darkened the air. Several buffaloes fell dead upon the plain, and the
king was wounded. These arrows were shot by a band of hunters who had
come to this plain in search of game, and had hidden themselves in a
thicket. From there they had seen Agodaguada race with the buffaloes.
Though the king was wounded, he would still have pursued Agodaguada,
but his followers had turned tail and were fleeing back into the
forest. He stood pawing the earth and frothing until another arrow
struck him, and then, bellowing with rage, he turned and followed his
herd.
He did not stop at the camp, however. He was so full of anger and
chagrin that he went on and on until he reached the wide plains of the
West, where he had never been seen or heard of before.
But Agodaguada joined the band of hunters who had saved him, and Iola
was married to their young chief and lived happily with him in his
lodge for ever after.
THE JACKAL AND THE ALLIGATOR
A HINDU FAIRY TALE
THERE was once a little jackal who lived near the banks of a great
river. Every day he went down to the water to catch the little crabs
that were there.
Now in that same river there lived a cruel alligator. He saw the little
jackal come down to the river every day, and he thought to himself,
“What a nice, tender morsel this little jackal would be if I could only
catch him.” So one day the alligator hid himself in the mud of the
river so that just the tip of his nose stuck out, and it looked almost
exactly like the back of a crab.
Very soon the little jackal came running along the bank of the river,
looking for crabs. When he saw the end of the alligator’s nose, he
thought, “That looks like the back of a fine big crab,” and he put in
his paw to scoop it out of the mud.
As soon as he did that, snap!—the teeth of the alligator came together,
and there he had the jackal by the paw.
The little jackal was terribly frightened, for he was sure the
alligator would pull him into the river and eat him. However, he began
to laugh, though the alligator’s teeth hurt him terribly. “Oh, you
stupid old alligator,” he cried. “You thought you would catch my paw,
and you didn’t catch anything but a bulrush root that I stuck down
there in the water to tickle your nose. Ah, silly, silly alligator!”
When the alligator heard that, he was much disappointed. “I certainly
thought I had caught that little jackal,” he said to himself, “and it
seems I have caught nothing but a bulrush root. There is no use in
holding on to that.” So he opened his mouth.
Then the little jackal snatched his paw out. “Oh, stupid one!” he
cried. “You did have me, and you let me go again. Oh, ring-a-ting!
ring-a-ting! You’ll never catch me again.” So saying, away he ran up
into the jungle.
The alligator was furiously angry. “Well, he tricked me that time,” he
said, “but the next time I catch him he will not get away so easily.”
So he hid himself again in the mud and waited and watched. But the
little jackal came no more to the river. He was afraid. He stayed up in
the country and lived on figs that he gathered under a wild fig-tree.
But the alligator was determined to have the jackal, so when he found
the jackal came no more to the river he crawled out one morning very
early, and dragged himself to the wild fig-tree and gathered together a
great heap of figs, and hid himself under them.
In a little while the jackal came running toward the fig-tree, licking
his lips, for he was very hungry. When he saw the great heap of figs he
was delighted. “How nice!” he said. “Now I will not have the trouble of
gathering the figs together; they are there all ready for me.”
He went nearer and nearer to the heap of figs, and then he stopped. “It
really looks almost as though something might be hidden under those
figs,” he thought. Then he cried out loud, “When I come to the fig-tree
all the figs that are any good roll about in the wind, but those figs
lie so still that I do not think they can be fit to eat. I will have to
go to some other place if I want to get good figs!”
When the alligator heard this, he thought, “This little jackal is very
particular. I will just shake myself and make the figs roll about a
little, or he will not come near enough for me to catch him.” So he
shook himself, and away the figs rolled this way and that.
“Oh, you stupid old alligator!” cried the jackal. “If you had stayed
quite still, you might have caught me. Ring-a-ting, ring-a-ting! Thank
you for shaking yourself and letting me know you were there!” And then
he ran away as fast as his legs would carry him.
The alligator gnashed his teeth with rage. “Never mind! I will have
this little jackal yet,” he cried, and he hid himself in the tall grass
beside the path that led to the fig-tree. He waited there for several
days, but he saw nothing of the jackal. The jackal was afraid to come
to the fig-tree any more. He stayed in the jungle and fed on such roots
and berries as he could find there, but as he could find but little, he
grew very thin and miserable.
Then one morning the alligator made his way to the jackal’s house while
the jackal was away. He squeezed himself in through the doorway (for it
was very narrow), and hid under the heap of dead leaves that was the
jackal’s bed.
Toward evening the little jackal came running home, and he was very
hungry, for he had found little to eat all day, and he was very tired
too. He was just about to go in and throw himself down on his bed when
he noticed that the sides of the doorway were scraped and broken as
though some big animal had forced its way in.
The little jackal was terribly frightened. “Is it possible,” he
thought, “that the wicked alligator has come to hunt for me here in my
own house and is waiting inside to catch me?” Then he cried out aloud,
“What is the matter, little house? Every day when I come home you say
‘All is well, little jackal,’ but to-day you say nothing, and I am
afraid to come in.”
This was not true; the little house did not really speak to him, but
he wanted to find out whether the alligator was there. But the stupid
alligator believed him. He thought to himself, “I will have to speak
in place of the little house, or this tiresome little jackal will not
come in.” He made his voice as small and soft as he could, and said,
“All is well, little jackal.”
When the jackal heard the alligator speak, and knew he was really
inside the house, he was more frightened than ever. However, he
answered quite cheerfully, “Very well, little house! I will come in as
soon as I have been to the brook for a drink of water.”
When the alligator heard that he was filled with joy, but he lay quite
still under the leaves without moving. “Now I will have that little
jackal at last,” he thought. “This time he shall not escape me.”
But while he waited the little jackal gathered together a great heap of
dead-wood and underbrush and piled it up against the door of the house.
When it was big enough he set fire to it, and it blazed up with a great
noise and burned the wicked alligator to death, and that was the end of
him. But the little jackal danced about and sang:
“The alligator’s dead, and I am so glad!
The alligator’s dead, and I am so glad!
Ring-a-ting, ring-a-ting! Ring-a-ting, ring-a-ting!
The alligator’s dead, and I am so glad!”
And always after that the little jackal could go wherever he pleased in
safety, and he ate so many ripe figs and so many crabs that he grew as
fat as fat could be.
THE BABA YAGA
A RUSSIAN FAIRY TALE
THERE were once a man and wife who had no child, though they wished for
one above all things.
One day, when the husband was away, the wife laid a big stick of wood
in the cradle and began to rock it and sing to it. Presently she looked
and saw that the stick had arms and legs. Filled with joy, she began to
rock and sing to it again; she kept it up for a long time, and when she
looked again, there, instead of the stick of wood, was a fine little
boy in the cradle.
The woman took the child up and nursed him, and after that he was to
her as her own son. She named him Peter, and made a little suit of
clothes and a cloth cap for him to wear.
One day Peter put on his little coat and went out in a boat to fish on
the river.
At noon his mother went down to the bank of the stream and called to
him, “Peter, Peter, bring your boat to shore, for I have brought a
little cake for you to eat.”
Then Peter said to his boat:
“Little boat, little boat, float a little nearer.
Little boat, little boat, float a little nearer.”
The boat floated up to the shore; Peter took the cake and went back to
his fishing again.
Now it so happened that a Baba Yaga, a terrible witch, was hiding in
the bushes near-by. She heard all that passed between the woman and the
child. So after the woman had gone home, the Baba Yaga waited for a
while, and then she went down to the edge of the river and hid herself
there, and called out:
“Peter, Peter, bring your boat to the shore, for I have brought another
little cake for you.”
But when Peter heard her voice, which was very coarse and loud, he knew
it must be a Baba Yaga calling him, so he said:
“Little boat, little boat, float a little farther.
Little boat, little boat, float a little farther.”
Then the boat floated away still farther out of the Baba Yaga’s reach.
The old witch soon guessed what was the matter, and she rushed off to a
blacksmith, who lived over beyond the forest.
“Blacksmith, blacksmith, forge me a little fine voice as quickly as
you can,” she cried, “or I will put you in my mortar and grind you to
pieces with my pestle.”
The blacksmith was frightened. He made her a little fine voice as
quickly as he could, and the Baba Yaga took it and hastened back to
the river.
There she hid herself close to the shore and called in her little new
voice, “Peter, Peter, bring your boat to the shore, for I have brought
another little cake for you to eat.”
When Peter heard the Baba Yaga calling him in her fine, small voice, he
thought it was his mother, so he said to his boat:
“Little boat, little boat, float a little nearer.
Little boat, little boat, float a little nearer.”
Then the little boat came to the land. Peter looked all about, but saw
no one. He wondered where his mother had gone, and stepped out of his
boat to look for her.
Immediately the Baba Yaga seized him. Like a whirlwind she rushed away
with him through the forest and never stopped till she reached her own
house. There she shut him up in a cage behind the house to keep him
until he grew fat.
After she had shut him up, she went back into the house, and her little
cat was there. “Mistress,” said the cat, “I have cooked the dinner for
you, and I am very hungry. Will you not give me something to eat?”
“All that I leave, that you can have,” answered the Baba Yaga. She sat
down at the table and ate up everything but one small bone. That was
all the cat had.
Meanwhile at home the mother waited and waited for Peter to come back
from the river with his fish. Then at last she went down to look for
him. There was his boat drawn up on the shore empty, and all round
it were marks of the Baba Yaga’s feet, and the trees and bushes were
broken where she had rushed away through the forest. Then the mother
knew that a witch had carried off the little boy.
She went back home, weeping and wailing.
Now the woman had a very faithful servant, and when this girl heard her
mistress wailing, she asked her what the matter was.
The woman told her all that she had seen down at the river, and how she
was sure a Baba Yaga had flown away with Peter.
“Mistress,” said the girl, “there is no reason for you to despair.
Just give me a little wheaten cake to keep the life in me, and I will
set out and find Peter, even though I have to travel to the end of the
world.”
Then the woman was comforted. She gave the servant a cake, and the girl
set out in search of Peter.
She went on and on, and after a while she came to the Baba Yaga’s
house. It stood on fowls’ legs, and turned whichever way the wind blew.
The girl knocked at the door, and the Baba Yaga opened it.
“What do you want here?” she asked. “Are you seeking work or shunning
work?”
“I am seeking work,” answered the girl. “Can you give me anything to
do?”
The witch scowled at her terribly. “You may come in,” she said, “and
set my house in order, but do not go peeping and prying about, or it
will be the worse for you.”
The girl went in and began to set the house in order, while the Baba
Yaga flew away into the forest, riding in a mortar, urging it along
with a pestle, and sweeping away the traces with a broom.
After the witch had gone, the little cat said to the girl, “Give me, I
beg of you, a little food, for I am starving with hunger.”
“Here is a little cake; it is all I have, but I will give it to you in
Heaven’s name.”
The little cat took the cake and ate it all up, every crumb.
“Now listen,” said the cat. “I know why you are here, and that you are
searching for the little boy named Peter. He is in a cage behind the
house, but you can do nothing to help him now. Wait until after dinner,
when the Baba Yaga goes to sleep. Then rub her eyes with pitch so that
she cannot get them open, and you may escape with the child through the
forest.”
The girl thanked the little cat and promised to do in all things as it
bade her.
When the Baba Yaga came home, “Well, have you been peeping and prying?”
she asked.
“That I have not,” answered the girl.
The Baba Yaga sat down, ate everything there was on the table, bones
and all. Then she lay down and went to sleep. She snored terribly.
The girl took some pitch and smeared the witch’s eyelids with it. Then
she went out to where Peter was and let him out of the cage, and they
ran away through the forest together.
The Baba Yaga slept for a long time. At last she yawned and woke, but
she could not get her eyes open. They were stuck tight with pitch. She
was in a terrible rage; she stamped about and roared terribly. “I know
who has done this,” she cried, “and as soon as I get my eyes open, I
will go after her and tear her to pieces.” Then she called to the cat
to come and scratch her eyes open with its sharp little claws.
“That I will not,” answered the cat. “As long as I have been with you,
you have given me nothing but hard words and bones to gnaw, but she
stroked my fur, and gave me a cake to eat. Scratch your own eyes open,
for you shall have no help from me.” And then the little cat ran away
into the forest.
But the faithful servant and Peter journeyed safely on through the
forest, and you may guess whether or not the mother was glad to have
her little Peter safe home again.
As to the old Baba Yaga, she may be shouting and stamping and rubbing
the pitch from her eyes yet, for all I know.
TAMLANE
A STORY FROM AN OLD SCOTCH BALLAD
FAIR Janet was the daughter of the Earl of March, and she was so
beautiful that many knights and noble gentlemen had asked her to marry
them, but she would say yes to none of them.
One day she sat at her window sewing a seam, and she heard the sound of
a horn down in the forest. It blew so sweet and it blew so clear that
she laid down her seam to listen, and it seemed to her that it called
“Janet, fair Janet, come hither!”
Fair Janet dropped her sewing and down to the wood she ran. She looked
about her, and there stood a handsome knight. From head to foot he was
dressed in green, and in his hand he held a silver horn, and when he
saw her he raised it to his lips and blew again so soft and clear that
Janet had never heard anything like it.
“Now tell me,” said she, “is that a fairy horn that it blows so sweet a
note?”
“It is indeed a fairy horn,” answered the stranger, “and it was in
Fairyland that I learned to wind it. In many a forest have I blown it,
north and south, and east and west, and you are the first to hear and
answer it.”
Then fair Janet was afraid, for she thought the stranger must be a
fairy knight, and she did not know what charm he might cast about her.
The knight saw she was frightened, so he said, “From Fairyland I
brought it, yet I am of human flesh and blood like you. I am the son of
the Earl of Murray, and once my name was John, though in Fairyland they
call me Tamlane. When I was a child, the fairies stole me, and they
have kept me with them ever since. Bright and fair it is in Fairyland,
and I am the Queen’s favoured knight, but my heart wearies to be back
in my own country and living with my own kind once more.”
“And will not the fairies let you go?” asked fair Janet, and now she
was not afraid.
“That they will not of their own wills, and only a lady brave and true
can set me free. You yourself are that lady, fair Janet, for you alone
have heard and answered my horn.”
Then Janet promised she would do whatever Tamlane bade her do, if by so
doing she might bring him back from Fairyland, for he was very good to
look upon. She let him put a ring upon her finger, and they kissed each
other as a sign that they were betrothed.
Then Tamlane told her what she must do. On every Hallowe’en at midnight
the fairies ride abroad, and on that night she must go to Milescross
and wait for them to pass. At midnight they would come.
First would ride the Fairy Queen, her horse hung round with bells.
After her would come all her ladies and esquires, and then her band of
knights, and it was among these that Tamlane would ride.
“You’ll know me from among them all,” said he, “by the snow-white horse
I ride. Moreover, I’ll wear a glove on my right hand, but my left hand
will hang bare. Then is the time for you, Janet. Spring up and pull me
from my horse and hold me tight. There will be a loud cry raised, and
they’ll change me into many shapes in your arms, but hold me tight,
whatever I seem to be. Always it will be I, and I will not harm you. Do
this, and when I take my own shape again I will be free of the fairies
for ever.”
Janet promised to do all that he told her to, though she was terrified
at the thought of what might happen, and then they kissed each other
again and parted.
Now three nights after it was Hallowe’en, and Janet went out to
Milescross, and hid herself there and waited.
When midnight came there was a sound of bells, and a white light, and
the fairies came riding by. First came the Queen, and she was very
beautiful, with a circlet of stars about her head. Then came her
ladies and squires, talking and laughing together; and next a troop
of knights all in green, and each with a silver horn. Some rode on
black horses, and some on brown, but one knight there was who rode a
milk-white steed. His right hand was gloved, but his left hand hung
down bare at his side. He rode on and never turned his head, but when
Janet saw him she knew him for her true love, Tamlane, and she sprang
forward and caught him by the mantle and pulled him down from off his
horse and gripped him tight. Then from all the fairy train there arose
a cry, “Tamlane’s awa’!” “Tamlane’s awa’!”
[Illustration: THEN IT WAS A SWAN THAT BEAT ITS WINGS IN HER FACE]
Suddenly it was no knight that Janet held in her arms, but a great grey
wolf. It struggled and snapped, and its breath was hot in her face.
Almost it broke from her, but she remembered Tamlane’s words and held
it tight. And then it was not a wolf she held, but a bale of burning
straw. The flames roared in her ears, but she clasped it close, and it
did not scorch her. Then it was a great serpent that wrapped itself
about her, and tried to slip from her arms, but she held it tight and
did not let it go. Then it was a swan that beat its wings in her face,
but she shut her eyes and held it. Then the wings were still, and she
opened her eyes, and saw it was her own true love, Tamlane, that she
clasped in her arms.
The Fairy Queen turned herself about, and she cried, “Tamlane, Tamlane,
if I had known yesterday what I know to-day, I would have taken out
your two blue eyes and given you eyes of stone; had I known yesterday
what I know to-day, I would have taken the heart of flesh out of your
bosom and put in a heart of clay; had I but known yesterday what I know
now, never should you have ridden abroad with me this night!”
Then suddenly the fairies were gone, and Tamlane and Janet stood there
alone. He took her by the hand, and they went back to her father’s
castle together. There they were married with great joy and feasting,
and they lived together happily all the rest of their lives, a faithful
and loving man and wife.
THE FARMER AND THE PIXY
AN ENGLISH FAIRY TALE
FARMER BOGGINS lived on a lonely farm, and there were a great many
pixies and other fairies all around.
One morning in threshing-time Farmer Boggins went out to the barn
before anyone else, and what was his surprise to find that a great heap
of grain had been threshed out in the night. He wondered who had done
it. When his labourers came to work he questioned them, but none of
them knew anything about it.
The next night the same thing happened; no one went near the barn, but
in the morning there was a heap of clean grain on the floor.
The third night the farmer made up his mind to find out who it was
that was helping him, so he hid himself behind some hay, and lay there
watching. The moon shone in and lighted all the floor, but for a long
time the farmer heard and saw nothing.
Then suddenly he heard a sound of threshing, and there was a pixy
beating out the grain with a flail. The little man was not a foot high.
He was as brown as a nut and had scarce a rag of clothes upon him.
He worked so hard that the sweat poured down his forehead, and now and
then he stopped to wipe it away. Then he would cry out proudly, “How I
sweat! How I sweat!”
The farmer was filled with admiration, and the third time the little
man cried “How I sweat!” the farmer could hold his tongue no longer,
but answered him, “That you do!”
No sooner had he spoken, however, than the pixy was gone.
The farmer waited for a while, but the little man did not return. At
last Farmer Boggins went back to the house and told his good wife all
that had happened.
“You stupid!” she cried, when he had made an end of the story. “You
should never have spoken to him. The small folk cannot bear to be
spoken to!”
Well, the mischief was done, and now the only thing to do was to think
of some way to coax the pixy back again to the work.
Early the next morning the good wife woke her husband.
“Husband,” said she, “did you say the little man had scarce a stitch of
clothes upon him?”
“That’s what I said,” answered the farmer.
“Then listen,” said his wife. “To-day I will make a little suit of
clothes for him, and you shall take it out and lay it in the barn where
he will be likely to see it if he comes back. Maybe then he’ll be so
pleased he’ll get over his anger and begin to work for you again.”
[Illustration: “NOT SO FAST, MY FINE LITTLE FELLOW,” HE SAID]
Well, that seemed a good plan to the farmer, so his wife set to work,
and by evening she had made a complete set of little clothes just the
size for a pixy. The farmer took it out to the barn and spread it out
in the moonlight and hid himself where he could watch and see what
would happen.
For a long time all was still, and Farmer Boggins was beginning to feel
sleepy, when suddenly he saw the pixy was there. The little man had a
flail in his hands and was going toward a heap of grain. Then he saw
the little suit lying there in the moonlight. At first he stood quite
still, and then he laid down the flail and took up the clothes. He
looked at them all over, and then he put them on.
When he was dressed he began to hop about and sing:
“How fine I am, how fine I am:
Now I am nobody’s working-man.”
So singing, he danced across the floor and out of the barn and down the
hill.
Then the farmer was in a rage. His wife had taken all the trouble
to make the clothes, and the little man had taken them and gone off
without doing a stroke of work to pay for them. But this should not be
the end of the matter.
At the foot of the hill the farm road crossed a stream, and there was a
bridge. The farmer went down to the bridge and hid himself beside it,
for he thought that if the pixy were really leaving the farm, this was
the way he would go.
Sure enough, Boggins had not been hidden there long when he heard a
sound of voices, and along came a whole troop of pixies. They all
looked exactly like the little man the farmer had seen in the barn, but
none of them were dressed. Last of all came a pixy in a little suit of
clothes, so the farmer knew he must be the one who had threshed out the
grain.
Just as this pixy reached the bridge, Farmer Boggins stepped out in
front of him. “Not so fast, my fine little fellow,” he said. “There’s
some work owing me in payment for that suit you’re wearing.”
The farmer had scarcely got the words out of his mouth when he heard a
great splash in the stream behind him, and a voice that sounded like
his wife’s cried, “Husband! Husband! Come quick and help me, or I’ll
drown.”