'We shall find plenty of handkerchiefs where we are going.' And the

horse galloped on.

After the wood they reached a river, and the princess slipped a ring

off her finger and let it roll into the water.

'How careless of me,' gasped she, beginning to sob. 'I have lost my

favourite ring; _do_ stop for a moment and look if you can see it.'

But Jose answered:

'You will find plenty of rings where you are going.' And the horse

galloped on.

At last they entered the palace gates, and the king's heart bounded

with joy at beholding his beloved Bella-Flor. But the princess brushed

him aside as if he had been a fly, and locked herself into the nearest

room, which she would not open for all his entreaties.

'Bring me the three things I lost on the way, and perhaps I may think

about it,' was all she would say. And, in despair, the king was driven

to take counsel of Jose.

'There is no remedy that I can see,' said his majesty, 'but that you,

who know where they are, should go and bring them back. And if you

return without them I will have you drowned.'

Poor Jose was much troubled at these words. He thought that he had

done all that was required of him, and that his life was safe.

However, he bowed low, and went out to consult his friend the horse.

'Do not vex yourself,' said the horse, when he had heard the story;

'jump up, and we will go back and look for the things.' And Jose

mounted at once.

They rode on till they came to the ant-hill, and then the horse asked:

'Would you like to have the bran?'

'What is the use of liking?' answered Jose.

'Well, call the ants, and tell them to fetch it for you; and, if some

of it has been scattered by the wind, to bring in its stead the grains

that were in the cakes you gave them.' Jose listened in surprise. He

did not much believe in the horse's plan; but he could not think of

anything better, so he called to the ants, and bade them collect the

bran as fast as they could.

[Illustration: HOW JOSE FOUND THE PRINCESS BELLA-FLOR]

Then he sat under a tree and waited, while his horse cropped the

green turf.

'Look there!' said the animal, suddenly raising its head; and Jose

looked behind him and saw a little mountain of bran, which he put into

a bag that was hung over his saddle.

'Good deeds bear fruit sooner or later,' observed the horse; 'but

mount again, as we have far to go.'

When they arrived at the tree, they saw the handkerchief fluttering

like a flag from the topmost branch, and Jose's spirits sank again.

'How am I to get that handkerchief?' cried he; 'why I should need

Jacob's ladder!' But the horse answered:

'Do not be frightened; call to the eagle you set free from the net, he

will bring it to you.'

So Jose called to the eagle, and the eagle flew to the top of the tree

and brought back the handkerchief in its beak. Jose thanked him, and

vaulting on his horse they rode on to the river.

A great deal of rain had fallen in the night, and the river, instead

of being clear as it was before, was dark and troubled.

'How am I to fetch the ring from the bottom of this river when I do

not know exactly where it was dropped, and cannot even see it?' asked

Jose. But the horse answered: 'Do not be frightened; call the little

fish whose life you saved, and she will bring it to you.'

So he called to the fish, and the fish dived to the bottom and slipped

behind big stones, and moved little ones with its tail till it found

the ring, and brought it to Jose in its mouth.

Well pleased with all he had done, Jose returned to the palace; but

when the king took the precious objects to Bella-Flor, she declared

that she would never open her door till the bandit who had carried her

off had been fried in oil.

'I am very sorry,' said the king to Jose, 'I really would rather not;

but you see I have no choice.'

[Illustration: THE KING JUMPS INTO THE CAULDRON]

While the oil was being heated in the great caldron, Jose went to the

stables to inquire of his friend the horse if there was no way for him

to escape.

'Do not be frightened,' said the horse. 'Get on my back, and I will

gallop till my whole body is wet with perspiration, then rub it all

over your skin, and no matter how hot the oil may be you will never

feel it.'

Jose did not ask any more questions, but did as the horse bade him;

and men wondered at his cheerful face as they lowered him into the

caldron of boiling oil. He was left there till Bella-Flor cried that

he must be cooked enough. Then out came a youth so young and handsome,

that everyone fell in love with him, and Bella-Flor most of all.

As for the old king, he saw that he had lost the game; and in despair

he flung himself into the caldron, and was fried instead of Jose. Then

Jose was proclaimed king, on condition that he married Bella-Flor,

which he promised to do the next day. But first he went to the stables

and sought out the horse, and said to him: 'It is to you that I owe my

life and my crown. Why have you done all this for me?'

And the horse answered: 'I am the soul of that unhappy man for whom

you spent all your fortune. And when I saw you in danger of death I

begged that I might help you, as you had helped me. For, as I told

you, Good deeds bear their own fruit!'

(From _Cuentos, Oraciones, y Adivinas_, por Fernan Caballero.)

_THE BIRD OF TRUTH_

Once upon a time there lived a poor fisher who built a hut on the

banks of a stream which, shunning the glare of the sun and the noise

of towns, flowed quietly past trees and under bushes, listening to the

songs of the birds overhead.

One day, when the fisherman had gone out as usual to cast his nets, he

saw borne towards him on the current a cradle of crystal. Slipping his

net quickly beneath it he drew it out and lifted the silk coverlet.

Inside, lying on a soft bed of cotton, were two babies, a boy and a

girl, who opened their eyes and smiled at him. The man was filled with

pity at the sight, and throwing down his lines he took the cradle and

the babies home to his wife.

The good woman flung up her hands in despair when she beheld the

contents of the cradle.

'Are not eight children enough,' she cried, 'without bringing us two

more? How do you think we can feed them?'

'You would not have had me leave them to die of hunger,' answered he,

'or be swallowed up by the waves of the sea? What is enough for eight

is also enough for ten.'

The wife said no more; and in truth her heart yearned over the little

creatures. Somehow or other food was never lacking in the hut, and the

children grew up and were so good and gentle that, in time, their

foster-parents loved them as well or better than their own, who were

quarrelsome and envious. It did not take the orphans long to notice

that the boys did not like them, and were always playing tricks on

them, so they used to go away by themselves and spend whole hours by

the banks of the river. Here they would take out the bits of bread

they had saved from their breakfast and crumble them for the birds. In

return, the birds taught them many things: how to get up early in the

morning, how to sing, and how to talk their language, which very few

people knew.

But though the little orphans did their best to avoid quarrelling with

their foster-brothers, it was very difficult always to keep the peace.

Matters got worse and worse till, one morning, the eldest boy said to

the twins:

'It is all very well for you to pretend that you have such good

manners, and are so much better than we, but we have at least a father

and mother, while _you_ have only got the river, like the toads and

the frogs.'

The poor children did not answer the insult; but it made them very

unhappy. And they told each other in whispers that they could not stay

there any longer, but must go into the world and seek their fortunes.

So next day they arose as early as the birds and stole downstairs

without anybody hearing them. One window was open, and they crept

softly out and ran to the side of the river. Then, feeling as if they

had found a friend, they walked along its banks, hoping that by-and-by

they should meet some one to take care of them.

The whole of that day they went steadily on without seeing a living

creature, till, in the evening, weary and footsore, they saw before

them a small hut. This raised their spirits for a moment; but the door

was shut, and the hut seemed empty, and so great was their

disappointment that they almost cried. However, the boy fought down

his tears, and said cheerfully:

'Well, at any rate here is a bench where we can sit down, and when we

are rested we will think what is best to do next.'

Then they sat down, and for some time they were too tired even to

notice anything; but by-and-by they saw that under the tiles of the

roof a quantity of swallows were sitting, chattering merrily to each

other. Of course the swallows had no idea that the children understood

their language, or they would not have talked so freely; but, as it

was, they said whatever came into their heads.

'Good evening, my fine city madam,' remarked a swallow, whose manners

were rather rough and countryfied, to another who looked particularly

distinguished. 'Happy, indeed, are the eyes that behold you! Only

think of your having returned to your long-forgotten country friends,

after you have lived for years in a palace!'

'I have inherited this nest from my parents,' replied the other, 'and

as they left it to me I certainly shall make it my home. But,' she

added politely, 'I hope that you and all your family are well?'

'Very well indeed, I am glad to say. But my poor daughter had, a short

time ago, such bad inflammation in her eyes that she would have gone

blind had I not been able to find the magic herb, which cured her at

once.'

'And how is the nightingale singing? Does the lark soar as high as

ever? And does the linnet dress herself as smartly?' But here the

country swallow drew herself up.

'I never talk gossip,' she said severely. 'Our people, who were once

so innocent and well-behaved, have been corrupted by the bad examples

of men. It is a thousand pities.'

'What! innocence and good behaviour are not to be met with among

birds, nor in the country! My dear friend, what are you saying?'

'The truth and nothing more. Imagine, when we returned here, we met

some linnets who, just as the spring and the flowers and the long days

had come, were setting out for the north and the cold? Out of pure

compassion we tried to persuade them to give up this folly; but they

only replied with the utmost insolence.'

'How shocking!' exclaimed the city swallow.

'Yes, it was. And, worse than that, the crested lark, that was

formerly so timid and shy, is now no better than a thief, and steals

maize and corn whenever she can find them.'

'I am astonished at what you say.'

'You will be more astonished when I tell you that on my arrival here

for the summer I found my nest occupied by a shameless sparrow! "This

is _my_ nest," I said. "_Yours?_" he answered, with a rude laugh.

"Yes, mine; my ancestors were born here, and my sons will be born here

also." And at that my husband set upon him and threw him out of the

nest. I am sure nothing of this sort ever happens in a town.'

'Not exactly, perhaps. But I have seen a great deal--if you only

knew!'

'Oh! do tell us! do tell us!' cried they all. And when they had

settled themselves comfortably, the city swallow began:

'You must know, then, that our king fell in love with the youngest

daughter of a tailor, who was as good and gentle as she was beautiful.

His nobles hoped that he would have chosen a queen from one of their

daughters, and tried to prevent the marriage; but the king would not

listen to them, and it took place. Not many months later a war broke

out, and the king rode away at the head of his army, while the queen

remained behind, very unhappy at the separation. When peace was made,

and the king returned, he was told that his wife had had two babies in

his absence, but that both were dead; that she herself had gone out of

her mind and was obliged to be shut up in a tower in the mountains,

where, in time, the fresh air might cure her.'

'And was this not true?' asked the swallows eagerly.

'Of course not,' answered the city lady, with some contempt for their

stupidity. 'The children were alive at that very moment in the

gardener's cottage; but at night the chamberlain came down and put

them in a cradle of crystal, which he carried to the river.

'For a whole day they floated safely, for though the stream was deep

it was very still, and the children took no harm. In the morning--so I

am told by my friend the kingfisher--they were rescued by a fisherman

who lived near the river bank.'

* * * * *

The children had been lying on the bench, listening lazily to the

chatter up to this point; but when they heard the story of the crystal

cradle which their foster-mother had always been fond of telling them,

they sat upright and looked at each other.

'Oh, how glad I am I learnt the birds' language!' said the eyes of one

to the eyes of the other.

Meanwhile the swallows had spoken again.

'That was indeed good fortune!' cried they.

'And when the children are grown up they can return to their father

and set their mother free.'

'It will not be so easy as you think,' answered the city swallow,

shaking her head; 'for they will have to prove that they _are_ the

king's children, and also that their mother never went mad at all. In

fact, it is so difficult that there is only one way of proving it to

the king.'

'And what is that?' cried all the swallows at once. 'And how do you

know it?'

'I know it,' answered the city swallow 'because, one day, when I was

passing through the palace garden, I met a cuckoo, who, as I need not

tell you, always pretends to be able to see into the future. We began

to talk about certain things which were happening in the palace, and

of the events of past years. "Ah," said he, "the only person who can

expose the wickedness of the ministers and show the king how wrong he

has been is the Bird of Truth, who can speak the language of men."

'"And where can this bird be found?" I asked.

'"It is shut up in a castle guarded by a fierce giant, who only sleeps

one quarter of an hour out of the whole twenty-four," replied the

cuckoo.'

'And where is this castle?' inquired the country swallow, who, like

all the rest, and the children most of all, had been listening with

deep attention.

'That is just what I don't know,' answered her friend. 'All I can tell

you is that not far from here is a tower, where dwells an old witch,

and it is she who knows the way, and she will only teach it to the

person who promises to bring her the water from the fountain of many

colours, which she uses for her enchantments. But never will she

betray the place where the Bird of Truth is hidden, for she hates him,

and would kill him if she could; knowing well, however, that this bird

cannot die, as he is immortal, she keeps him closely shut up, and

guarded night and day by the Birds of Bad Faith, who seek to gag him

so that his voice should not be heard.'

'And is there no one else who can tell the poor boy where to find the

bird, if he should ever manage to reach the tower?' asked the city

swallows.

'No one,' replied she, 'except an owl, who lives a hermit's life in

that desert, and he knows only one word of man's speech, and that is

"cross." So that even if the prince did succeed in getting there, he

could never understand what the owl said. But, look, the sun is

sinking to his nest in the depths of the sea, and I must go to mine.

Good-night, friends, good-night!'

Then the swallow flew away, and the children, who had forgotten both

hunger and weariness in the joy of this strange news, rose up and

followed in the direction of her flight. After two hours' walking,

they arrived at a large city, which they felt sure must be the

capital of their father's kingdom. Seeing a good-natured looking woman

standing at the door of a house, they asked her if she would give them

a night's lodging, and she was so pleased with their pretty faces and

nice manners that she welcomed them warmly.

It was scarcely light the next morning before the girl was sweeping

out the rooms, and the boy watering the garden, so that by the time

the good woman came downstairs there was nothing left for her to do.

This so delighted her that she begged the children to stay with her

altogether, and the boy answered that he would leave his sister with

her gladly, but that he himself had serious business on hand and must

not linger in pursuit of it. So he bade them farewell and set out.

* * * * *

For three days he wandered by the most out-of-the-way paths, but no

signs of a tower were to be seen anywhere. On the fourth morning it

was just the same, and, filled with despair, he flung himself on the

ground under a tree and hid his face in his hands. In a little while

he heard a rustling over his head, and looking up, he saw a turtle

dove watching him with her bright eyes.

'Oh dove!' cried the boy, addressing the bird in her own language, 'Oh

dove! tell me, I pray you, where is the castle of Come-and-never-go?'

'Poor child,' answered the dove, 'who has sent you on such a useless

quest?'

'My good or evil fortune,' replied the boy, 'I know not which.'

'To get there,' said the dove, 'you must follow the wind, which to-day

is blowing towards the castle.'

The boy thanked her, and followed the wind, fearing all the time that

it might change its direction and lead him astray. But the wind seemed

to feel pity for him and blew steadily on.

[Illustration: 'WHO ARE YOU WHO DARE TO KNOCK AT MY DOOR?']

With each step the country became more and more dreary, but at

nightfall the child could see behind the dark and bare rocks something

darker still. This was the tower in which dwelt the witch; and seizing

the knocker he gave three loud knocks, which were echoed in the

hollows of the rocks around.

The door opened slowly, and there appeared on the threshold an old

woman holding up a candle to her face, which was so hideous that the

boy involuntarily stepped backwards, almost as frightened by the troop

of lizards, beetles, and such creatures that surrounded her, as by the

woman herself.

'Who are you who dare to knock at my door and wake me?' cried she. 'Be

quick and tell me what you want, or it will be the worse for you.'

'Madam,' answered the child, 'I believe that you alone know the way to

the castle of Come-and-never-go, and I pray you to show it to me.'

'Very good,' replied the witch, with something that she meant for a

smile, 'but to-day it is late. To-morrow you shall go. Now enter, and

you shall sleep with my lizards.'

'I cannot stay,' said he. 'I must go back at once, so as to reach the

road from which I started before day dawns.'

'If I tell you, will you promise me that you will bring me this jar

full of the many-coloured water from the spring in the courtyard of

the castle?' asked she. 'If you fail to keep your word I will change

you into a lizard for ever.'

'I promise,' answered the boy.

Then the old woman called to a very thin dog, and said to him:

'Conduct this pig of a child to the castle of Come-and-never-go, and

take care that you warn my friend of his arrival.' And the dog arose

and shook itself, and set out.

At the end of two hours they stopped in front of a large castle, big

and black and gloomy, whose doors stood wide open, although neither

sound nor light gave sign of any presence within. The dog, however,

seemed to know what to expect, and, after a wild howl, went on; but

the boy, who was uncertain whether this was the quarter of an hour

when the giant was asleep, hesitated to follow him, and paused for a

moment under a wild olive that grew near by, the only tree which he

had beheld since he had parted from the dove. 'Oh, heaven, help me!'

cried he.

'Cross! cross!' answered a voice.

The boy leapt for joy as he recognised the note of the owl of which

the swallow had spoken, and he said softly in the bird's language:

'Oh, wise owl, I pray you to protect and guide me, for I have come in

search of the Bird of Truth. And first I must fill this jar with the

many-coloured water in the courtyard of the castle.'

'Do not do that,' answered the owl, 'but fill the jar from the spring

which bubbles close by the fountain with the many-coloured water.

Afterwards, go into the aviary opposite the great door, but be careful

not to touch any of the bright-plumaged birds contained in it, which

will cry to you, each one, that he is the Bird of Truth. Choose only a

small white bird that is hidden in a corner, which the others try

incessantly to kill, not knowing that it cannot die. And, be

quick!--for at this very moment the giant has fallen asleep, and you

have only a quarter of an hour to do everything.'

The boy ran as fast as he could and entered the courtyard, where he

saw the two springs close together. He passed by the many-coloured

water without casting a glance at it, and filled the jar from the

fountain whose water was clear and pure. He next hastened to the

aviary, and was almost deafened by the clamour that rose as he shut

the door behind him. Voices of peacocks, voices of ravens, voices of

magpies, each claiming to be the Bird of Truth. With steadfast face

the boy walked by them all, to the corner where, hemmed in by a band

of fierce crows, was the small white bird he sought. Putting her

safely in his breast, he passed out, followed by the screams of the

Birds of Bad Faith which he left behind him.

[Illustration: HOW THE BOY FOUND THE BIRD OF TRUTH]

Once outside, he ran without stopping to the witch's tower, and

handed to the old woman the jar she had given him.

'Become a parrot!' cried she, flinging the water over him. But instead

of losing his shape, as so many had done before, he only grew ten

times handsomer; for the water was enchanted for good and not ill.

Then the creeping multitude around the witch hastened to roll

themselves in the water, and stood up, human beings again.

When the witch saw what was happening, she took a broomstick and flew

away.

* * * * *

Who can guess the delight of the sister at the sight of her brother,

bearing the Bird of Truth? But although the boy had accomplished much,

something very difficult yet remained, and that was how to carry the

Bird of Truth to the king without her being seized by the wicked

courtiers, who would be ruined by the discovery of their plot.

Soon--no one knew how--the news spread abroad that the Bird of Truth

was hovering round the palace, and the courtiers made all sorts of

preparations to hinder her reaching the king.

They got ready weapons that were sharpened, and weapons that were

poisoned; they sent for eagles and falcons to hunt her down, and

constructed cages and boxes in which to shut her up if they were not

able to kill her. They declared that her white plumage was really put

on to hide her black feathers--in fact there was nothing they did not

do in order to prevent the king from seeing the bird or from paying

attention to her words if he did.

As often happens in these cases, the courtiers brought about that

which they feared. They talked so much about the Bird of Truth that at

last the king heard of it, and expressed a wish to see her. The more

difficulties that were put in his way the stronger grew his desire,

and in the end the king published a proclamation that whoever found

the Bird of Truth should bring her to him without delay.

As soon as he saw this proclamation the boy called his sister, and

they hastened to the palace. The bird was buttoned inside his tunic,

but, as might have been expected, the courtiers barred the way, and

told the child that he could not enter. It was in vain that the boy

declared that he was only obeying the king's commands; the courtiers

only replied that his majesty was not yet out of bed, and it was

forbidden to wake him.

They were still talking, when, suddenly, the bird settled the question

by flying upwards through an open window into the king's own room.

Alighting on the pillow, close to the king's head, she bowed

respectfully, and said:

'My lord, I am the Bird of Truth whom you wished to see, and I have

been obliged to approach you in this manner because the boy who

brought me is kept out of the palace by your courtiers.'

'They shall pay for their insolence,' said the king. And he instantly

ordered one of his attendants to conduct the boy at once to his

apartments; and in a moment more the prince entered, holding his

sister by the hand.

'Who are you?' asked the king; 'and what has the Bird of Truth to do

with you?'

'If it please your majesty, the Bird of Truth will explain that

herself,' answered the boy.

And the bird _did_ explain; and the king heard for the first time of

the wicked plot that had been successful for so many years. He took

his children in his arms, with tears in his eyes, and hurried off with

them to the tower in the mountains where the queen was shut up. The

poor woman was as white as marble, for she had been living almost in

darkness; but when she saw her husband and children, the colour came

back to her face, and she was as beautiful as ever.

They all returned in state to the city, where great rejoicings were

held. The wicked courtiers had their heads cut off, and all their

property was taken away. As for the good old couple, they were given

riches and honour, and were loved and cherished to the ends of their

lives.

(From _Cuentos, Oraciones, y Adivinas_, por Fernan Caballero.)

_THE MINK AND THE WOLF_

In the big forest in the north of America lived a quantity of wild

animals of all sorts. They were always very polite when they met; but,

in spite of that, they kept a close watch one upon the other, as each

was afraid of being killed and eaten by somebody else. But their

manners were so good that no one would ever have guessed that.

One day a smart young wolf went out to hunt, promising his grandfather

and grandmother that he would be sure to be back before bedtime. He

trotted along quite happily through the forest till he came to a

favourite place of his, just where the river runs into the sea. There,

just as he had hoped, he saw the chief mink fishing in a canoe.

'I want to fish too,' cried the wolf. But the mink said nothing, and

pretended not to hear.

'I wish you would take me into your boat!' shouted the wolf, louder

than before, and he continued to beseech the mink so long that at last

he grew tired of it, and paddled to the shore close enough for the

wolf to jump in.

'Sit down quietly at that end or we shall be upset,' said the mink;

'and if you care about sea-urchins' eggs, you will find plenty in that

basket. But be sure you eat only the white ones, for the red ones

would kill you.'

So the wolf, who was always hungry, began to eat the eggs greedily;

and when he had finished he told the mink he thought he would have a

nap.

'Well, then, stretch yourself out, and rest your head on that piece

of wood,' said the mink. And the wolf did as he was bid, and was soon

fast asleep. Then the mink crept up to him and stabbed him to the

heart with his knife, and he died without moving. After that he landed

on the beach, skinned the wolf, and taking the skin to his cottage, he

hung it up before the fire to dry.

Not many days later the wolf's grandmother who, with the help of her

relations, had been searching for him everywhere, entered the cottage

to buy some sea-urchins' eggs, and saw the skin, which she at once

guessed to be that of her grandson.

'I knew he was dead--I knew it! I knew it!' she cried, weeping

bitterly, till the mink told her rudely that if she wanted to make so

much noise she had better do it outside as he liked to be quiet. So,

half-blinded by her tears, the old woman went home the way she had

come, and running in at the door, she flung herself down in front of

the fire.

'What are you crying for?' asked the old wolf and some friends who had

been spending the afternoon with him.

'I shall never see my grandson any more!' answered she. 'Mink has

killed him, oh! oh!' And putting her head down, she began to weep as

loudly as ever.

'There! there!' said her husband, laying his paw on her shoulder. 'Be

comforted; if he _is_ dead, we will avenge him.' And calling to the

others they proceeded to talk over the best plan. It took them a long

time to make up their minds, as one wolf proposed one thing and one

another; but at last it was agreed that the old wolf should give a

great feast in his house, and that the mink should be invited to the

party. And in order that no time should be lost it was further agreed

that each wolf should bear the invitations to the guests that lived

nearest to him.

Now the wolves thought they were very cunning, but the mink was more

cunning still; and though he sent a message by a white hare, that was

going that way, saying he should be delighted to be present, he

determined that he would take his precautions. So he went to a mouse

who had often done him a good turn, and greeted her with his best bow.

[Illustration: THE MINK IS VERY RUDE TO THE GRANDMOTHER WOLF]

'I have a favour to ask of you, friend mouse,' said he, 'and if you

will grant it I will carry you on my back every night for a week to

the patch of maize right up the hill.'

'The favour is _mine_,' answered the mouse. 'Tell me what it is that I

can have the honour of doing for you.'

'Oh, something quite easy,' replied the mink. 'I only want

you--between to-day and the next full moon--to gnaw through the bows

and paddles of the wolf people, so that directly they use them they

will break. But of course you must manage it so that they notice

nothing.'

'Of course,' answered the mouse, 'nothing is easier; but as the full

moon is to-morrow night, and there is not much time, I had better

begin at once.' Then the mink thanked her, and went his way; but

before he had gone far he came back again.

'Perhaps, while you are about the wolf's house seeing after the bows,

it would do no harm if you were to make that knot-hole in the wall a

little bigger,' said he. 'Not large enough to draw attention, of

course; but it _might_ come in handy.' And with another nod he left

her.

The next evening the mink washed and brushed himself carefully and set

out for the feast. He smiled to himself as he looked at the dusty

track, and perceived that though the marks of wolves' feet were many,

not a single guest was to be seen anywhere. He knew very well what

_that_ meant; but he had taken his precautions and was not afraid.

The house door stood open, but through a crack the mink could see the

wolves crowding in the corner behind it. However, he entered boldly,

and as soon as he was fairly inside the door was shut with a bang, and

the whole herd sprang at him, with their red tongues hanging out of

their mouths. Quick as they were they were too late, for the mink was

already through the knot-hole and racing for his canoe.

The knot-hole was too small for the wolves, and there were so many of

them in the hut that it was some time before they could get the door

open. Then they seized the bows and arrows which were hanging on the

walls and, once outside, aimed at the flying mink; but as they pulled

the bows broke in their paws, so they threw them away, and bounded to

the shore, with all their speed, to the place where their canoes were

drawn up on the beach.

Now, although the mink could not run as fast as the wolves, he had had

a good start, and was already afloat when the swiftest among them

threw themselves into the nearest canoe. They pushed off, but as they

dipped the paddles into the water, they snapped as the bows had done,

and were quite useless.

'I know where there are some new ones,' cried a young fellow, leaping

on shore and rushing to a little cave at the back of the beach. And

the mink's heart smote him when he heard, for he had not known of this

secret store.

After a long chase the wolves managed to surround their prey, and the

mink, seeing it was no good resisting any more, gave himself up. Some

of the older wolves brought out some cedar bands, which they always

carried wound round their bodies, but the mink laughed scornfully at

the sight of them.

'Why I could snap those in a moment,' said he; 'if you want to make

sure that I cannot escape, better take a line of kelp and bind me with

that.'

'You are right,' answered the grandfather; 'your wisdom is greater

than ours.' And he bade his servants gather enough kelp from the rocks

to make a line, as they had brought none with them.

'While the line is being made you might as well let me have one last

dance,' remarked the mink. And the wolves replied: 'Very good, you may

have your dance; perhaps it may amuse us as well as you.' So they

brought two canoes and placed them one beside the other. The mink

stood up on his hind legs and began to dance, first in one canoe and

then in the other; and so graceful was he, that the wolves forgot they

were going to put him to death, and howled with pleasure.

'Pull the canoes a little apart; they are too close for this new

dance,' he said, pausing for a moment. And the wolves separated them

while he gave a series of little springs, sometimes pirouetting while

he stood with one foot on the prow of both. 'Now nearer, now further

apart,' he would cry as the dance went on. 'No! further still.' And

springing into the air, amidst howls of applause, he came down head

foremost, and dived to the bottom. And though the wolves, whose howls

had now changed into those of rage, sought him everywhere, they never

found him, for he hid behind a rock till they were out of sight, and

then made his home in another forest.

(From the _Journal of the Anthropological Institute_.)

_ADVENTURES OF AN INDIAN BRAVE_

A long, long way off, right away in the west of America, there once

lived an old man who had one son. The country round was covered with

forests, in which dwelt all kinds of wild beasts, and the young man

and his companions used to spend whole days in hunting them, and he

was the finest hunter of all the tribe.

One morning, when winter was coming on, the youth and his companions

set off as usual to bring back some of the mountain goats and deer to

be salted down, as he was afraid of a snow-storm; and if the wind blew

and the snow drifted the forest might be impassable for some weeks.

The old man and the wife, however, would not go out, but remained in

the wigwam making bows and arrows.

It soon grew so cold in the forest that at last one of the men

declared they could walk no more, unless they could manage to warm

themselves.

'That is easily done,' said the leader, giving a kick to a large tree.

Flames broke out in the trunk, and before it had burnt up they were as

hot as if it had been summer. Then they started off to the place where

the goats and deer were to be found in the greatest numbers, and soon

had killed as many as they wanted. But the leader killed most, as he

was the best shot.

'Now we must cut up the game and divide it,' said he; and so they did,

each one taking his own share; and, walking one behind the other, set

out for the village. But when they reached a great river the young man

did not want the trouble of carrying his pack any further, and left

it on the bank.

'I am going home another way,' he told his companions. And taking

another road he reached the village long before they did.

'Have you returned with empty hands?' asked the old man, as his son

opened the door.

'Have I _ever_ done that, that you put me such a question?' asked the

youth. 'No; I have slain enough to feast us for many moons, but it was

heavy, and I left the pack on the bank of the great river. Give me the

arrows, I will finish making them, and you can go to the river and

bring home the pack!'

So the old man rose and went, and strapped the meat on his shoulder;

but as he was crossing the ford the strap broke and the pack fell into

the river. He stooped to catch it, but it swirled past him. He

clutched again; but in doing so he over-balanced himself and was

hurried into some rapids, where he was knocked against some rocks, and

he sank and was drowned, and his body was carried down the stream into

smoother water when it rose to the surface again. But by this time it

had lost all likeness to a man, and was changed into a piece of wood.

The wood floated on, and the river got bigger and bigger and entered a

new country. There it was borne by the current close to the shore, and

a woman who was down there washing her clothes caught it as it passed,

and drew it out, saying to herself: 'What a nice smooth plank! I will

use it as a table to put my food upon.' And gathering up her clothes

she took the plank with her into her hut.

When her supper time came she stretched the board across two strings

which hung from the roof, and set upon it the pot containing a stew

that smelt very good. The woman had been working hard all day and was

very hungry, so she took her biggest spoon and plunged it into the

pot. But what was her astonishment and disgust when both pot and food

vanished instantly before her.

'Oh, you horrid plank, you have brought me ill-luck!' she cried. And

taking it up she flung it away from her.

* * * * *

The woman had been surprised before at the disappearance of her food,

but she was more astonished still when, instead of the plank, she

beheld a baby. However, she was fond of children and had none of her

own, so she made up her mind that she would keep it and take care of

it. The baby grew and throve as no baby in that country had ever done,

and in four days he was a man, and as tall and strong as any brave of

the tribe.

'You have treated me well,' he said, 'and meat shall never fail in

your house. But now I must go, for I have much work to do.'

Then he set out for his home.

It took him many days to get there, and when he saw his son sitting in

his place his anger was kindled, and his heart was stirred to take

vengeance upon him. So he went out quickly into the forest and shed

tears, and each tear became a bird. 'Stay there till I want you,' said

he; and he returned to the hut.

'I saw some pretty new birds, high up in a tree yonder,' he remarked.

And the son answered: 'Show me the way and I will get them for

dinner.'

The two went out together, and after walking for about half an hour

the old man stopped. 'That is the tree,' he said. And the son began to

climb it.

Now a strange thing happened. The higher the young man climbed the

higher the birds seemed to be, and when he looked down the earth below

appeared no bigger than a star. Still he tried to go back, but he

could not, and though he could not see the birds any longer he felt as

if something were dragging him up and up.

He thought that he had been climbing that tree for days, and perhaps

he had, for suddenly a beautiful country, yellow with fields of maize,

stretched before him, and he gladly left the top of the tree and

entered it. He walked through the maize without knowing where he was

going, when he heard a sound of knocking, and saw two old blind women

crushing their food between two stones. He crept up to them on tiptoe,

and when one old woman passed her dinner to the other he held out his

hand and took it and ate it for himself.

'How slow you are kneading that cake,' cried the other old woman at

last.

'Why, I have given you your dinner, and what more do you want?'

replied the second.

'You didn't; at least I never got it,' said the other.

'I certainly thought you took it from me; but here is some more.' And

again the young man stretched out his hand; and the two old women fell

to quarrelling afresh. But when it happened for the third time the old

women suspected some trick, and one of them exclaimed:

'I am sure there is a man here; tell me, are you not my grandson?'

'Yes,' answered the young man, who wished to please her, 'and in

return for your good dinner I will see if I cannot restore your sight;

for I was taught the art of healing by the best medicine men in the

tribe.' And with that he left them, and wandered about till he found

the herb which he wanted. Then he hastened back to the old women, and

begging them to boil him some water, he threw the herb in. As soon as

the pot began to sing he took off the lid, and sprinkled the eyes of

the women the sight came back to them once more.

There was no night in that country, so, instead of going to bed very

early, as he would have done in his own hut, the young man took

another walk. A splashing noise near by drew him down to a valley

through which ran a large river, and up a waterfall some salmon were

leaping. How their silver sides glistened in the light, and how he

longed to catch some of the great fellows! But how could he do it? He

had beheld no one except the old women, and it was not very likely

that they would be able to help him. So with a sigh he turned away and

went back to them, but, as he walked, a thought struck him. He pulled

out one of his hairs which hung nearly to his waist, and it instantly

became a strong line, nearly a mile in length.

'Weave me a net that I may catch some salmon,' said he. And they wove

him the net he asked for, and for many weeks he watched by the river,

only going back to the old women when he wanted a fish cooked.

At last, one day, when he was eating his dinner, the old woman who

always spoke first, said to him:

'We have been very glad to see you, grandson, but now it is time that

you went home.' And pushing aside a rock, he saw a deep hole, _so_

deep that he could not see to the bottom. Then they dragged a basket

out of the house, and tied a rope to it. 'Get in, and wrap this

blanket round your head,' said they; 'and, whatever happens, don't

uncover it till you get to the bottom.' Then they bade him farewell,

and he curled himself up in the basket.

Down, down, down he went; would he _ever_ stop going? But when the

basket _did_ stop, the young man forgot what he had been told, and put

his head out to see what was the matter. In an instant the basket

moved, but, to his horror, instead of going down, he felt himself

being drawn upwards, and shortly after he beheld the faces of the old

women.

'You will never see your wife and son if you will not do as you are

bid,' said they. 'Now get in, and do not stir till you hear a crow

calling.'

This time the young man was wiser, and though the basket often

stopped, and strange creatures seemed to rest on him and to pluck at

his blanket, he held it tight till he heard the crow calling. Then he

flung off the blanket and sprang out, while the basket vanished in the

sky.

He walked on quickly down the track that led to the hut, when, before

him, he saw his wife with his little son on her back.

'Oh! there is father at last,' cried the boy; but the mother bade him

cease from idle talking.

'But, mother, it is true; father is coming!' repeated the child. And,

to satisfy him, the woman turned round and perceived her husband.

Oh, how glad they all were to be together again! And when the wind

whistled through the forest, and the snow stood in great banks round

the door, the father used to take the little boy on his knee and tell

him how he caught salmon in the Land of the Sun.

(From the _Journal of the Anthropological Institute_.)

_HOW THE STALOS WERE TRICKED_

'Mother, I have seen such a wonderful man,' said a little boy one day,

as he entered a hut in Lapland, bearing in his arms the bundle of

sticks he had been sent out to gather.

'Have you, my son; and what was he like?' asked the mother, as she

took off the child's sheep-skin coat and shook it on the doorstep.

'Well, I was tired of stooping for the sticks, and was leaning against

a tree to rest, when I heard a noise of 'sh-'sh, among the dead

leaves. I thought perhaps it was a wolf, so I stood very still. But

soon there came past a tall man--oh! twice as tall as father--with a

long red beard and a red tunic fastened with a silver girdle, from

which hung a big silver-handled knife. Behind him followed a great

dog, which looked stronger than any wolf, or even a bear. But why are

you so pale, mother?'

'It was the Stalo,' replied she, her voice trembling; 'Stalo the

man-eater! You did well to hide, or you might never have come back.

But, remember that, though he is so tall and strong, he is very

stupid, and many a Lapp has escaped from his clutches by playing him

some clever trick.'

Not long after the mother and son had held this talk, it began to be

whispered in the forest that the children of an old man called Patto

had vanished one by one, no one knew whither. The unhappy father

searched the country for miles round without being able to find as

much as a shoe or a handkerchief, to show him where they had passed,

but at length a little boy came with news that he had seen the Stalo

hiding behind a well, near which the children used to play. The boy

had waited behind a clump of bushes to see what would happen, and

by-and-by he noticed that the Stalo had laid a cunning trap in the

path to the well, and that anybody who fell over it would roll into

the water and drown there.

And, as he watched, Patto's youngest daughter ran gaily down the path,

till her foot caught in the strings that were stretched across the

steepest place. She slipped and fell, and in another instant had

rolled into the water within reach of the Stalo.

As soon as Patto heard this tale his heart was filled with rage, and

he vowed to have his revenge. So he straightway took an old fur coat

from the hook where it hung, and putting it on went out into the

forest. When he reached the path that led to the well he looked

hastily round to be sure that no one was watching him, then laid

himself down as if he had been caught in the snare and had rolled into

the well, though he took care to keep his head out of the water.

Very soon he heard the 'sh-'sh of the leaves, and there was the Stalo

pushing his way through the undergrowth to see what chance he had of a

dinner. At the first glimpse of Patto's head in the well, he laughed

loudly, crying:

'Ha! ha! This time it is the old ass! I wonder how _he_ will taste?'

And drawing Patto out of the well, he flung him across his shoulders

and carried him home. Then he tied a cord round him and hung him over

the fire to roast, while he finished a box that he was making before

the door of the hut, which he meant to hold Patto's flesh when it was

cooked. In a very short time the box was so nearly done that it only

wanted a little more chipping out with an axe; but this part of the

work was easier accomplished indoors, and he called to one of his

sons, who were lounging inside, to bring him the tool.

[Illustration: THE LITTLE BOY SEES THE STALO IN THE WOOD]

The young man looked everywhere, but he could not find the axe, for

the very good reason that Patto had managed to pick it up and hide it

in his clothes.

'Stupid fellow! what is the use of you?' grumbled his father angrily;

and he bade first one and then another of his sons to fetch him the

tool, but they had no better success than their brother.

'I must come myself, I suppose!' said Stalo, putting aside the box.

But, meanwhile, Patto had slipped from the hook and concealed himself

behind the door, so that, as Stalo stepped in, his prisoner raised the

axe, and with one blow the ogre's head was rolling on the ground. His

sons were so frightened at the sight that they all ran away.

And in this manner Patto avenged his dead children.

* * * * *

But though Stalo was dead, his three sons were still living, and not

very far off either. They had gone to their mother, who was tending

some reindeer on the pastures, and told her that by some magic, they

knew not what, their father's head had rolled from his body, and they

had been so afraid that something dreadful would happen to them that

they had come to take refuge with her. The ogress said nothing. Long

ago she had found out how stupid her sons were, so she just sent them

out to milk the reindeer, while she returned to the other house to

bury her husband's body.

* * * * *

Now, three days' journey from the hut on the pastures two brothers

named Sodno dwelt in a small cottage with their sister Lyma, who

tended a large herd of reindeer while they were out hunting. Of late

it had been whispered from one to another that the three young Stalos

were to be seen on the pastures, but the Sodno brothers did not

disturb themselves, the danger seemed too far away.

Unluckily, however, one day, when Lyma was left by herself in the hut,

the three Stalos came down and carried her and the reindeer off to

their own cottage. The country was very lonely, and perhaps no one

would have known in which direction she had gone had not the girl

managed to tie a ball of thread to the handle of a door at the back of

the cottage and let it trail behind her. Of course the ball was not

long enough to go all the way, but it lay on the edge of a snowy track

which led straight to the Stalos' house.

When the brothers returned from their hunting they found both the hut

and the sheds empty. Loudly they cried: 'Lyma! Lyma!' But no voice

answered them; and they fell to searching all about, lest perchance

their sister might have dropped some clue to guide them. At length

their eyes dropped on the thread which lay on the snow, and they set

out to follow it.

On and on they went, and when at length the thread stopped the

brothers knew that another day's journey would bring them to the

Stalos' dwelling. Of course they did not dare to approach it openly,

for the Stalos had the strength of giants, and besides, there were

three of them; so the two Sodnos climbed into a big bushy tree which

overhung a well.

'Perhaps our sister may be sent to draw water here,' they said to each

other.

But it was not till the moon had risen that the sister came, and as

she let down her bucket into the well, the leaves seemed to whisper

'Lyma! Lyma!'

The girl started and looked up, but could see nothing, and in a moment

the voice came again.

'Be careful--take no notice, fill your buckets, but listen carefully

all the while, and we will tell you what to do so that you may escape

yourself and set free the reindeer also.'

So Lyma bent over the well lower than before, and seemed busier than

ever.

'You know,' said her brother, 'that when a Stalo finds that anything

has been dropped into his food he will not eat a morsel, but throws it

to his dogs. Now, after the pot has been hanging some time over the

fire, and the broth is nearly cooked, just rake up the log of wood so

that some of the ashes fly into the pot. The Stalo will soon notice

this, and will call you to give all the food to the dogs; but,

instead, you must bring it straight to us, as it is three days since

we have eaten or drunk. That is all you need do for the present.'

Then Lyma took up her buckets and carried them into the house, and did

as her brothers had told her. They were so hungry that they ate the

food up greedily without speaking, but when there was nothing left in

the pot, the eldest one said:

'Listen carefully to what I have to tell you. After the eldest Stalo

has cooked and eaten a fresh supper, he will go to bed and sleep so

soundly that not even a witch could wake him. You can hear him snoring

a mile off, and then you must go into his room and pull off the iron

mantle that covers him, and put it on the fire till it is almost red

hot. When that is done, come to us and we will give you further

directions.'

'I will obey you in everything, dear brothers,' answered Lyma; and so

she did.

It had happened that on this very evening the Stalos had driven in

some of the reindeer from the pasture, and had tied them up to the

wall of the house so that they might be handy to kill for next day's

dinner. The two Sodnos had seen what they were doing, and where the

beasts were secured; so, at midnight, when all was still, they crept

down from their tree and seized the reindeer by the horns which were

locked together. The animals were frightened, and began to neigh and

kick, as if they were fighting together, and the noise became so

great that even the eldest Stalo was awakened by it, and _that_ was a

thing which had never occurred before. Raising himself in his bed, he

called to his youngest brother to go out and separate the reindeer or

they would certainly kill themselves.

The young Stalo did as he was bid, and left the house; but no sooner

was he out of the door than he was stabbed to the heart by one of the

Sodnos, and fell without a groan. Then they went back to worry the

reindeer, and the noise became as great as ever, and a second time the

Stalo awoke.

'The boy does not seem able to part the beasts,' he cried to his

second brother; 'go and help him, or I shall never get to sleep.' So

the brother went, and in an instant was struck dead as he left the

house by the sword of the eldest Sodno. The Stalo waited in bed a

little longer for things to get quiet, but as the clatter of the

reindeers' horns was as bad as ever, he rose angrily from his bed

muttering to himself:

'It is extraordinary that they cannot unlock themselves; but as no one

else seems able to help them I suppose I must go and do it.'

Rubbing his eyes, he stood up on the floor and stretched his great

arms and gave a yawn which shook the walls. The Sodnos heard it below,

and posted themselves, one at the big door and one at the little door

at the back, for they did not know which their enemy would come out

at.

The Stalo put out his hand to take his iron mantle from the bed, where

it always lay, but the mantle was not there. He wondered where it

could be, and who could have moved it, and after searching through all

the rooms, he found it hanging over the kitchen fire. But the first

touch burnt him so badly that he let it alone, and went with nothing,

except a stick in his hand, through the back door.

The young Sodno was standing ready for him, and as the Stalo passed

the threshold struck him such a blow on the head that he rolled over

with a crash and never stirred again. The two Sodnos did not trouble

about him, but quickly stripped the younger Stalos of their clothes,

in which they dressed themselves. Then they sat still till the dawn

should break and they could find out from the Stalos' mother where the

treasure was hidden.

With the first rays of the sun the young Sodno went upstairs and

entered the old woman's room. She was already up and dressed, and

sitting by the window knitting, and the young man crept in softly and

crouched down on the floor, laying his head on her lap. For a while he

kept silence, then he whispered gently:

'Tell me, dear mother, where did my eldest brother conceal his

riches?'

'What a strange question! Surely you must know,' answered she.

'No, I have forgotten; my memory is so bad.'

'He dug a hole under the doorstep and placed it there,' said she. And

there was another pause.

By-and-by the Sodno asked again:

'And where may my second brother's money be?'

'Don't you know that either?' cried the mother in surprise.

'Oh, yes; I did once. But since I fell upon my head I can remember

nothing.'

'It is behind the oven,' answered she. And again was silence.

'Mother, dear mother,' said the young man at last, 'I am almost afraid

to ask you; but I really have grown so stupid of late. Where did I

hide my own money?'

But at this question the old woman flew into a passion, and vowed that

if she could find a rod she would bring his memory back to him.

Luckily, no rod was within her reach, and the Sodno managed, after a

little, to coax her back into good humour, and at length she told him

that the youngest Stalo had buried his treasure under the very place

where she was sitting.

* * * * *

'Dear mother,' said Lyma, who had come in unseen, and was kneeling in

front of the fire. 'Dear mother, do you know who it is you have been

talking with?'

The old woman started, but answered quietly:

'It is a Sodno, I suppose?'

'You have guessed right,' replied Lyma.

The mother of the Stalos looked round for her iron cane, which she

always used to kill her victims, but it was not there, for Lyma had

put it in the fire.

'Where is my iron cane?' asked the old woman.

'There!' answered Lyma, pointing to the flames.

The old woman sprang forward and seized it, but her clothes caught

fire, and in a few minutes she was burned to ashes.

So the Sodno brothers found the treasure, and they carried it, and

their sister and the reindeer, to their own home, and were the richest

men in all Lapland.

(From _Lapplaendische Maehrchen_, J. C. Poestion.)

_ANDRAS BAIVE_

Once upon a time there lived in Lapland a man who was so very strong

and swift of foot that nobody in his native town of Vadsoe could come

near him if they were running races in the summer evenings. The people

of Vadsoe were very proud of their champion, and thought that there was

no one like him in the world, till, by-and-by, it came to their ears

that there dwelt among the mountains a Lapp, Andras Baive by name, who

was said by his friends to be even stronger and swifter than the

bailiff. Of course not a creature in Vadsoe believed _that_, and

declared that if it made the mountaineers happier to talk such

nonsense, why, let them!

The winter was long and cold, and the thoughts of the villagers were

much busier with wolves than with Andras Baive, when suddenly, on a

frosty day, he made his appearance in the little town of Vadsoe. The

bailiff was delighted at this chance of trying his strength, and at

once went out to seek Andras and to coax him into giving proof of his

vigour. As he walked along his eyes fell upon a big eight-oared boat

that lay upon the shore, and his face shone with pleasure. 'That is

the very thing,' laughed he, 'I will make him jump over that boat.'

Andras was quite ready to accept the challenge, and they soon settled

the terms of the wager. He who could jump over the boat without so

much as touching it with his heel was to be the winner, and would get

a large sum of money as the prize. So, followed by many of the

villagers, the two men walked down to the sea.

An old fisherman was chosen to stand near the boat to watch fair

play, and to hold the stakes, and Andras, as the stranger, was told to

jump first. Going back to the flag which had been stuck into the sand

to mark the starting place, he ran forward, with his head well thrown

back, and cleared the boat with a mighty bound. The lookers on cheered

him, and indeed he well deserved it; but they waited anxiously all the

same to see what the bailiff would do. On he came, taller than Andras

by several inches, but heavier of build. He too sprang high and well,

but as he came down his heel just grazed the edge of the boat. Dead

silence reigned amidst the townsfolk, but Andras only laughed and said

carelessly:

'Just a little too short, bailiff; next time you must do better than

that.'

The bailiff turned red with anger at his rival's scornful words, and

answered quickly: 'Next time you will have something harder to do.'

And turning his back on his friends, he went sulkily home. Andras,

putting the money he had earned in his pocket, went home also.

In the following spring Andras happened to be driving his reindeer

along a great fiord to the west of Vadsoe. A boy who had met him

hastened to tell the bailiff that his enemy was only a few miles off;

and the bailiff, disguising himself as a Stalo, or ogre, called his

son and his dog and rowed away across the fiord to the place where the

boy had met Andras.

Now the mountaineer was lazily walking along the sands, thinking of

the new hut that he was building with the money that he had won on the

day of his lucky jump. He wandered on, his eyes fixed on the sands, so

that he did not see the bailiff drive his boat behind a rock, while he

changed himself into a heap of wreckage which floated in on the waves.

A stumble over a stone recalled Andras to himself, and looking up he

beheld the mass of wreckage. 'Dear me! I may find some use for that,'

he said; and hastened down to the sea, waiting till he could lay hold

of some stray rope which might float towards him. Suddenly--he could

not have told why--a nameless fear seized upon him, and he fled away

from the shore as if for his life. As he ran he heard the sound of a

pipe, such as only ogres of the Stalo kind were wont to use; and there

flashed into his mind what the bailiff had said when they jumped the

boat: 'Next time you will have something harder to do.' So it was no

wreckage after all that he had seen, but the bailiff himself.

It happened that in the long summer nights up in the mountain, where

the sun never set, and it was very difficult to get to sleep, Andras

had spent many hours in the study of magic, and this stood him in good

stead now. The instant he heard the Stalo music he wished himself to

become the feet of a reindeer, and in this guise he galloped like the

wind for several miles. Then he stopped to take breath and find out

what his enemy was doing. Nothing could he see, but to his ears the

notes of a pipe floated over the plain, and ever, as he listened, it

drew nearer.

A cold shiver shook Andras, and this time he wished himself the feet

of a reindeer calf. For when a reindeer calf has reached the age when

he begins first to lose his hair he grows so swift that neither beast

nor bird can come near him. A reindeer calf is the swiftest of all

things living. Yes; but not so swift as a Stalo, as Andras found out

when he stopped to rest, and heard the pipe playing!

For a moment his heart sank, and he gave himself up for dead, till he

remembered that, not far off, were two little lakes joined together by

a short though very broad river. In the middle of the river lay a

stone that was always covered by water, except in very dry seasons,

and as the winter rains had been very heavy, he felt quite sure that

not even the top of it could be seen. The next minute, if anyone had

been looking that way, he would have beheld a small reindeer calf

speeding northwards, and by-and-by give a great spring, which landed

him in the midst of the stream. But, instead of sinking to the bottom,

he paused to steady himself, then gave a second spring which landed

him on the further shore. He next ran on to a little hill where he sat

down and began to neigh loudly, so that the Stalo might know exactly

where he was.

* * * * *

'Ah! _there_ you are,' cried the Stalo, appearing on the opposite

bank; 'for a moment I really thought I had lost you.'

'No such luck,' answered Andras, shaking his head sorrowfully. By this

time he had taken his own shape again.

'Well, but I don't see how I am to get to you!' said the Stalo,

looking up and down.

'Jump over, as I did,' answered Andras; 'it is quite easy.'

'But I could not jump this river; and I don't know how you did,'

replied the Stalo.

'I should be ashamed to say such things,' exclaimed Andras. 'Do you

mean to tell me that a jump, which the weakest Lapp boy would make

nothing of, is beyond your strength?'

The Stalo grew red and angry when he heard these words, just as Andras

meant him to do. He bounded into the air and fell straight into the

river. Not that _that_ would have mattered, for he was a good swimmer;

but Andras drew out the bow and arrows which every Lapp carries, and

took aim at him. His aim was good, but the Stalo sprang so high into

the air that the arrow flew between his feet. A second shot, directed

at his forehead, fared no better, for this time the Stalo jumped so

high to the other side that the arrow passed between his finger and

thumb. Then Andras aimed his third arrow a little over the Stalo's

head, and when he sprang up, just an instant too soon, it hit him

between the ribs.

[Illustration: ANDRAS BAIVE SHOOTS THE STALO]

Mortally wounded as he was, the Stalo was not yet dead, and managed to

swim to the shore. Stretching himself on the sand, he said slowly to

Andras:

'Promise that you will give me honourable burial, and when my body is

laid in the grave go in my boat across the fiord, and take whatever

you find in my house which belongs to me. My dog you must kill, but

spare my son, Andras.'

Then he died; and Andras sailed in his boat away across the fiord and

found the dog and boy. The dog, a fierce, wicked-looking creature, he

slew with one blow from his fist, for it is well-known that if a

Stalo's dog licks the blood that flows from his dead master's wounds

the Stalo comes to life again. That is why no _real_ Stalo is ever

seen without his dog; but the bailiff, being only half a Stalo, had

forgotten his, when he went to the little lakes in search of Andras.

Next, Andras put all the gold and jewels which he found in the boat

into his pockets, and bidding the boy get in, pushed it off from the

shore, leaving the little craft to drift as it would, while he himself

ran home. With the treasures he possessed he was able to buy a great

herd of reindeer; and he soon married a rich wife, whose parents would

not have him as a son-in-law when he was poor, and the two lived happy

for ever after.

(From _Lapplaendische Maehrchen_, J. C. Poestion.)

_THE WHITE SLIPPER_

Once upon a time there lived a king who had a daughter just fifteen

years old. And _what_ a daughter!

Even the mothers who had daughters of their own could not help

allowing that the princess was much more beautiful and graceful than

any of them; and as for the fathers, if one of them ever beheld her by

accident he could talk of nothing else for a whole day afterwards.

Of course the king, whose name was Balancin, was the complete slave of

his little girl from the moment he lifted her from the arms of her

dead mother; indeed, he did not seem to know that there was anyone

else in the world to love.

Now Diamantina, for that was her name, did not reach her fifteenth

birthday without proposals of marriage from every country under

heaven; but be the suitor who he might, the king always said him nay.

Behind the palace a large garden stretched away to the foot of some

hills, and more than one river flowed through. Hither the princess

would come each evening towards sunset, attended by her ladies, and

gather herself the flowers that were to adorn her rooms. She also

brought with her a pair of scissors to cut off the dead blooms, and a

basket to put them in, so that when the sun rose next morning he might

see nothing unsightly. When she had finished this task she would take

a walk through the town, so that the poor people might have a chance

of speaking with her, and telling her of their troubles; and then she

would seek out her father, and together they would consult over the

best means of giving help to those who needed it.

But what has all this to do with the White Slipper? my readers will

ask.

Have patience, and you will see.

Next to his daughter, Balancin loved hunting, and it was his custom to

spend several mornings every week chasing the boars which abounded in

the mountains a few miles from the city. One day, rushing downhill as

fast as he could go, he put his foot into a hole and fell, rolling

into a rocky pit full of brambles. The king's wounds were not very

severe, but his face and hands were cut and torn, while his feet were

in a worse plight still, for, instead of proper hunting boots, he only

wore sandals, to enable him to run more swiftly.

In a few days the king was as well as ever, and the signs of the

scratches were almost gone; but one foot still remained very sore,

where a thorn had pierced deeply and had festered. The best doctors in

the kingdom treated it with all their skill; they bathed, and

poulticed, and bandaged, but it was in vain. The foot only grew worse

and worse, and became daily more swollen and painful.

After everyone had tried his own particular cure, and found it fail,

there came news of a wonderful doctor in some distant land who had

healed the most astonishing diseases. On inquiring, it was found that

he never left the walls of his own city, and expected his patients to

come to see _him_; but, by dint of offering a large sum of money, the

king persuaded the famous physician to undertake the journey to his

own court.

On his arrival the doctor was led at once into the king's presence,

and made a careful examination of his foot.

'Alas! your majesty,' he said, when he had finished, 'the wound is

beyond the power of man to heal; but though I cannot cure it, I can

at least deaden the pain, and enable you to walk without so much

suffering.'

'Oh, if you can only do that,' cried the king, 'I shall be grateful to

you for life! Give your own orders; they shall be obeyed.'

'Then let your majesty bid the royal shoemaker make you a shoe of

goat-skin very loose and comfortable, while I prepare a varnish to

paint over it of which I alone have the secret!' So saying, the doctor

bowed himself out, leaving the king more cheerful and hopeful than he

had been for long.

The days passed very slowly with him during the making of the shoe and

the preparation of the varnish, but on the eighth morning the

physician appeared, bringing with him the shoe in a case. He drew it

out to slip it on the king's foot, and over the goat-skin he had

rubbed a polish so white that the snow itself was not more dazzling.

'While you wear this shoe you will not feel the slightest pain,' said

the doctor. 'For the balsam with which I have rubbed it inside and out

has, besides its healing balm, the quality of strengthening the

material it touches, so that, even were your majesty to live a

thousand years, you would find the slipper just as fresh at the end of

that time as it is now.'

The king was so eager to put it on that he hardly gave the physician

time to finish. He snatched it from the case and thrust his foot into

it, nearly weeping for joy when he found he could walk and run as

easily as any beggar boy.

'What can I give you?' he cried, holding out both hands to the man who

had worked this wonder. 'Stay with me, and I will heap on you riches

greater than ever you dreamed of.' But the doctor said he would accept

nothing more than had been agreed on, and must return at once to his

own country, where many sick people were awaiting him. So king

Balancin had to content himself with ordering the physician to be

treated with royal honours, and desiring that an escort should attend

him on his journey home.

[Illustration: BALANCIN'S DELIGHT AT THE WHITE SLIPPER]

For two years everything went smoothly at court, and to king Balancin

and his daughter the sun no sooner rose than it seemed time for it to

set. Now, the king's birthday fell in the month of June, and as the

weather happened to be unusually fine, he told the princess to

celebrate it in any way that pleased her. Diamantina was very fond of

being on the river, and she was delighted at this chance of indulging

her tastes. She would have a merry-making such as never had been seen

before, and in the evening, when they were tired of sailing and

rowing, there should be music and dancing, plays and fireworks. At the

very end, before the people went home, every poor person should be

given a loaf of bread, and every girl who was to be married within

the year a new dress.

The great day appeared to Diamantina to be long in coming, but, like

other days, it came at last. Before the sun was fairly up in the

heavens the princess, too full of excitement to stay in the palace,

was walking about the streets so covered with precious stones that you

had to shade your eyes before you could look at her. By-and-by a

trumpet sounded, and she hurried home, only to appear again in a few

moments walking by the side of her father down to the river. Here a

splendid barge was waiting for them, and from it they watched all

sorts of races and feats of swimming and diving. When these were over

the barge proceeded up the river to the field where the dancing and

concerts were to take place, and after the prizes had been given away

to the winners, and the loaves and the dresses had been distributed by

the princess, they bade farewell to their guests, and turned to step

into the barge which was to carry them back to the palace.

Then a dreadful thing happened. As the king stepped on board the boat

one of the sandals of the white slipper, which had got loose, caught

in a nail that was sticking out, and caused the king to tumble. The

pain was great, and unconsciously he turned and shook his foot, so

that the sandals gave way, and in a moment the precious shoe was in

the river.

It had all occurred so quickly that nobody had noticed the loss of the

slipper, not even the princess, whom the king's cries speedily brought

to his side.

'What is the matter, dear father?' asked she. But the king could not

tell her; and only managed to gasp out: 'My shoe! my shoe!' While the

sailors stood round staring, thinking that his majesty had suddenly

gone mad.

Seeing her father's eyes fixed on the stream, Diamantina looked

hastily in that direction. There, dancing on the current, was the

point of something white, which became more and more distant the

longer they watched it. The king could bear the sight no more, and,

besides, now that the healing ointment in the shoe had been removed

the pain in his foot was as bad as ever; he gave a sudden cry,

staggered, and fell over the bulwarks into the water.

In an instant the river was covered with bobbing heads all swimming

their fastest towards the king, who had been carried far down by the

swift current. At length one swimmer, stronger than the rest, seized

hold of his tunic, and drew him to the bank, where a thousand eager

hands were ready to haul him out. He was carried, unconscious, to the

side of his daughter, who had fainted with terror on seeing her father

disappear below the surface, and together they were placed in a coach

and driven to the palace, where the best doctors in the city were

awaiting their arrival.

In a few hours the princess was as well as ever; but the pain, the

wetting, and the shock of the accident, all told severely on the king,

and for three days he lay in a high fever. Meanwhile, his daughter,

herself nearly mad with grief, gave orders that the white slipper

should be sought for far and wide; and so it was, but even the

cleverest divers could find no trace of it at the bottom of the river.

When it became clear that the slipper must have been carried out to

sea by the current, Diamantina turned her thoughts elsewhere, and sent

messengers in search of the doctor who had brought relief to her

father, begging him to make another slipper as fast as possible, to

supply the place of the one which was lost. But the messengers

returned with the sad news that the doctor had died some weeks before,

and, what was worse, his secret had died with him.

In his weakness this intelligence had such an effect on the king that

the physicians feared he would become as ill as before. He could

hardly be persuaded to touch food, and all night long he lay moaning,

partly with pain, and partly over his own folly in not having begged

the doctor to make him several dozens of white slippers, so that in

case of accidents he might always have one to put on. However,

by-and-by he saw that it was no use weeping and wailing, and commanded

that they should search for his lost treasure more diligently than

ever.

What a sight the river banks presented in those days! It seemed as if

all the people in the country were gathered on them. But this second

search was no more fortunate than the first, and at last the king

issued a proclamation that whoever found the missing slipper should be

made heir to the crown, and should marry the princess.

Now many daughters would have rebelled at being disposed of in this

manner; and it must be admitted that Diamantina's heart sank when she

heard what the king had done. Still, she loved her father so much that

she desired his comfort more than anything else in the world, so she

said nothing, and only bowed her head.

Of course the result of the proclamation was that the river banks

became more crowded than before; for all the princess's suitors from

distant lands flocked to the spot, each hoping that he might be the

lucky finder. Many times a shining stone at the bottom of the stream

was taken for the slipper itself, and every evening saw a band of

dripping downcast men returning homewards. But one youth always

lingered longer than the rest, and night would still see him engaged

in the search, though his clothes stuck to his skin and his teeth

chattered.

One day, when the king was lying on his bed racked with pain, he heard

the noise of a scuffle going on in his antechamber, and rang a golden

bell that stood by his side to summon one of his servants.

'Sire,' answered the attendant, when the king inquired what was the

matter, 'the noise you heard was caused by a young man from the town,

who has had the impudence to come here to ask if he may measure your

majesty's foot, so as to make you another slipper in place of the lost

one.'

'And what have you done to the youth?' said the king.

'The servants pushed him out of the palace, and added a few blows to

teach him not to be insolent,' replied the man.

'Then they did very ill,' answered the king, with a frown. 'He came

here from kindness, and there was no reason to maltreat him.'

'Oh, my lord, he had the audacity to wish to touch your majesty's

sacred person--he, good-for-nothing boy, a mere shoemaker's

apprentice, perhaps! And even if he could make shoes to perfection

they would be no use without the healing balsam.'

The king remained silent for a few moments, then he said:

'Never mind. Go and fetch the youth and bring him to me. I would

gladly try any remedy that may relieve my pain.'

So, soon afterwards, the youth, who had not gone far from the palace,

was caught and ushered into the king's presence.

He was tall and handsome and, though he professed to make shoes, his

manners were good and modest, and he bowed low as he begged the king

not only to allow him to take the measure of his foot, but also to

suffer him to place a healing plaster over the wound.

Balancin was pleased with the young man's voice and appearance, and

thought that he looked as if he knew what he was doing. So he

stretched out his bad foot which the youth examined with great

attention, and then gently laid on the plaster.

Very shortly the ointment began to soothe the sharp pain, and the

king, whose confidence increased every moment, begged the young man to

tell him his name.

'I have no parents; they died when I was six, sire,' replied the

youth, modestly. 'Everyone in the town calls me Gilguerillo,[1]

because, when I was little, I went singing through the world in spite

of my misfortunes. Luckily for me I was born happy.'

[1] Linnet.

'And you really think you can cure me?' asked the king.

'Completely, my lord,' answered Gilguerillo.

'And how long do you think it will take?'

'It is not an easy task; but I will try to finish it in a fortnight,'

replied the youth.

A fortnight seemed to the king a long time to make one slipper. But he

only said:

'Do you need anything to help you?'

'Only a good horse, if your majesty will be kind enough to give me

one,' answered Gilguerillo. And the reply was so unexpected that the

courtiers could hardly restrain their smiles, while the king stared

silently.

'You shall have the horse,' he said at last, 'and I shall expect you

back in a fortnight. If you fulfil your promise you know your reward;

if not, I will have you flogged for your impudence.'

Gilguerillo bowed, and turned to leave the palace, followed by the

jeers and scoffs of everyone he met. But he paid no heed, for he had

got what he wanted.

He waited in front of the gates till a magnificent horse was led up to

him, and vaulting into the saddle with an ease which rather surprised

the attendant, rode quickly out of the town amidst the jests of the

assembled crowd, who had heard of his audacious proposal. And while he

is on his way let us pause for a moment and tell who he is.

Both father and mother had died before the boy was six years old; and

he had lived for many years with his uncle, whose life had been

passed in the study of chemistry. He could leave no money to his

nephew, as he had a son of his own; but he taught him all he knew, and

at his death Gilguerillo entered an office, where he worked for many

hours daily. In his spare time, instead of playing with the other

boys, he passed hours poring over books, and because he was timid and

liked to be alone he was held by every one to be a little mad.

Therefore, when it became known that he had promised to cure the

king's foot, and had ridden away--no one knew where--a roar of

laughter and mockery rang through the town, and jeers and scoffing

words were sent after him.

[Illustration: GILGUERILLO FALLS IN LOVE WITH PRINCESS DIAMANTINA]

But if they had only known what were Gilguerillo's thoughts they would

have thought him madder than ever.

The real truth was that, on the morning when the princess had walked

through the streets before making holiday on the river, Gilguerillo

had seen her from his window, and had straightway fallen in love with

her. Of course he felt quite hopeless. It was absurd to imagine that

the apothecary's nephew could ever marry the king's daughter; so he

did his best to forget her, and study harder than before, till the

royal proclamation suddenly filled him with hope. When he was free he

no longer spent the precious moments poring over books, but, like the

rest, he might have been seen wandering along the banks of the river,

or diving into the stream after something that lay glistening in the

clear water, but which turned out to be a white pebble or a bit of

glass.

And at the end he understood that it was not by the river that he

would win the princess; and, turning to his books for comfort, he

studied harder than ever.

There is an old proverb which says: 'Everything comes to him who knows

how to wait.' It is not all men who know how to wait, any more than it

is all men who can learn by experience; but Gilguerillo was one of the

few, and instead of thinking his life wasted because he could not have

the thing he wanted most, he tried to busy himself in other

directions. So, one day, when he expected it least, his reward came to

him.

He happened to be reading a book many hundreds of years old, which

told of remedies for all kinds of diseases. Most of them, he knew,

were merely invented by old women, who sought to prove themselves

wiser than other people; but at length he came to something which

caused him to sit up straight in his chair, and made his eyes

brighten. This was a description of a balsam--which would cure every

kind of a sore or wound--distilled from a plant only to be found in a

country so distant that it would take a man on foot two months to go

and come back again.

When I say that the book declared that the balsam could heal _every_

sort of sore or wound, there were a few against which it was

powerless, and it gave certain signs by which these might be known.

This was the reason why Gilguerillo demanded to see the king's foot

before he would undertake to cure it; and to obtain admittance he gave

out that he was a shoemaker. However, the dreaded signs were absent,

and his heart bounded at the thought that the princess was within his

reach.

Perhaps she was; but a great deal had to be accomplished yet, and he

had allowed himself a very short time in which to do it.

He spared his horse only so much as was needful, yet it took him six

days to reach the spot where the plant grew. A thick wood lay in front

of him, and, fastening the bridle tightly to a tree, he flung himself

on his hands and knees and began to hunt for the treasure. Many times

he fancied it was close to him, and many times it turned out to be

something else; but, at last, when light was fading, and he had almost

given up hope, he came upon a large bed of the plant, right under his

feet! Trembling with joy, he picked every scrap he could see, and

placed it in his wallet. Then, mounting his horse, he galloped quickly

back towards the city.

It was night when he entered the gates, and the fifteen days allotted

were not up till the next day. His eyes were heavy with sleep, and his

body ached with the long strain, but, without pausing to rest, he

kindled a fire on his hearth, and quickly filling a pot with water,

threw in the herbs and left them to boil. After that he lay down and

slept soundly.

The sun was shining when he awoke, and he jumped up and ran to the

pot. The plant had disappeared and in its stead was a thick syrup,

just as the book had said that there would be. He lifted the syrup out

with a spoon, and after spreading it in the sun till it was partly

dry, poured it into a small flask of crystal. He next washed himself

thoroughly, and dressed himself in his best clothes, and putting the

flask in his pocket, set out for the palace, and begged to see the

king without delay.

Now Balancin, whose foot had been much less painful since Gilguerillo

had wrapped it in the plaster, was counting the days to the young

man's return; and when he was told Gilguerillo was there, ordered him

to be admitted at once. As he entered, the king raised himself eagerly

on his pillows, but his face fell when he saw no signs of a slipper.

'You have failed, then?' he said, throwing up his hands in despair.

'I hope not, your majesty; I think not,' answered the youth. And

drawing the flask from his pocket, he poured two or three drops on the

wound.

'Repeat this for three nights, and you will find yourself cured,' said

he. And before the king had time to thank him he had bowed himself

out.

Of course the news soon spread through the city, and men and women

never tired of calling Gilguerillo an impostor, and prophesying that

the end of the three days would see him in prison, if not on the

scaffold. But Gilguerillo paid no heed to their hard words, and no

more did the king, who took care that no hand but his own should put

on the healing balsam.

On the fourth morning the king awoke and instantly stretched out his

wounded foot that he might prove the truth or falsehood of

Gilguerillo's remedy. The wound was certainly cured on that side, but

how about the other? Yes, that was cured also; and not even a scar was

left to show where it had been!

Was ever any king so happy as Balancin when he satisfied himself of

this?

Lightly as a deer he jumped from his bed, and began to turn head over

heels, and to perform all sorts of antics, so as to make sure that his

foot was in truth as well as it looked. And when he was quite tired he

sent for his daughter, and bade the courtiers bring the lucky young

man to his room.

'He is _really_ young and handsome,' said the princess to herself,

heaving a sigh of relief that it was not some dreadful old man who had

healed her father; and while the king was announcing to his courtiers

the wonderful cure that had been made, Diamantina was thinking that if

Gilguerillo looked so well in his common dress, how much he would be

improved by the splendid garments of a king's son. However, she held

her peace, and only watched with amusement when the courtiers, knowing

there was no help for it, did homage and obeisance to the chemist's

boy.

Then they brought to Gilguerillo a magnificent tunic of green velvet

bordered with gold, and a cap with three white plumes stuck in it; and

at the sight of him so arrayed, the princess fell in love with him in

a moment. The wedding was fixed to take place in eight days, and at

the ball afterwards nobody danced so long or so lightly as king

Balancin.

(From _Capullos de Rosa_, por D. Enrique Ceballos Quintana.)

_THE MAGIC BOOK_

There was once an old couple named Peder and Kirsten who had an only

son called Hans. From the time he was a little boy he had been told

that on his sixteenth birthday he must go out into the world and serve

his apprenticeship. So, one fine summer morning, he started off to

seek his fortune with nothing but the clothes he wore on his back.

For many hours he trudged on merrily, now and then stopping to drink

from some clear spring or to pick some ripe fruit from a tree. The

little wild creatures peeped at him from beneath the bushes, and he

nodded and smiled, and wished them 'Good-morning.' After he had been

walking for some time he met an old white-bearded man who was coming

along the foot-path. The boy would not step aside, and the man was

determined not to do so either, so they ran against one another with a

bump.

'It seems to me,' said the old fellow, 'that a boy should give way to

an old man.'

'The path is for me as well as for you,' answered young Hans saucily,

for he had never been taught politeness.

'Well, that's true enough,' answered the other mildly. 'And where are

you going?'

'I am going into service,' said Hans.

'Then you can come and serve me,' replied the man.

Well, Hans could do that; but what would his wages be?

'Two pounds a year, and nothing to do but keep some rooms clean,' said

the new-comer.

This seemed to Hans to be easy enough; so he agreed to enter the old

man's service, and they set out together. On their way they crossed a

deep valley and came to a mountain, where the man opened a trap-door,

and bidding Hans follow him, he crept in and began to go down a long

flight of steps. When they got to the bottom Hans saw a large number

of rooms lit by many lamps and full of beautiful things. While he was

looking round the old man said to him:

'Now you know what you have to do. You must keep these rooms clean,

and strew sand on the floor every day. Here is a table where you will

always find food and drink, and there is your bed. You see there are a

great many suits of clothes hanging on the wall, and you may wear any

you please; but remember that you are never to open this locked door.

If you do ill will befall you. Farewell, for I am going away again and

cannot tell when I may return.'

No sooner had the old man disappeared than Hans sat down to a good

meal, and after that went to bed and slept until the morning. At first

he could not remember what had happened to him, but by-and-by he

jumped up and went into all the rooms, which he examined carefully.

'How foolish to bid me to put sand on the floors,' he thought, 'when

there is nobody here but myself! I shall do nothing of the sort.' And

so he shut the doors quickly, and only cleaned and set in order his

own room. And after the first few days he felt that that was

unnecessary too, because no one came there to see if the rooms were

clean or not. At last he did no work at all, but just sat and wondered

what was behind the locked door, till he determined to go and look for

himself.

The key turned easily in the lock. Hans entered, half frightened at

what he was doing, and the first thing he beheld was a heap of bones.

That was not very cheerful; and he was just going out again when his

eye fell on a shelf of books. Here was a good way of passing the

time, he thought, for he was fond of reading, and he took one of the

books from the shelf. It was all about magic, and told you how you

could change yourself into anything in the world you liked. Could

anything be more exciting or more useful? So he put it in his pocket,

and ran quickly away out of the mountain by a little door which had

been left open.

When he got home his parents asked him what he had been doing and

where he had got the fine clothes he wore.

'Oh, I earned them myself,' answered he.

'You never earned them in this short time,' said his father. 'Be off

with you; I won't keep you here. I will have no thieves in my house!'

'Well I only came to help you,' replied the boy sulkily. 'Now I'll be

off, as you wish; but to-morrow morning when you rise you will see a

great dog at the door. Do not drive it away, but take it to the castle

and sell it to the duke, and they will give you ten dollars for it;

only you must bring the strap you lead it with, back to the house.'

Sure enough the next day the dog was standing at the door waiting to

be let in. The old man was rather afraid of getting into trouble, but

his wife urged him to sell the dog as the boy had bidden him, so he

took it up to the castle and sold it to the duke for ten dollars. But

he did not forget to take off the strap with which he had led the

animal, and to carry it home. When he got there old Kirsten met him at

the door.

'Well, Peder, and have you sold the dog?' asked she.

'Yes, Kirsten; and I have brought back ten dollars, as the boy told

us,' answered Peder.

'Ay! but that's fine!' said his wife. 'Now you see what one gets by

doing as one is bid; if it had not been for me you would have driven

the dog away again, and we should have lost the money. After all, I

always know what is best.'

'Nonsense!' said her husband; 'women always think they know best. I

should have sold the dog just the same whatever you had told me. Put

the money away in a safe place, and don't talk so much.'

The next day Hans came again; but though everything had turned out as

he had foretold, he found that his father was still not quite

satisfied.

'Be off with you!' said he, 'you'll get us into trouble.'

'I haven't helped you enough yet,' replied the boy. 'To-morrow there

will come a great fat cow, as big as the house. Take it to the king's

palace and you'll get as much as a thousand dollars for it. Only you

must unfasten the halter you lead it with and bring it back, and don't

return by the high road, but through the forest.'

The next day, when the couple arose, they saw an enormous head looking

in at their bedroom window, and behind it was a cow which was nearly

as big as their hut. Kirsten was wild with joy to think of the money

the cow would bring them.

'But how are you going to put the rope over her head?' asked she.

'Wait and you'll see, mother,' answered her husband. Then Peder took

the ladder that led up to the hayloft and set it against the cow's

neck, and he climbed up and slipped the rope over her head. When he

had made sure that the noose was fast they started for the palace, and

met the king himself walking in his grounds.

'I heard that the princess was going to be married,' said Peder, 'so

I've brought your majesty a cow which is bigger than any cow that was

ever seen. Will your majesty deign to buy it?'

[Illustration: 'JUST AS HE WAS GOING TO STRIKE']

The king had, in truth, never seen so large a beast, and he willingly

paid the thousand dollars, which was the price demanded; but Peder

remembered to take off the halter before he left. After he was gone

the king sent for the butcher and told him to kill the animal for the

wedding feast. The butcher got ready his pole-axe; but just as he was

going to strike, the cow changed itself into a dove and flew away; and

the butcher stood staring after it as if he were turned to stone.

However, as the dove could not be found, he was obliged to tell the

king what had happened, and the king in his turn despatched messengers

to capture the old man and bring him back. But Peder was safe in the

woods, and could not be found. When at last he felt the danger was

over, and he might go home, Kirsten nearly fainted with joy at the

sight of all the money he brought with him.

'Now that we are rich people we must build a bigger house,' cried she;

and was vexed to find that Peder only shook his head and said: 'No; if

they did that people would talk, and say that they got their wealth by

ill-doing.'

* * * * *

A few mornings later Hans came again.

'Be off before you get us into trouble,' said his father. 'So far the

money has come right enough, but I don't trust it.'

'Don't worry over that, father,' said Hans. 'To-morrow you will find a

horse outside by the gate. Ride it to market and you will get a

thousand dollars for it. Only don't forget to loosen the bridle when

you sell it.'

Well, in the morning there was the horse; Kirsten had never seen so

fine an animal. 'Take care it doesn't hurt you, Peder,' said she.

'Nonsense, wife,' answered he crossly. 'When I was a lad I lived with

horses, and could ride anything for twenty miles round.' But that was

not quite the truth, for he had never mounted a horse in his life.

Still, the animal was quiet enough, so Peder got safely to market on

its back. There he met a man who offered nine hundred and ninety-nine

dollars for it, but Peder would take nothing less than a thousand. At

last there came an old, grey-bearded man who looked at the horse and

agreed to buy it; but the moment he touched it the horse began to kick

and plunge. 'I must take the bridle off,' said Peder. 'It is not to be

sold with the animal as is usually the case.'

'I'll give you a hundred dollars for the bridle,' said the old man,

taking out his purse.

'No, I can't sell it,' replied Hans's father.

'Five hundred dollars!'

'No.'

'A thousand!'

At this splendid offer Peder's prudence gave way; it was a shame to

let so much money go. So he agreed to accept it. But he could hardly

hold the horse, it became so unmanageable. So he gave the animal in

charge to the old man, and went home with his two thousand dollars.

Kirsten, of course, was delighted at this new piece of good fortune,

and insisted that the new house should be built and land bought. This

time Peder consented, and soon they had quite a fine farm.

Meanwhile the old man rode off on his new purchase, and when he came

to a smithy he asked the smith to forge shoes for the horse. The smith

proposed that they should first have a drink together, and the horse

was tied up by the spring whilst they went indoors. The day was hot,

and both men were thirsty, and, besides, they had much to say; and so

the hours slipped by and found them still talking. Then the servant

girl came out to fetch a pail of water, and, being a kind-hearted

lass, she gave some to the horse to drink. What was her surprise when

the animal said to her: 'Take off my bridle and you will save my

life.'

'I dare not,' said she; 'your master will be so angry.'

'He cannot hurt you,' answered the horse, 'and you will save my life.'

At that she took off the bridle; but nearly fainted with astonishment

when the horse turned into a dove and flew away just as the old man

came out of the house. Directly he saw what had happened he changed

himself into a hawk and flew after the dove. Over the woods and fields

they went, and at length they reached a king's palace surrounded by

beautiful gardens. The princess was walking with her attendants in the

rose garden when the dove turned itself into a gold ring and fell at

her feet.

'Why, here is a ring!' she cried, 'where could it have come from?' And

picking it up she put it on her finger. As she did so the hill-man

lost his power over Hans--for of course you understand that it was he

who had been the dog, the cow, the horse and the dove.

'Well, that is really strange,' said the princess. 'It fits me as

though it had been made for me!'

Just at that moment up came the king.

'Look what I have found!' cried his daughter.

'Well, that is not worth much, my dear,' said he. 'Besides, you have

rings enough, I should think.'

'Never mind, I like it,' replied the princess.

But as soon as she was alone, to her amazement, the ring suddenly left

her finger and became a man. You can imagine how frightened she was,

as, indeed, anybody would have been; but in an instant the man became

a ring again, and then turned back into a man, and so it went on for

some time until she began to get used to these sudden changes.

'I am sorry I frightened you,' said Hans, when he thought he could

safely speak to the princess without making her scream. 'I took refuge

with you because the old hill-man, whom I have offended, was trying to

kill me, and here I am safe.'

'You had better stay here then,' said the princess. So Hans stayed,

and he and she became good friends; though, of course, he only became

a man when no one else was present.

This was all very well; but, one day, as they were talking together,

the king happened to enter the room, and although Hans quickly changed

himself into a ring again it was too late.

The king was terribly angry.

'So this is why you have refused to marry all the kings and princes

who have sought your hand?' he cried.

And, without waiting for her to speak, he commanded that his daughter

should be walled up in the summer-house and starved to death with her

lover.

[Illustration: THE PRINCESS IMPRISONED IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE]

That evening the poor princess, still wearing her ring, was put

into the summer-house with enough food to last for three days, and the

door was bricked up. But at the end of a week or two the king thought

it time to give her a grand funeral, in spite of her bad behaviour,

and he had the summer-house opened. He could hardly believe his eyes

when he found that the princess was not there, nor Hans either.

Instead, there lay at his feet a large hole, big enough for two people

to pass through.

Now what had happened was this.

When the princess and Hans had given up hope, and cast themselves down

on the ground to die, they fell down into this hole, and right through

the earth as well, and at last they stumbled into a castle built of

pure gold, at the other side of the world, and there they lived

happily. But of this, of course, the king knew nothing.

'Will any one go down and see where the passage leads to?' he asked,

turning to his guards and courtiers. 'I will reward splendidly the man

who is brave enough to explore it.'

For a long time nobody answered. The hole was dark and deep, and if it

had a bottom no one could see it. At length a soldier, who was a

careless sort of fellow, offered himself for the service, and

cautiously lowered himself into the darkness. But in a moment he, too,

fell down, down, down. Was he going to fall for ever, he wondered! Oh,

how thankful he was in the end to reach the castle, and to meet the

princess and Hans, looking quite well and not at all as if they had

been starved. They began to talk, and the soldier told them that the

king was very sorry for the way he had treated his daughter, and

wished day and night that he could have her back again.

Then they all took ship and sailed home, and when they came to the

princess's country, Hans disguised himself as the sovereign of a

neighbouring kingdom, and went up to the palace alone. He was given a

hearty welcome by the king, who prided himself on his hospitality, and

a banquet was commanded in his honour. That evening, whilst they sat

drinking their wine, Hans said to the king:

'I have heard the fame of your majesty's wisdom, and I have travelled

from far to ask your counsel. A man in my country has buried his

daughter alive because she loved a youth who was born a peasant. How

shall I punish this unnatural father, for it is left to me to give

judgment?'

The king, who was still truly grieved for his daughter's loss,

answered quickly:

'Burn him alive, and strew his ashes all over the kingdom.'

Hans looked at him steadily for a moment, and then threw off his

disguise.

'You are the man,' said he; 'and I am he who loved your daughter, and

became a gold ring on her finger. She is safe, and waiting not far

from here; but you have pronounced judgment on yourself.'

Then the king fell on his knees and begged for mercy; and as he had in

other respects been a good father, they forgave him. The wedding of

Hans and the princess was celebrated with great festivities which

lasted a month. As for the hill-man he intended to be present; but

whilst he was walking along a street which led to the palace a loose

stone fell on his head and killed him. So Hans and the princess lived

in peace and happiness all their days, and when the old king died they

reigned instead of him.

(From _Eventyr fra Jylland samlede og optegnede af Tang Kristensen_.

Translated from the Danish by Mrs. Skavgaard-Pedersen.)