Bernet. She would gladly have married him in spite of his poverty, but
her father was covetous as well as rich. He had no wish for a poor
son-in-law, and Madeleine was so beautiful he expected her to marry
some rich merchant, or a well-to-do farmer at least. But if Madeleine
could not have Bernet for a husband, she was determined that she would
have no one.
There came a winter when Bernet found himself poorer than he had
ever been before. Scarcely anyone seemed to have any need for a
stone-cutter, and even for such work as he did get he was poorly paid.
He learned to know what it meant to go without a meal and to be cold as
well as hungry.
As Christmas drew near, the landlord of the inn at Plouvinec decided
to give a feast for all the good folk of the village, and Bernet was
invited along with all the rest.
He was glad enough to go to the feast, for he knew that Madeleine was
to be there, and even if he did not have a chance to talk to her, he
could at least look at her, and that would be better than nothing.
The feast was a fine one. There was plenty to eat and drink, and all
was of the best, and the more the guests feasted, the merrier they
grew. If Bernet and Madeleine ate little and spoke less, no one noticed
it. People were too busy filling their own stomachs and laughing at the
jokes that were cracked. The fun was at its height when the door was
pushed open, and a ragged, ill-looking beggar slipped into the room.
At the sight of him the laughter and merriment died away. This beggar
was well known to all the people of the village, though none knew
whence he came nor where he went when he was away on his wanderings. He
was sly and crafty, and he was feared as well as disliked, for it was
said that he had the evil eye. Whether he had or not, it was well known
that no one had ever offended him without having some misfortune happen
soon after.
“I heard there was a great feast here to-night,” said the beggar in
a humble voice, “and that all the village had been bidden to it.
Perhaps, when all have eaten, there may be some scraps that I might
pick up.”
“Scraps there are in plenty,” answered the landlord, “but it is not
scraps that I am offering to anyone to-night. Draw up a chair to the
table, and eat and drink what you will. There is more than enough for
all.” But the landlord looked none too well pleased as he spoke. It was
a piece of ill-luck to have the beggar come to his house this night of
all nights, to spoil the pleasure of the guests.
The beggar drew up to the table as the landlord bade him, but the fun
and merriment were ended. Presently the guests began to leave the
table, and after thanking their host, they went away to their own homes.
When the beggar had eaten and drunk to his heart’s content, he pushed
back his chair from the table.
“I have eaten well,” said he to the landlord. “Is there not now some
corner where I can spend the night?”
“There is the stable,” answered the landlord grudgingly. “Every room
in the house is full, but if you choose to sleep there among the clean
hay, I am not the one to say you nay.”
Well, the beggar was well content with that. He went out to the stable,
and there he snuggled down among the soft hay, and soon he was fast
asleep. He had slept for some hours, and it was midnight, when he
suddenly awoke with a startled feeling that he was not alone in the
stable. In the darkness two strange voices were talking together.
“Well, brother, how goes it since last Christmas?” asked one voice.
“Poorly, brother, but poorly,” answered the other. “Methinks the work
has been heavier these last twelve months than ever before.”
The beggar, listening as he lay in the hay, wondered who could be
talking there at this hour of the night. Then he discovered that the
voices came from the stalls near by; the ox and the donkey were talking
together.
The beggar was so surprised that he almost exclaimed aloud, but he
restrained himself. He remembered a story he had often heard, but had
never before believed, that on every Christmas night it is given to
the dumb beasts in the stalls to talk in human tones for a short time.
It was said that those who had been lucky enough to hear them at such
times had sometimes learned strange secrets from their talk. Now the
beggar lay listening with all his ears, and scarcely daring to breathe
lest he should disturb them.
“It has been a hard year for me too,” said the ox, answering what the
donkey had just said. “I would our master had some of the treasure that
lies hidden under the stones of Plouvinec. Then he could buy more oxen
and more donkeys, and the work would be easier for us.”
“The treasure! What treasure is that?” asked the donkey.
The ox seemed very much surprised. “Have you never heard? I thought
every one knew of the hidden treasure under the stones.”
“Tell me about it,” said the donkey, “for I dearly love a tale.”
The ox was not loath to do this. At once it began:
“You know the barren heath just outside of Plouvinec, and the great
stones that lie there, each so large that it would take more than a
team of oxen to drag it from its place?”
Yes, the donkey knew that heath, and the stones too. He had often
passed by them on his journeys to the neighbouring town.
“It is said that under those stones lies hidden an enormous treasure
of gold,” said the ox. “That is the story; it is well known. But none
has seen that treasure; jealously the stones guard it. Once in every
hundred years, however, the stones go down to the river to drink. They
are only away for a few minutes; then they come rolling back in mad
haste to cover their gold again. But if anyone could be there on the
heath for those few minutes, it is a wonderful sight that he would see
while the stones are away. It is now a hundred years, all but a week,
since the stones went down to drink.”
“Then a week from to-night the treasure will be uncovered again?” asked
the donkey.
“Yes, exactly a week from now, at midnight.”
“Ah, if only our master knew this,” and the donkey sighed heavily. “If
only we could tell him! Then he might go to the heath and not only see
the treasure, but gather a sack full of it for himself.”
“Yes, but even if he did, he would never return with it alive. As I
told you, the stones are very jealous of their treasure, and are away
for only a few minutes. By the time he had gathered up the gold and was
ready to escape, the stones would return and would crush him to powder.”
The beggar, who had become very much excited at the story, felt a cold
shiver creep over him at these words.
“No one could ever bring away any of it then?” asked the donkey.
“I did not say that. The stones are enchanted. If anyone could find
a five-leaved clover, and carry it with him to the heath, the stones
could not harm him, for the five-leaved clover is a magic plant that
has power over all enchanted things, and those stones are enchanted.”
“Then all he would need would be to have a five-leaved clover.”
“If he carried that with him, the stones could not harm him. He might
escape safely with the treasure, but it would do him little good. With
the first rays of the sun the treasure would crumble away unless the
life of a human being had been sacrificed to the stones there on the
heath before sunrise.”
“And who would sacrifice a human life for a treasure!” cried the
donkey. “Not our master, I am sure.”
The ox made no answer, and now the donkey too was silent. The hour had
passed in which they could speak in human voices. For another year they
would again be only dumb brutes.
As for the beggar, he lay among the hay, shaking all over with
excitement. Visions of untold wealth shone before his eyes. The
treasure of Plouvinec! Why, if he could only get it, he would be the
richest man in the village. In the village? No, in the country—in the
whole world! Only to see it and handle it for a few hours would be
something. But before even that were possible and safe it would be
necessary to find a five-leaved clover.
With the earliest peep of dawn the beggar rolled from the hay, and,
wrapping his rags about him, stole out of the stable and away into the
country. There he began looking about for bunches of clover. These were
not hard to find; they were everywhere, though the most of them were
withered now. He found and examined clump after clump. Here and there
he found a stem that bore four leaves, but none had five. Night came
on, and the darkness made him give up the search; but the next day he
began anew. Again he was unsuccessful. So day after day passed by, and
still he had not found the thing he sought so eagerly.
The beggar was in a fever of rage and disappointment. Six days slipped
by. By the time the seventh dawned he was so discouraged that he hunted
for only a few hours. Then, though it was still daylight, he determined
to give up the search. With drooping head he turned back toward the
village. As he was passing a heap of rocks he noticed a clump of clover
growing in a crevice. Idly, and with no hope of success, he stooped and
began to examine it leaf by leaf.
Suddenly he gave a cry of joy. His legs trembled under him so that
he was obliged to sink to his knees. The last stem of all bore five
leaves. He had found his five-leaved clover!
With the magic plant safely hidden away in his bosom the beggar hurried
back toward the village. He would rest in the inn until night. Then he
would go to the heath, and if the story the ox had told were true, he
would see a sight such as no one living had ever seen before.
His way led him past the heath. Dusk was falling as he approached it.
Suddenly the beggar paused and listened. From among the stones sounded
a strange tap-tapping. Cautiously he drew nearer, peering about among
the stones. Then he saw what seemed to him a curious sight for such a
place and such a time. Before the largest stone of all stood Bernet,
busily at work with hammer and chisel. He was cutting a cross upon the
face of the rock.
The beggar drew near to him so quietly that Bernet did not notice him.
He started as a voice suddenly spoke close to his ear.
“That is a strange thing for you to be doing,” said the beggar. “Why
should you waste your time in cutting a cross in such a lonely place as
this?”
“The sign of the cross never comes amiss, wherever it may be,” answered
Bernet. “And as for wasting my time, no one seems to have any use for
it at present. It is better for me to spend it in this way than to idle
it away over nothing.”
Suddenly a strange idea flashed into the beggar’s mind—a thought so
strange and terrible that it made him turn pale. He drew nearer to the
stone-cutter and laid his hand upon his arm.
“Listen, Bernet,” said he; “you are a clever workman and an honest
one as well, and yet all your work scarcely brings you in enough to
live on. Suppose I were to tell you that in one night you might become
rich—richer than the richest man in the village—so that there would be
no desire that you could not satisfy; what would you think of that?”
“I would think nothing of it, for I would know it was not true,”
answered Bernet carelessly.
“But it _is_ true; it is _true_, I tell you,” cried the beggar.
“Listen, and I will tell you.”
He drew still nearer to Bernet, so that his mouth almost touched the
stone-cutter’s ear, and in a whisper he repeated to him the story he
had heard the ox telling the donkey—the story of the treasure that was
buried under the stones of Plouvinec. But it was only a part of the
story that he told after all, for he did not tell Bernet that anyone
who was rash enough to seek the treasure would be crushed by the stones
unless he carried a five-leaved clover; nor did he tell him that if the
treasure were carried away from the heath it would turn to ashes unless
a human life had been sacrificed to the stones. As Bernet listened to
the story he became very grave. His eyes shone through the fading light
as he stared at the beggar’s face.
“Why do you tell me this?” he asked. “And why are you willing to share
the treasure that might be all your own? If you make me rich, what do
you expect me to do for you in return?”
“Do you not see?” answered the beggar. “You are much stronger than I.
I, as you know, am a weak man and slow of movement. While the stones
are away we two together could gather more than twice as much as I
could gather myself. In return for telling you this secret, all I ask
is that if we go there and gather all we can, and bring it away with
us, you will make an even division with me—that you will give me half
of all we get.”
“That seems only just,” said Bernet slowly. “It would be strange if
this story of the hidden treasure proved to be true. At any rate, I
will come with you to the heath to-night. We will bring with us some
large bags, and if we manage to secure even a small part of the gold
you talk of I shall never cease to be grateful to you.”
The beggar could not answer. His teeth were chattering, half with fear
and half with excitement. The honest stone-cutter little guessed that
the beggar was planning to sacrifice him to the stones in order that he
himself might become a rich man.
It was well on toward midnight when Bernet and the beggar returned
to the heath with the bags. The moon shone clear and bright, and by
its light they could see the stones towering up above them, solid and
motionless. It seemed impossible to believe that they had ever stirred
from their places, or ever would again. In the moonlight Bernet could
clearly see the cross that he had carved upon the largest stone.
He and the beggar lay hidden behind a clump of bushes. All was still
except for the faint sound of the river some short distance away.
Suddenly a breath seemed to pass over the heath. Far off, in the
village of Plouvinec, sounded the first stroke of twelve.
At that stroke the two men saw a strange and wonderful thing happen.
The motionless stones rocked and stirred in their places. With a
rending sound they tore themselves from the places where they had stood
for so long. Then down the slope toward the river they rolled, bounding
faster and faster, while there on the heath an immense treasure
glittered in the moonlight.
“Quick! quick!” cried the beggar in a shrill voice. “They will return!
We have not a moment to waste.”
Greedily he threw himself upon the treasure. Gathering it up by
handfuls he thrust it hurriedly into a sack. Bernet was not slow to
follow his example. They worked with such frenzy that soon the two
largest sacks were almost full. In their haste everything but the gold
was forgotten.
Some sound, a rumbling and crashing, made Bernet look up. At once he
sprang to his feet with a cry of fear.
“Look! look!” he cried. “The stones are returning. They are almost on
us. We shall be crushed.”
“You, perhaps; but not I,” answered the beggar. “You should have
provided yourself with a five-leaved clover. It is a magic herb, and
the stones have no power to touch him who holds it.”
Even as the beggar spoke the stones were almost upon them. Trembling,
but secure, he held up the five-leaved clover before them. As he did so
the ranks of stones divided, passing around him a rank on either side;
then, closing together, they rolled on toward Bernet.
The poor stone-cutter felt that he was lost. He tried to murmur a
prayer, but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth with fear.
Suddenly the largest stone of all, the one upon which he had cut the
cross, separated itself from the others. Rolling in front of them, it
placed itself before him as a shield. Grey and immovable it towered
above him. A moment the others paused as if irresolute, while Bernet
cowered close against the protecting stone. Then they rolled by without
touching him and settled sullenly into their places.
The beggar was already gathering up the sacks. He believed himself
safe, but he wished to leave the heath as quickly as possible. He
glanced fearfully over his shoulder. Then he gave a shriek, and,
turning, he held up the five-leaved clover. The largest stone was
rolling toward him. It was almost upon him.
But the magic herb had no power over a stone marked with a cross. On it
rolled, over the miserable man, and into the place where it must rest
again for still another hundred years.
* * * * *
It was morning, and the sun was high in the heavens when Bernet
staggered into the inn at Plouvinec. A heavy, bulging sack was thrown
over one shoulder; a second sack he dragged behind him. They were full
of gold—the treasure from under the stones of Plouvinec.
From that time Bernet was the richest man in Plouvinec. Madeleine’s
father was glad enough to call him son-in-law and to welcome him into
his family. He and Madeleine were married, and lived in the greatest
comfort and happiness all their days. But for as long as he lived
Bernet could never be induced to go near the heath nor to look upon the
stones that had so nearly caused his death.
THE KING OF THE BUFFALOES
AN AMERICAN INDIAN TALE
A LAME Indian and his daughter once lived on the edge of a lonely
forest, apart from any tribe or village. The Indian, whose name was
Agodaguada, was a great hunter and fisher in spite of his lameness.
Every day he went off into the forest, and while he was away his
daughter, Iola, took care of the lodge and did the cooking.
They would have been very contented there if it had not been for a herd
of buffaloes that lived on the other side of the forest. The king of
this herd was a magician. He had seen Iola once as she was gathering
wood in the forest, and had fallen in love with her, for she was very
beautiful. Agodaguada often came upon him hiding in the bushes near
the hut, or heard him bellowing down at a stream near by. Agodaguada
cautioned his daughter never to leave the lodge while he was away, for
he feared the buffalo might seize her and carry her off.
He himself was tormented by the ungainly beasts. They muddied the
streams where he fished and drove away the game by their bellowing.
Gradually he was obliged to go farther and farther from the lodge to
find deer or fish. Often as he sat quietly watching for game a hoarse
voice would begin to sing at him from behind the bushes or rocks:
“You lame mannikin,
Don’t you think it a sin
To pen up your daughter?
—Say, Agodaguada—
To shut up your daughter,
Don’t you think it a sin?”
Sometimes he aimed an arrow or a stone at the place from which the
voice sounded, and then a great dark body would go lumbering and
crashing away through the forest, and Agodaguada would know that it was
one of the buffaloes that had followed him.
[Illustration: HE SPOKE TO HER IN THE SOFTEST VOICE HE COULD MANAGE]
One day, when Agodaguada was far from home, his daughter climbed up on
top of the lodge, and sat there to comb her hair, for it was very long.
Every now and then she stopped to listen and look about her, to make
sure there was no danger.
For a long time all was silent except for the singing of the birds.
She finished combing her hair, and was just about to go down into the
lodge when suddenly a great noise arose, a crashing of underbrush and
thundering of hoofs. The herd of buffaloes, with the king at their
head, was charging down upon the hut. Iola had no time to move before
she felt the logs breaking away beneath her. They were scattered
this way and that like straws. In another moment Iola found herself
seated on the back of the king of buffaloes. She was being carried
swiftly away through the forest, while the lodge lay in ruins behind
them.
On and on went the buffalo, until at last, in the deepest and darkest
part of the forest, he paused and allowed Iola to slip from his back.
This was the spot where he and his followers had their camp, and it was
here he intended to keep Iola until she consented to become his wife.
He spoke to her in the softest voice he could manage, telling her that
this was to be her home, but Iola would not look at him, nor answer.
She only turned away, wringing her hands and weeping bitterly.
But the buffalo king was not discouraged. He had the power to take the
shape of a man when he chose, and it was in this shape that he meant to
woo her and win her to be his wife. And this he had no doubt of being
able to do before long.
Meanwhile Agodaguada had been trying to fish, but he found his enemies
more tormenting than ever. Their hoarse voices sang after him wherever
he went:
“You lame mannikin,
Don’t you think it a sin
To shut up your daughter?
—Say, Agodaguada—
To shut up your daughter?
Do you think she is in?
Are you sure she is in?”
As Agodaguada listened, he became thoughtful. He rolled up his line
and started back through the forest toward the lodge. As he came near
his home he quickened his steps. He noticed that the small trees and
underbrush had been trampled down as though a great herd had passed
that way. Presently he began to run, and he was still running when he
broke into the open where his lodge had stood. But the lodge was there
no longer. Instead, he saw only the ruins that the buffaloes had left
behind them. Iola was gone.
Agodaguada did not at once follow the enemy, however. He ran to the
ruins and began tearing the logs aside and burrowing under them.
Presently he gave a cry of joy and drew out from beneath them an old
worn pouch of deerskin. From this pouch he took a pair of moccasins and
put them on his feet. They were magic moccasins and were Agodaguada’s
greatest treasure. And now he was ready to follow Iola and save her
from the buffaloes.
It was not hard to trace the way they had gone. The herd had left a
broad track of broken trees and branches through the dark forest.
The magic moccasins leaped a hundred yards at each step. They carried
Agodaguada along faster than a bird can fly. The buffaloes had gone
at full speed, and had had the start of him by several hours, but so
swiftly he went that by twilight he found himself close to their camp.
Here he slipped the moccasins from his feet. As silently as a snake he
crawled past the other wigwams toward the lodge of the king.
As he came near it he heard the sound of a flute, and soon he was close
enough to look inside and see who was playing. It was the king himself.
He had taken his human form and was playing upon his flute a love song
to Iola, but as a man he was even more hideous than he was as a buffalo.
Iola sat with her back turned toward him. She looked very sad. Her head
was sunk on her breast, and she took no notice of his love song or of
his languishing glances.
Suddenly Iola started. From the thicket outside had sounded the whistle
of a partridge. It was the whistle her father always gave as he came
near home after a day of hunting. The buffalo, playing on his flute,
had heard nothing.
Iola sat still a few moments longer, and then she rose. “I will go down
to the spring,” she said, “and fetch the water for the cooking.”
When the buffalo heard her say this he was filled with joy. He took it
as a sign that she was now ready to live with him in his wigwam and be
his wife. Believing this, he was quite willing to allow her to go down
to the spring by herself.
Iola stepped outside, and as soon as her father saw her alone there he
rose up from among the bushes. His magic moccasins were once more upon
his feet. He motioned her to follow. “Quick!” he whispered. As soon as
they were clear of the bushes Agodaguada lifted his daughter in his
arms and leaped away with her through the forest.
In the lodge the buffalo waited for Iola a long time. Sometimes he
listened for her footsteps, and sometimes he played upon his flute.
At last he began to grow suspicious and went out to look for her.
Everywhere he looked and hunted, and at last he came to where her
father had hidden in the bushes, and there he saw the marks Agodaguada
had made as he had leaped away with Iola in his arms.
Then the buffalo knew he had been tricked. With a bellow of rage he
called his herd together and started after Iola and her father.
Agodaguada had already gone some distance, but his daughter weighed him
down, and the moccasins could not move as swiftly as when they had only
himself to carry. He had only just reached the edge of the forest when
he heard the buffaloes behind him. They had caught sight of him. The
king gave a bellow of triumph. But now Agodaguada was out of the forest
and leaping swiftly over an open plain. The whole herd were thundering
after him at full speed, but just as the leader reached him Agodaguada
leaped aside. Before the buffaloes could stop themselves they had
charged on past him.