stand still. So the little boy milked the big cow, and the weary, weary
lady with the golden hair stopped her weeping and got her sup of milk,
and the fine, fine laddie from the wars did not have to cut off the
cow’s head with his sharp, sharp sword. After that everything went well
that didn’t go ill.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A BOTTLE OF BRAINS
ONCE there was a simple-minded fellow who wanted to buy a bottle of
brains, for he was always getting into scrapes through his foolishness,
and being laughed at by every one. Folk told him he could get whatever
he wanted from the wise woman, who lived at the top of the hill, and
dealt in potions and herbs and magic spells, and could tell a person all
that was going to happen to him. So the simple lad asked his mother if
he could seek the wise woman and buy a bottle of brains.
“To be sure,” said she, “for you are in sore need of them, my son; and
if I should die, who would take care of a poor, simple fellow such as
you are. But mind your manners, and speak fair to her, my lad. These
wise folk are easily mispleased.”
After he had eaten supper, off he went to the wise woman on the hill,
and there he found her sitting in her kitchen by the fire stirring a big
pot.
“Good evening, missis,” said he, as he entered the door; “it’s a fine
night.”
“Yes,” said she, and went on stirring.
“But it will maybe rain,” said he, fidgeting from one foot to the other.
“Maybe,” said she.
“And perhaps it won’t,” said he, and looked out of the window.
“Perhaps not,” said she.
He scratched his head and twisted his hat.
“Well,” said he, “I can’t think of anything else about the weather, but
let me see—the crops are getting on fine.”
“Yes,” said she.
“And—and—the beasts are fattening,” said he.
“They are,” said she.
“And—and—” said he, and came to a stop. But after a few moments he
remarked: “I reckon I’ve talked enough for politeness, and now we’ll
tackle business. Have you any brains to sell?”
“That depends on what you want,” said she. “If you are after king’s
brains, or soldier’s brains, or schoolmaster’s brains, I do not keep
them.”
“Mercy, no!” he exclaimed, “I’m not after such as that, but just
ordinary brains—fit for any simple fellow—the same as every one has
about here—something plain and common-like, and only a bottle full.”
“Very well,” said the wise woman, “I might manage it if so be you’ll
help yourself.”
“What would you have me do?” he asked.
She looked into the pot before replying, and then said, “Bring me the
heart of the thing you like best, and I’ll tell you where to get your
bottle of brains.”
“But how can I do that?” he questioned anxiously.
“That’s not for me to say,” she answered. “Find out for yourself, my
lad, if you do not want to live to be a simpleton all your days. Now I
must attend to other matters; so good evening to you,” and she bowed him
out and shut the door.
Off went the lad to his mother and told her what the wise woman had
said; “and I reckon I’ll have to kill our pig,” he added, “for I like
fat pork better than anything else.”
“Then kill the pig,” advised his mother, “for certainly it will be a
strange and good thing for you if you can buy a bottle of brains and be
able to take care of yourself.”
So he killed the pig, and the next day he again visited the wise woman
at her cottage on the hill. There she sat by the hearth, reading in a
great book.
“Good evening, missis,” said he, “I’ve brought you the heart of the
thing I like best of all. It is the heart of our pig.”
“Is that so?” said she, and looked at him through her spectacles. “Then
tell me this—what runs without feet?”
He thought and thought and thought, but he could not tell.
“Go your way,” said she. “You have not fetched me the right thing yet,
and I have no brains for you today.”
So saying, she clapped her book together, and turned her back, and the
lad went to tell his mother.
As he drew near to the house, out ran some of the neighbors to inform
him that his mother was dying. When he went in, she smiled at him
feebly, and soon, without speaking a word, breathed her last. He left
the room and sat down on a bench just outside of the house door, and the
more he thought about his mother’s death, the worse he felt. He
remembered how she had taken care of him ever since he was a tiny child,
helping him with his lessons, cooking his food, mending his clothes, and
bearing with his foolishness.
“Oh, mother, mother!” he sighed, “who will take care of me? You have
left me all alone, and what shall I do now to get that bottle of
brains?”
After the funeral was over he went once more to consult the wise woman,
and he told her of his mother’s sudden death, and how he had now more
need than ever of the bottle of brains.
“Well,” said she, “I can do nothing for you yet, unless you can answer
me one more riddle that I have to ask. What is it that is yellow and
shining, but is not gold?”
He pondered on her question for a long time without being able to give
any answer, and at last she shut the door in his face, and he walked
sadly away. Pretty soon he sat down by the roadside and began to cry,
and he fairly howled till the tears ran down into his mouth. While he
was in the midst of his grief along came a lass who lived near by, and
she stopped and looked at him. “What’s troubling you?” she asked.
“Oh dear!” said he, “I’ve killed my pig and lost my mother, and I’m
nothing but a simpleton.”
“That’s bad,” said she; “and haven’t you anybody to look after you?”
“No,” said he, “and what is worst of all I don’t know how to buy a
bottle of brains.”
“What are you talking about?” said she; and down she sat by him, and he
told her all about the wise woman, and the pig, and his mother, and the
riddles, and that he was alone in the world.
[Illustration:
The lass stopped and looked at him
]
“Well,” said she, “I wouldn’t mind looking after you myself.”
“Could you do it?” said he, wiping away his tears and gazing at her
hopefully.
“Oh, yes,” said she, “folk say that simpletons make good husbands, and I
believe I’ll have you, if you are willing.”
“Can you cook?” said he.
“Yes,” said she.
“And scrub?” said he.
“Surely,” said she.
“And mend my clothes?” said he.
“I can,” said she.
“I reckon you’ll suit me as well as anybody,” said he, “but what shall I
do about getting a bottle of brains from the wise woman?”
“Wait a bit,” said she, “and perhaps we can show her that it will not
matter if you are a simpleton so long as you have me to look after you.”
“All right,” said he.
Then off they trudged and got married. Afterward they went to the house
where the youth’s mother had lived, and his wife kept it so clean and
neat, and cooked his food so nice that one evening he said to her,
“Lass, I’m thinking I like you best of anything.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said she.
“But,” said he, “have I got to kill you, do you think, and take your
heart to the wise woman for that bottle of brains?”
“Law, no!” she exclaimed, looking scared, “I will not have that, but you
might take me as I am, heart and all, and I’ll wager I can help you read
her riddles.”
“Do you think so?” said he. “I’m afraid they are too hard for women
folk.”
“Let us see,” said she. “What was the first?”
“What runs without feet?” said he.
“Why, water,” she said.
“So it does,” said he, and clapped his hands gleefully; “and what is
yellow and shining but is not gold?”
“Why, the sun,” said she.
“Faith, it is!” said he. “Come, we’ll go to the wise woman at once,” and
off they went.
When they climbed the hill they found the wise woman sitting in her
cottage doorway. “Good evening, missis,” said the lad, “I reckon I’ve
fetched you the right thing this time.”
The wise woman looked at them both and wiped her spectacles. Then she
said, “Can you tell me what it is that has first no legs, and afterward
two legs, and ends with four legs?”
The lad scratched his head, and thought and thought and thought, but he
couldn’t tell.
At last the lass whispered in his ear, “It’s a tadpole.”
Then he turned to the wise woman and said, “Perhaps it might be a
tadpole.”
The wise woman nodded her head. “That’s right,” said she, “and you’ve
got your bottle of brains already.”
“Where?” asked he, looking about and feeling in his pockets.
“In your wife’s head,” she answered. “The only cure for a simpleton is a
good wife to look after him, and that you’ve got. So good evening to
you.”
She nodded to them, and got up and went into the house. Then they walked
home together, and he never wanted to buy a bottle of brains again, for
his wife had enough for both of them.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE PEDDLER OF SWAFFHAM
IN the old days, when London Bridge was lined with shops from one end to
the other, and salmon swam under the arches, there lived in the town of
Swaffham, about a hundred miles northward from London, a poor peddler.
He had much ado to make a living, trudging about with his pack on his
back and his dog at his heels, and at the close of each day’s labor he
was only too glad to lie down and sleep.
It so happened one night that he dreamed a dream; and in the dream he
saw the great bridge of London Town, and a voice seemed to tell him that
if he went thither he would have joyful news. He made little account of
the dream, but on the following night it came back to him, and likewise
on the third night. Then he said within himself, “I must needs find out
what truth there is in this matter.”
[Illustration]
So off he trudged to London Town. Long was the way, and right glad was
he when he stood on the great bridge and saw the tall houses to the
right and left of the roadway where the teams and the people went and
came, and had glimpses of the river and of the boats and ships moving
about on it. All day long he paced to and fro, but he heard nothing to
yield him comfort. Again, on the morrow, he stood and he gazed, and he
paced afresh the length of London Bridge, but naught did he hear in the
way of glad news.
The third day came, and there he was again on the bridge. He was looking
about when a shopkeeper, standing at the door of his shop close by,
spoke to him, saying: “Friend, this is the third day I have seen you
loitering about here. I wonder much what object you have in so doing.
Have you wares to sell?”
“No,” quoth the peddler.
“I have not observed you beg for alms,” said the shopkeeper.
“I am not so poor that I would need to do that,” responded the peddler,
“and I shall never beg so long as I can provide for myself.”
“Then what, I pray you, do you want here?” inquired the shopkeeper, “and
what is your business?”
“Well, kind sir,” responded the peddler, “to tell the truth, I dreamed
that if I came thither I would have good news.”
Right heartily did the shopkeeper laugh. “Ah!” said he, “you must be a
fool to go on a journey with no better excuse than that. I must tell
you, my poor, silly country fellow, that I also dream at night, and
thrice recently have I dreamed that I was in Swaffham, a place I never
have even been near in my life, and I thought I was in a field behind a
peddler’s house, and in the field was a great oak tree, and a voice
seemed to tell me that if I dug beneath that tree I would find a rich
treasure. But do you fancy I am so lacking in sense as to undertake a
long and wearisome journey because of a foolish dream? No, my good
fellow; and now I would have you take advice from a wiser man than
yourself. Get you home and mind your business.”
The peddler answered never a word, but was exceedingly glad in himself
and returned home speedily. As soon as possible he dug under the great
oak, and there he found a prodigious treasure. It made him very rich,
but he did not forget his duty in the pride of his wealth; for he
rebuilt the Swaffham church. When he died a statue of him was put in the
church, all in stone, with his pack on his back, and his dog at his
heels. There it stands to this day a witness to the truth of this story.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE ORANGE FAIRY
IN the olden time there was once a sultan whose days were joyless
because he had no son. Once he was out walking with his vizier, and they
passed out of the city and went on and on until they came to a wild,
craggy valley. In this valley they sat down to rest. Suddenly the ground
was shaken as if by an earthquake, there was a clap of thunder, and a
yellow-robed, yellow-slippered, white-bearded dervish stood before them.
The emperor and the vizier were so frightened they could not stir, but
when the dervish addressed them with the words, “Peace be unto you,”
they took heart and responded courteously, “Unto you be peace.”
“What is your errand here, my lord sultan?” asked the dervish.
“If you know that I am a sultan, you must also know my errand,” the
emperor replied.
Then the dervish took from his bosom an apple, presented it to the
sultan, and said, “Let the sultana eat half of this, and eat the other
half yourself.” So saying, he disappeared.
The sultan went home, and he and the sultana each ate half the apple,
and within a year a little prince was born to them. So joyful was the
sultan over this event, that he scattered gold coins among the poor,
restored to freedom his slaves, and gave a magnificent banquet to his
courtiers.
The years passed until the prince had reached the age of fourteen, and
still his parents fondled him and treated him like a child. One day he
said to his father, “I want you to make me a little marble palace, and
let there be two fountains in it, one of which shall run with honey, and
the other with butter.”
So dearly did the sultan love his son, that he had the little marble
palace made with the two fountains in it just as the lad had desired.
When the sultan’s son went into his completed palace and sat looking at
the bubbling fountains of butter and honey, an old woman came with a
pitcher in her hand and would have filled it at one of the fountains.
But the sultan’s son threw a stone at the old woman’s pitcher and broke
it in pieces. Then the old woman went away without saying a word.
Next day she was there again with a pitcher, which she was about to fill
when the prince threw a stone and shattered it. Then the old woman
silently departed. On the third day also she came to fill a pitcher, and
the prince threw a stone that broke the pitcher to fragments. “O youth!”
said she, “’tis the will of God that you shall fall in love with an
orange fairy.” With these words she quitted him.
From that time on the prince gradually became pale and thin. The sultan
observed this and sent for the wise men and the doctors, but they could
not cure the prince of his illness. At last the youth said to his
father: “My dear daddy, these wise men of yours labor in vain to help
me. I am in love with an orange fairy, and I shall never be better till
I find her.”
“You are the only child I have in the wide world,” groaned the sultan.
“If you leave me to search for this fairy, perchance you would never
return, and my happiness would be destroyed.”
Time went on and the prince continued to slowly wither away, and he
became so listless that most of the time he lay with closed eyes as if
in a heavy sleep. So his father saw it would be best for the youth to go
and, if possible, find the orange fairy. As soon as he had the sultan’s
permission, the prince went away over the mountains and through the
valleys. After traveling for many days he came to a vast plain, and in
the midst of it met a giantess as tall as a church spire. She was
chewing gum, and the sound of her chewing could be heard a half-hour’s
journey off.
[Illustration]
“Good day, madam,” said the youth.
“Good day, little sonny,” she responded. “If you had not spoken so
politely, I would have gobbled you up. Whither are you going?”
The youth heaved a sigh, and said, “I have fallen violently in love with
an orange fairy, but I don’t know where to find her.”
“Neither do I know,” said the giantess. “But I have forty sons, and they
go up and down the earth more than I do. Perhaps they can tell you
something of the matter.”
So the giantess took the prince to her home, and toward evening, when it
began to grow dusk, she gave him a tap on the head and turned him into a
broom and placed him beside the door. Immediately afterward the forty
sons arrived, and as they came in they said, “Mother, we smell man’s
flesh.”
“Nonsense!” said the mother. “Sit down to supper.”
They were busy eating and drinking when she said to them, “If a man
should come to our dwelling as my guest, how would you treat him?”
“Like a brother, of course,” they replied.
Then their mother tapped the broom, and there stood the sultan’s son.
“This is my guest,” said she.
They greeted him cordially, inquired after his health, and asked him to
sit down and eat with them. “But he does not care for your sort of
food,” said the giantess. “He eats fowls, beef, mutton, and such
things.”
So one of the sons jumped up and went out and slew a sheep, and brought
it in and laid it before the prince. “That won’t do,” said the giantess.
“Men do not eat mutton until it is cooked.”
They therefore skinned the sheep, roasted it, and again placed it before
him. He ate enough to satisfy his hunger, and stopped, but the sons
exclaimed, “Why, that’s nothing!” and urged him to eat more.
“No, my sons,” said their mother, “he has eaten all he needs.”
“Let me see what this roasted sheep-meat is like,” said one of the sons.
So he took it up and devoured the whole of it in a couple of mouthfuls.
The prince stayed with the giants over night, and in the morning the
giantess said to her sons: “Our guest is greatly troubled because he has
fallen in love with an orange fairy and knows not where to find her. Can
you show him the way?”
Then the youngest of the forty sons leaped up with a shout of joy and
said, “I know where she is!”
“Very well,” said his mother, “take this youth to his fairy that his
heart may be at rest.”
So the youngest of the giant brothers took charge of the prince, and
they went merrily away together and traveled until at last the giant
said: “We shall come presently to a large garden in which there is a
spring. Stand beside the spring and do as I tell you, and then lay hold
of what you see in the water.”
Soon they came to the garden, and the prince went and stood at the
margin of the spring. “Shut your eyes and open your eyes,” said the
giant.
The prince obeyed, and then he saw an orange bobbing up and down on the
surface of the water. He at once reached down and grasped it. “Now,”
said the giant, “take care not to cut open the orange in any place where
there is no water, or things will go badly with you. That orange
contains your fairy.”
Then they parted, one to go to the right and the other to the left. The
sultan’s son went on and on and on, and in the course of time came to a
clear spring beneath the wide-spreading branches of a big tree. He drank
of the water and said to himself, “Here is a good place to cut open my
orange.”
Scarcely had he cut through the peel when out popped a lovely damsel.
Not even the full moon could be more beautiful. She immediately called
for water, and he gave her some from the spring. After talking together
for a time he told her he would go to a town that was near and hire a
carriage to take them to his father’s palace.
He had not been gone long when she observed some one coming, and she
climbed into the tree and concealed herself in the leafage on a branch
directly over the spring. The person she saw approaching was a negro
maidservant, who came to fill a jar with water. As this servant looked
into the spring she saw the reflection of the damsel in the watery
mirror. “Why!” said she in surprise, “I did not know I looked like that.
I am much more beautiful than my mistress. She ought to fetch water for
me, and not I for her.”
So saying, she gave the jar a bang that broke it to bits, and then she
went home. Her mistress asked where the jar of water was, and the
servant replied, “I am much more beautiful than you, and you must do the
water-fetching in future.”
Her mistress picked up a mirror and held it before the maid. “Look in
this,” she said. “I think you must have taken leave of your senses.”
The negress looked into the mirror and saw that she was as black as
ever. Without another word she got a jar and went again to the spring.
But there she saw the reflection of the face of the damsel who was in
the tree, and again she fancied it was her own. “I was right after all,”
said she. “I am ever so much more beautiful than my mistress.”
So she smashed the jar and went home. Her mistress asked her why she had
not brought the water. “Because I am ever so much more beautiful than
you,” said the maid. “Therefore you must fetch the water for me.”
“You are downright crazy,” declared her mistress, and once more produced
the mirror.
When the negress saw her face in it she took another jar and for the
third time went to the spring. But there the damsel’s face appeared, and
the negress was about to break the jar when the fairy addressed her from
the tree, saying: “It is my face you see in the water.”
The negress looked up and saw the wondrously beautiful damsel. “Who are
you and why are you there?” she asked.
“I am a fairy,” replied the damsel, “and I am waiting for a prince who
has gone to the town near by after a carriage. When he returns we shall
ride away to his father’s palace.”
The negress climbed up beside the maiden, and said: “Dear lady, you will
get a cramp from crouching here. Rest your head against me.”
So the damsel rested her head on the shoulder of the negress, who took a
needle from her dress and slyly pricked the damsel’s neck. Instantly the
orange fairy became a bird, and pr-r-r! she was gone, leaving the
negress alone in the tree.
By and by the prince came back with a fine coach. He looked up into the
tree and saw the black face. “What has happened to you?” he asked.
“That is a nice question,” she retorted. “Why did you leave me here all
day till the hot sun turned me black?”
The changed aspect of his fairy was very disconcerting to the prince,
but he helped the black damsel descend from the tree and took her in the
coach straight to his father’s palace. Every one was eager to see the
fairy he had brought home, and when they saw the negress they were
amazed that he could have lost his heart to what was apparently an
ordinary black servant maid.
“But she is not what she seems,” declared the prince. “I had to leave
her in a tree while I went to get a coach, and she was blackened there
by the rays of the sun. She will soon grow white again, and then I will
marry her.”
A fine garden adjoined the palace, and one day the orange-bird came to
it, lit on a tree, and called down to the gardener.
“What do you want with me?” he asked.
“I wish you would tell me what the sultan’s son is doing,” said the
bird.
“He is doing no harm that I know of,” replied the gardener.
“And what is the black damsel doing?” the bird asked.
“Oh, I suppose she is sitting with him as usual,” the gardener answered.
Then the bird sang these words:
“Though she sits by his side,
She’ll not long there abide.
She makes a false showing
And trouble is growing.
When I light on a tree
The tree dies, as you’ll see.”
The bird flew away, but the next day it came again and asked about the
sultan’s son and the black damsel, and repeated the song it sang before.
In like manner it came the third day, and each time the tree it rested
on withered and died. The afternoon of the third day the prince walked
in the garden, and he observed the withered trees. “You ought to take
better care of the trees,” said he to the gardener. “Do you not see that
they are withering away?”
“They were all right,” said the gardener, “until a few days ago a little
bird began coming here and asking about you and the damsel you brought
home in the coach. It said that every tree it lit on should wither.”
“Smear the trees with bird-lime,” ordered the prince, “and if you catch
the bird, bring it to me.”
The gardener used the bird-lime, and the next day caught the bird. Then
he put it in a cage, and carried it to the prince. The black damsel was
with the prince, and as soon as she saw the bird she knew it was the
orange fairy. Later in the day she pretended to be very ill, and she
declared that she would never get well unless she could have such a bird
as was in the gardener’s cage to eat. The prince said she might do as
she pleased with the caged bird. So she directed that it should be
killed and cooked and brought to her, and that the feathers and whatever
she did not eat should be burned.
All was done as she wished, except that one feather slipped unnoticed
into a crack in the kitchen hearth. After the black damsel had eaten the
flesh of the bird, she arose from her bed completely recovered from her
illness.