scarcely feel my little knife; the only thing is, that when I have
done, her skin will be rather black and shrivelled like my own, but as
mine has been good enough for me all these years, it will surely be
good enough for a common human woman. Anyhow, now you know. I must have
your wife’s complexion to wear with her hair, or else I go at once. And
as it will be you who have broken the compact, I shall take all your
wealth with me.” And repeating in a deep voice, “Remember, this day
week at twelve o’clock,” the gnome grew small, and disappeared through
the hole.
Next day the ploughman was very miserable, and whenever he looked at
his wife felt inclined to burst into tears. The wife, not knowing what
was amiss, tried to cheer him, and asked if he were ill. But he shook
his head, and told her “no,” and had not the courage to tell her the
truth. Thus things went on, the ploughman growing sadder and sadder
every day, till the evening before that on which the gnome had told him
he must bring his wife to meet her. The ploughman was scarce able to
check his sobs before his wife, and at last she came into the kitchen,
and there found him crying outright.
When she saw this, she kneeled down by him, and said, “Husband, you
surely do not think me a good wife, for a good wife shares all her
husband’s troubles. Tell me what troubles you. Two heads are better
than one, and perhaps I can help you.”
Then the ploughman told her all about the hated gnome, and how he had
found it in a field, and how he had promised to give it some of the
best of everything, and now how it wanted her face.
At first the wife would scarcely believe it, and then she cried, “But
if ’tis such a little creature why not pick it up and strangle it, or
let me put my foot on it, while it is no bigger than a black beetle.”
“Nay, do not think of such a thing,” said her husband, “for it is ill
to play tricks with fairy folk, and most likely she would kill us
outright.”
“But part with my face I never will,” cried the wife.
“Then we will let her go and take with her the house and all our
wealth, and be contented to live in my old cottage again, and be quite
poor folk,” said her husband.
On hearing this the wife burst into tears, and wept more bitterly than
her husband, for she would not stop at all. It was in vain for him to
try to cheer her and tell her that poor folk could be quite as happy
as rich ones. She declared she could never be happy poor. Then when
he said if she would let her face go, he would love her just as much
or more without it, she cried that she could never be happy with a
dreadful shrivelled black skin like a monkey’s. All that night she
cried, and when morning came her skin was all red, and her eyes could
scarce be seen, so swelled were their lids, but still she cried on all
day, and her husband said nothing to comfort her, because he did not
know what to say. By the time it grew dark, her face was so swelled and
sore that she could not bear to touch it, and she had cried herself
almost blind, but still the tears were rolling down. When the time came
for the clock to strike twelve, her husband took her hand and led her
to the kitchen, and there she sat with her face in her hands sobbing.
Just as the clock struck, they heard the voice like thunder shouting,
“Stop! I am coming up,” and the wife peeped between her fingers and
saw the little thing no bigger than a black beetle come through the
hole and then grow, and grow, and grow, till it was like an ugly little
black woman near a foot high. And when she saw how hideous it was she
thought, “Never, never will I consent to have a skin like that—not for
millions of pounds.”
The gnome did not speak to her, but said to the ploughman, “So you have
brought your wife. That is a good thing, if you wish me to remain with
you. So now tell her to take down her hands and let me see this face
you make such a fuss about. I have my knife all ready.”
And the ploughman saw that she had in her hand a tiny knife, which did
not look as if it could hurt any one.
“Wife, wife,” groaned the ploughman, “what shall we do?”
Then the wife looked up out of her swollen eyes, and was just going to
speak, when the gnome gave a shriek. “What?” she cried, “that face! Do
you mean to say that is what you think so pretty, and that I am going
to change my beautiful, dry, black skin for that swollen red mass? No,
indeed. You must be mad. It is a good thing that I saw it in time. I
shall leave the house at once.”
“Nay,” cried the ploughman, “but it is you who are breaking your
compact this time.”
But the gnome made no reply, but scuttled down through the hole as fast
as it could, and the ploughman and his wife burst out laughing for joy.
And that was the last they ever saw of it, and it must have gone right
away, but they knew it had left some of its luck behind it, as they
both lived happily for the rest of their days.
THE END
_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay._
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.
1. Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical
errors.
2. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.