cats and spotted toads!" bellowed he, "are you here again?" Then he
caught the Prince by the hair and dragged him out into the middle of the
floor, and all three of the trolls fell upon the Prince and beat him
with clubs, as though he had been a sack of barley-flour. But the Prince
bore this too without a word. At last the morning came, and they had to
give over beating him. "We shall see if you will come again," said the
troll of the house.
After the trolls had gone, the black Princess came and wept over the
Prince as she had done before, and when her tears fell on him he was
made whole again. And now the hands of the black Princess were as white
as silver.
[Illustration: THE GREAT UGLY TROLL FINDS THE PRINCE BY THE FIRE]
The third night the troll of the house came, and brought with him six
others. Then the same thing happened as before, and they beat the Prince
with great cudgels as thick as my thumb. At last the morning came, and
they went away bellowing and howling, for their enchantment had gone. As
for the Prince, he lay upon the floor more dead than alive, for he could
neither see nor hear anything that happened about him.
Then the Princess came for the third time and wept over him, and he was
whole and sound again. As for the Princess, she stood before him, and
now her brow was as white as milk, and her cheeks were as red as blood,
and her eyes were as blue as the skies, and her hair was like spun gold.
But the beautiful Princess had little or nothing upon her, so the Prince
wrapped her in a ram's skin that was in the troll's house. Then he
turned his toes the way he had come, and started away for home, taking
her along with him.
So they went along and along till they had come so near to the King's
house that they could see the high roofs and the weathercocks over the
crest of the next hill. There the Prince bade the Princess to wait for
him till he went home and brought her a dress of real silver and gold,
such as was fitting for her to wear. Then he left her, and the Princess
sat down beside the roadside to wait until he should come again.
Now as the Princess sat there, there came along the old goose-herd of
the palace, and with her came her daughter; for they were driving the
royal geese home again from where they had been eating grass. When they
saw the beautiful Princess, clad in her ram's hide, they stared as
though they would never shut their eyes again. Then they wanted to know
all about her--who she was, and where she came from, and what she sat
there for. So the Princess told them all that they wanted to know, and
that she waited there for the Prince to come with a dress all of silver
and gold, which would suit her better than the old ram's hide which she
wore.
Then the old goose-woman thought that it would be a fine thing to have
her daughter in the Princess's place, so that she might have the dress
of real silver and gold, and marry the Prince. So the goose-herd's
daughter held the Princess, and the old goose-herd stripped the ram's
hide off from her.
No sooner had they done this than the Princess was changed into a
beautiful golden bird, and flew away over hill and over valley. Then the
goose-herd's daughter clad herself in the ram's hide, and sat down in
the Princess's place.
[Illustration: The Gooseherd & her Daughter meet the Princess at the
Roadside]
"Yes, my pretty little bird," said the old goose-herd, "thou wilt make a
fine Princess!" But, prut! she was no more like a Princess than I am,
for she was squat, and round-shouldered, and had hair of the color of
tow.
Then the old goose-herd drove her geese away, and the goose-girl waited
for the coming of the Prince.
Sure enough, after a while the Prince came with a fine dress, all of
real silver and gold; but when he saw the goose-girl he beat his head
with his knuckles, for he thought that it was the Princess, and that she
was enchanted again.
Why did he not look through the ring of his magic key?
Perhaps for this, perhaps for that--one cannot be always wise.
[Illustration: The Prince looks through the Magic Key.]
Then the Prince dressed the goose-girl in the fine dress of gold and
silver, and took her home with him. Hui! how everybody stared and
laughed when they saw what kind of a Princess it was that the Prince
brought home with him! As for the poor old King, he rubbed his
spectacles and looked and looked, for he thought that this was a strange
sort of a wife for the Prince to make such a buzz about. However, he
said nothing, for he thought to himself that perhaps she would grow
prettier by-and-by.
So orders were given for a grand wedding on Thursday, and the old King
asked all of the neighbors to come, and even those who lived at a
distance, for this was to be a very grand wedding indeed.
But the old goose-herd told her daughter to mix a sleeping powder with
the Prince's wine at supper, for, if the real Princess were to come at
all, she would come that night. So the goose-girl did as she was told,
and the Prince drank the sleeping powder with his wine, and knew nothing
of it.
That night the golden bird came flying, and sat in the linden tree just
outside of the Prince's chamber window. Then she clapped her wings and
sang:
"I wept over you once,
I wept over you twice,
I wept over you three times.
In the ram's skin I waited,
And out of the ram's skin I flew.
Why are you sleeping,
Life of my life?"
But the Prince slept as sound as a dormouse, and when the dawn came and
the cocks crew the golden bird was forced to fly away.
The next night the false Princess did as she had done before, and mixed
a sleeping powder with the Prince's cup of wine.
That night the golden bird came again, and perched in the linden tree
outside of the Prince's window, and sang:
"I wept over you once,
I wept over you twice,
I wept over you three times.
In the ram's skin I waited,
And out of the ram's skin I flew.
Why are you sleeping,
Life of my life?"
But once more the Prince slept through it all, and when morning had come
the golden bird was forced to fly away.
Now it chanced that that night some of the folk of the King's household
heard the bird singing, and they told the Prince all about it. So when
the third night came, and the false Princess gave the Prince the cup of
wine with the sleeping powder in it, he threw the wine over his
shoulder, and never touched so much as a drop of it.
That night the bird came for the third time, and sang as it had done
before.
But this time the Prince was not sleeping. He jumped out of his bed and
ran to the window, and there he saw the bird, and its feathers shone
like fire because they were of pure gold. Then he got his magic key and
looked through the ring of it, and whom should he see but his own
Princess sitting in the linden tree.
Then the Prince called to her, "What shall I do to set you free from
this enchantment?"
"Throw your knife over me," said the Princess.
No sooner said than done. The Prince threw his knife over her, and
there she stood in her own true shape. Then the Prince took her to the
King, and when the King saw how pretty she was, he skipped and danced
till his slippers flew about his ears.
The next morning the old King went to the false Princess, and said,
"What should be done to one who would do thus and so?"
[Illustration: The Old King Rejoices at His New Daughter-in-Law.]
To this the false Princess answered, as bold as brass, "Such a one
should be thrown into a pit full of toads and snakes."
"You have spoken for yourself," said the King; and he would have done
just so to her had not the true Princess begged for her so that she was
sent back again to tend the geese, for that was what she was fit for.
Then they had the grandest wedding that ever was seen in all of the
world. Everybody was asked, and there was enough for all to eat as much
as they chose, and to take a little something home to the children
beside. If I had been there I would have brought you something.
What is the meaning of all this?
Listen, I will tell you something.
Once there was a man, and he winnowed a whole
peck of chaff, and got only three good solid grains from
it, and yet he was glad to have so much.
Would you winnow a whole peck of chaff for only
three good grains? No? Then you will never know
all that is meant by this story.
[Illustration: A Disappointment. This illustrated poem has the two
talking to each other by a road.]
A DISAPPOINTMENT
_He_
"I prithee, tell me wh're you live?
Oh Maid, so sweet and rare!"
_She_
"I am ye miller's daughter, sir,
And live just over th're"
_He_
"Of all ye Maids I ever saw,
You are beyond compare."
_She_
"Oh; Thank you, sir! Oh; thank you, sir!
Your words are very fair."
_He_
"So I w'ld ask you something, now;
If I might only dare."
_She_
"Now, you may ask me wh't you please,
For anything I care."
_He_
"Then will you marry me? For we.
W'ld make a goodly pair."
_She_
"I thank you sir; your offer, it
Is most extremely rare.
But as I am already wed,
You'r late, sir, for ye Fair."
At th's ye Bachelor walked away,
And talked to himself of th' Lass so gay--
"Her hair is very decidedly red;
And her eyes have somewhat of a cast in her head;
And her feet are large, and her hands are coarse;
And, without I'm mistaken, her voice is hoarse.
'Tis a bargain of wh'ch I am very well rid;
I am glad, on ye whole, I escaped as I did."
Howard Pyle
[Illustration: Ye sad story concerning one innocent little _Lamb_ and
four wicked _Wolves._ The illustrations show small insets of the lamb
dancing, the four wolves sitting and watching the lamb dance, and
finally a group of lambs looking at its tail as the wolves run away.]
YE SAD STORY CONCERNING ON INNOCENT LITTLE _LAMB_ AND FOUR WICKED
_WOLVES_
A little lamb was gamboling,
Upon a pleasant day,
And four grey wolves came shambling,
And stopped to see it play
In the sun.
Said the lamb, "Perhaps I may
Charm these creatures with my play,
And they'll let me go away,
When I've done."
The wolves, they sat asmiling at
The playful thing, to see
How exceedingly beguiling that
Its pretty play could be.
See it hop!
But its strength began to wane,
Though it gamboled on in pain,
Till it finally was fain,
For to stop.
Oh! then there was a munching,
Of that tender little thing,
And a crunching and a scrunching,
As you'ld munch a chicken wing.
No avail
Was its cunning, merry play
For the only thing, they say,
That was left of it that day,
Was its tail.
So with me; when I am done,
And the critics have begun,
All they'll leave me of my fun
'Ll be the tale.
H Pyle
[Illustration]
THE APPLE OF CONTENTMENT
There was a woman once, and she had three daughters. The first daughter
squinted with both eyes, yet the woman loved her as she loved salt, for
she herself squinted with both eyes. The second daughter had one
shoulder higher than the other, and eyebrows as black as soot in the
chimney, yet the woman loved her as well as she loved the other, for she
herself had black eyebrows and one shoulder higher than the other. The
youngest daughter was as pretty as a ripe apple, and had hair as fine as
silk and the color of pure gold, but the woman loved her not at all,
for, as I have said, she herself was neither pretty, nor had she hair of
the color of pure gold. Why all this was so, even Hans Pfifendrummel
cannot tell, though he has read many books and one over.
The first sister and the second sister dressed in their Sunday clothes
every day, and sat in the sun doing nothing, just as though they had
been born ladies, both of them.
As for Christine--that was the name of the youngest girl--as for
Christine, she dressed in nothing but rags, and had to drive the geese
to the hills in the morning and home again in the evening, so that they
might feed on the young grass all day and grow fat.
The first sister and the second sister had white bread (and butter
beside) and as much fresh milk as they could drink; but Christine had to
eat cheese-parings and bread-crusts, and had hardly enough of them to
keep Goodman Hunger from whispering in her ear.
This was how the churn clacked in that house!
Well, one morning Christine started off to the hills with her flock of
geese, and in her hands she carried her knitting, at which she worked to
save time. So she went along the dusty road until, by-and-by, she came
to a place where a bridge crossed the brook, and what should she see
there but a little red cap, with a silver bell at the point of it,
hanging from the alder branch. It was such a nice, pretty little red cap
that Christine thought that she would take it home with her, for she had
never seen the like of it in all of her life before.
So she put it in her pocket, and then off she went with her geese again.
But she had hardly gone two-score of paces when she heard a voice
calling her, "Christine! Christine!"
She looked, and who should she see but a queer little gray man, with a
great head as big as a cabbage and little legs as thin as young
radishes.
"What do you want?" said Christine, when the little man had come to
where she was.
Oh, the little man only wanted his cap again, for without it he could
not go back home into the hill--that was where he belonged.
But how did the cap come to be hanging from the bush? Yes, Christine
would like to know that before she gave it back again.
[Illustration: The little man asks far his cap.]
Well, the little hill-man was fishing by the brook over yonder when a
puff of wind blew his cap into the water, and he just hung it up to dry.
That was all that there was about it; and now would Christine please
give it to him?
Christine did not know how about that; perhaps she would and perhaps she
would not. It was a nice, pretty little cap; what would the little
underground man give her for it? that was the question.
Oh, the little man would give her five thalers for it, and gladly.
No; five thalers was not enough for such a pretty little cap--see, there
was a silver bell hanging to it too.
Well, the little man did not want to be hard at a bargain; he would give
her a hundred thalers for it.
No; Christine did not care for money. What else would he give for this
nice, dear little cap?
"See, Christine," said the little man, "I will give you this for the
cap"; and he showed her something in his hand that looked just like a
bean, only it was as black as a lump of coal.
"Yes, good; but what is that?" said Christine.
"That," said the little man, "is a seed from the apple of contentment.
Plant it, and from it will grow a tree, and from the tree an apple.
Everybody in the world that sees the apple will long for it, but nobody
in the world can pluck it but you. It will always be meat and drink to
you when you are hungry, and warm clothes to your back when you are
cold. Moreover, as soon as you pluck it from the tree, another as good
will grow in its place. _Now_, will you give me my hat?"
Oh yes; Christine would give the little man his cap for such a seed as
that, and gladly enough. So the little man gave Christine the seed, and
Christine gave the little man his cap again. He put the cap on his head,
and--puff!--away he was gone, as suddenly as the light of a candle when
you blow it out.
So Christine took the seed home with her, and planted it before the
window of her room. The next morning when she looked out of the window
she beheld a beautiful tree, and on the tree hung an apple that shone
in the sun as though it were pure gold. Then she went to the tree and
plucked the apple as easily as though it were a gooseberry, and as soon
as she had plucked it another as good grew in its place. Being hungry
she ate it, and thought that she had never eaten anything as good, for
it tasted like pancake with honey and milk.
[Illustration: Christine and the Apple]
By-and-by the oldest sister came out of the house and looked around, but
when she saw the beautiful tree with the golden apple hanging from it
you can guess how she stared.
Presently she began to long and long for the apple as she had never
longed for anything in her life. "I will just pluck it," said she, "and
no one will be the wiser for it." But that was easier said than done.
She reached and reached, but she might as well have reached for the
moon; she climbed and climbed, but she might as well have climbed for
the sun--for either one would have been as easy to get as that which she
wanted. At last she had to give up trying for it, and her temper was
none the sweeter for that, you may be sure.
[Illustration: Christine's Mother and Sisters wish for the Apple.]
After a while came the second sister, and when she saw the golden apple
she wanted it just as much as the first had done. But to want and to get
are very different things, as she soon found, for she was no more able
to get it than the other had been.
Last of all came the mother, and she also strove to pluck the apple. But
it was no use. She had no more luck of her trying than her daughters;
all that the three could do was to stand under the tree and look at the
apple, and wish for it and wish for it.
They are not the only ones who have done the like, with the apple of
contentment hanging just above them.
As for Christine, she had nothing to do but to pluck an apple whenever
she wanted it. Was she hungry? there was the apple hanging in the tree
for her. Was she thirsty? there was the apple. Cold? there was the
apple. So you see, she was the happiest girl betwixt all the seven hills
that stand at the ends of the earth; for nobody in the world can have
more than contentment, and that was what the apple brought her.
II
One day a king came riding along the road, and all of his people with
him. He looked up and saw the apple hanging in the tree, and a great
desire came upon him to have a taste of it. So he called one of the
servants to him, and told him to go and ask whether it could be bought
for a potful of gold.
So the servant went to the house, and knocked on the door--rap! tap!
tap!
"What do you want?" said the mother of the three sisters, coming to the
door.
Oh, nothing much; only a king was out there in the road, and wanted to
know if she would sell the apple yonder for a potful of gold.
Yes, the woman would do that. Just pay her the pot of gold and he might
go and pluck it and welcome.
So the servant gave her the pot of gold, and then he tried to pluck the
apple. First he reached for it, and then he climbed for it, and then he
shook the limb.
But it was no use for him to try; he could no more get it--well--than
_I_ could if I had been in his place.
At last the servant had to go back to the King. The apple was there, he
said, and the woman had sold it, but try and try as he would he could no
more get it than he could get the little stars in the sky.
Then the King told the steward to go and get it for him; but the
steward, though he was a tall man and a strong man, could no more pluck
the apple than the servant.
[Illustration: The King reaches for the Apple]
So he had to go back to the King with an empty fist. No; he could not
gather it, either.
Then the King himself went. He knew that he could pluck it--of course he
could! Well, he tried and tried; but nothing came of his trying, and he
had to ride away at last without, having had so much as a smell of the
apple.
After the King came home, he talked and dreamed and thought of nothing
but the apple; for the more he could not get it the more he wanted
it--that is the way we are made in this world. At last he grew
melancholy and sick for want of that which he could not get. Then he
sent for one who was so wise that he had more in his head than ten men
together. This wise man told him that the only one who could pluck the
fruit of contentment for him was the one to whom the tree belonged.
This was one of the daughters of the woman who had sold the apple to him
for the pot of gold.
When the King heard this he was very glad; he had his horse saddled, and
he and his court rode away, and so came at last to the cottage where
Christine lived. There they found the mother and the elder sisters, for
Christine was away on the hills with her geese.
The King took off his hat and made a fine bow.
The wise man at home had told him this and that; now to which one of her
daughters did the apple-tree belong? so said the King.
"Oh, it is my oldest daughter who owns the tree," said the woman.
So, good! Then if the oldest daughter would pluck the apple for him he
would take her home and marry her and make a queen of her. Only let her
get it for him without delay.
Prut! that would never do. What! was the girl to climb the apple-tree
before the King and all of the court? No! no! Let the King go home, and
she would bring the apple to him all in good time; that was what the
woman said.
Well, the King would do that, only let her make haste, for he wanted it
very much indeed.
As soon as the King had gone, the woman and her daughters sent for the
goose-girl to the hills. Then they told her that the King wanted the
apple yonder, and that she must pluck it for her sister to take to him;
if she did not do as they said they would throw her into the well. So
Christine had to pluck the fruit; and as soon as she had done so the
oldest sister wrapped it up in a napkin and set off with it to the
King's house, as pleased as pleased could be. Rap! tap! tap! she knocked
at the door. Had she brought the apple for the King?
Oh yes, she had brought it. Here it was, all wrapped up in a fine
napkin.
[Illustration: The King talks with the Wise Man:]
After that they did not let her stand outside the door till her toes
were cold, I can tell you. As soon as she had come to the King she
opened her napkin. Believe me or not as you please, all the same, I tell
you that there was nothing in the napkin but a hard round stone. When
the King saw only a stone he was so angry that he stamped like a rabbit
and told them to put the girl out of the house. So they did, and she
went home with a flea in her ear, I can tell you.
Then the King sent his steward to the house where Christine and her
sisters lived.
He told the woman that he had come to find whether she had any other
daughters.
[Illustration: The Kings Steward and Christine.]
Yes; the woman had another daughter, and, to tell the truth, it was she
who owned the tree. Just let the steward go home again and the girl
would fetch the apple in a little while.
As soon as the steward had gone, they sent to the hills for Christine
again. Look! she must pluck the apple for the second sister to take to
the King; if she did not do that they would throw her into the well.
So Christine had to pluck it, and gave it to the second sister, who
wrapped it up in a napkin and set off for the King's house. But she
fared no better than the other, for, when she opened the napkin, there
was nothing in it but a lump of mud. So they packed her home again with
her apron to her eyes.
[Illustration: Christine gives the Apple to the King]
After a while the King's steward came to the house again. Had the woman
no other daughter than these two?
Well, yes, there was one, but she was a poor ragged thing, of no
account, and fit for nothing in the world but to tend the geese.
Where was she?
Oh, she was up on the hills now tending her flock.
But could the steward see her?
Yes, he might see her, but she was nothing but a poor simpleton.
That was all very good, but the steward would like to see her, for that
was what the King had sent him there for.
So there was nothing to do but to send to the hills for Christine.
After a while she came, and the steward asked her if she could pluck the
apple yonder for the King.
Yes; Christine could do that easily enough. So she reached and picked it
as though it had been nothing but a gooseberry on the bush. Then the
steward took off his hat and made her a low bow in spite of her ragged
dress, for he saw that she was the one for whom they had been looking
all this time.
So Christine slipped the golden apple into her pocket, and then she and
the steward set off to the King's house together.
When they had come there everybody began to titter and laugh behind the
palms of their hands to see what a poor ragged goose-girl the steward
had brought home with him. But for that the steward cared not a rap.
"Have you brought the apple?" said the King, as soon as Christine had
come before him.
Yes; here it was; and Christine thrust her hand into her pocket and
brought it forth. Then the King took a great bite of it, and as soon as
he had done so he looked at Christine and thought that he had never seen
such a pretty girl. As for her rags, he minded them no more than one
minds the spots on a cherry; that was because he had eaten of the apple
of contentment.
And were they married? Of course they were! and a grand wedding it was,
I can tell you. It is a pity that you were not there; but though you
were not, Christine's mother and sisters were, and, what is more, they
danced with the others, though I believe they would rather have danced
upon pins and needles.