laughter. The stream lay silent and smooth in the moonlight. No one was
there, and when the farmer turned back to the bridge again every pixy
was gone from it.
Then the farmer knew that he had been tricked, and he had to go home
without either the pixy or the suit of clothes. His wife was there
though. She had never been out of the house at all, and a fine scolding
she gave him for letting himself be tricked that way by the little men.
But the pixy never came back to help him with his grain, or to thank
him for the suit of clothes either.
RABBIT’S EYES
A KOREAN FAIRY TALE
ONCE upon a time the king of the fishes fell ill, and no one knew what
was the matter with him. All the doctors in the sea were called in, one
after another, and not one of them could cure him.
Once when the fishes were talking about it, a turtle stuck its head out
of a crack in a rock. “It is a pity,” said the turtle, “that no one has
ever thought of asking my advice. I could cure the king in a twinkling.
All he has to do is to swallow the eye of a live rabbit, and he will
become perfectly well again.”
This the turtle said, not because he knew anything at all about the
matter, but because he wished to appear wise before the fishes.
Now it so chanced that one of the fishes that heard him was the son of
the king’s councillor, and he swam straight home and told his father
what he had heard the turtle say. The councillor told the king, and the
king, who was feeling very ill that day, bade them bring the turtle to
him immediately.
When the messengers told the turtle that the king wished to speak to
him, the turtle was very much frightened. He drew his head and his tail
into his shell and pretended that he was asleep, but in the end he was
obliged to go with the messengers.
They soon reached the palace, and the turtle was taken immediately to
where the king was. He was lying on a bed of seaweed and looking very
ill indeed, and all his doctors were gathered round him.
The king turned his eyes toward the turtle, and spoke in a weak voice.
“Tell me, friend, is it true that you said you could cure me?”
Yes, it was true.
“And that all I have to do is to swallow the eye of a live rabbit, and
I will be well again?”
Yes, that was true too.
“Then go get a live rabbit and bring it here immediately, that I may be
well.”
When the turtle heard these words he was in despair. It did not seem at
all likely that he could catch a rabbit and bring it down into the sea,
but he was so much afraid of the king that he did not dare to explain
this to him. He said nothing, but crawled away as soon as he could,
wishing he could find some crack where he could hide himself and never
be found again.
Suddenly he remembered he had once seen a rabbit frisking about on a
hill not far from the seashore, and he determined to set out to find
it.
He crawled out of the sea and started up the hill. He climbed and he
climbed, and after a while he came to the top, and there he sat down to
rest.
Presently along came the rabbit, and it stopped to speak to him.
“Good day,” said the rabbit.
“Good day,” said the turtle.
“And what are you doing so far away from the sea?” asked the rabbit.
“Oh, I only came up here to look about and see what the green world was
like,” answered the turtle.
“And what do you think of it, now you are here?”
“Oh, it’s not so bad; but you ought to see the beautiful palaces and
gardens we have down under the sea.” The turtle began telling the
rabbit about them, and he talked so long and said so many fine things
about them, that the rabbit began to wish to see them for himself.
“Would it be very hard for me to live down under the water?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” said the turtle. “It might be a little inconvenient at
first, but that would not last long. If you like, I will take you on
my back and carry you down to the bottom of the sea, and then you can
see whether it is not all just as grand and beautiful as I have been
telling you.”
Well, the rabbit could not resist his curiosity, and he agreed to go
with the turtle.
They went to the edge of the sea, and then the rabbit got on the
turtle’s back, and down they went through the water to the very bottom
of the sea. The rabbit did not like it at first, but he soon grew used
to it, and when he saw all the fine palaces and gardens that were
there, he was filled with wonder.
The turtle took him directly to the palace of the king. There he bade
the rabbit get down and wait awhile, and he promised that presently he
would show him the king of all this magnificence.
The rabbit was delighted and willingly agreed to wait there while the
turtle went to announce him.
But while the turtle was away the rabbit heard two fishes talking in
the room next to where he was. He was very inquisitive, so he cocked
his ears forward and listened to what they were saying. What was his
horror to find that they were talking about taking out his eyes and
giving them to the king. The rabbit did not know what to do, nor how he
was to escape from the dangerous position he was in.
Presently the turtle came back, and the chief councillor came with
him, and immediately the rabbit began to talk. “Well,” said he, “it
all seems very fine here, and I am glad I came, but I wish now I had
brought my own eyes with me so that I could see it better. You see,
the eyes I have in my head now are only glass eyes. I am so afraid of
getting my own eyes hurt or dusty that I generally keep them in a safe
place, and wear these glass eyes instead. But if I had only known how
much there would be to look at, I would certainly have brought my own
eyes.”
When the turtle and the councillor heard this, they were very much
disappointed, for they believed the rabbit was speaking the truth, and
that the eyes he had in his head at the time were only glass eyes.
“I will take you back to the shore,” said the turtle, “and then you can
go and get your real eyes and come back again, for there are many more
things for you to see here—things more wonderful and beautiful than
anything I have yet shown you.”
Well, the rabbit was willing to do that, so he got upon the turtle’s
back, and the turtle swam up and up with him through the sea.
As soon as they reached the shore the rabbit leaped from the turtle’s
back, and away he went up the hill as fast as he could scamper, and
he was glad enough to be out of that scrape, I can tell you. But the
turtle waited, and he waited, and he waited, but the rabbit never did
come back, and at last the turtle was obliged to go home without him.
As for the king of the fishes, if he ever got well, it was not the eye
of a live rabbit that cured him; of that you may be sure.
MUDJEE MONEDO
AN AMERICAN INDIAN TALE
UPON the banks of the broad Ogechee River there once stood a little
Indian village. The people who lived there were prosperous and happy.
There were fish in the river and game in the forest, and no one lacked
for anything.
But after a time a terrible misfortune fell upon the people. An ogre
named Mudjee Monedo came to live near them. Upon an open plain he laid
out a racecourse, and it was his amusement to challenge the young men
of the village to race with him there. None dared to refuse, for the
ogre was cruel and revengeful, and they feared what he might do to the
old men and children if they should refuse; and yet to race with him
meant death.
“Life against life,” the ogre would cry, laying his hand on the
goal-post. “My life in wager against yours. This post is the goal,
yonder charred stump the turning-point. The loser pays the forfeit with
his life.”
But none of the Indian warriors ever could win in that race with
Mudjee Monedo. The ogre had the power to turn himself at will into
any four-footed animal that he might choose. If he found he was being
outstripped in the race he would change himself into a wolf, a deer, or
a buffalo, and so easily win the race against the swiftest runner of
them all. So, one after another, the finest young men of the village
were slain at the goal-post.
A deep gloom settled over those who were still left alive. They would
have taken their wives and children and gone elsewhere to live, but
they knew the ogre would follow on their tracks. Their only hope was
that some time a warrior might rise among them who would be able to
outwit the ogre and win the race.
Somewhat away from the other lodges, and in the shadow of the forest,
lived a widow with a daughter and a young son. This son was a boy of
twelve named Manedowa. The widow’s husband and her ten eldest sons had
all raced with the ogre at one time or another, and all had paid the
forfeit with their lives. Now Manedowa was fast growing tall and manly.
Instead of being glad of this the widow was terrified. She dreaded the
time when the ogre might think the boy old enough to race with him.
Already Mudjee Monedo had his eye upon him. Often he would make some
excuse to come to the lodge when the boy was busy there. Then the ogre
would look him up and down.
“You are growing fast,” he would say. “You will make a famous runner.
Some time you must come and look at my racecourse. Perhaps we may even
run a friendly race together—though I am growing too old and stiff to
have any chance against young limbs like yours.”
Then the widow would shudder and make some excuse to send the boy away
out of sight. She knew that when he was fully grown it would not be for
long that the ogre would spare him.
One day the boy was away fishing and the widow and her daughter were
busy in the lodge together. Suddenly a shadow fell across the floor.
They looked up in terror, expecting to see the ogre peering in.
Instead, a handsome young warrior stood there in the doorway. He was a
stranger. They had never seen him before. The sunshine played upon his
shining limbs like fire. His eyes were bright and piercing, and above
his forehead waved a plume of gorgeous feathers. For a moment he stood
looking in upon them. Then he laid a deer down upon the threshold, and
silently turned and disappeared in the green depths of the forest.
Wondering, the mother and her daughter stared after him. They did not
know who he could be. They waited for some time, and then, as he did
not return, they cut up the deer and hung it up to dry.
Two days after this the stranger again came to the lodge. As silently
as before he laid a bear down before them, and again disappeared among
the thickets; but that night they heard the sound of his pipe not far
from the lodge; it was a love song to the girl that he was playing.
The next evening he came again, bringing more game, but this time he
entered and sat down. After that he stayed in the widow’s lodge, and
the girl became his wife. She was very happy, for no other hunter
brought home such fine game as he, and no other was as handsome and as
noble-looking.
Every morning he went away, gliding off silently into the depths of the
forest and disappearing from their sight. Where he went they did not
know, but every night he came again, bringing to them the choicest of
game and fish. The plume above his forehead shone with strange colours,
and sometimes it seemed as though the light about him came from
himself, and not from the sunshine or the firelight. Neither the girl
nor her mother dared to question him as to who he was or whence he came.
With so much game hanging about the lodge it was not long before Mudjee
Monedo grew suspicious. He suspected that some warrior had come to
live with the widow and her daughter and that they were hiding it from
him. Often he stole up silently to the lodge hoping to find the hunter
there, but he never saw him. At last he questioned the widow openly.
“All this game,” he said, trying to smile at her pleasantly, “where
does it come from?”
The widow began to tremble. “My son—” she began.
“Your son!” interrupted the Magician. “Do you mean to tell me that your
son could shoot a bear or a buffalo such as I have seen here?”
“He is very large and strong for his age,” said the poor widow.
“If he is old enough to shoot such game he is old enough to race with
me,” cried the ogre. “I will come again when he is at home, and he and
I will talk of it.”
The Mudjee Monedo turned on his heel and strode away through the
forest, breaking the young trees and muttering to himself as he went.
The widow and her daughter were almost dead with fright. If they told
the ogre of the strange warrior who had come to live in their lodge he
would without doubt challenge the stranger to race with him. If they
did not, it would be the boy who would be slain.
That night when the hunter returned as usual with his game the widow
told him of all that had happened—of how Mudjee Monedo had come to the
lodge and questioned her, of how she had pretended it was her son who
had shot the game, and of the threat that the ogre had used.
The warrior listened to all she had to say in silence. When she had
ended he answered calmly, “It is well. I will run a race with this
Mudjee Monedo. To-morrow he will come this way again. Then ask him to
stop and eat with you, and I too will be here.”
His wife and her mother began to beg and implore him not to let the
Magician see him, but he silenced them. “Let it be as I say,” said he.
“To-morrow do you put corn meal and herbs in a pot to cook, and add to
it three birch buds. Mudjee Monedo and I will eat of it together.”
The next morning very early the ogre appeared at the lodge door, but
the stranger had already gone into the forest. Mudjee Monedo looked
about him and saw all the fresh meat. “Truly your son has become a
mighty hunter,” he sneered.
“No, Mudjee Monedo,” answered the widow. “I knew it was useless to try
to deceive you. It is not my son, but my son-in-law, who has shot all
this game. He is a mighty warrior. He will soon return from the forest.
Sit down, and when he comes you can eat together.”
“Did I not know it?” cried the ogre triumphantly. “No one may hope to
deceive Mudjee Monedo for long.”
He entered the lodge and sat down. He had not been there long before
the stranger appeared in the doorway. The brave was in the full dress
of a warrior. Across his forehead was a broad band of red paint, and
the feathers above his forehead were red and blue. The ogre’s eyes
glistened at the sight of him. The hunter greeted Mudjee Monedo, and
sat down not far from him.
Presently, while his wife and mother-in-law made ready the food, he and
the ogre talked. Soon Mudjee Monedo asked the warrior whether he would
not run a race with him upon his racecourse.
Calmly the stranger agreed.
“But I am growing old,” said Mudjee Monedo slyly. “I am not strong and
tireless as I was once. Because of that, if I race with you you must
let me set the wager.”
To this, also, the stranger agreed. Then the food was ready, and he
courteously asked Mudjee Monedo to eat with him. The ogre could not
refuse, but when he saw the dish that was set before them he became
very uneasy. Well he knew that for him there was evil in that food.
The strange warrior, however, took no notice of his confusion. He
dipped into the dish and ate of it, and Mudjee Monedo was obliged to do
likewise, though the herbs that were in it tickled his throat and set
him coughing.
Finally the warrior lifted the dish, drank deep of it, and handed it to
the other. The ogre hesitated a moment. The broth was hateful to him,
but he was afraid to refuse. In haste to be done with it he raised it
to his mouth and swallowed what was left of it at one gulp.
Suddenly he coughed and choked. One of the birch buds at the bottom of
the pot had lodged in his windpipe. His face turned purple and his eyes
seemed starting from their sockets. He got to his feet and staggered
out into the open air. A moment he turned and tried to speak, but a
violent fit of coughing stopped him, and he hurried away through the
thickets, still wheezing and choking as he went.
By the next day the news had gone through the village that a strange
warrior was to run a race with Mudjee Monedo, and a great crowd
gathered on the hills near by to see the race.
When the stranger appeared upon the course a murmur of wonder arose.
Never had the people seen such a warrior before. He was taller by a
head than the tallest youth in the village, and his feet scarce seemed
to touch the earth, so lightly did he walk. Then hope sprang up in the
people’s hearts. Might it not be that this wondrous stranger would in
some way win the race and free them from the power of the ogre.
Mudjee Monedo looked about him at the waiting people, and seemed to
read what was in their hearts. His lips drew back in a cruel smile.
Then he laid his hand upon the goal-post.
“You have let me choose my own wager,” he cried aloud, so that all
might hear what he said to the stranger. “It is this: life against
life; my life against yours. This post is the goal, yonder charred
stump the turning-point. The loser pays the forfeit.”
“So be it,” answered the stranger in a clear ringing voice. “I will
abide by the wager, as must you.”
At a signal he and the ogre sprang forward on the course. Mudjee Monedo
ran well, but the stranger soon outstripped him. So swiftly he ran his
feet scarce seemed to touch the ground. The light played about him, and
his feathers streamed behind him in the wind. Never had the ogre been
so easily outrun. Sooner than usual he was obliged to turn himself into
a wolf or he would have been left too far behind. In that shape he tore
past the warrior, but as he passed the stranger heard a wheezing in his
throat and knew that the birch bud was still there.
A low moan sounded from the crowd of watching Indians on the hill-side
as they saw the grey wolf leading in the race. But the next moment, the
moan changed to a shout of surprise. The strange warrior had changed
himself into a partridge; he rose swiftly in the air, flew past over
Mudjee Monedo, and lighted on the course far ahead of him. Then he
resumed his natural form and again ran forward.
The ogre did not know what had happened. He heard the shout and the
whirr of wings above him, and now he saw the stranger far ahead. He was
very much surprised, but again he used his magic and turned himself
into a deer. With long leaps and bounds he overtook and passed beyond
the running warrior.
Again there was a whirr of wings. The partridge flew past overhead, and
a mocking voice cried in the ogre’s ear, “Mudjee Monedo, is this the
best you can do?” A moment later the ogre saw the stranger once more
far ahead, and running as lightly and gracefully as ever.
The charred stump was passed and Mudjee Monedo’s heart began to beat
hard against his sides. Never had he had to strive so hard. For the
third time he used his magic, and turned himself into his third and
last form, that of a buffalo. It was in this shape that he generally
won the race. With his great shaggy head down, his eyes as red as blood
and his tongue lolling from his mouth, the ogre thundered past the
stranger.
Once again there was a whirr of wings. The partridge rose from the
ground and flew past over the head of the straining buffalo. “Mudjee
Monedo,” he called from above, “is this the best you can do? I fear you
will lose the wager.”
With despair the ogre saw that the stranger had once more flown far
ahead of him, and was now almost within reach of the goal-post.
Suddenly stopping, Mudjee Monedo resumed his natural form. “Hold!
hold!” he called to the warrior. “A word with you.”
The stranger gave a mocking laugh. Springing forward he laid his hand
upon the goal-post, and a mighty shout burst from the watching people
on the hill. Then a stillness fell upon them. In silence they watched
the ogre as he slowly went forward toward the goal-post.
As he drew near the stranger Mudjee Monedo tried to smile, but his pale
lips trembled. “It was all a joke,” he muttered. “You will spare my
life, as I would have spared yours. You run well and we must have many
races together.”
“Wretch!” cried the stranger. “What was the wager? Life against life;
the loser pays the forfeit.”
Swift as lightning he caught up the club that hung from the goal-post,
and with one blow he struck the ogre to the earth. Then again a great
shout arose from the people, and like a stream they flowed down from
the hill-side and gathered around the warrior.
For a time there was great rejoicing. Fires were lighted and a great
feast made. When night came and the stranger went back to his lodge a
vast crowd followed him. It was growing dark, but suddenly a pale light
shone about the warrior. He turned to them, and as they looked at his
face they suddenly knew it was no human warrior who stood before them,
but the Good Genius, Minno Monedo. Silent and in awe they drew back
from him. He motioned them to leave him, and they obeyed him, still in
awe and silence.
After they had all gone Minno Monedo turned to his wife and took her by
the hand. “The time has now come,” he said, “when I must return to the
Spirit-land. It is for you to choose whether you will come with me or
stay here with your own people. Which shall it be?”
“I will go with you,” answered the wife.
So it was; she and the Good Genius disappeared from the earth, and her
tribe saw them no more.
For a while her mother grieved for her, but Manedowa grew up strong and
brave, and in time brought home a wife who bore him many children.
Grass grew over the course where the ogre had run his races; his lodge
fell into ruins, but still around the camp-fires the Indians tell the
story of Minno Monedo, and of how he came to save their tribe from
Mudjee Monedo.
DAPPLEGRIM
A TALE ADAPTED FROM THE NORSE
THERE was once a rich man who had seven sons, and they were all stout,
well-grown lads.
When the man’s time came to die he called his sons about him that he
might divide his goods among them. He asked each one, beginning at the
eldest, what he wished to have left to him. One said one thing, and one
another; one wanted the house, and one the land; one wanted gold, and
one the flocks and herds. At last it came the turn of the youngest,
who was called Boots, to say what he wished to have. But by this time
nothing was left to choose but seven wild mares that ran about free on
one of the farther hills. All the other things had been promised to his
brothers.
“Very well,” said Boots; “I am satisfied. The seven mares will do for
me. When they have colts, I will leave the colts with their mothers
until they are big enough and then I will sell them, and so I will have
enough to live upon.”
The six older sons thought Boots a great simpleton to be satisfied
with so little, but since he was content, it was not for them to
quarrel over it.
Soon afterward the man died, and the six older brothers divided his
riches among them in very friendly fashion.
As for Boots, he asked for nothing, but he took his staff in his hand,
and set out for the farther hill to look at his seven wild mares. It
was half a day’s journey to the hill, but Boots thought nothing of
that. He reached it before his shoes were worn out, and there were the
seven wild mares grazing hither and thither, and each one had a foal
with her. They were fat and well-grown foals, but beside the seven
there was another colt there on the hill, and he was a wonder. His coat
was a beautiful dappled grey, and shone like silk; and he was more than
twice the size of any of the other foals.
“Now in all my life never have I seen a colt like that colt,” cried
Boots. “The other seven foals I will leave here with their mothers, but
this one I will take out into the world with me, for already he is big
enough and stout enough for me to ride him.”
“Nay, Master,” answered the colt; “that is not what you should do. Do
you leave me here for another year to run free and grow, and it will
be well worth your while. But as for the other seven foals, take them
to the market and sell them, and with the money you receive buy me
fodder. Store the fodder in yonder old ruined building and leave the
door open, so that I can go in and out and eat at will, and by next
year I will be better fit for riding.”
Boots was willing to do this, so he gathered the seven foals together
and drove them away to market. There he sold them as the dappled colt
had bade him and bought fodder, and this fodder he stored in the old
ruined building for the colt to feed upon at will. Then the lad went
away to a city near-by and took service to wait until the year was up.
At the end of the year, to a day, Boots came back again to the hill,
and there were the seven wild mares at graze, and again each had a
well-grown foal beside her. But as for the dappled colt, it was a
wonder. It was twice as large as before, and if before its coat had
been like silk, now it was like satin, it shone so.
Boots looked and wondered and wondered and looked. “Well it is,” he
said, “that I left you here a year longer. But now you must go with
me, for with such a horse as you to ride upon, the king of the country
himself will be glad to take me into his service.”