ONCE upon a time there was a little old man who lived in a well. He was
a very small little old man, and the well was very deep; and the only
reason why he lived there was because he could not get out. Indeed,
what better reason could he have?
He had long white hair, and a long red nose, and a long green coat;
and this was all he had in the world, except a three-legged stool, a
large iron kettle, and a cook. There was not room in the well for the
cook; so she lived on the ground above, and cooked the little old man’s
dinner and supper in the iron kettle, and lowered them down to him in
the bucket; and the little old man sat on the three-legged stool, and
ate whatever the cook sent down to him, with a cheerful heart, if it
was good; and so things went on very pleasantly.
[Illustration: “The old man thought it was raining.”]
But one day it happened that the cook could not find anything for the
old man’s dinner. She looked high, and she looked low, but nothing
could she find; so she was very unhappy; for she knew her master would
be miserable if he had no dinner. She sat down by the well, and wept
bitterly; and her tears fell into the well so fast that the little old
man thought it was raining, and put up a red cotton umbrella, which he
borrowed for the occasion. You may wonder where he borrowed it; but I
cannot tell you, because I do not know.
Now, at that moment a traveller happened to pass by, and when he saw
the cook sitting by the well and weeping, he stopped, and asked her
what was the matter. The cook told him that she was weeping because she
could not find anything to cook for her master’s dinner.
“And who is your master?” asked the traveller.
“He is a little old man,” replied the cook; “and he lives down in this
well.”
“Why does he live there?” inquired the traveller.
“I do not know,” answered the cook; “I never asked him.”
“He must be a singular person,” said the traveller. “I should like to
see him. What does he look like?”
But this the cook could not tell him; for she had never seen the little
old man, having come to work for him after he had gone down to live in
the well.
“Does he like to receive visitors?” asked the traveller.
“Don’t know,” said the cook. “He has never had any to receive since I
have been here.”
“Humph!” said the other. “I think I will go down and pay my respects to
him. Will you let me down in the bucket?”
“But suppose he should mistake you for his dinner, and eat you up?” the
cook suggested.
“Pooh!” he replied. “No fear of that; I can take care of myself. And
as for his dinner,” he added, “get him some radishes. There are plenty
about here. I had nothing but radishes for my dinner, and very good
they were, though rather biting. Let down the bucket, please! I am all
right.”
“What are radishes?” the cook called after him as he went down.
“Long red things, stupid! with green leaves to them!” he shouted; and
then, in a moment, he found himself at the bottom of the well.
The little old man was delighted to see him, and told him that he had
lived down there forty years, and had never had a visitor before in all
that time.
“Why do you live down here?” inquired the traveller.
“Because I cannot get out,” replied the little old man.
“But how did you get down here in the first place?”
“Really,” he said, “it is so long ago that I hardly remember. My
impression is, however, that I came down in the bucket.”
“Then why, in the name of common-sense,” said the traveller, “don’t you
go _up_ in the bucket?”
The little old man sprang up from the three-legged stool, and flung
his arms around the traveller’s neck. “My _dear_ friend!” he cried
rapturously. “My precious benefactor! Thank you a thousand times for
those words! I assure you I never thought of it before! I will go up at
once. You will excuse me?”
“Certainly,” said the traveller. “Go up first, and I will follow you.”
[Illustration: “‘’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good!’”]
The little old man got into the bucket, and was drawn up to the top
of the well. But, alas! when the cook saw his long red nose and his
long green coat, she said to herself, “This must be a radish! how
lucky I am!” and seizing the poor little old man, she popped him into
the kettle without more ado. Then she let the bucket down for the
traveller, calling to him to make haste, as she wanted to send down her
master’s dinner.
Up came the traveller, and looking around, asked where her master was.
“Where should he be,” said the cook, “but at the bottom of the well,
where you left him?”
“What do you mean?” exclaimed the traveller. “He has just come up in
the bucket!”
“_Oh_!” cried the cook. “Oh! _oh_!! o-o-o-h!!! was that my master? Why,
I thought he was a radish, and I have boiled him for his own dinner!”
“I hope he will have a good appetite!” said the traveller.
The cook was a good woman, and her grief was so excessive that she fell
into the kettle and was boiled too.
Then the traveller, who had formerly been an ogre by profession, said,
“’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good! My dinner was very
insufficient;” and he ate both the little old man and the cook, and
proceeded on his journey with a cheerful heart.
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.