It was almost a week before the brother and sister saw the miller again,
but one evening as Janet was coming down the road he jumped over the
wall from the mill-field.
“Where’s the little boy?” he asked. “I hope your grandmother has not
been bad to him again.”
“No,” said Janet, “she’s very cross, but she hasn’t beaten him for more
than a week.”
“You go and fetch him,” said he. “I have been looking for the book I
told you about—grandmother’s story-book. I’m not busy to-night, and we
can sit in the field, and I’ll read him a story.”
“How lovely!” cried Janet. “I’ll run and bring him at once.”
“Yes, and mind _you_ come back, too,” called the miller after her.
In a few minutes she returned, with Peter jumping and clapping his hands
beside her, and when they had found a nice place, they sat down to read.
They sat on the roots of a tree by the mill-lead, with the water
babbling at their feet. The book was old and tattered, and,
unfortunately, there were no pictures in it, but they did not mind that.
They could see just as good pictures for themselves, in their own minds’
eyes.
“I will read you a story about three brothers,” said the miller to
Peter; “and there’s a magpie in it, too, and a pretty young woman like
your sister.”
And he opened his book and began:
There was once upon a time a widow who had three sons; they were fine,
strong young men, and the two elder thought themselves more than
commonly clever. The youngest did not think much about anything but his
business, which was to keep the sheep, look after the horses, and supply
the pot with the game he brought home. He was a hard worker, and when he
lay down at night, he was glad enough to sleep, though the others would
usually sit up scheming how they might grow rich. He thought them rather
grand fellows, all the same, and quite expected they would do something
wonderful.
One day the widow called them all and told them it was high time they
saw something of the world. “To-morrow morning you shall all be off
round it,” she said to the eldest. “You must start facing east, your
next brother facing west, and when you meet in the middle at the other
side you can compare all you have learned. As for you,” she went on,
turning to the youngest, “you shall start southward, and no doubt will
be in time to fall in with them and profit by their knowledge.” She also
had a great opinion of her elder sons.
So off they went, and when they had gone half round the world, the two
elder brothers came face to face at the other side in a sandy hollow.
They sat down and began to talk.
“Well, brother, and what have you done?” asked the second.
“_Done!_” exclaimed the first brother; “what do you mean? I haven’t made
a penny or seen anybody I think as well of as myself. There is nothing
to be got by giving oneself all this trouble. The world is an overrated
place, I can tell you. What have _you_ got out of it?”
“Nothing,” said the second; “and I agree heartily with every word you
have said.”
At this moment they looked up and saw the third brother coming over a
hillock. He did not look much more prosperous than themselves.
“We won’t tell him,” they said; “we will pretend we have done wonders
and made our mark, and then we’ll get a pretext to be rid of him before
he finds out the truth. It would never do for him to lose his respect
for us.”
“Hi!” cried the youngest brother, “this is luck indeed!” And when he had
greeted them he sat down beside them in the sand.
“Hullo! how are you?” said the eldest.
“Oh, well enough,” replied he.
“And how have you got on, and how much money have you made?”
“Oh, no money,” replied the young man, “but I think I have picked up a
little experience.”
“Pooh!” cried the others in a breath. “That’s all very well, but it
isn’t good enough for _us_.”
“Are you rich, then?” asked the youngest.
“Rich?” cried the eldest, “did you say rich? I am rolling in gold. I
have a great shop in which the merchandise of four kingdoms changes
hands, and my counting-house is so fine that two Emperors drove up last
Sunday and asked if they might be allowed to go over it. I said yes, of
course. There was a Bishop in the carriage, too.”
The youngest brother’s eyes grew round. “Well, that’s grand indeed,” he
said.
“And I,” broke in the middle brother—“I have no taste for buying and
selling; in fact, I think it rather low. But a lady fell in love with
me, so I married her. She inherited money from a Duke, who is her uncle,
and she asks nothing better than I should spend it.”
“Well, well, well!” exclaimed the youngest.
Then he looked curiously at his companions. “And how is it,” said he,
“that such great people as you have come here on foot? I should have
imagined you would have arrived on horseback or in carriages.”
“Oh, we live so close by that it was not worth while disturbing the
servants,” they replied quickly.
“Then you live in the nearest town and in the same house?” continued he.
“Yes, yes,” answered the second. “My wife cherishes me so that she
insisted upon my brother living with us, for fear I should feel
homesick. It was very good of her, but what an idea to be homesick for
such a hole as our mother’s farm, when I live in the finest house in the
market-square!”
“Indeed, brothers,” said the youngest, “I think all this is capital, and
so much so that I shall certainly go back with you at once. I will start
for home early to-morrow, but you shall give me a lodging for the night,
and I promise you that I shall rejoice at the sight of your prosperity.
I have slept under the stars every night since I began journeying, and a
good soft bed will be a treat to me. Besides which, I shall see my
sister-in-law and be able to tell mother all about her.”
At this the elder men’s faces fell, but there was nothing for it but to
go back by the way they had come to the nearest town. However, their
brother walked behind as they went, so they had time to invent a way out
of their difficulties. When they reached their destination, they paused
at the town gate, telling him to stay where he was while they went to
prepare for his coming.
“All right, then,” said he, “but in five minutes I shall follow.”
They could not help smiling at his innocence, for they intended to
escape as quickly as they could.
“How are you going to find the way?” they inquired.
“Why, haven’t you been telling me that you live in the finest house in
the market-square? I shall soon find that.”
This was rather a blow to the others, for they knew that he was swift of
foot and that they would not get far in five minutes.
“It doesn’t matter,” whispered the middle brother; “I know a fine trick.
We will have dinner and a night’s lodging at his expense, and in the
morning we will be off before he is awake, and leave him to pay the
reckoning. Come, look sharp, or he will be after us.”
With that they ran to a large, handsome inn which stood in the middle of
the market-square. It had a tower on it, and an entrance good enough for
an Alderman’s family.
“Landlord,” said the middle brother, “I am a gentleman from a distance,
and in a most unexpected dilemma. Help me out of it, and I can assure
you you shall profit. A great lord, finding that I am in the town, has
sent me a message. You must know that he is under heavy obligations to
me, and has sworn that on the day I am married he will give me a
thousand crowns as a wedding gift. Now, I am not married at all; but if
he arrives and can be made to believe I have a wife, he will immediately
redeem his word. My plan is simply this: I shall entertain him well at
your inn, and, if you have a daughter—or even a decent-looking
serving-maid—who will sit at the head of the table during dinner and
act as though she were mistress of the house, I will divide the sum with
you the moment I receive it. Should he go back from his word, there will
be no harm done, and I will pay you liberally for your hospitality. I
will give the girl a new gown, too, as a remembrance of her assistance.”
Now, the landlord was the first rogue in the kingdom, and the scheme so
pleased him that he nearly died of laughter.
“You are a sharp one!” he exclaimed. “Why, I have a daughter clever
enough to act any part in the world, and she shall do her best, you may
be sure. Come, I will get ready a good dinner and take down the
signboard, so that the place shall appear as a private house.”
By the time he had done this and acquainted the girl with the plan, a
loud thumping was heard at the door, and the third brother stood
outside.
Now, the landlord’s girl was goddaughter to a witch, and very beautiful;
she had also learned some useful things from her godmother, who had
brought her up till she was sixteen and obliged to return and help her
father with his inn. So, when the plot was explained, she said: “I hope
no harm will come of it,” and before getting ready to preside at the
table, she took a good look at the two men.
“They have rascals’ faces,” she said to herself.
She then ran to a top window, and looked out to see what sort of a
person the great lord who was coming to dinner might be.
It chanced that, as she leaned out, the third brother glanced up.
“If that is my brother’s wife,” said he, “she is indeed a beauty!” And
he sighed, wishing that such luck had come his way.
When the girl saw his face, she thought:
“That is no great lord, but he is a handsome fellow, for all that. I
will see, at least, that he gets the best of everything in the house.”
So when the table was spread, and before the three brothers came into
the dining-room, the girl said to the magpie that hung in a cage behind
the window-curtain:
“Take notice of every word that is said to-night, and repeat it to me,
or I will wring your neck!”
The magpie promised, and she went forward to receive the guest.
“Here,” said the second brother, “is madam, my wife.”
With that the youngest brother kissed his sister-in-law heartily.
“I knew he was no fool,” said the girl to herself.
As dinner progressed she made herself so pleasant that the room rang
with joy and merriment, and she pressed all the most delicate dishes on
the youngest brother; nor did she fail to notice that whenever he
addressed either of his companions as ‘brother,’ which he did
frequently, the two exchanged covert glances of annoyance.
“All is not right here,” she exclaimed under her breath, “for, were he
the great lord they say, there are no two men alive who would more
willingly call him a relation!” And she smiled rather slyly.
“Why do you smile, wife?” asked the second brother.
“My love,” replied she, “at finding so great a personage a member of
your family.”
No one knew what to say, for the youngest brother feared she was
laughing at them all, and the two elder were sure of it.
However, time flew, the wine sparkled, the hot roast dishes smoked, and
it was hard to say which of the four was in the best humour.
When the feast was done the girl got up, and, taking a silver
candlestick from the table, said:
“Husband, I see that our guest is weary with travelling and his eyes
heavy with sleep. I myself will show him the guest-chamber, and assure
myself that the servants have made his bed well.”
So saying, she led the youngest brother to the room prepared for him,
walking before him with the lights. As he went he could not cease
admiring the fine plaits of dark hair which hung down her back and
regretting that the evening was over and he would be so soon deprived of
her company.
When they got to the bedchamber, she made every pretext to remain away
from the dining-room as long as possible, smoothing the pillows and
drawing the window-curtains close, that the starlight might not disturb
his sleep. When she had bidden him good-night, she went downstairs as
slowly as she could.
[Illustration: “THEN THE BIRD TOLD HER THE WHOLE PLOT.”]
“I had no notion it was so late!” she exclaimed as she entered. “Now
that my part is done, I may tell you two gentlemen that the longer you
sit here burning our oil and occupying our best room, the more you will
be charged for it. Now, tell me if you are satisfied with my
performance, and then take my advice and go to bed for the sake of your
pockets. There is a good room ready for you upstairs.”
The brothers congratulated her on the way she had played her part, and
went off. Nothing could have suited them better, for they meant to slip
out of the house and be gone long before dawn broke.
When the girl had showed them the way, she ran downstairs to the
magpie’s cage.
“Quick, quick!” she cried, “tell me everything those knaves said to each
other while I was taking the stranger to the guest-chamber.”
“Oh, mistress,” exclaimed he, “we have indeed dined in evil company!”
“You have not dined at all,” she said, “and never shall if I hear not
every word of their talk.”
Then the bird told her the whole plot, for the brothers had discussed it
openly in her absence. “Besides all this,” he concluded, “they mean to
run away in the night and leave the young man to pay the reckoning.”
At this the girl ran straight upstairs and locked the two brothers in;
she took off her shoes and turned the key so softly that they heard
nothing. Afterwards she slipped out into the yard, and, taking a harrow
which lay in the outhouse, drew it under their window and turned it with
the spikes uppermost, to deter them from jumping out. She then knocked
at the door of the guest-chamber.
“Come out!” she cried through the keyhole; “there is knavery afoot!”
When the youngest brother opened the door she told him all, and when he
had hurried on a few clothes he came down to the dining-room to hear
what the magpie had discovered.
“I shall be out of this as quick as I can,” he remarked when the bird
had finished. “My only grief is that I shall never see you again. I am
really very glad you are not my brother’s wife, for I had much rather
you were mine.”
“So had I,” said the girl.
So they determined to depart together.
“You are never going to leave me behind!” exclaimed the magpie.
“Well, then, come along,” said the young man, opening the cage door.
“When you are tired of flying you can have a lift on my shoulder; I am
not going to let my wife trouble herself with your cage.”
“I am not your wife yet,” said the girl, tossing her head.
“That’s easily mended,” replied the youngest brother.
So they crept softly out of the inn and took the road long before the
sky showed signs of morning. But at last the east grew grey in the
darkness and bars of rose-colour hung over the sea of primrose and gold
from which the sun was about to rise. They sat down beside a stream to
rest, for they had come a good long distance.
“Fly into the nearest tree,” said the youngest brother to the magpie,
“and wait till the risen sun shows you the nearest steeple. Where there
is a church there will be a priest, so, when you have directed us to it,
you can go there yourself and rouse him. We will follow and wait in the
church porch till you bring him to marry us.”
As soon as it was fully light the bird obeyed, and having lit on a
church steeple, he called to a man in the road below to direct him to
the priest’s house.
The priest was just getting out of bed, but he ordered the magpie to be
admitted. When he had heard his request he promised to set out with his
prayer-book as soon as he had eaten his breakfast, and the bird, after
thanking him courteously, flew off again to the church. “I forgot to ask
who you are,” called the priest after him, with his mouth full.
“I am a near relation of the bride’s,” said the magpie as he sailed
away.
By the time the engaged couple reached the porch they found the holy man
awaiting them, and were immediately married. The magpie gave the bride
away and offered some advice upon the married state, for he was a
widower and knew what he was talking about. “Now go,” he said, “and I
will return to the steeple, where I shall find snug enough quarters.
Three is an ill number for a honeymoon.”
So the husband and wife went to the village and found a suitable
lodging; they meant to stay there for the next few days, till they
should decide where they should live.
As the sun set that evening the magpie sat on the steeple meditating on
life. The bright glow struck through the ivy-leaves, and he was much
astonished at seeing something glittering so brightly in the light that
he was almost dazzled. The shine came from behind a great tangle of
foliage which clothed the tower. He hopped down and thrust his beak in
among the ivy. There, in a hole scooped carefully among the stones, was
a heap of jewels such as he had never seen in all his days. There were
ropes of pearls, chains of diamonds and rubies, and emeralds in heaps.
It was with difficulty that he could resist screaming aloud, so great
was his astonishment, and he was all the more shocked when he reflected
that this cunningly-made storehouse of wealth must be the handiwork of
robbers.
“I fear that the world is a terribly wicked place,” he observed; “I must
look into this. I will remain here till night and see what roguery is
going on.”
So when night was come he concealed himself with great caution in a
niche. When midnight had struck and the moon—now at her full—blackened
the shadows, he heard a rustling below and saw the head of a man
appearing above the belfry stair. He was a wicked-looking ruffian and
was followed by another who held something hidden under his cloak. The
magpie poked his head round the corner of his niche. The two thieves
went straight to the hole behind the ivy, and, having looked in at their
stolen wealth, sat down on the church roof.
“And now,” said the one who had come up first, “what is this great
treasure that you have taken?”
“You may well ask,” replied the other, “for it is no less than the King
of Growgland’s crown. Here—you may try it on if you like.”
And he pulled out a bundle wrapped in cloth. His companion snatched it,
and, when he had untied the knots, there came out such a blaze in the
moonlight that the magpie was almost blinded.
The crown glowed and shone. It had spikes of gold with knobs of rubies
on the top, and pearls as big as marrowfat peas were studded round the
circlet. In front was a fan-shaped ornament half a foot high and one
mass of emeralds and diamonds. The thief set it on his own knavish head
and turned round and round that his friend might admire his appearance.
“There now, stop that,” said the other at last; “I have had enough of
your masquerading. Not even a crown can make you like a gentleman.” And
he whipped it off and thrust it into the hole. Then he drew the ivy
across it, and, after a few more rough words, the robbers disappeared as
they had come.
When morning dawned the magpie flew to the house where the youngest
brother was lodging with his bride. He pecked the window with his beak
and cried to the young man, “Here is great news! Follow my advice, and
you will find your fortune made. Now tell your wife to go to the town
and buy a piece of fine silk to make a bag. While she is doing this you
must procure a hammer, a piece of pointed iron and a yard of string; you
can get a pickaxe and shovel from the shed where the sexton keeps his
tools. All these you must hide in a bush which I shall show you in the
churchyard. Ask no questions; and, when evening falls, meet me with the
bag and all these things behind the church.”
So saying, he flew away.
Now, the girl knew very well that the magpie was no ordinary bird, and
she obeyed him carefully; she rose and went into the town and bought a
piece of red silk. Having made the bag, she gave it to her husband, and,
at the time appointed, he met the magpie behind the church with all the
implements he had got together.
The bird directed him to leave the pickaxe and shovel in the porch, and
they went up to the roof by the belfry stair. When the youngest brother
saw the treasure he was speechless, but the magpie gave him no time to
examine the jewels.
“Listen to me,” he said, “and we are rich for ever. (I say ‘we’ because
I feel you will not forget my poor services.) Do you see an iron bar
that sticks out into space on the side of that flying buttress? It is
placed there to hold a swinging lamp, and there are five steps by which
the sexton approaches it to hang up the light. As you see, they also
stand out into space. Tie this piece of string round my leg, and, when I
have flown up and alighted on the iron bar, twist the other end round
it, so that I may seem to be fastened to it as to a perch; but do not
knot it, or make it really secure. To do this you must reach the bar by
these steps.”
When the young man heard this, his flesh crept, for he was not
accustomed to high places and, the steps being on the outer wall, the
least giddiness might plunge him headlong into the churchyard, fifty
feet below; but, being a manful fellow, he climbed up and twisted the
string so neatly round the bar that no one could have supposed the
magpie to be anything but a prisoner.
“Now,” said the bird, “take your hammer and the piece of iron and loosen
the three top steps till they will not bear more than a child’s weight.”
When the youngest brother had done this, the magpie told him to hide
himself in a ditch in the churchyard, and not to come out till he was
called by name.
After midnight the robbers came to look at their treasures, and did not
notice the magpie sitting on the bar. Indeed, had they done so, they
would have paid little heed, supposing him to be some ignorant bird who
had no interests beyond his own food. They sat down on the roof as they
had done before, and, taking out the jewels, began to count them. They
made a large heap and placed the crown on the top. All at once the
magpie flew up in the air as far as the string would permit, and cried
in a loud and dreadful voice, “_Help! help! The King of Growgland’s
crown is stolen!_”
At this the thieves were so much horrified that they dropped their
booty, and ran wildly to and fro on the roof searching for some hidden
person, and, when they came close to the place where the iron bar was,
the magpie flew up again, crying the same words more terribly than
before.
“We’ll soon choke his noise,” exclaimed the robbers; and with one accord
they began to climb the steps. But the youngest brother had done his
work well: the stones were loose, and in another moment they had fallen
headlong through the air, and were lying with their necks broken in the
churchyard.
The magpie then called his friend, who brought the pickaxe and shovel,
and when they had buried the two robbers they went up again to the roof,
and put the King of Growgland’s crown into the red silk bag.
“We know who this belongs to, and we will certainly restore it,” said
the magpie; “the rest we will keep as some slight remuneration for our
trouble.”
There were enough jewels to make fifty people rich for life. It _was_ a
haul! The youngest brother praised the magpie, and, taking off his
shirt, knotted the tails together and filled it up to the neck with
precious stones. It was almost light before he got back to his wife and
showed her what the magpie’s good sense had accomplished.
In a few days the magpie set out for the kingdom of Growgland, scarcely
more than a hundred miles away, and demanded to see the King. He found
the whole city in a ferment and everyone distracted. The King had grown
quite thin, and the head of the police had been sent to prison for being
unable to find the thieves.
“If your Majesty will start the day after to-morrow,” said the magpie,
“and go a day’s journey from the city, you will meet a young man and a
girl on horseback carrying a red silk bag. Your Majesty may wring my
neck if it does not contain the crown of Growgland.”
At this everyone was electrified, and the King, with a great retinue,
started and encamped a day’s march off, that the crown of Growgland
might be received with all due ceremony. As evening came on the magpie
grew a little nervous, for the King had placed a guard over him to do
him honour (at least, that was what he said); but the bird knew very
well that it was done so that he should not escape if the crown failed
to appear. But at last he saw his friends approaching. Being now rich,
they rode fine horses and were dressed as befitted great personages. The
King sat on the royal throne (which was a folding one, and so had been
brought with him), and the youngest brother, having related his story,
gave the red silk bag into his hands. Before parting with him His
Majesty presented him with a sum of money that, even had he not been
rolling in wealth already, would have made him independent for life.
After this, the magpie and his friends set out for the town in which
they had left the two elder brothers and a few days later dismounted
before the inn. The harrow was still in its place, prongs uppermost, and
at the window, far above it, two forlorn-looking faces were to be seen.
The landlord came out, transported with surprise at the fine appearance
of his daughter and the youngest brother.
“There,” he said, pointing to the upper window, “are the two knaves who
have deceived me, and whom I have kept locked up ever since you left.”
At this the imprisoned pair perceived who it was that had arrived.
“Here,” they shouted, “here is the great lord come to pay our debts! Did
we not assure you that he would come?”
And they rained abuse upon the landlord.
“Let them out and I will make it good to you,” said the youngest
brother.
So the two miscreants were freed, and a sorry sight they were; for, as
the price of each day of their detainment the landlord had demanded a
garment, and their clothes were almost at an end. One had only a shirt
left; and the other one garter and a piece of an old tablecloth in which
he had wrapped himself for decency. The inn servants shouted with
laughter as they came running out. The youngest brother and his wife
laughed too; and as for the magpie, he was so delighted that he nearly
choked, and had to be restored with strong waters.
“I still prefer my experience to your money,” remarked the youngest
brother to his relations.