surprise to find not only all the boots and shoes neatly mended, but the
empty jug and platter washed and restored to their places, while a
beautiful fire was blazing merrily! She dared not ask any questions of
the farmer or his sons, and no one appeared in the least surprised by
what had occurred. That month her work went so easily that Molly thought
it child's play. Her bread was baked brown and light, her potatoes were
a triumph, her churning was done sooner than anybody's in the place, and
her linen was hung out to dry by sunrise on Monday mornings. For a
month or two Molly never failed to set her kitchen in order, as before,
for the mysterious guest. But one night she was in a hurry, and forgot
the salt. Next morning the boots were mended, but the fire was scattered
on the hearth, ashes lay all about her neat kitchen, and the dishes were
left unwashed. This excited Molly's curiosity anew and, when the next
time came, she did everything as usual, but, instead of going to bed,
hid behind the kitchen clock. Punctually as the clock struck twelve, out
popped from behind a big stone in the chimney-place a queer little dwarf
dressed all in red. Apparently he suspected something, for he sniffed
and peered into the darkness of the kitchen. Molly held her breath
through fear, and the dwarf proceeded to blow up the fire and warm
himself before sitting down to supper. Then, uncovering his cup and
platter, and finding that all was to his taste, he smacked his lips, and
made an excellent repast. When it was over, he whipped out of his bag
some shoemaker's tools, and went to work to patch and mend the shoes,
with twinkling fingers. In an hour's time all was finished and, after
putting the room to rights, the dwarf took his leave.
Molly told nobody that she had seen the veritable Leperhaun, the famous
shoemaking fairy; but the next month she happened to be in an ill humor
and hungry; so, without stopping to think of the consequences, she ate
his supper herself--leaving upon the platter only a heap of potato-skins
and the bones of the well-picked herrings.
That night, while all the world was asleep, in came the Leperhaun and,
finding the trick that had been played on him, flew into a terrible
rage, scattered the boots and shoes over the floor, broke the crockery
and, seizing a broom, swept all the ashes out upon the kitchen floor.
Molly, who was watching, ran up to the garret and, jumping into bed,
pulled the clothes over her head in a cold perspiration with terror. But
hark! on the steps outside came the pit-pat of little feet. In rushed
the offended house-fairy. He seized Molly by the hair of her head, and
dragged her down the stairs, and over the flags of the yard, saying,
"Molly Jones! Molly Jones!
Potato-skins and herring-bones!
I'll break your bones upon the stones,
Molly Jones, oh! Molly Jones!"
In vain Molly cried for mercy. The farmer and his sons were fast asleep,
and not a soul heard her. All night long the Leperhaun dragged her
about; and when the cock crowed he vanished, leaving her bruised and
sore upon the threshold of the door. More dead than alive, Molly crawled
up to her bed, where she lay black and blue for many a day.
The farmer, suspecting what lesson had been taught her, said nothing;
and we may be sure that, when the next time came for the visit of the
Leperhaun, the little red dwarf had no fault to find with Molly.
ROMANCES OF THE MIDDLE AGES
[_The stories here following are, it is hoped, so rendered, from
metrical romances of the Middle Ages, as to be adapted to the taste and
understanding of youthful readers._]
THE TRIALS OF SIR ISUMBRAS.
(_From Ellis' Abridgment of the MS. in Caius College._)
Once upon a time there lived a knight so handsome, so rich, and so
valiant that all eyes were turned upon him. His name was Isumbras, and
fortune had given him everything that the heart of man could wish for.
He had a splendid castle, surrounded by vast forests, where every day he
went hunting or hawking; and so generous he was with his wealth that the
poor flocked to him from every quarter and never went away empty-handed.
Sir Isumbras had a beautiful wife and three lovely sons to share the
blessings of his lot; but one thing he had not, and that was an humble
spirit. He forgot to own the Giver of good things, and took it as a
matter of course that his life should flow on in ease and luxury.
One day when mounted on his favorite steed, surrounded by his dogs, and
having his hawk on fist, Sir Isumbras cast up his eyes to the sky, and
there saw an angel, who reproached him with his pride, announcing that
Heaven had in store for him a speedy punishment.
Sir Isumbras fell to his knees in prayer; but hardly had the angel
vanished from his sight when, on remounting his horse, the noble
creature fell dead beneath him; the hawk dropped lifeless from his fist;
and the faithful hounds expired in agonies at his feet. Hastening on
foot to his castle, he was met by a servant, who informed him his horses
and oxen had been suddenly struck dead by lightning, and that his fowls
had all been stung to death by adders. Next came forward a page, who
told him the castle was burned to the ground, many of his servants had
perished, and that his wife and children had taken refuge, half naked,
in a thorn-bush close at hand. Sir Isumbras hastened to the aid of his
beloved family, stripping himself of his scarlet mantle and his surcoat
to clothe them. He embraced them fondly, and thanked heaven that,
though all the rest of his treasures were taken, these remained. He then
proposed to his wife that, as a sign of repentance for their sins, they
should all go on foot to the holy city, Jerusalem, begging their bread
from land to land. He cut with his knife upon his bare shoulder the
pilgrim's sign of the cross, and then the afflicted family set forth on
their travels.
Long they journeyed, eating crusts when they could beg them, or berries
from wayside bushes, until, faint and weary, they reached a broad but
shallow stream. Taking his eldest son in his arms, Sir Isumbras bore him
across the river, and placed him beneath a bush of broom-plant, bidding
him play with the blossoms until his father's return. Scarcely had the
knight left his son, when an enormous lion burst from a neighboring
thicket and bore away the child. In like manner the second son became
the prey of a fierce leopard; and the poor mother, who saw them so
cruelly torn from her sight, fainted away, with her baby on her breast.
Sir Isumbras bowed to the will of God; and when his wife revived they
journeyed on to the shore of the Greek sea. Here they stood, and,
through eyes that were full of tears, saw a great fleet of three hundred
ships coming toward them. This was the navy of a famous heathen king,
and no sooner had he landed than the travellers, who had not touched
bread or meat for seven days, hastened to implore his charity. The king
soon observed the robust limbs and tall stature of the husband; and
perceived he was a knight in disguise, and that the wife, whose beauty
was as "bright as blossoms upon tree," was, in spite of her ragged
clothes, a lady of high degree. So, affecting to treat the poor couple
with respect, he offered them gold and treasure if the knight would
renounce Christianity and consent to fight under the Saracen banners.
This offer was at once declined, and the angry king made up his mind to
revenge himself by carrying away the knight's wife. So, upon an order to
the attendants, a purse of gold was pressed into the knight's hand, his
infant son was put into his arms, he was hurried ashore, cruelly beaten
by the king's servants, and, when he recovered himself, saw a heathen
ship, with his wife on board, set sail for Africa.
Sir Isumbras clasped his only remaining treasure to his heart, and
followed the vessel with his eyes until it vanished from sight. Night
found him still there, until father and babe fell asleep upon the bare
ground, too weary to keep awake. Sir Isumbras had laid the fatal present
of the heathen king, the purse of gold, in the scarlet mantle which he
wrapped around his child. Scarcely had the next day's sun risen upon the
earth, when an eagle, attracted by the red cloth, darted down, carrying
off mantle, child, and purse in his talons.
The poor knight was at last in utter despair. He fell on his knees, and
offered what remained of his life to the God he had offended. Just then
he heard the noise of a blacksmith's forge, and saw, not far off, some
men at work. They took pity on him and fed him. He entered their
service, and bound himself for seven long years to learn their trade.
During this time he forged a complete suit of armor for himself, being
determined at the first opportunity to take up arms against the
Saracens, whose king had not only done him such a cruel wrong, but was
oppressing God's people.
At length his opportunity came. The Christian army was to fight the
Saracens on a field not far from the forge. Sir Isumbras buckled on his
awkward armor and, mounting a horse that had been used by the smith to
carry coals, proceeded to the field of battle.
His heart beat with wild joy when he saw the foe before him. Uttering a
fervent prayer, he dashed into the thick of the combat, attracting all
eyes at first by his sorry steed and rough armor, and again by the
splendid skill and courage of his charge. Early in the action his horse
was killed under him, and the Christian chiefs made haste to present him
another one, also a suit of armor more worthy of the heroic soldier he
had proved himself to be. All that day the battle raged.
By nightfall Sir Isumbras, single-handed, had killed the heathen king
and many of his followers. But he was himself sorely wounded, and when
brought for reward before the Christian king, and asked his name, could
hardly falter out, "I am a smith's man, sire." The king swore a great
oath to make a knight of this valiant "smith's man"; and, with all honor
and tenderness, Sir Isumbras was carried into a nunnery, where the good
sisters nursed him until he recovered from his many wounds.
Sir Isumbras was not satisfied to remain quiet long, though he had slain
the heathen king. He went to the Holy Land, and for seven years wandered
about a pilgrim, as before, sleeping upon the ground by night, and
vainly seeking tidings of his wife by day. Once, during this time, when
he was starving upon the banks of a stream, there appeared to him a
cheering visitor.
And as he sat, about midnight,
There came angel fair and bright,
And brought him bread and wine.
He said, "Palmer, well thou be!
The King of Heaven greeteth well thee;
Forgiven is sin thine."
Very soon after this miraculous event Sir Isumbras found his wife, who
had dwelt, holy and charitable, in a secluded castle, where she had
been shut up by the Saracen king. She welcomed him with rapture, and
together they shed many tears over their lost children. They lived
together for some years, until Sir Isumbras was again summoned to do
battle with the Saracens, who had determined at all cost to kill him.
The fight was again hot and long, and just when Sir Isumbras was about
to be overpowered by numbers of the enemy, three new champions appeared
in the field, declaring themselves on the side of the Christians. These
were three splendid knights, the first mounted upon a lion, the second
upon a leopard, and the third upon an eagle. The Saracen cavalry,
terror-stricken at sight of them, dispersed in all directions. But
flight was in vain; three and twenty thousand unbelievers were soon laid
dead upon the plain by the lion, leopard, and eagle, fighting with
tireless fury, and driving all before them, until the entire heathen
army was utterly put to rout. Then, coming back to Sir Isumbras, the
three champions knelt before him, announcing themselves his long lost
sons, mercifully protected and befriended by the savage creatures by
whom they had been carried off. Sir Isumbras embraced his valiant sons,
and led them to their mother. The Christian king enriched the entire
family, restoring them to their former rank. And now wealth, titles,
honors, and all that he had lost, came back to Sir Isumbras, and the
remainder of his days was spent in blessed peace.
"They lived and died in good intent;
Unto heaven their souls went,
When that they dead were.
Jesu Christ, heaven's king,
Give us, aye, his blessing,
And shield us from care!"
BISCLAVERET.
(_From one of Marie's Lays._)